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There are many things that Yoongi dislikes from his job. There are many things that he resents from being the king of his tiny world.
For instance, he never gets enough rest. His life is a repetitive game. He is always moving in circles, moving in synchrony with those European clocks that some merchants bring from abroad. He must wake up at 5 am every day. He goes to bed at 11 pm, regardless of the state of his mind and the number of stars shining in the sky.
It’s tedious work, what he does while awake.
Listening to his advisors, the council, anybody in a position of power, makes the king’s head pulsate like a beating drum. It drives him insane. And he must do that every day. He never gets to catch his breath.
Being stuck in a room filled with screaming men isn’t what Yoongi imagined the life of a king to be as a clueless child. Life is like that, he learned as soon as he ascended to the throne. Life isn’t the picture that children (with their never-ending supply of imagination) paint throughout their short-lived youth. To live is tough. To live is something not all achieve, not even someone as powerful as him.
Yoongi yawns. He’s back in his room, in the sleeping residence close to the main palace, after an eternal day at work. It’s quiet in here, away from those shouts, away from those men who will never agree on anything. Yoongi pretends he doesn’t care about the affairs discussed there, back in the main palace. He acts unbothered, unamused, in these sessions, which are worse than any family reunion. He sits on his throne, eyes unfocused and ears buzzing. A sword’s blade usually rests on his hands, applying pressure but never betraying his firm palms. Sometimes, Yoongi feels tempted to order the execution of these incompetent men. It would bring some peace to this land, already threatening to collapse with every new war and famine that strikes.
But he doesn’t. He bites his tongue, pictures his secluded room, away from the loud tongues, and relaxes his heated mind. He knows he will snap like a twig under a horse’s hoof someday. When that day arrives, he will watch the palace burn along with this institution… and he will smile.
Yoongi doesn’t dislike his position in society. He’s quite grateful to the gods for allowing him to be born on top of silk sheets and imported gold. But he is just a man, just another mortal. He might be insane, definitely drained. And he has seen what this lifestyle does to those who are like him. If they aren’t assassinated, they become short-sighted, blinded by the brilliant light giving birth to this facade.
Yoongi's father used to be like that. Ruthless, thirsty for blood. He was always drunk. He died at the hands of his soldiers, betrayed by his men, one day before Yoongi's 17th birthday. He died in combat, stabbed with a weapon carrying the symbols of his kingdom. And, ever since, things haven't been the same.
Yoongi wonders if the sky has prepared a similar fate for him.
There’s no way to know. That is why he collects swords. That is why he has hidden them everywhere (in his chamber, throne room, studio)... Every single corner of his large home is covered. But he knows this isn’t enough. It'll never be enough. He might be agile and fast, he might be as fearless as a tiger living in the glazed mountains of a faraway land. But the enemy always finds ways to get close, like the best hunter, unheard. Yoongi, over the years, has had no choice but to find alternatives as a result.
One of those now speaks outside his door.
“Jeonha,” a soft voice calls for him, a shadow against the fragile walls around Yoongi. It doesn’t take him long to slide the door open, revealing a young man with large eyes and pink lips behind it. He bows, once, before meeting the king’s eyes.
He’s wearing the clothes of a common servant, nothing extravagant or flamboyant. It’s something that allows him to blend with the walls and the night. A magic cloak that makes him invisible.
It's not a usual sight, what stands in front of him. Traditionally, servants tend to be women, while men are thrown into the military or forced to become scholars. Yoongi isn't sure why this is the order of things. He has seen the young women in this palace fight each other for countless reasons in the past. They would easily take down his army of egocentric men...
"Jeongguk," the king says his name, an enormous weight being lifted from his shoulders and chest.
He made Jeongguk, the man with large eyes and a sweet smile, his servant not long after he claimed the throne. They’ve known each other since they were small. Jeongguk is the son of one of the most important and respected officers in this land. However, not many, none outside his clan, know about him. He has been kept in the shadows, as a secret, for both his protection and for the continuation of his father's legacy. The siblings that were born before him, but who he never got the opportunity to meet, were the victims of personal and political conflict. They were eliminated before any could turn five, forcing the Jeon clan to hide their last hope among the stars.
