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“Are those for us?”
Snickers erupt from behind him.
Jungkook swivels around, his hands clutching the tray of baked goods. The king’s guards approach steadily upon their horses, sounds of clattering hooves and armour halting a few paces on the grass before him. He doesn’t falter at the posh-looking snides that hover over him from the height.
“Unfortunately not,” he smiles, tight-lipped. “They’re for the children.”
Despite the pretense, Jungkook’s heart thunders beneath his chest. Any interaction with the palace guards should not be mistaken as a light-hearted exchange—they note every pitch of tone or wavering demeanour that might read as disobedience, simply because they thrive on punishment .
Jungkook does not take a step back even as one of the horses is urged closer.
The guard perched on the horse’s satchel reaches down to the tray. Jungkook simply sighs through his nose, lowering his head to watch the dirtied hand grasp a pastry, hands trembling to hide his rage. Quiet, because he knows he would much rather lose a pastry than his job.
“You mind?” The scone is waved tauntingly over Jungkook’s lips. The guard sneers at the baker’s impassive stare as he brings it up to take a large bite.
“Well, isn’t that kind of you, Seyfried.”
It’s not until a guard gasps loudly that Jungkook gathers it—another guard who has approached the two and torn off the helmet shielding their head.
Only for the prince and his unruly locks of chivalrous hair to fall from beneath it.
His voice had sounded gravelly and slightly tantalizing, his eyes a dark shade of displeasure as they slit while hovered by his long lashes.
Prince Taehyung hadn’t always been a part of the guards’ occasional hunting missions, and if he were, he would most definitely not be concealing his identity from his squadron. Though it seems Jungkook is not the only one taken aback.
The guard’s hand now trembles similar to how Jungkook’s had. Except he is simply afraid.
“Y-Your Royal Highness. I did not know you—I thought—”
The prince tilts his head aside, and the latter's mouth snaps shut.
“I said, how kind of you, Seyfried.”
The guard glares down at the scone that Prince Kim Taehyung gestures elegantly to.
“You must be happy to take over for him in the kitchen quarters and bake another two batches. Since you could not help yourself from tasting his delicious hard work—that was indeed not for yourself as he so kindly explained. Am I wrong?” His question is drenched in sick sweetness. Seyfried nearly tears a finger through the scone in his palm, quivering upon his horse.
Jungkook basks in the sight.
Not of the quivering guard, but of the enchanting man who levels said guard with a charming smile that somehow appears darker.
“T-That—”
“Am I wrong?” This time it sounds more like a firm statement.
The guard shakes his head quickly, not another word from his pressed lips.
The prince dismisses him with a mere jut to his chin, shooting in the direction where Jungkook had entered the gardens. He silently slips off his horse, lowering his head as he grazes past Jungkook and trudges toward the kitchen doors.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Jungkook’s eyes sparkle, his mouth curved around a giddiness he cannot suppress as he gazes upward.
Prince Taehyung, instead of responding, throws a leg over his horse to step off.
Jungkook’s body locks in place as he walks over to him.
“These are meant to be for the maids' children?”
The baker nods, blinking and blushing a little as the royal stops a mere arm's length in front of him.
His hands are emptied as the prince gently fills his own with the tray.
He speaks, meeting Jungkook’s gaze with an attractive dip between his thick eyebrows, “I shall take this duty off your hands. Seyfried will manage what is left, so you are free to do as you please for the rest of the day. I am truly sorry for his intrusion.”
Jungkook’s stomach curls a bit.
The prince nods at him once, and he scrambles to lower himself to a bow in return.
“T-Thank you so very much, Your Highness. I appreciate your kindness.”
Taehyung blesses him with a pearly white grin, small and kind, turning his back to grab at the hoisters of the unoccupied horses and tugging them away. The king’s guards trail behind him, not one of them daring to look over their shoulders to Jungkook who stands there with a hand on his rapid heart.
He knows it is not entirely directed at him. If Jungkook had not been the one holding the tray, it would have been another servant, and they would have met Prince Taehyung’s gentleness all the same. He knows he is not special , but still. How the prince had lowered himself to Jungkook’s height and spoken to him with such a quiet, drawled-out voice…
“Sweet heavens,” Jungkook breathes, a hand gripping the sleeves of his blouse.
Jungkook whines loudly against his pillow.
It is late enough to do so, quiet in the halls outside of his room but his entire quarter is of the snoring elderly maids anyway.
His fingers curl to fist himself in a tight wet grip, thighs pressed together, forehead resting on his arm. The feeling of a warm vice around his length has his legs quivering.
He simply arches deeper into his mattress and ruts into his palm as the red tip brushes over the soft fabric. It slips from his hand once and accidentally causes him to grind bare against the mattress. “ Oh. ”
He whimpers. The grind felt so hot . He lets go of his cock and grips at the sheets, spreading his thighs over them as he ruts down over and over—shivering at the mix of pain from the lack of friction and the shaky edge of his pinnacle. It is so much and not enough and yet it is good .
He imagines if the prince would encourage his sloppy grinds. If he would grin with the same charming teeth—if the smile would appear with a darker hilt.
Perhaps Jungkook could catch the sliver of skin beneath the collar of his shirt, drenched with beaded sweat similar to how he looks after a fencing session, and a press of the same smile at the shell of his ear. If he would chide Jungkook for not tucking a pillow in between, or praise him with a low rumble for doing so well without it.
Jungkook grabs one anyway, shoving it between his shaky thighs because his precum is beginning to puddle onto the sheets and he won’t have the time to deep clean the mattress.
Another moan spills from him at the first rut.
He feels like a dog in heat as he lies there humping his pillow while thinking of the prince. Like some common courtesan.
Jungkook would be his courtesan.
No, no he would not. He is just so close to the edge that he would do anything to reach it. He would imagine just about anything, like being a personal worker for Prince Taehyung. Sit between his legs with his tongue rolled out or sit on his cock to warm it up like a perfectly fitted sleeve if he was to only ask.
Jungkook groans and whines, shoving his face into the crook of his elbow as his hips thrust faster and faster, tilting forward and grinding deeply into the softness until his movements begin to stutter.
“Fuck, yes. T-Taehyung, please. Please, please, please—”
He fucks his release into the pillow with a heady whine croaking from his throat, tidal waves of pleasure rolling down his spine as his body loosens and drops. The sight of the handsome prince lingers in the damp air as his little cock twitches against the pillow.
Jungkook scrunches his nose. It now smells of sweat and sex and the thick fog of his impending guilt.
A hand shoots to his mouth in a gasp.
He can’t believe he just moaned the prince’s name out loud. Without a title.
Oh no. He’s grown so disrespectful since his feelings for the prince began festering. He is no better than the gossiping maids who’ve nearly ruined the prince’s reputation more than once.
Jungkook flips over, grumbling in agony into his arm.
Owls hoot among the rustle of leaves. Jungkook settles his head against the windowsill to bathe in the moonlit ambience, thighs tucked beneath him over the soft grey blanket he’d draped on the ledge. His long linen shirt falls over his thighs, the breeze a little chilly as it sways the fabric there.
He should sleep. But he’s restless, his thoughts are twirling and his eyes refuse to remain shut for longer than a few seconds.
