P O I S O N || VKOOK

::SIX::

0.6: The kidnapped

Taehyung tries to keep his irregular breaths in subdued check when the man from the desk approaches him. His movements are not surprising slow, a complacence sure in his pretentiously big eyes.

It is hard for Taehyung to make eye contact, half of his upper body still supporting itself against the cherry red desk; the solid wood scuffs the fronts of his elbows, carved designs pulling at the sweaty seams & buttons of his sticky school dress shirt.

He cannot really feel any sort of pain in his hands though. They stay pliant on the small of his back, clotted black crusty blood catching on the heavy metals and open wounds dripping soundlessly thick.

"You got your prim pressed shirt all bloody, School boy" The sharp voice states, inching over his head. It rides straight through his spinal cord; hits the wall of his skull dead on.

"Your wood would soak it up the bloody nice though." Taehyung snips lethargically, a little dizzy but mostly numb.

Albeit the blood loss talking.

But Taehyung is so, so sleepy. Drowsiness makes him loose tongued, reduces him to a fussy, snappish teenager who is impelled to act his age for once.

A snort out of low breath licks at a shell of his ear; it is a sort of soft vibration, not supremely audible.

Oh-

Probably he had meant to suppress it.

By 'he', Taehyung's mushy brain offers the image of this sleek dude with piercings, hmm a hella lot of it.

Maybe a set of Bambi fucking eyes and a dark button tucked in button down.

The hell is he snorting for?

Taehyung can hear it fine really, a buzz of noise associated with serotonin that echoes in the weirdly empty room, save for those grand furniture.

The frisky touch of lush and leather everywhere; at least the nicks and corners he has scratched out on his way to...here.

"Are you one of those 'rebels just for kicks', Taehyung ssi? Or do you enjoy being pushed around, being a sassy little vixen and all that." A body surges up his sticky back, driving a weird heat in to Taehyung's sprawled back.

Chong, Jung, Jim.....Jeon... Jeon, was that it?

Jeongguk...Jeon.

"Projecting your own kinks on me would not help you Jeongguk." Taehyung says. His words keep slurring and the crazy laziness he feels is beyond his too big mouth and too fat tongue.

Did they bind his face with a bar of iron?

It is pretty calm for a moment when Taehyung thinks through his fuzzy vision, eyelids heavy with cotton ball mouths and cotton muffled silence.

Then one hand is crawling up his laid blown back. A smooth seemingly soft palm that is uncaring of the amount of perspiration that clings to Taehyung.

It is not a very particularly good feeling even though this side of Taehyung does not seem to mind it.

Well anything is better than nothing.

Taehyung adjusts himself rightly on the desk.

The wood is solid underneath his chest, sleek and just the savoury shade of juicy red that is all too tempting for Taehyung.