Because of this, Jeongguk was raised to be a soldier in disguise. He lived in the palace, with the warriors that perished in the last war led by Yoongi’s father, rather than with his family as a young child. He’s the person Yoongi trusts the most in the entire world, having spent almost all of his life playing with the young boy. He is Yoongi's only friend. One that has a special place in the king’s heart, as much as he does in his bed.
"Jeonha," Jeongguk repeats, stepping closer to him, not before making sure it's only the two of them here.
The other servants must be tending to the Queen's needs, who demands a minimum of eight court ladies to always keep her company. Yoongi isn’t sure why she needs so many pairs of eyes and hands on her at all times. He doesn’t question her, however. As long as she’s content, he’ll always respect her wishes. Their marriage could have been driven by a political truce between kingdoms, but Yoongi still cares for her, to some extent. She seems to feel the same way.
“I've drawn you a bath,” Jeongguk says, softly, letting his fingers trace the shape of Yoongi's arms. Yoongi lets him, staring at the wall behind him. They have ears and eyes. They like to spy, "May I escort you to the bathroom?"
“You may,” the king nods, stealing a glance at Jeongguk before beginning to walk with him.
They don’t speak much and keep their eyes on the long and tall corridors leading to the bathroom. These are green and white, golden-wine. A few servants emerge from other rooms occasionally. All of them stop when they see the king. They freeze and bow when the monarch passes them by. But Yoongi ignores them, like he was taught to do as a child. He knows he’s disliked by his workers. He knows he's the main topic of heated and intense conversations taking place in between breaks. It doesn’t, particularly, bother him. The authoritative image, the version of him he shows to the world, is what is resented. Not him, at a personal level.
How could they, when they haven’t bothered to get to know him as a person?
When they reach the bathroom and the doors shut - these made of thicker material, less translucent too - Yoongi pulls Jeongguk close. The younger man laughs as their chests meet and the king buries his nose in his neck, breathing softly. It's the sound of trees dancing in the wind.
“Long day, Jeonha?” Jeongguk asks. His voice has the same texture as silk. It is as sweet as honey butter treats. Yoongi is tempted to bite him. But he refrains himself from doing so. People talk and tales spread like wildfire around this place. People communicate in whispers, in hisses, like vile snakes.
“Long day, my love,” Yoongi confirms, kissing the mole on his neck. It looks like a tiny raindrop. Yoongi adores it. Behind him, the bathtub (which was gifted to him by a European leader) emanates a floral odour, similar to plum blossoms. It lures the king. The scent reminds him of Jeongguk, “I’ve missed you all day.”
This makes Jeongguk smile. He reaches for the cloth-band wrapped around Yoongi’s head and unties it with ease. It falls from his hand. He allows it to faint and rest on the floor before paying attention to the hanbok dressing the monarch. It’s Jeongguk’s favourite, dark and gold. He likes how the colours contrast with the king’s fair skin. It makes him think of the moon gleaming in a cloudless evening.
“I missed you, too,” Jeongguk exhales, pushing the silk away from Yoongi’s shoulders, trying to get it off his body. But the king hugs him tighter, kissing one of Jeongguk's collarbones, protesting. Jeongguk laughs at that. In the end, he manages to convince the king to let him undress him, somehow.
When he’s completely bare, and Jeongguk has also been stripped off his cotton uniform, the two get inside the bathtub. It isn’t very large. It barely manages to fit one body. But they’ve worked with it in the past. If Jeongguk tries hard enough, if he sits on Yoongi’s lap and folds his legs like when he prays, the porcelain container will give in and cosily host the two men.
Yoongi doesn’t complain. He enjoys the intimacy, loves to feel Jeongguk’s weight on top of him. It’s comforting, grounding. A reminder that Yoongi, once the jewellery and gold are peeled off his body, is just another person trying to survive in this fierce world. No matter how many times he’s addressed as a king, Yoongi has never felt like a monarch around Jeongguk. He feels ordinary, not in an insulting manner, as some may think. He feels like a man, like a lover, someone worth loving. It’s everything he has ever wanted, more than luxuries or land.