Instead, Jungkook decides to do what usually helps calm his mind. He rests his back against the bricks of the windowsill behind him, taking a deep breath of the fresh air that tickles his cheeks and the tip of his nose.
A melody spills from his lips. It quickly resounds in the room and wisps along the rustle of leaves and plants from the garden. Jungkook is glad he can at least see the garden from where his chambers are located, if only the swaying stalks of green. At least he can share himself with the plants rather than with no soul at all.
As the soft sound fills the air, Jungkook’s eyebrows loosen, melting the tightness of his face as he flutters his lashes. Singing has always been his form of mediation. A way to buzz his mind to a delightfully dreary state and be asleep without being fully unconscious.
The comforting, familiar song helps fizzle his dancing thoughts to nothing. Just the visions of his mother gently cradling his head, a pink dahlia settled in between the pages of a book, and his father's hat perched on the hooks of the wall.
With these thoughts, Jungkook’s singing sways into gentle humming. Until he falls asleep.
But not before a certain someone catches him.
Kim Taehyung is the fine prince of Seraph.
As the one and only heir to his father’s throne, he was expected from birth to be the perfect future king. He made it this far. His chamber is settled in the top corner of his family’s large palace, his table stacked with bounds of paperwork, already endowed with duties similar to that of a king because his father was busy falling ill more often than not.
Mainly just wondering when the old man will die.
Still, Taehyung supposes changing his title shouldn’t change much about the way the palace currently moves. Let alone change the dreadfulness of his too-quiet boredom.
It is almost every night he’s perched upon the high balcony, gazing longingly at the empty gardens below. Even the plants, destined to remain rooted where they are birthed and yet still less lonely than him. They shine brightly with colour while surrounded by one another, bathed by the moon herself.
It isn’t until he hears the drawl of a sweet voice coming from a lower area of the palace that he feels his first unadulterated surge of true excitement. At first, he silently basked in the soft tones with his eyes shut, but then the realization that he may never hear it again punched harshly at his chest and tumbled him backward from the balcony.
Before the prince could comprehend what he was doing, he’d already made it to the lower chambers in search of the source of his new favourite sound.
He promptly blanches at the realization that the person from whom the pretty tune is trickling is twice, if not, three times as pretty.
Taehyung remembers him. The shy baker boy he’d seen earlier today.
Taehyung couldn’t ever forget an innocently soft and tragically beautiful face like his. He’d managed to hide his interest the first time he saw him by shoving the subtle attraction down with a princely smile.
This time, the pull is heavier. Greedier.
It’s a fate from the heavens that this boy should be gifted with a talent so enchanting. A talent just as tragically beautiful. It suits him. The moonbeams suit him, even more so than the sun, if possible. Glistening over his pale skin in ribbony sparkles. Taehyung’s head rests against the boy’s doorframe.
He only pulls away and trudges back to his chambers when he determines that discreetly watching the boy sleep through the crack of his door is infinitely creepier than watching him sing.
Taehyung decides it shall not be the last time he hears the sweet voice.
“He’s a servant.”
“That, I know.”
“He’s primarily situated in the kitchen quarters.”
“Yes, yes. Anything new?”
Hoseok grins, bestowing the prince with a knowing peer from the corner of his eye. “His name is Jungkook of Hymn. When he is not baking, he is roaming the gardens with the maid’s children or visiting his home village.”
Taehyung inhales, a soft glint in his eyes.
“Jungkook of Hymn.”
“Yes.” Hoseok bites down at his amusement. “Is there anything else you wished to know about him?”
To his right-hand man’s surprise, the prince shakes his head. Though there’s a subtle curl at the corner of his lips as he lowers his chin to his chest, his locks feathering over his eyes without hiding the shine in them.
“Alright,” Hoseok nods, a deep sigh escaping him. “However, and please know I only mention this because I worry for you, you should heed the implications of a noble befriending ”—he punctuates that specific word with a raise to his eyebrow—“a commoner.”
The two slow their steps in the middle of the palace halls. Taehyung barely acknowledges the statement at first, his attention laced in the distance. He waves a hand to Hoseok, and his right-hand man blinks at the action as Taehyung continues absentmindedly scanning where he gazes. “Please, Hoseok. You know I find that kind of chatter frivolous and detesting. Besides, I did not say I would— befriend him.” He mocks Hoseok’s lowered tone with a small smile.
The guard rolls his eyes. “Your father would find the very notion frivolous and detesting.”
At that, Taehyung peaks behind.
Something flashes in his eyes, a sharpness that makes even his strongest guard shudder for half a second. A smirk then replaces Hoseok’s lips.
“You must mean that wicked bedridden old man, who is paying for the lives he ruined with every excruciating breath. No?”
When the guard shoots him a lifted eyebrow and an amused grin, Taehyung reciprocates with a simple shrug and a playful sparkle in his eyes before turning away again with crossed arms.
“Now, hush. I am busy.”
The older boy chuckles a little, endeared by the version of Taehyung with bits of his age seeping through the mighty polished demeanour.
The prince peers through a set of ajar wooden doors, sounds of shuffling and curt conversations muffled from behind. Taehyung’s head tilts, and only then does Hoseok catch where his gaze is locked.
“If you are not befriending him, then what else are you going to do?”
He sees the way Taehyung’s eyes gleam, and he might already know the answer.
The baker appears occasionally from between the doors, flicking here and there with different items in his hands each time, his tousled hair and apron covered in powders and all other things in a kitchen. At one point, he stops at the perfect spot for Taehyung to see all of him. His nimble fingers roll over a ball of dough, his shoulders lifting to knead at it—and Taehyung may not be a baking expert, but he would praise the intricate work if Jungkook was near enough. Or he would just stare at his hands and envision comparing the size of them with his own.
Another baker emerges from behind Jungkook with a bowl in one hand. He swiftly hands Jungkook a spoon, and the boy grabs it to dip it into the bowl, the utensil appearing again with a gold frosting smeared.
Taehyung’s eyes widen as Jungkook dips out his tongue, dragging it across the spoon as gold collects on the muscle.
The prince’s arms tighten around each other. Jungkook has left a pink spot at the corner of his mouth and he is now left wondering how the gold frosting might taste. After Jungkook nods to the other baker and resumes kneading, his pinkish tongue slowly pokes out again to lick at the corner and Taehyung snaps his gaze forward immediately.
He stalks ahead, a posture so perfectly pin-straight and worthy of a future king, which is the only reason he suddenly cares to do so.
“Let us go then,” he tells Hoseok, chin lifted, “I don’t have much free time left.”
“Because you’ve spent it all just to come here.”
He decidedly ignores him.
Jungkook has been called to the upper chambers.
The darn prince’s chambers, he repeats over and over in his mind.
He runs anxious fingers over each other, counting each step they take in the halls to get closer to the upstairs quarters.
What on earth could have prompted this? Perhaps the guard who had stolen his scone filed a complaint against him to the prince as revenge. Or, perhaps the prince has changed his mind about the kindness he’d shown since Jungkook is a mere servant of the castle.
He suppresses the bubbling nerves from worsening, somehow. It wouldn’t do him good to enter a royal’s chambers for the first time while dripping in his own sweat.
The darn prince’s chambers.
