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Yoongi supposes it's fair consolation.
He was captured by the seraphim, sentenced to eternal damnation and doomed to rot forever in a cell in heaven, restrained within the very life of him by shackles and celestial seals that burn his skin and drain his demonic powers. But on the bright side, at least the prison warden is cute.
Jimin's angelic nature means he's all the more forbidden and all the more tempting, but it's going to take more than a few chains to stop Yoongi from seducing him.
The lock on his cell clangs shut with finality as Jimin slides into the room.
Yoongi barely raises his drooping head. “Do you mind? Some of us are trying to suffer in eternal damnation here.”
“Suffer after breakfast.” Jimin bounces forward with a tray of food in his hands. Although the iridescent glow around his body is dimmed by the cell’s obsidian walls, his smile is no less radiant. His alabaster wings are folded back to avoid the low ceiling and the forest of chains he has to squirm through to place down the food.
Yoongi looks at the tray in distaste and gives Jimin a look with equal contempt.
“You know I can’t eat this.”
“It’s not that you can’t,” Jimin says pointedly. “It’s that you don’t want to. You can’t expect sacrificial virgins or a newborn’s soul in heaven, hyung.”
Yoongi turns his nose away, aware he looks like a petulant child.
“Just eat a little, Yoongi-hyung. Please? You haven’t eaten anything since you got here; you must be hungry.”
Jimin’s right, although he doesn’t know it. The chains suspending Yoongi’s arms into the air are carving crescent-shaped scars into his wrists, the prisoner’s choker around his neck strains with every breath, and all around him, celestial seals burn sharply at his skin and keep him restrained even without the shackles.
When he realizes he can barely see Jimin through the mess of chains, Yoongi can’t help but think they overdid it a little.
He tilts his head down to find Jimin through the cracks, suppressing a smile when he sees the boy’s worried pout. Yoongi lets his eyes wander down to where Jimin’s linen clothes strain across his chest and his arms and those thighs—
“I’m not hungry for that.” Yoongi licks his lips and smirks. He flicks his gaze back to Jimin’s eyes, which brighten in realization. Finally, Yoongi thinks. They can get a move on this sexual tension—
“You don’t like this food, hyung? You should’ve said so! I’ll get something else—”
“Fuck, Park Jimin,” Yoongi groans in exasperation. “Just get over here.”
Jimin ducks around the maze and Yoongi stretches out a leg to kick the offensive tray of food to the side, ignoring Jimin’s cry of outrage. He moves his ankle to hook around Jimin’s calf once the boy is nearer, dragging him close and beckoning him down.
Yoongi presses his lips against Jimin’s ear. “I’m hungry for you,” he breathes.
Jimin scrambles back as if scalded, wings coming up to cover his body as his hands cover his face. With his furious blush reaching his neck, Yoongi thinks he’s adorable.
“I’m, um, just got called! Busy, hah, so busy, In the, uh, kitchen— no, arboretum. Have to make trees. Grow trees. Super busy,” Jimin stammers, backing away so quickly his wings are entangled in the chains. A few snowy feathers are snagged and rip off; Yoongi jerks worriedly against his binds, ready to scold Jimin’s carelessness.
“Stop running away so fast, fuck,” he scowls. “I’m not about to jump you while I’m chained to the wall.”
Jimin winces at the last words, turning even redder. “Running? No, I’m making trees.”
“Okay,” Yoongi quirks an eyebrow wryly. “Make lots of trees.”
He gets a curt nod in response. Jimin flails so wildly as he’s backing up he drops the cell key and catches another wing on the chains. Then he disappears through the door, leaving only a pile of white down and the reverberating slam of the lock.
“You still haven’t eaten, hyung?” Jimin ducks around the chains carefully with another tray in his hands.
Yoongi isn’t sure how much time has passed since Jimin’s last visited him, but he’s pretty sure more than a dozen people have come and gone with their trays as full as when they brought them.