After all these years, they have lost their charm, the light and lustrous gleam that first attracted him to this life as a foolish child. It doesn’t matter how richer he gets, it doesn’t matter how much territory he gains… Without Jeongguk, his life would be as empty as this overpopulated palace, filled with ghosts scared to be exiled. He would have a purpose, he would still have to govern this country. But he wouldn’t have a will to live, as dramatic as this statement may portray him. It would all be pointless without the man in his arms, without the man who reminds him of his mortality and doesn’t condemn him when he stumbles and falls.
“What are you thinking about?” Jeongguk asks as he undoes Yoongi’s topknot and watches the golden hair fall on his shoulders. The tips float on the surface of the perfumed water like a lotus flower.
No one knows why the king’s hair looks like this, the reason it’s so pale. Some believe he was blessed by the gods. Some say he was cursed by witches. Others believe he suffers from an illness that drains the colour from his body. But Jeongguk can confirm it’s not the latter. He has seen the king turn pink, darker shades of red. The long nights they’ve spent in bed should also serve as proof of his good health… Whatever the reason, Jeongguk loves the colour of his hair. He could pet it all day.
Yoongi watches him in silence as Jeongguk begins to pour water on his head with a vase. At the lack of response, Jeongguk tries again.
“Jeonha?”
Yoongi hums, exploring Jeongguk’s back. His muscles are defined, feel like a path made of pebbles under his hand. He’s strong, always training late at night, when no one can see and not even the owls will watch. Yoongi smiles.
“Thinking about you,” he says, meeting the younger’s eyes. They’re marvellous spheres, always glazed, always shiny. They look like crystals. The secrets of the night and whispers of the stars are trapped in that gaze Yoongi adores so much. He lifts his hand and gently traces the shape of Jeongguk’s face. He gets it wet, small droplets of water sticking to his skin like the remains of rain on the leaves of tall trees. The younger man does not complain, does not bother to dry himself. Instead, he lets these droplets slide down to his chin, and roll down his neck and chest, “You make me happy.”
Jeongguk smiles. He scrunches his nose while washing away the day’s stress from Yoongi's head. The delicate movement of his fingertips, the way they scratch his scalp without leaving a mark, makes Yoongi yawn. Relaxed.
“You also make me very happy,” Jeongguk murmurs against the elder’s skin. He places a kiss on his cheek. Yoongi sighs, content. Jeongguk begins to rinse his hair, “How were your meetings today?”
“The same as usual,” Yoongi grunts, feeling the younger's hands move down to his strained shoulders. He massages them with salts. Yoongi thanks him with kisses, placing them on his chest. They make Jeongguk smile, "I'm going to kill my advisors someday."
Jeongguk chuckles, kissing Yoongi's cheek in return.
"Please do. I'm tired of them treating me like a street-dog whenever they see me around the palace."
"They're idiots," Yoongi shakes his head and continues to kiss Jeongguk's chest, trying to remain calm. They've always made fun of the young man, who they believe is nothing more but a working-class servant. If it weren't for his and Jeongguk's safety, Yoongi would have sliced their necks in half already.
"They are," Jeongguk sighs, pausing a second to hug the king. He rests his chin on his head, feeling the warmth of Yoongi's face against his chest. He closes his eyes. A smile begins to stretch his mouth at a memory that sprouts in his mind "But it's okay. I get to spit on their food before it gets served... My revenge might be small right now, but they'll pay a higher price in the future."
Yoongi laughs. It resonates in Jeongguk's bones, filling him with joy and love.
"I'm sure they will," the king says, looking up at Jeongguk as he extends his arm and wraps a hand around his nape. He starts to push him down, softly. Jeongguk doesn't object and lowers his face, letting the king speak against his lips, "But let's not waste time nor energy on these fools. Not right now."
Jeongguk giggles, his breath tickling the other's skin.
"What should we do instead, jeonha?"
Yoongi kisses him, then. It starts softly, like a kind greeting, like a bedtime story told under the gentle gleam of the moon by a rich and smooth voice. Yoongi tightens his grip on Jeongguk's body, hugging him so close breathing becomes a challenge.