His fingertips fiddle with the ruffled ends of his blouse as he takes the steps to the upper quarters, following behind the tall red-haired escort who’d found him in the kitchen. At least he had time to throw on a pair of non-soiled slacks so that he might not look so horrendously dirty before royalty. Though he’s sure he could never maximize his efforts compared to the charmingly effortless beauty of the prince.
Jungkook’s hands shake anew. He releases a breath, grasping his sleeves once they finally reach the top floors of the palace.
“Can you sing?”
Jungkook gapes. His fingers freeze where they have nearly torn into his blouse.
Jungkook doesn’t think too intently about it, he is busy focusing on not suffocating in the scent of honeydew, presumably the prince’s natural scent, coming from everywhere.
After a small, very patient moment from the prince’s end, he finally responds quietly, “Yes. I can, Your Highness.”
He shivers at the careful gaze of which the prince levels him.
The tall man is seated behind the table at the center of his expansive chambers. Jungkook attempts to not gawk at the gilded edges of his enormous windows, and the wooden door at one corner leading to a high-top balcony. He attempts to focus only on Prince Taehyung while also reminding himself not to glare at the peak of his collarbones from the loose-fitted shirt draped over his broad shoulders. He can’t believe the prince has allowed him to see such intimate attire.
It is difficult to ignore all of it at once.
Taehyung hums, glancing over at the large ebony instrument nestled in a corner of the room.
“You wouldn’t happen to also know how to play piano, do you?”
Jungkook peers over at it. He’d noticed the old piano the first moment he stepped deeper inside after remaining plastered to the front doors, only moving when the prince beckoned him.
It looks similar to the one his father used to play before they had to sell it for rations.
He nods after another beat, slowly growing curious.
“How wonderful.” The prince’s dark eyes sparkle, his smile as charming as always, and Jungkook nearly melts as he speaks again, pointing to the instrument.
“Would you sing and play for me?”
His chest heaves, lips pressed into a thin line.
The prince seems to quickly read his hesitation or the colour that disappears from his face. He pulls his hand back. “Is there something wrong?”
“It is just—” Jungkook sputters, eyes widening when Taehyung’s eyebrows pinch in scrutiny. “W-What I sing, it is not opera. I’ve not learned that quite yet, unfortunately, Your Highness.” He knows opera is preferable to royals, but it’s quite out of his realm.
The wind whistles from the balcony’s opened doors, fitting into the occasional silence.
“I am not in the mood for opera,” Taehyung says. “I crave something softer. And slower.”
His attention remains on Jungkook over his clasped hands, gaze lidded by his long eyelashes. Eyeing the boy as though he might know something. Jungkook can barely breathe under his attention.
“Does anything come to mind, Jungkook?”
The baker’s eyes bore holes into the piano across the room. He allows himself to find the seat there, settling down after a silent permit by the prince and a look of certain intent, his heart thundering as his fingers hover over the keys.
Although he sings all the time, Jungkook has not played an instrument in quite a while. But he is before the prince of their kingdom, so the best he can do is try. If he somehow misses a note and ruins the entire song, he could just sob into his pillow later.
The tips of his fingers press gently at the keys, a few hesitant starting notes rippling through the air. But Jungkook recognizes the movements quickly as he trails one hand further to the left to play another set of notes.
From there, his fingers move like fluid, dripping gently over each key, blending nicely into a rhythm. The sounds seem to bleed prettily into the silent chambers—slipping through shadows as though brightening the candlelight. Jungkook allows his hands to dance up and down the lovely ebony piano, definitely an expensive one. The tune is clearer than the one he’s practiced with in his old home and it makes his song sound beautiful. It’s comforting.
Jungkook was nervous before, but he is starting to ease into the fun of playing again. So distracted that he doesn’t fathom the small smile that has formed on his face. Hasn’t noticed the gaze still draped over him by the man seated on the other side of the room, for he might feel the pressure return to his shoulders again.
But Jungkook is comfortable like this. He feels almost at home when he is with music.
After a couple of moments of simple playing, he flutters his lashes shut and sinks into a slight trance as the keys slightly vibrate below his fingertips. A sigh falls from him, his lips remaining parted. He’d missed the sounds of a steady melody spilling into his ears.
He begins to hum, more because he cannot help it than anything else.
He plays and hums, not sure how much time has passed as he eventually reaches the end of the song, or what he remembers to be the end. He might also drag it out a little by rolling the notes because he knows he will miss them.
The moment he completely stops, his heart begins booming again. He snaps his head up to see Taehyung and their gazes meet immediately, a sheer gleam to the prince’s eyes that Jungkook could not dare to look deeply into. So he peers back down at his fiddling fingertips and watches the ruffles of his blouse fall shift over them.
The first thing that is uttered between them is from Taehyung.
“You did not sing,” he whispers.
Jungkook freezes, worrying that he’s displeased his prince though it becomes obvious he has not because Taehyung simply smiles, as awfully beautiful as the first time. Jungkook feels a shiver crawl up his back.
“M-My apologies, Your Highness. I haven’t sung in front of a crowd for a long time.”
A hand waves in the air, the prince shaking his head. “That’s alright. Thank you, that much was beautiful.”
Beautiful.
Jungkook’s fingers wind tightly together, his cheeks tainting themselves.
“I’ll have you return tomorrow to try again. If you’re feeling alright to sing, please do give it a shot.”
Jungkook sputters, “You would like me to return?”
Taehyung merely nods, his finger tapping gently at his table at which Jungkook of course does not stare intently, he definitely does not know that the gem on his ring is a twinkling opaque and the vein that draws from his palm up his wrist is a dark green.
“Yes. If you haven’t guessed yet,” the prince grumbles, his eyes rolling across his vast chambers, “I am in dire need of some entertainment and company. Unfortunately, this is the only time of day I can have it. If you are alright with returning every night to play, I am happy to pay you in more gold coins.”
His heart thumps wildly. The prince needs entertainment and company, and he has chosen Jungkook for it.
Is it even worth questioning? Returning to the prince’s every night to play and maybe sing for him? An honour, and above that, a dream.
He nods enthusiastically.
His heart leaps from his chest when the prince chuckles, all pretty and low.
“Good. I shall see you tomorrow then, Jungkook.”
Jungkook does return the very next day, with hands far more drenched in sweat than the first time.
He did not expect the escort to visit him again. He believed that perhaps yesterday, the prince might have called him in the spur of a moment and that Jungkook would not actually be called to return to his chambers for a second night.
But here he is, at the prince’s tall gold-engraved chamber doors just like the night before.
“T-Thank you, sir.”
The guard gives him a soft look when he lifts from the deep bow. Jungkook thinks the look is somehow similar to Prince Taehyung—and in that moment, the man introduces himself properly, and Jungkook slaps a hand over his mouth with an audible gasp, his other hand clenched tightly around the strap of his shoulder bag.
Oh dear.
He flares up in deep embarrassment at the prospect of not recognizing the Captain of the Royal Guard and bows deeply in apology, only to receive a kind chuckle and a shake of a head.
Jungkook is never in the upper chambers and rarely gets the chance to see nobles of this level up close. He’s sure he only sees Sir Hoseok when he is gilded from head to toe in royal armour and preparing to hunt or fight, so it is obvious why he did not recognize him. But still, Jungkook’s entire body flushes in red.