His arms are limp from where they hang, head propped against the stone wall, breaths shallow and laboured. If he wasn’t starving before, he definitely is now. It’s not food he needs, no; he’s not nearly mortal enough for that. But angels have never known much about what demons need.
Yoongi drags his eyes open to look at Jimin who stands a measured distance away with the tray outstretched like a protective barrier.
“No,” Yoongi rasps. His eyes are hooded, sweat from exhaustion beading along his forehead, a flush of red dotting his cheeks from the heat of the seals still burning his skin. He smirks when Jimin flushes at the intensity of his gaze. “I’m starving,” Yoongi licks his lips.
He knows Jimin remembers what he said last time when the boy draws a rattling breath and darts his eyes away. “You should eat.”
Yoongi smirks. “Feed me.”
“What?” Jimin gapes, taking nervous steps back.
He rattles the shackles around his wrist. “I can’t move my arms,” Yoongi points out. “Did you just want me to stick my face in the plate?”
“Oh.” Jimin’s expression clears, relief and something else— disappointment?— replacing the uneasiness.
Jimin pulls the tray close and kneels in front of Yoongi. He takes the fork in his hand but Yoongi shakes his head.
“That’s iron, like these,” he nods to the chains again. “It’s going to burn my skin.”
“Oh,” Jimin frowns at the tray. “What should I do, then?”
“Use your fingers.”
Jimin flashes his eyes up and meets Yoongi’s unflinching gaze. With a trembling hand, he takes a piece of bread and holds it up.
Yoongi takes it between his teeth, holding Jimin’s stare with a predatory gaze before dropping it with to the bread. He tugs once. Twice. Jerks his head back and gnaws furiously.
Jimin bursts into laughter and yanks the bread back. There’s a furious battle of tug-of-war between Jimin’s hand and Yoongi’s teeth until a piece rips off.
“Fuck, what’s this made of?” Yoongi grouses as he chews. “Boiled leather? It tastes like the bottom of my shoe.”
Jimin’s still giggling as he considerately rips the bread into bite-sized pieces. “Until you started chewing, you looked so—” He freezes, blushing spreading up from his neck, and begins shredding the bread with even more ferocity.
“Looked so?” Yoongi prompts teasingly.
Jimin shoves a piece into Yoongi’s mouth. “Looked so stupid!” he retorts. “Shut up, just eat.”
“I can’t,” Yoongi mumbles with his mouth stuffed full. “My mouth was made for virgins, not leather.”
Jimin appears to have turned permanently red at this point; Yoongi’s starting to worry he won’t ever revert to his normal colour. He isn’t even deigned a response as Jimin elects to stuff bread into his own mouth instead.
“I’m kidding, Jimin,” Yoongi sighs, taking pity on the boy. “Don’t look so scandalized.”
Jimin lowers the bread he’s been furiously forcing into his cheeks and struggles to swallow. He hesitates, asking, “Is it true, though? The virgins and the souls? Demons really eat those?”
“Not eat, exactly, and we’re not that picky, but yes. It feeds our life force.”
“And if you don’t feed on it?”
“We die,” Yoongi shrugs.
Jimin shudders visibly. “But if you’re not picky, this food—”
“We feed off the seven sins,” Yoongi explains, pausing for more bread. “Any action that fits to corrupt any partner, mortal or otherwise. There’s greed, and envy, and sloth. Wrath, and pride. And lust,,” he whispers seductively, taking care to brush his lips over Jimin’s fingers as he’s fed another piece.
Jimin’s eyes follow Yoongi’s lips as he pulls back, stunned into stillness, pupils dilated over his flushed cheeks.
Yoongi’s eyes are hooded as he takes another piece from Jimin, more daring this time and stretching farther. He wraps his lips around Jimin’s fingertips and sucks, curling his tongue around the digit and giving a quiet moan.
“Suddenly it doesn’t taste too bad,” Yoongi smirks, pulling back and licking his lips.
Jimin’s hand is still outstretched; he’s staring at his wet fingers as if entranced.