In return, Jeongguk places his arms around the elder's necks. Their chests move together. They inhale the aroma floating in the room at the same time and sigh in sweet defeat, breath out, seconds later.
Jeongguk grows impatient at some point, always having been the most restless among the two. He begins to bite the king's lips, sucking on them as if they were a piece of dalgona sitting on his tongue, waiting to be dissolved. Yoongi doesn't comment on his eagerness, doesn't tease. Instead, he allows Jeongguk to part his lips and to take everything he needs. Their bodies burn. They're hotter than the water that is starting to grow cold.
Yoongi loves it, loves feeling Jeongguk this close. It’s comforting, safe. It's the feeling of being home.
When they break the kiss, the two men find themself clinging to one another. They pant, struggling to breathe in the saturated air. Yoongi smiles, running his hands over Jeongguk's thighs under the aromatic water.
“If anybody were to see you like this, they would think you haven’t been touched in years,” Yoongi says, permitting himself to tease a little. The younger punches his chest, weakly, “When, in fact, the reason we lost sleep last night was because of that.”
Jeongguk doesn’t fight the smile that takes over his face. His skin is red, cheeks pink and ears tinted like flaring sunsets. He smells like plums, feels as soft as the petals of an orchid and shines like the sea at noon. Yoongi smiles, gently. His heart runs like a horse in the meadow, free.
“It’s not my fault. How are you expecting me to resist someone like you?” Jeongguk asks, lips squished together in a pout. Yoongi laughs, shaking his head and bringing him back to his mouth. This kiss is shorter, sweeter and slower. It is a break, an opportunity to pause and unwind. It’s enough to make Jeongguk tremble.
“I know many who would resist me with no trouble,” Yoongi’s laughter is a breeze. The lively sounds contrast with the heaviness of the bold words that follow them, “I don’t understand how you can love someone like me.”
It's true. Yoongi doesn’t understand what Jeongguk could have possibly seen in him to convince him to give his whole heart to the king. Yoongi doesn’t think of himself as a good man. He’s cruel, cold. He’s arrogant and greedy. He doesn’t like to share what belongs to him. He doesn’t provide the people what they need. He dismisses complaints, prefers to turn a blind eye to the issues troubling the common man. Deep down, Yoongi doesn’t care about anybody, not even himself. Jeongguk is his only exception.
He isn’t good. And Jeongguk deserves more. He should have more.
But, for some reason, the young man refuses to let him go. He stays by his side, no matter the size or deadliness of the storms that often threaten Yoongi’s life. He stays every day. Even after all these years, he remains a mystery to Yoongi.
“The heart knows no prejudice. It doesn’t follow morality,” Jeongguk says, cupping Yoongi’s cheeks. They look into each other’s eyes, holes with no end, which could take them to foreign lands. Yoongi looks tired. Jeongguk looks a little sad. But they can bear the pain as long as both are alive, “You worry that I might have fallen for a killer, a bad leader. But I’m no better, jeonha. I’m a trained warrior. I’m the one who follows your orders, without ever questioning them. My sword is as stained as yours. And what is shameful is that I do not care. My only concern is to keep you safe.”
“I’ve turned you into this,” Yoongi says, weakly. He grabs a handful of salts - in a container close to him - and begins rubbing them on the younger’s body. Jeongguk sighs, shaking his head.
“I chose to become your defender,” he corrects the king, “You didn’t force me into anything. I swore to protect you because I’ve always wanted to. If anything, you’ve made me stronger, fearless,” he kisses him again, “And you aren’t as bad, as ruthless, as you claim to be. I know you get drunk every time you order the execution of your prisoners because you can’t bear seeing their lifeless heads hanging in the air.”
Yoongi sighs. No, he can’t. The image has haunted him since his early days on the throne. He isn’t sure why. But he has found that getting drunk helps. It keeps him sane. He drinks to cloud his mind with bitter dreams. It places a veil over the grotesque scenes, censors the bloody heads and mutes the phantasmic screams that remain in the air even after the punished have been beheaded.