“Better keep a proper watch on the prince, yeah?” Sir Hoseok muses. Jungkook’s shoulders go square, the blood draining entirely from his face. How should he tell the captain he has never fought a person let alone thrown a simple punch? The most violence he indulged in was when playing in a sport that requires full padding from head to toe.
The captain’s eyes widen before he throws his head back in hefty laughter. “My gosh,” he breathes, “I was joking, Jungkook-ssi.”
The baker’s shoulders droop. “Oh...”
Another embarrassing redness burns the height of his cheeks.
“Please loosen up, you are going to turn yourself inside out.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“None of that, just enjoy your time.”
Jungkook does not fully comprehend Sir Hoseok’s words as he’s quickly urged through the doors.
This time, as Jungkook walks into the noble’s quarters, he can nearly hear his heartbeat in his ears. He hadn’t realized how loud the gusts of wind were the last time he was here. With the windows and doors all sealed shut, he doesn’t have anything left to place over the silence.
It’s not until Jungkook walks closer into the candlelit room that he realizes the prince is not seated at his table this time, but rather perched on his mattress to his left, his head dipped back against the headboard.
The sight of his exposed throat bobbing nearly makes Jungkook topple over.
His voice erupts timidly, “Your Highness?”
At that, the prince lifts his head, a deep sigh escaping him. “Ah. Thank the heavens you were not ill today.”
He bites at a smile. Taehyung was hoping to see him.
It relieves his nerves a little knowing the prince would not have called upon him if he was not feeling well. Although Jungkook always knew the king’s son was nothing like his hot-headed disastrous father, it increases his trust that coming back was in fact all of his volition. Not that he would ever refuse the prince.
“Yes, I am well,” Jungkook says quietly, his next words even quieter. “And I would love to play for you.”
The prince lolls his head aside to look at the boy who has reached the piano on his left. A small tug reaches the edge of his lip, and Jungkook reads the youthfulness in his eyes then—a playful urge under the steady layers.
“Play for me then, Jungkook.”
The baker presses his lips together and spins to face the instrument, lowering his head to hide the flush growing on his cheeks. He throws his bag off his shoulder to place it on the piano bench beside him and shuffles through the items inside, pulling out the few sheets of compositions he’d tucked at the bottom of the luggage he brought from his village.
“I-I actually have a few options for you, Your Highness. If you would like to go through them, I can—”
“Play your favourite.”
Jungkook freezes, nodding.
He settles a sheet of paper on the piano—the first one his eyes had fallen onto. “O-Okay. This one is called ‘Sweet Dahlia’.”
The prince hums, a low vibration.
“Why Dahlia?”
Jungkook may not have been prepared for this much talking but is happy to indulge in the prince’s curiosity. Plus, it is better than complete utter silence.
“Is it about a lover?” Taehyung inquires when Jungkook takes a second to respond.
And then takes another after fully intaking the gravelly tone as Taehyung mumbled lover.
“Um, no, actually. The composer had been quite fond of botany, and I believe he wanted to meld his two interests into one. He created this piece with the intent to physicalize the colours of Sweet Love: the pink dahlia.”
Taehyung nods. Before Jungkook goes to start the piece, he speaks up again, “And what is your interest, other than baking and music?”
Jungkook parts his lips, shuts them, his fingers hovering over the keys drop into his lap instead as he turns to the prince. The man watches him with a tilted head, still laid languidly back against his headboard with his arms crossed over one another.
“I actually don’t have an interest in baking.”
Taehyung scrunches into a frown.
“But... you are working in the kitchen sector.”
Jungkook shrugs. “I’ve never had a keen passion for it, but baking has always been one of my strong suits. I started it for work when I was younger and it just stuck with me, I suppose.”
“But you do not enjoy it.” Taehyung squints. “Have I also mistaken your enjoyment for music, then?”
Jungkook frantically shakes his head. “No! I love playing—and singing. I definitely do not mind doing so for you, Your Highness…” He closes his mouth before opening it again. “Baking, however… I enjoy that it pays best. And fast.” Jungkook stops there, spinning back to the piano with pursed lips. He does not want the prince to assume he is here to invoke pity in him for extra gold.
His nerves begin to bubble as Taehyung silently falls into thought, gazing into the distance.
“So, shall I play?” he blurts. The prince glances up, though instead of responding, he straightens against the headboard.
“Is there anything else?”
Jungkook blinks.
“Your interests,” Taehyung adds, “is there anything else you enjoy?”
His lips fall open, eyebrows scrunched in thought. Jungkook threads through some ideas in his mind until his face loosens upon one.
“Well,” he starts, growing coy as he dips his head, “I often walk by the fencing quarters. Where the classes are held? I, uh—I really like fencing.”
“Hm,” Taehyung nods, humming a deep rumble from his chest. Jungkook’s hands curl into fists at the sound, a heat aching in his lower stomach.
He needs a distraction.
“The piece, Your Highness?”
“Oh. Yes, my apologies. Please.” He gestures to the piano, so Jungkook bites down at his lip and settles into the playing position. His back straight, eyes on the composition labelled Sweet Dahlia.
With a deep sigh, Jungkook’s fingers find the keys again, and the feeling is just as lovely as the first time. He was hoping if the prince were to choose, he would choose this composition first.
It sounds pretty. Soft, like Taehyung prefers, and it traps Jungkook similarly. It threads into his insides, plucking at the cords of his veins as he breathes the music, just to exhale into a hum. It’s almost amusing how through their exchange, Jungkook thinks he might be receiving far more than he is giving. He just loves to play.
But he loves singing much more.
So, he begins to sing.
Starting with the lower tones, then raising with each note on the piano.
Taehyung has found his way over to stand to his right, possibly to hear his voice over the loud piano. Jungkook is far too gone to fluster under him. Music does well to calm his nerves. In fact, he even gazes upwards to allow himself to see the prince.
When he finds Taehyung’s eyes, he can’t seem to read them. The layers of emotion are thick over his demeanour. Kind, but silent about anything else, whether purposely or not.
Jungkook stops in between the verses to mumble, “Do you like it?”
“Yes,” he says, glancing between Jungkook’s eyes.
Jungkook slips into a smile, his chest warming. “I think it sounds pretty,” he whispers over the soft tunes, “exactly like a pink dahlia.”
Taehyung’s head tilts.
“I think it sounds like you.”
Jungkook inhales through his nose, exhaling with a soft smile and a nod, unable to sift through each hilt in the prince’s face with those gentle words.
The burning words, the soft glint in his eyes and the curl that lifts his lips much purer than his usual charming smile—as though it is hesitant to show but Taehyung could not stop it from appearing. As though it is trying to tell a different story than just kindness.
Oddly, Jungkook was thinking the same thing. That the song sounds like Taehyung, like how he makes him feel.
He finishes the piece, fingers a little numb as he pulls them away to tap them on his thighs.
“Thank you,” Taehyung says, though he does not move and does not look away.
Jungkook nods, going to stand.
“You—” the prince blurts, pressing his lips together right after as Jungkook pauses with wide eyes before him.
Why has the prince stopped himself from speaking?
He’s gone silent in between his words, but no one has interrupted him.