“So there’s not much point to eating,” Yoongi continues. “It’s more of a pleasure than a necessity. Although gluttony works, I guess,” he adds as an afterthought.
Jimin gapes. “Gluttony? But I brought you food—”
“Food? More like the soles of your boots,” Yoongi scoffs. “Gluttony needs huge portions of ridiculous food to sustain a demon; you could eat solid gold for a full day and still be weak. If you actually want to keep me alive, come back with a bucket of caviar and one billion won. Or a sacrificial virgin. Or both, in that order, preferably.”
“Why was I even worried about you?” Standing in a huff, Jimin stuffs the bread into Yoongi’s mouth and stalks away.
“Wait,” Yoongi laughs, almost choking on his mouthful of bread. “Come back Jimin, I’ll stop. You’re not just going to leave me here to die, are you?”
“Eat it yourself!” Jimin shouts without turning back. “Goodbye.”
The door slams shut again.
A few hours later, Yoongi’s had enough time to stew over their conversation.
It’s fine, he can take a hint. Twice already Jimin had ran away with his heels on fire and slammed the door with an obvious air of finality. For all of Yoongi’s teasing and leering, he’s not one to push too far, and it’s clear Jimin’s uninterested.
Which is why he’s shocked when, just a few hours later, Jimin reappears with another tray at his door.
He follows the boy’s movements as he weaves through the chains, balancing the food precariously with his eyes fixed determinedly on the wall beside Yoongi’s head. There’s no cheerful greeting, no excited call of ‘hyung!,’ nor the blush he’d grown used to dotting Jimin’s cheeks.
Yoongi swallows his trepidation. “Knew you’d miss me,” he tries to joke. “Is that my caviar?”
Jimin doesn’t even crack a smile; he kneels on the stone and slides a tray of something steaming over to Yoongi.
“It’s the best thing I could find,” Jimin says quickly. “Eat.”
Yoongi waits until Jimin looks up. “Feed me,” he smirks.
He watches as Jimin takes a deep breath as if resigned. Jimin dips a hand into the bowl— something reddish and hearty, by the looks of it, and Yoongi’s heart jerks in gratitude— but suddenly Yoongi can’t bear to watch anymore.
“Stop,” he barks, regretting his tone instantly when Jimin flinches. “Don’t force yourself to feed me because I’m an asshole. They’re obviously planning to keep me here until I die. Food barely does anything for me; just let me starve.” He doesn’t realizes his eyes are narrowed until Jimin returns his glare.
“Greed, envy, lust, whatever. That’s what keeps you alive, right?” Jimin says fiercely.
Yoongi blinks at the abrupt change in topic. “Er, yeah. But it’s not like you’ll find any of those in heav—”
He’s silenced by a pair of insistent lips on his.
Jimin draws back as quickly as he leaned in, face a familiar red. “If I just let you die, it’d be like I killed you myself,” he stammers.
Yoongi laughs and lets his head fall back to hit the wall in defeat. Just when he’d gotten his hopes up. “It doesn’t work like that, Jimin,” he explains. “You can’t just pity-kiss me until I’m fed; there needs to be actual lust.”
Jimin fidgets with his shirtsleeves. When Yoongi raises an eyebrow at his lack of response, Jimin falters and squeaks, “There might be? Actual, um, lust?”
Yoongi’s mouth drops open. “What?” He chokes. “What did you just—”
“Don’t make me say it again,” Jimin whines. “I’ll just kiss you until you’re recovered and then I’ll cleanse myself of my sins and beg for forgiveness.”
“It’s probably going to take more than kissing.”
“What’s more than kissing?”
“What? I can’t believe—” Yoongi laughs in disbelief, shaking his head— “Fuck, I don’t deserve you.”
“It’s just one kiss!” Jimin insists, blushing redder with each word. “Stay still.”
Yoongi closes his eyes obediently, relaxing against his chains and valiantly failing to calm his pounding heart. He feels a shadow beneath his eyes, Jimin’s breath across his cheek, and then a light brush across his bottom lip.