“I’m still quite ruthless,” Yoongi says, burying his face in Jeongguk’s neck once again. Jeongguk touches his hair. It has started to dry.
“Not with me,” Jeongguk mutters. His words echo in this warm room. Not even the sound of the water breaking every time one of them moves silences his voice. Yoongi sighs. He would spend the rest of his days in Jeongguk’s embrace if he was given the option, “You’re as tender as a sheep when you’re with me.”
“I’m no sheep,” Yoongi mumbles, biting Jeongguk’s shoulder. The light pressure makes him giggle, “I’m a tiger.”
“Alright. You’re a kitten, then,” Jeongguk laughs at the perplexed expression on Yoongi’s face. He combs his hair with his fingers, before gently touching the long scar over his right eye. It falls vertically, almost like the mark of a tiger’s claw. It’s the only thing he has left of his father, a reminder of what hate can do to man… “You’re as harmless as a little cat in my arms. It’s adorable.”
“It is not.”
“It is” Jeongguk insists, kissing him again, and again, until the water grows colder and he forgets about time. Yoongi huffs, pretending to be annoyed. But he can’t lie to Jeongguk. The younger man looks through him with no trouble... It’s fascinating. It’s scary. But Yoongi has learned to embrace the tingling sensation this leaves on his skin with the years. Jeongguk laughs when it’s time to return to the king’s chamber. He leaves one last wet kiss on his lips, telling him, “We should go.”
Yoongi nods, once, delicately moving Jeongguk to the other end of the bathtub and getting out first. The younger man finishes scrubbing himself as Yoongi wraps a towel around his waist. He grabs an extra one from the pile waiting by the door. He, then, goes back to Jeongguk. He helps him up, wraps the fresh towel around his toned body with a hug, and kisses his cheek while smiling. Bright.
They get dressed quickly and quietly. Yoongi covers his fair skin with a fresh hanbok (reserved for nighttime). Jeongguk goes back to his uniform, exchanging a quick kiss with the king before opening the doors once again.
They return to Yoongi’s room. It’s a quarter to eleven when Jeongguk finds himself sitting on Yoongi’s bed. It’s made of wood, close to the floor. The curtains have already been drawn for the night, filtering the moonlight and gleam of the stars. The sky is clear tonight. The air is clean, pure, fresh. It’s the perfect evening to go on a walk in the royal gardens. But they don’t have that luxury.
Yoongi should go to sleep soon, like a child who follows a strict schedule at all times. After Jeongguk finishes drying his golden hair with the towel in his hands, he will tuck the king to bed and watch him until he arrives at the land of dreams. It’s been like this for years. Already a domestic routine, Yoongi would even dare to say.
"You know,” the king begins once Jeongguk has folded the towel and left it in a basket he will take with him in the morning. Yoongi turns around, facing the young soldier, "it’s not fair for only you to have a cute nickname for me.”
“Are you still thinking about that?” Jeongguk laughs, pushing Yoongi’s long hair behind his shoulders. Yoongi grins, mouth pink, as he wraps a hand around Jeongguk’s wrist and pulls him down with him. Jeongguk swallows a yelp, falling on top of the king’s chest and growing as red as a rose growing in a dessert.
“I am,” Yoongi yawns (like a cat, Jeongguk's mind adds). He caresses Jeongguk’s cheek with his thumb. He follows the line of his scar, the one embedded in the soft skin close to his eye. It's different from Yoongi's, not as deep, not as repulsive. Instead, it's small, almost invisible. He has asked Jeongguk about it in the past. But he doesn't seem to remember how he got it. It’s been with him for eternity, maybe even before he developed the ability to retain memories.
“You already address me as your lover,” Jeongguk says, rolling off Yoongi and settling next to him. The king moves, again, to face him. Their knees touch. Their hands intertwine. Jeongguk smiles, “I’m quite happy with that.”
“But I’m not satisfied,” Yoongi pouts, copying the expression that had taken over Jeongguk’s features some time ago. Jeongguk giggles, wrapping his legs and arms around his lover.
“Then, what would you like to call me, jeonha?”