Jungkook feels a little shaken by their proximity, having to slightly peer upwards to meet his eyes from the difference in their height, but the discontinued sentence perplexes him.
It’s odd. Because Taehyung should know the whole kingdom would stop to hear him talk. And yet, he stands before Jungkook, hesitant and gaping.
“You... said you had more than one with you today, didn’t you?”
Jungkook nods, slowly.
“Do you mind playing one more?”
His heart speeds up, but he nods again, settling carefully back into the seat.
He wants him to stay.
“Are you awake for long, My Prince?”
Again, Jungkook is not the reason for the silence between them. Taehyung’s eyes flash with a billion somethings Jungkook is starting to learn to sift through as he examines them.
“I am.” His voice is gruff, he clears his throat. “I know you must have a schedule for tomorrow. I’ll have someone else take over for you.”
At that, Jungkook jerks up. “Oh, no, I can’t miss my shift, Your Highness. My deepest apologies, I—”
“Jungkook,” he starts, low with a tinge of amusement. “I will surely be paying you more for staying longer tonight. I am not here to steal your gold, just your time, if I may.”
“What? I—But those are my daily duties, Your Highness.”
“I have given you a new one.” Taehyung’s mouth lifts at a corner.
Jungkook blinks, thinking he imagined the subtle step closer.
“You said you have no interest in baking, and you love music. Should you really be working in the kitchen?”
The prince’s dark coils sway over his forehead as he speaks. Jungkook glimpses downward once as he wraps his large arms over his chest again.
“I—” The words get caught in Jungkook’s throat.
Mainly because the envisioning of Taehyung’s arm wrapping around his throat has suddenly surfaced and he shakes his head to rid the image.
“Great, it is settled then.”
It is the seventh night Jungkook has found himself in the prince’s chambers. And every day has felt less like real life than the other.
Jungkook thinks he might be going crazy because of the number of times he’s found the prince gazing at him with a newfound something in his eyes—one that he is too afraid to read. And how at times, Taehyung finds himself near Jungkook for no reason other than being closer to him as he sings. Watching him so softly as though he can feel the sounds as deeply as Jungkook can. As if it is not just himself rolling the notes over the piano, but Taehyung as well. Like they are sharing the music.
The alarming looks from the other servants in the palace haven’t gone unnoticed. They blanket Jungkook whenever the Captain of the Royal Guard summons him to the upper chambers, mainly shooting questioning glances when they see him spending time with the children in the garden or walking around the palace library, not doing any real work.
But it is clear that beyond the subtle looks, no one would dare to question him, for they would be questioning Taehyung’s authority directly.
So Jungkook would simply trail behind Sir Hoseok with a lowered head and reddened cheeks and it might not help their suspicion but Taehyung had simply laughed when it was mentioned, whispering, ‘Let the rumours flutter. I hardly mind if they believe I’m bedding someone as soft-hearted as you’ and Jungkook blushed until his ears went hot.
This time, Jungkook enters the large golden doors to find the prince seated at the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys.
“You know how to play?” he asks while slowly approaching.
Taehyung huffs, shaking his head.
“I wish. I was just experimenting. I truly enjoyed the first couple of notes you played in the song yesterday, I just couldn’t place which ones they were.”
“Would you like me to show you?”
He peers at the boy through his lashes, lips lifting. “If you don’t mind, little one.”
Jungkook nods with a fluttering heart. He trails over to his side and Taehyung shuffles over on the bench. Sitting hesitantly beside the prince, he shifts until their thighs are almost touching, and nearly loses all his breath when the prince scoots until they are touching.
“So, I know you placed one finger here, and the other one somewhere here.”
Jungkook immediately reaches forward to correct his placements, and before he can realize it, his hands are clutching the prince’s. Like a damn brute. He almost jerks back, until he realizes the prince hasn’t flinched, hasn’t moved an inch, just watching Jungkook’s movements carefully and awaiting his guide.
So Jungkook continues, ignoring the way his stomach clenches as the heat from their hands meld together. The prince’s hands are warm, and his fingers are longer than Jungkook’s, more slim. They are usually adorned by a few rings, but today he’s only wearing one. Jungkook’s favourite, with the swirly gold and a crystalline gem. He hopes the way he allows his fingertip to brush over the ring is more discreet than it seems.
“It’s this one here, and then your thumb goes—yes, like so.”
He gently puts pressure over Taehyung’s fingers and basks in the way the prince simply allows it. A lovely lather of notes spills from the piano and Taehyung’s eyes widen as though he’s seen magic, a pleased grin reaching his face.
As the notes die down, Jungkook goes to move away, but the prince twists one of his hands around to slowly link their fingers together.
The boy freezes, gaping at their intertwined hands. “T-That—”
“Your hands are soft,” the prince whispers, unfazed. As if their hands are not holding each other and Jungkook is not close to passing out on his floor. Somehow, his soothing voice calms Jungkook’s rapid heartbeat and he sighs shakily. His lashes flutter as his heart forms a soft, warm cocoon around itself, praying and wishing for this moment to never end.
“I spend too much time wielding a sword,” Taehyung says lowly, “mine have been soiled with scrapes and calluses. I had forgotten hands can feel this way too.”
“They are warm,” Jungkook says, boldly raising his other hand to hold Taehyung’s between both of his. He peeks at Taehyung who is gazing at their hands with a small smile. It makes his stomach flip.
“Not usually. But I’ve been feeling very warm since you’ve been coming up. Sticky hands and a red face, I feel like I’m in my youth again.” His words trail off with a deep chuckle.
Jungkook exhales sharply.
He tries not to overwhelm himself with the prince’s subtle confession. Nearly breaks apart when their eyes meet.
“Okay,” Jungkook breathes, dismissing the statement like a fool. Or simply because accepting the words’ existence is terrifying. “Shall I play then?”
Taehyung leans forward, and Jungkook nearly blanks out.
But he stops a mere centimetre from his face, puffing a breath across his lips while draping him with a heavy gaze.
“Play for me, little one.”
Jungkook plays for him, and he sings, and he looks taken aback as Taehyung’s fingers fall to his chin to lift it.
Standing at Jungkook’s side now, he peers down at him as the boy’s mouth breathes a sweet love song about yearning and Taehyung likes that it’s being sung while looking at him.
The fingers on Jungkook’s chin become a hand cupping his jaw, then raising to trail softly through his hair and tucking the stray strands behind his ear. Jungkook has stopped singing in between the gentle touches and his eyes have fallen shut, his hands working almost subconsciously at the keys.
But Taehyung’s eyes are drawn to his lips. How they are parted slightly, reddish pink with how often he tugs at them with his teeth. And he holds back from dropping onto his knees and begging for a kiss. That is until Jungkook’s pretty doe eyes flutter open and twinkle with the same sort of want that has surged within, dragging him down to Jungkook’s mouth—but only to hover there.
Taehyung whispers over them, thumbing at the plump bottom lip.
“So lovely.”
Like a siren, he does not say.
Because he has already said so much. And yet Jungkook blinks up at him like he wants to hear more.
“So pretty,” he continues, doesn’t specify what he is referring to but Jungkook shifts, his tongue licking at his gaping lips and Taehyung begins to ponder how terrible it would be if he took Jungkook to his bed right now.
