Paramour (minsung oneshot)

first and last scene

Han Jisung was a skilled killer, quick and simple. Some people would call him merciful as he refused to draw out his victims' deaths but Minho knew better, there wasn't anything as thrilling to Jisung as the brilliancy of an efficient death, the pride he was filled with by knowing he was able to take an intricately made life away so easily.

Han Jisung came to him, disguised as a staff member. It was laughable; seeing him act all innocent with his wide eyes and full smile, Minho wondered how many hours the man had put into acting out the perfect servant role. but with Minho's knowledge, he knew it probably didn't take him too long.

Jisung was unarguably amazing at his job, he prepared baths for the prince regularly and easily read the room, he knew when not to bother Minho and took his leave without any offence whenever asked of him. Jisung was the perfect obedient little servant, cloying when he wanted and sickeningly sweet with the litters of praises and words of encouragement he threw Minho's way, although the prince had been strictly adamant on refusing any of the man's help, which resulted in longer mornings and later hours at work. Sleep barely came to him, Minho was restless; learning about Jisung—cold hearted and blood thirsty Han Jisung—was different behind the screen, the servant he had met barely three weeks ago spoke of anything but that, yet Minho still demanded the man slept away from his room and refused the constant offers of a night filled with massages and the soothing scent of burning incense.

It was intimidating. The flawless act frightened Minho to no end since he knew he would have believed Jisung wholeheartedly hadn't he previously researched everything there was about him. Han was fascinating, leaving little to no trail behind him, skipping towns with fingertips bloodied and conscience not any heavier, he received his victims' names via email, an anonymous email address Minho wasn't familiar with whatsoever. He refused to order his guards to take matters into their own hands with the fear of too many questions. Minho was well aware of his status as a prince therefore he could easily brush off any unwanted scrutiny but still, accusing the freshly donated servant from the south with only sketchy information and a hesitant maybe was out of the question.

The servant's confident demeanour surely didn't help with Minho's predicament.

Minho would let Jisung play with him. The prince craved to see his servant in his element, wanted to see how easily manipulation came to him, how simple the lies coated his mouth and rolled out of his tongue, deceiving eyes and bashful grins no sane man could ever name as untrue, Jisung was a lot of things but most of all he was proud and who was Minho to deny him a bit of fun before he eventually tired and got rid of him for good? But Minho got too absorbed, Jisung was good enough to lure him in, whether the older man saw through the lies or not, he guessed that was the beauty in a killer's work, Jisung had wordlessly put in mind all the hurdles which might wrong his assassination plan and swayed them to fit snugly in his palm. Minho was sucked in rather than pulled, Jisung was all encompassing and shrewd, Minho hated himself but he adored it, he revelled in the way his heart stuttered and shuddered at the sound of Jisung's hearty laugh. His heart was attached to the one Jisung had displayed on his own sleeve.

The prince never thought of himself as sadistic but with Jisung sleeping soundly in the corner of his velvety couch, Minho wanted nothing more than to sweep him off and place him somewhere more comfortable, where he wouldn't shiver with every passing breeze and his limbs didn't have to tighten around his taut muscles any longer. Minho was horrifyingly entranced by the younger and he was weak since he suddenly—miraculously started caring so much for the man who was sent to murder him and discard his existence for good. Jisung had the exterior of a warrior, someone who truly fought both tooth and nail to stay steady on his feet in such a world. This world, a world that forced him to detach from his childhood and drop it too soon and too abruptly, it had him work in filth and looked down on by his authorities—he was constricted under people who were impossible to deny.