Yoongi remains quiet for a few seconds. Before speaking out loud, his arm moves down to drape firmly around Jeongguk’s slim waist. Jeongguk looks at him through long and dark eyelashes. Yoongi tickles them with his breath before kissing the tip of his nose.
“I want you to be mine. I want to be tied to you by law,” the king says through a long exhale, not the first time. Nevertheless, Jeongguk’s heart begins to race. It booms inside his chest.
“You’re already married to our Queen,” Jeongguk reminds him, a playful smile on his lips. But his cheeks have started to burn like timber in a campfire. He feels warm under Yoongi’s hands. He always does, “You may have affairs, but you can only marry once.”
“You’re more than just an affair,” Yoongi says, quietly, “I hope you know that.”
The night is serene. No shouts can be heard outside. There is no sign of the training warriors, rain, or tragic ends. Jeongguk feels they might be heard if they dare to speak too loudly. He keeps his words small. Hush, he tells himself. Hush.
“I do.”
“Good,” the king loosens against Jeongguk. He smells like flowers, spring and joy. He smells just like Jeongguk, like the most delicate and precious form of life on Earth. Yoongi smiles, closing his eyes. Sleep begins to fog his mind, similar to the effects of alcohol. But the ride is smoother. The treatment is kinder. He opens them again when he feels Jeongguk’s fingers on his lips. He says, “If I could, I would make you my prince. My beloved little prince.”
Jeongguk smiles. Yoongi’s hands go to his face as well, to trace the shape of the features giving form to his ethereal looks. Sometimes, he struggles to accept the fact that Jeongguk is human. To Yoongi, he's much more.
“I like how that sounds,” Jeongguk says, erasing the gap between their bodies and resting his face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck. He wears the perfume of early summer’s dreams, “Please call me that.”
The room is dim, barely lit. It glows red and orange, soft candles lit. Jeongguk can see the shadow of a branch outside one of the windows, over Yoongi’s shoulder. It looks like an arm dancing in the wind. Jeongguk wonders when he will be able to see birds building nests on them. He snuggles against Yoongi's neck.
“Little prince?”
“Your little prince,” Jeongguk adds, timidly, kissing Yoongi’s shoulder.
“My little prince,” the king breathes out. Jeongguk hears him smile.
Jeongguk doesn’t like titles. He isn’t a fan of labels. But he wouldn’t mind being addressed as a prince if the term came from the elder. He lifts his hands, runs them over Yoongi’s back, and laughs as his lover repeats those words in his ears until they lose meaning and Jeongguk feels his bones melting like wax.
At some point, they start kissing again. Jeongguk has to tilt his head upwards, meeting Yoongi in a middle ground against the pillows and sheets spread on this bed, designed to only fit one of them. Throughout the years, Jeongguk has taken over most of these spaces. He has forced his large body to shrink, to adapt to the constricted gaps, to stay by the king’s side. Yoongi doesn’t take him for granted, always at awe by the extent Jeongguk would go to make him feel loved and safe.
Yoongi likes to return the favour. When they’re alone - hiding in these four walls - Yoongi reciprocates everything he has ever been given by the younger man. He delivers these through sighs, light pants in the middle of the night, when their sweaty bodies seek relief (release) and their hearts synchronise like the march of soldiers at war.
He likes to watch Jeongguk melt, to hold him down and take care of him for a change. His pleased cries, the way his whole body dusts red, is everything that Yoongi seeks every evening; when the world sleeps and secrets are allowed to be shared. He seeks Jeongguk’s happiness, his comfort and bliss. That’s everything he needs to satisfy the desires living in him.
“Yoongi,” Jeongguk whispers against the elder’s mouth, a shaky breath escaping his swollen lips, as he remembers something. They're as red as strawberries, as sweet as cherries. They’re pressed against each other, pretending to be one. It’s difficult to figure where one body ends and the other starts. Jeongguk looks at him with big eyes. They shine brighter than any of the golden items in Yoongi’s possession. They’re worth more than all of those dull treasures combined. They’re a little humid. Rain might be scheduled for tonight, “I must tell you something.”