“Your Highness,” the boy breathes, jaw dropping a small bit as Taehyung continues playing with his bottom lip. Really, how terrible would it be?
“I shouldn’t keep you long,” he mutters with the smallest semblance he has left in him.
Jungkook shivers when he lets go and steps away.
“I’ll see you again tomorrow, little one.”
His smile is playful, and maybe a little rude because Jungkook is very clearly shaded in a beautiful rosy colour from head to toe and is struggling with gathering his things with trembling fingers.
The poor boy doesn’t look up once. Just grazes his shoulder over the prince’s chest as he brushes past him to leave the room, casually. Taehyung bites down as the corners of his mouth rise.
It has been a few weeks since Jungkook started his new duties.
It’s the middle of the day, the birds are chirping and the palace is lively and raucous, and Jungkook is summoned to the prince’s chambers. Not by Hoseok, but by another guard who bows at him when he approaches, making him reel back.
It’s concerning how differently the Royal Guards have been treating him since he’s been spending time with the prince. If he cared enough, he would confront them with his chin jutted high. At least there’s been chatter of the Royal Guards changing their behaviour since Taehyung has been not-so-kindly correcting them.
Jungkook sighs dreamily as he’s escorted to the prince’s room.
It isn’t unusual to be called upon so early in the day. Taehyung had already decided in the second week that they should not see each other only when the day was done, but whenever he or Taehyung might need to. He presumes it might just be an excuse since every time they meet up, the prince spends a good chunk of their time on useless chatter and subtle touches before Jungkook can actually set up to play the music. It is as endearing as it is heart-toppling, sometimes Jungkook is too flustered to even play properly.
Now that he’s working not only as the prince’s Side— as Taehyung had insisted he should say when Jungkook had called himself a mere entertainer—but also as a fencing instructor for the maids’ children as well as the children of nobles, Jungkook has had plenty to do around the palace.
He doesn’t spend most of his time longing to see his parents anymore. When he does see them, he has much more to share than just the baking. He blushes and hides his face when his mother teases him about the prince. His father is mostly surprised. He lived many years under the rule of Taehyung’s father who wouldn’t even spit in the direction of a servant in his castle, let alone wish to spend time with one—and Jungkook would blush at this anew.
But it’s exciting, above all else. This new kindle of fire between him and the prince. If he is not incredibly delirious and just imagining the whole thing, of course.
The room is empty when he enters this time.
Jungkook searches around, walking over to the prince’s shower area to perhaps hear the water running behind the doors, then flusters at where his own thoughts have trailed to.
He checks the balcony to find nothing. Even checks the storage room where Taehyung keeps all of his scrolls and contracts and other princely clutter, but to no avail.
Eventually, he gives up and seats himself on the mattress. It creaks under his weight.
Jungkook looks over his shoulder at the silk sheets, eyeing the soft-looking pillows and heavy comforter.
He leans down to nose at the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep breath—and it is simply to check if they need to be washed. And when he lies down and curls into the silk, it is only to examine them properly. They should be as comfortable as the prince deserves.
And oh god how they are. So clean and so soft. And they smell exactly like the prince. A faint honeydew. Jungkook purrs, sprawling out over the mattress and laying back on the pillow, feeling like he could just inevitably melt into the plush cushion.
“Comfy, isn’t it?”
Jungkook flies upward, a horrified squeal escaping his lips as Taehyung comes into view. Until he loses it completely, being tugged on his back again by something warm encasing his ankle.
His back hits the cushion with a thud and he wheezes when the prince’s face appears in his view again, a faint heat settled between his legs.
“Don’t stand, aren’t you tired?”
Jungkook’s face blows red at the curl of Taehyung’s gorgeous lip, a bit of laughter to his tone.
“I-I’m so sorry. I won’t—”
“It’s just a bed, Jungkook,” the prince chuckles, “I’m sure I’ll live if I find your scent in my sleep. I might just sleep better that way.”
A grumble falls out of him, embarrassed hands covering his burning face also to shield him from Taehyung’s heavy gaze, now dripping down to where he is still trapped underneath him.
The prince’s fingers are gentle at his wrists, tugging them apart to reveal him. To Jungkook’s surprise, he does not tease. Simply smiles like he is absorbing every dip in his expression.
“You look pretty today.”
Jungkook huffs, stomach gurgling as it clenches. “You say that every day.”
Taehyung barks out a laugh. “I guess I should do better with my compliments then, shouldn’t I? I apologize, I’m not the best at courting. I’ve never done it before.”
The world flashes bright.
Jungkook’s hands clutch at the sheets, his heartbeat pulsing in his mind quickly as he scans Taehyung’s face for anything that might say I was joking, though it does not. Instead, the prince’s fingers dance intimately at his cheekbone, his eyes carrying a special glow.
“Courting?” Jungkook whispers.
“Yes,” Taehyung says. As though it is the most simple thing in the world. “I’m not sure how it’s done, to be honest. I should confer with Hoseok.”
“Your Highness—”
“Jungkook,” he interrupts with an unserious warning, “I asked something of you, didn’t I?”
The boy gulps, nodding.
“Taehyung,” he breathes, the name feeling heavy on his tongue, though light and warm at the same time.
Something flashes in the prince’s eyes.
He leans down, and Jungkook’s breath hitches when he noses delicately at his cheek. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed until now.”
The boy’s hands fly up to grip the prince’s shoulders. He shakes his head, fluttering his lashes that are subtly growing wet at every brush of Taehyung’s nose against his skin.
“Oh, little one,” he rasps, mouth under his ear. “What am I to do with you?”
A soft noise comes out between Jungkook’s breaths, the white mesh under the roof of the bed blurring into nothingness. Taehyung’s mouth finds a path down his throat to which Jungkook rests his head back and gulps.
“Shall I start here? When you’ve found such a comfortable purchase on my bed. Laid out on it like I’ve placed you here myself. Like it’s also yours.”
The warmth in his gut threatens to dance lower.
“Taehyung,” he whispers, cupping the man’s neck to pull him up. The prince follows, his eyes swimming with heat. “I… would like you to keep courting me. Please.”
Taehyung’s mouth lifts, and he reads it easily as an endearment. He often cradles Jungkook softly after smiling like this, so the boy expects it when his fingers find his waist, curling tightly.
“I will,” he assures. “Will you accept it?”
Yes, oh god yes. Yes yes yes. Please, yes. I would rather die than—
“I will.”
Taehyung’s smile grazes over the sensitive spot behind his ear. He lifts, instead placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.
“Come then, let’s have you sing something for me.”
When Jungkook sings this time, Taehyung is seated on the bench, one leg thrown over the other side to face him entirely, elbow perched on the piano with a palm under his chin.
His other hand is holding the boy’s thigh gently as he sings, thumb swiping over the loose pants occasionally. It wavers the singing by a little—making it sound more raw and quivery. And when Taehyung squeezes, he is just glad that it is when he is taking a breath.
“May I enter, little one?”
Jungkook grins, his chest warming.
“Yes,” he calls, shutting the book on his lap. As Taehyung enters his room, he slips off his windowsill and sets the book aside. “You, of all people, do not need to ask to come into my room. Not with how many times I’ve entered yours.”