He cracks his eyes open to Jimin staring at him a hair’s breadth away.
“Did that help?” Jimin breathes.
Yoongi’s eyes follow the slide of Jimin’s lips as he talks, the way his neck moves as he swallows, each feathered eyelash tickling his cheekbone.
His eyes drift back to Jimin’s lips, spit-slick and plump red, and Yoongi draws a deep breath.
“Fuck,” he growls.
Yoongi leans in and crashes his mouth to Jimin’s, drawing him in hungrily and muffling his gasp of shock. He strains against the chains, ignoring the way the iron burns hotter into his wrists, and cranes his neck to get closer, closer, closer.
Jimin arches in, cradles Yoongi’s head in his palms and Yoongi aches to touch. The boy’s lips against his move messily but no less heatedly, and when Yoongi pulls back, Jimin whines to follow him.
“So greedy,” he teases, keeping his head back until Jimin tugs him back by his collar with a snarl.
Their lips connect in a second burst of heat, and now Jimin pushes closer so Yoongi doesn’t have to strain, pushes until he’s caged to the wall by Jimin’s arms and restrained by his shackles. He can do little more than tilt his head up and match the desperate movements of Jimin’s lips.
They’re so close Yoongi’s almost breathing him in, inhaling his desire which each frantic meeting of mouths. He slides his mouth up to nip at Jimin’s ear, then down to work bruises along his neck. When Yoongi sinks his teeth into the juncture at Jimin’s shoulder, Jimin gives a moan so desperate Yoongi can’t help but jerk his hips up. A surge of lust courses through him and he knows it’s Jimin’s emotions feeding him, flowing energy into his body until he struggles against his binds in frustration.
“Fuck, Jimin,” Yoongi nearly sobs, rendered gasping by the rush of want. “Fuck, let me touch you.”
Jimin pulls back to look at the chains, almost reaching up but hesitating.
“I can’t,” he whispers regretfully. He leans down for one more kiss, sucking at Yoongi’s lower lip, and then delivers a chaste kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry.”
“Please,” Yoongi begs, uncaring how wrecked he sounds.
For one uncertain moment, Yoongi thinks Jimin might give in. But with a firm shake of his head, Jimin untangles his limbs from Yoongi— when did his thigh get there?— and stands on shaky legs.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asks, still breathless.
“No,” Yoongi pouts childishly. “Come back and kiss me.”
With an embarrassed flush, Jimin pecks at Yoongi’s lips one last time, giggling when Yoongi tries to chase after him.
“You realize this isn’t enough, right? I’m going to need more to stay alive,” Yoongi tells him.
“More?”
“I can show you right now,” He flirts with a lascivious wink and a peek of his tongue from the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I would never. I generally avoid temptation unless I can’t resist it.”
“If you’re dying again tomorrow when I bring you breakfast, you can have another kiss,” Jimin concedes hastily, gathering the forgotten tray and backing away before he’s seduced again.
“I’m dying now,” Yoongi arranges his expression into something he hopes passes as innocent and plaintive. “One last kiss, Jimin. Please?”
With just one look back, Jimin knows he can’t resist. He’s leaning down for another quick peck when Yoongi reaches up, drawing their lips together in a way that’s almost melancholic. Jimin closes his eyes as Yoongi kisses him slowly but with a secure pressure, lethargically but captivatingly, like a cheerful hello and a wistful goodbye. It’s a short kiss, but the sweetest one yet.
When Jimin pulls back, Yoongi’s eyes are still closed. They flutter open and affix Jimin to the spot; he’s caught in the orbit of Yoongi’s irises and the gravity of his gentle smile.
“See you tomorrow morning?” Jimin’s not sure why he asks it like a question.
“Tomorrow morning,” Yoongi nods.
Jimin ducks through the chains again, pausing at the door for one more glance over his shoulder. With a hesitant smile, he lets the lock swing shut with a thud.
He misses the the flash of red as Yoongi levitates the key from Jimin’s pocket into the firm grip of the demon’s hand.