“Do tell me,” Yoongi kisses his cheeks, speaks softly as he adjusts his grip on his hips. They dance against each other, temporarily alleviating the ache building in their stomachs. A fresh wave of sighs escapes Jeongguk’s dry throat.
“I saw someone at the market today,” the younger man says in between a groan and what sounds like a piercing cry. He closes his eyes, shaking with every new touch.
It’s part of Jeongguk’s job, to blend with the commoners and gain their trust. He does it to find possible threats lurking in the vicinity, waiting for the right time to attack. This has helped them escape death a few times. For some reason, they tend to discuss this while seeking pleasure at night. Multitasking, Jeongguk argues every time.
“Who?” Yoongi’s voice is soft, controlled. He strips Jeongguk off his uniform, once again, and places his lips on his chest. He sucks purple bruises on his healthy skin, tan and firm, where nobody will see.
“Not sure. I couldn’t see his face. He wore a banggat. It covered his eyes,” Jeongguk manages to say, biting his lip. He drowns a sob, breathing heavily, “I would have followed him but I bumped into Seokjin hyung and… ah... I lost him.”
Yoongi hums, now piercing Jeongguk’s shoulders with his teeth.
“Did he look suspicious?”
“He d-did,” Jeongguk moans, feeling himself being pushed to the edge. He squeezes his eyes shut, tightens his grip around Yoongi’s back. He swears under his breath. Yoongi laughs, softly, rubbing his body against Jeongguk’s with urgency. Still, not fast enough. Jeongguk mewls, quietly asking for more, “I… I, ah… I shall keep an eye on him.”
“I don’t doubt you will,” Yoongi grunts, kissing him again until their bodies relax and they bleed white all over the sheets. Jeongguk’s silent cries are swallowed by Yoongi, who caresses his hair as they sober up. His skin is the colour of a flaming sky, the type of colour he sees in foreign paintings and other crafts. It leaves Yoongi in awe.
Once they’ve calmed down, Yoongi brings Jeongguk even closer to him. This time, it's his face that rests against Yoongi’s chest. He unties Jeongguk’s hair, then, and runs his fingers through the dark locks as he begins to feel himself drifting away.
But he doesn't venture too far into the forest in his head. Jeongguk pulls him back before he gets the chance to get lost among the trees and dark spaces hiding in his brain.
“For tomorrow’s execution,” he mumbles, hugging Yoongi’s waist. His voice is thick with fatigue. The way he speaks makes him sound almost like an oracle. It makes Yoongi shiver, “Don’t get drunk. I have a feeling something will happen."
“You think that man could attempt something?” Yoongi asks, softly, understanding quickly. He nuzzles the top of Jeongguk’s head. Jeongguk yawns, quietly.
“Yes,” he mutters, looking up at Yoongi. His big troubled eyes plead silently. They're misty, greyish under the saturated lights of the night. They make Yoongi’s heart hurt, feel heavy between his lungs, “Please, jeonha?”
Yoongi doesn't possess the strength to go against his wishes.
“Anything for you,” he whispers, pecking Jeongguk’s lips one last time, “my little prince.”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk closes his eyes, hiding in the elder’s embrace. He has never felt safe elsewhere, always afraid to walk the Earth. It’s a big, cold place. There are many eyes, many weapons, in all corners, ready to fly and meet their targets in midair. There’s a reason hunters kill birds when they’re soaring in the skies. Jeongguk needs to be ready for any surprise. But he doesn’t feel the need to stay awake while resting in Yoongi’s arms. He feels safe here. It’s the only place in which he will ever feel at ease, “Rest well, my king.”
“You, too, my love.”
Yoongi should have had a long night. He should have been unable to rest with the thoughts devouring his head. But the body often surprises, often takes control over the mind. He manages to fall asleep with Jeongguk pressed against his face, already too used to these potential threats. He forgets about them, momentarily, and dreams of the day he'll be set free, like the birds that chirp somewhere in the branch of an old tree.
Like every night, Yoongi wonders if this one will be the last one he'll ever live. If it is, he's glad to be spending it with his little prince.