The prince merely grins at that, peering over his shoulder to nod at Hoseok who carefully shuts the door. “Well, I wouldn’t want to catch you in the middle of something.”
Jungkook almost bows after Taehyung, his heartbeat pattering in his chest at the sight of the Prince of Seraph bowing for him —but then remembers how the last time he bowed, Taehyung lowered himself to one knee until Jungkook choked, stood up and wrapped an arm around him to say, “ If the prince is courting you, you mustn’t bow for him. I am the one at your feet every day, begging you to accept. You are above me. ”
He melts into Taehyung’s sweet embrace, chuckling when he hears the prince inhaling his hair as manically as Jungkook did while sprawled on his mattress that one day. Taking it in like he can’t bear a second without it.
“You smell so lovely, little one. What do I do? How could I turn you into a fragrant oil for me to wear all the time?”
The boy throws his head back in laughter, a blush painting high on his cheeks. Taehyung watches him with a gleam in his eyes.
“You are worsening with your compliments.”
“Ah, truly? Shall I shower you with something else, then?”
He peppers kisses all around Jungkook’s face until the boy is pushing at his chest and huffing out uncontrollable laughter. He ends with a cute kiss on the tip of his nose, and Jungkook settles with a giddiness in his chest.
“Did you receive my flowers?” Taehyung asks, though his eyes are riddled with a playfulness that makes the boy’s eyes roll because said flowers are right there, placed beside the heaps of others in decorated vases, which were also gifted from the prince.
“Yes, and every other gift you’ve sent me. You know, you have no reason to—”
“Shh. It wouldn’t fare well if the kingdom saw I wasn’t gifting my beloved with the most exquisite presents, now would it?”
Jungkook pouts and pushes himself entirely off Taehyung’s front, his arms crossing. “So it's just for the kingdom, then?”
Taehyung pulls him back frantically by the waist, not wasting a second to fall for his trap and coddle him, “No, no—of course not, darling.” A hand comes up to cup his cheek. “It is all for you. Just for you.”
Jungkook grins, happy that his plan to be called another sweet pet name has succeeded. Quite easily, if he thinks about it enough. And then it registers to him how hopelessly romantic the prince is, surprisingly much more than himself.
He still often thinks he is in some dreamy wonderland. Taehyung’s touch anywhere on his skin helps ground him back to reality, and sometimes the simmering heaviness behind his words.
“I brought something for you.”
“Did you?” he asks, tone dripping with sarcasm, giggling when Taehyung huffs.
“Of course I did. Let me unpack it.”
The prince walks over to the door, grabbing the small paper bag he placed there after walking in. Jungkook tilts his head as Taehyung peeks inside, then gazes over his shoulder to look at the boy, his eyes suddenly hooded.
“Gonna need you without a shirt.”
Jungkook blinks.
He flutters his lashes open when the main piece is fully draped over his bare shoulders. Looking at himself in the mirror, his jaw promptly drops open.
It's delicate, but large. It covers the height of Jungkook’s shoulders, glinting over his bare chest and dripping like an opaque gloss of ribbons down his upper arms. A large crystal is settled between his pecs, and Jungkook’s eyes swell up at the familiarity of it—how it matches the ring on the finger that has dipped into the crevice between his collarbones.
Taehyung’s hands are stuck to him, pulling at a string of jewels to twist into place, adjusting the piece until it fits perfectly, all while pressing a pleased smile at the shell of his ear. “God, Jungkook.”
The prince’s fingertips trail up his arms and Jungkook shivers when they stop at his shoulders to splay over the jewelry, one hand snaking to the neckpiece that he deftly tugs at.
A groan feathers against his ear.
“Look at you. So pretty in diamonds. You were born to be royal, weren’t you?”
Jungkook’s breath hitches. He doesn’t know how to respond.
But the prince is right.
He looks so pretty in the diamonds that Taehyung got him.
The boy straightens tautly with a hand rising to grasp the crystal on his chest, a lip curling upward. He sees the light reflecting from the jewellery and into his eyes, a glittery shine that makes galaxies erupt in his iris’.
Jungkook sees worlds placed on his shoulders, rivers and oceans trickling down his arms and long, slim fingers dipping into the waters to keep them calm.
Oh yes, he could get used to this sight.
Taehyung’s eyelids lower, darkness hovering over his gaze as he rolls it up and down Jungkook’s bare form. He sees the shift. How Jungkook does not fluster or blush under the scrutiny anymore, instead, he basks in it, meeting the prince’s eyes through the mirror with a smile on his lips and a tilt of his head.
It urges the prince closer, and the step he takes has his front pressing against Jungkook’s back. The boy breathes and lays his head back when Taehyung’s hands inch for spots he hasn’t touched. The ministrations continue in gentle caresses, smoothing their way to Jungkook’s bare waist to hold there, thumbs pressing into the little dimples in his back until he’s shuddering.
“I lose my mind in your presence, Jungkook. I can’t breathe when you are not near. And yet, you take my breath away every second I am with you.”
Taehyung presses the words against his ear, hot and curdling with a deep baritone.
Jungkook simply hums, unable to speak as the prince kisses at the corner of his jaw, lifting an arm to curl around Taehyung’s neck as he continues kissing down the column of his own, all while his chest heaves with this everlasting pressure that feels so so good.
Hands drop to his hips, pulling back gently to press at Taehyung’s with intent, and the boy mewls softly.
“Do you accept my courtship, darling?”
Jungkook turns his head to face him, lips brushing over each other.
How could he ever deny?
“Yes, My Prince.”
Taehyung kisses him.
Jungkook is laid back against his bed, naked back touching the sheets as they had plucked the jewelled piece off of his skin and placed it gently back in its box.
His fingers cradle the prince’s hair as his mouth is kissed open. A handful of groans tumble between their lips, and Jungkook thinks he might end up taking Taehyung’s words seriously when he says Jungkook takes his breath away.
Because he does not want their lips to part for even a second, so much so that even Jungkook’s lungs are screaming for air.
Eventually, between each wet, sloppy, passionate mould of their mouths, Taehyung pulls off all of Jungkook’s clothing and leaves him entirely bare. Only after he’s kissed every inch of his pale skin, wet and soft until he’s shaking in his hold, does Taehyung pull off his own clothing, his eyes trained on Jungkook who’s palming at his weeping erection already.
“ Mm, Tae—”
The prince quiets his desperate mewl with another kiss, waving his hand off his cock and grunting when their erections brush together.
He presses another to his lips before whispering gently, “Can I take you like this, pretty? Or would you like it on your hands and knees?”
Jungkook’s stomach curls at the idea of being on his knees, but perhaps for another time. Now, he just wants to see Taehyung and every curve to his face when he’s fucking into him.
“Like this,” he responds, spreading his legs wide for the prince to crawl closer. “I want you in me like this.”
“God. Okay, yes. Do you have any oils?”
Jungkook points to his table, face burning when Taehyung’s eyebrow lifts.
“How scandalous, little one. Do you touch yourself in the palace? With people walking around right outside your door?”
“N-No, that—” he hesitates, and the prince softly laughs at his embarrassment, right over his earlobe.
“It’s all your fault,” Jungkook exclaims, a little loose-headed because he is wet and hard and Taehyung is sitting on his heels while lathering his fingers with oil and oh god he’s about to get fingered by the handsome prince.
“My fault?” Taehyung’s head tilts, a hand curling under Jungkook’s thigh to gently spread it. His eyes fall between the boy’s legs, and Jungkook bites his lip at the way he dazes a little at the sight.
“Did I help with your orgasm, darling?”
Jungkook sputters, throwing an arm over his face. “Ugh, you can’t just—” his words taper off into a moan as an oiled finger begins sliding over his rim.
His upper thigh presses against his chest to keep him spread as Taehyung rolls his pad over his perineum, dragging it downward to dip the whole finger in immediately, watching intently as Jungkook’s chest inflates the deeper he pushes.
“Yeah,” he smiles, “you’re just lovely everywhere.”
Taehyung begins pumping, a languid slide of in and out. A sizzle trickles in his stomach and Jungkook muffles a moan over his arm, throwing his other hand to the sheets to twist them into his palm. The prince etches with a dark smile when he hears a hiccup.
“So smooth in here, Jungkook… feels like butter.”
He slips another finger inside, teasing with just the first knuckle before sinking it in beside the first. It burns for half a second before Jungkook’s mouth tumbles with another lewd moan, legs trembling.
“Is this what you think about when you touch yourself? My fingers inside of you? Or is it something else you imagine…” he leans over, pulling Jungkook’s arm off of his flushed face to breathe over his lips, “because I think of something very specific when I'm getting off to the thought of you.”
“ God, T-Taehyung, please more—“
“Shh, can’t I enjoy you, darling?” Two fingers become three in the blink of an eye, and Taehyung drags out each digit while rubbing at his smooth insides, aiming for a certain spot. He curls upwards once, and Jungkook sees white.
“Nng- Oh, please, Taehyung, please please gonna come—” Jungkook’s hands flail over the sheets and only when he’s frantically reaching for his red tip does Taehyung stop massaging his prostate. He pulls out his fingers, gently curling Jungkook’s wrist with a dry hand and a quiet tsk.
He kisses the inside, lathering Jungkook with the kind of lovesick eyes that root him in place and make his chest feel heavy. “Royalty should not tire themselves, my love.”
His eyes prickle, doe-y and wide.
The prince hooks Jungkook’s arm around his neck and leans close enough to kiss him sweetly, all open-mouthed and deep, and he nearly cries out when Taehyung’s long fingers slowly dip back in, his back shuddering when he bends them and tugs at his hole. “Hm, think you’re loose enough now.”
It’s heavier than in his dreams. Larger, thicker at the base, and slightly curved up. And Jungkook feels every damn inch of it as though it is tearing him open in the loveliest, filthiest of ways that make him drool ineloquently.
Jungkook’s dreams were just that, dream-like, though he never expected to feel this much emotion while being fucked by the prince. He’d always perfectly imagined the roughness, his hands fitting his waist and pulling him down on Taehyung’s cock with every thrust.
Though he never imagined the prince would gaze down at him with this much lust and desire.
It makes his head throw back and his legs quiver where they wrap around his middle tightly. Taehyung somehow digs himself deeper into Jungkook’s insides when he bends over, their chests meeting. Harsh tingles rise in the dip of his neck before a wetness licks over it, causing his little cock to jerk up.
Taehyung chuckles lowly against the hollow of his throat, tilting his hips upwards once to have Jungkook mewling when his prostate is rammed against again. Oiled hand finds his throbbing cock and circles around it. He flicks at it so shallowly that Jungkook can only squirm in place, only to be roughly pinned down by another deep thrust.
“S-So heavy n’deep, Tae… oh.” His arms wrap tightly around Taehyung’s neck.
“Yeah? You feel good, my darling?”
Jungkook nods, biting down. Though it isn’t just his stomach that coils with warmth steadily, but also this heavy feeling in his chest. He doesn’t know how to voice it, so he just grasps at any part of the prince he can find, shoving his face deep into his neck as their bodies melt together.
“ God, you’re so beautiful, Jungkook,” he rasps at his ear with a curt drag of his hips and another flick to his wrist, and Jungkook feels something curdling low in his gut. “So perfect. Sound so pretty, just like when you sing for me.”
He must feel Jungkook’s nails scraping at his back as he gently coerces their fingers to slip together, placing their hands on each side of Jungkook’s head and kissing him again, drawing every tension away from his body while fucking his thick cock in and out.
A certain thrust has his stomach rolling, his back arching. Whiny, needy whimpers fall from him while he struggles against the hands pinned by his head, a series of begs dripping off his tongue right after, and Taehyung reads every detail.
“Let go, love.” He nibbles his throat. “Come for me.”
Jungkook’s eyes disappear behind his head as Taehyung fucks the orgasm out of him. It isn’t a calm one, nothing like the sweet words the prince feeds him through it, but it is so utterly perfect that he cares so little about how loud he is or the amount of cum that’s dripping down his twitching cock. When his back falls against the mattress, it feels as though the world has turned upside down, little spots of white flickering in his vision.
Not long after, Taehyung follows with little grunts under his breath as he spills into him. Jungkook grins, mind all floaty when he feels a drop cum slither down his cheek, shuddering as Taehyung shoves forward once more to push the dribbles back inside before pulling out entirely.
He falls beside Jungkook. Despite being tired, he tugs at the boy to urge him close, grumbling lowly, “Come here, little one.”
Jungkook happily shuffles right into the prince’s arms. Eyes slowly falling shut and heart growing thrice its size, he listens to his steady heartbeat before slipping into a slumber.
The shiny rock had glinted at him. Like it was winking from afar.
Its band was a lovely golden, engraved and swirly, topped with the finest, most sparkly gem that Jungkook has ever seen.
It was an engagement ring.
He knows he shouldn’t have looked over at Taehyung’s side, especially since he was tucking all of his belongings into his pockets so discretely. Curiosity got the better of him and now Jungkook is stuck trying to explain to Taehyung that he is simply content about their first time and isn’t crying because he did anything wrong.
“I promise,” Jungkook raises his hand and kisses it gently, laughing wetly as Taehyung’s face grows horrified at the second spill of tears.
“Are you sure?”
“You’ve made me repeat it plenty of times now, my love, what more do you—” Jungkook blinks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Taehyung seems to be beaming, his entire demeanour has changed from worried to brimmingly excited. He wipes Jungkook’s tears and pulls him into his arms, shoving his nose into the boy’s hair.
“Your love, you said?”
Jungkook blushes, a small smile growing as he nods, tugging at Taehyung’s sleeves. “You said it first. I thought it only fair to reciprocate.”
“Yeah? Is that all?”
After a short moment, Jungkook shakes his head. Taehyung falls into a tumble of laughter that makes him burn a deeper red.
“My sweet boy…” He kisses the crown of his head, lips hovering there. Jungkook wonders, as his hands trail through the soft knots in his hair, if he is also envisioning what a large golden headpiece would look placed right atop.
“When I finally become king,” he whispers, a dark depth in his words.
“I cannot wait to give you all that you deserve.”
He pulls back, his fingers finding the boy’s chin to lift it. A deep, anchoring promise glimmers behind the pools in his eyes as he gazes down at him. Jungkook nearly drowns in them.
“Starting with your throne.”
He smiles.
Taehyung kisses it.
