expectancy ; jackbum

xx

"You clean up nicely, sir."

Jaebum bowed his head and forced a tight smile, hearing that sentence being spoken to him more than enough times already. Flattery, was all it was, and it made his skin crawl.

As he made his way deeper into the room, more colleagues stopped him to shake his hand, to jokingly ask how the money was doing, to laugh so falsely it was almost laugable in itself. After that sentence was said, he decided not to stop for anyone else, and to make his way up to the front of the room where the stage and podium sat.

He didn't wait for a queue, didn't ask his assistant when he should begin, he simply walked onto the stage, tapped the mic, and had all eyes on him within seconds. A pin drop could be heard at how attentive the room became, bodies freezing and mouths stuck open at the sight of the man glowing on stage. All eyes on him, expectant gazes raking his body from all corners of the room. He felt the weight, felt the lines they carved into his skin, ripping past his suit. He felt no different than the silver podium gripped in his hands-- a shiny object.

"Good evening," he began, voice like saccharine honey, "I would like to begin by thanking you all for meeting with me tonight. It is my pleasure to see all of you gathered here on short notice."

Dull applause sounded momentarily before quieting, "I hope we've all pulled ourselves together from the last meeting, and would like to speak briefly on that topic. I do not tolerate childish behavior, and while I know we're all so..." he paused briefly, "eager to get our hands on my money, none of you will catch my attention by yelling over one another."

A look of chide flashed across faces before pulling back composure, trying not to show their distaste in his scolding. "Anyways, we've all moved past such behavior, and we're here to relax and calmly discuss ideas in a different environment. Please, acquit yourselves to one anothers ideas and have a lovely night. Thank you."

More applause sounded as he bowed and took one last look around the room, eyes snagging on a few women gawking at him in the front row. Their eyes traced his body not so subtly, one even being bold enough to send a smirk his way. He tightened his jaw as he walked off the stage, planning on drinking the night away.

...

A blur, a flash, a dull snap.

He moaned at the feeling of the world turning on its side, a strange sensation he couldn't quite catch. It felt sickening and made his head spin, yet he kept pouring the sweet liquid past his lips. His tongue numbed under the drink, feeling the chill hit his throat all slide down easily, lips parted and inviting more to enter. He set the glass down with a thud, faintly feeling hands on his shoulders and voices laughing around him. Weight landed on his lap, too heavy and too close as it shifted uncomfortably. A pair of red lips appeared clearly, the rest a blur.

He pushed his chair back quickly and felt the world turn again, trying to get away from the shade of red trying to get a feel for his skin. No one could touch him as he pushed away, he was a god compared to all of them. Their dirty hands begging for a piece of what he had, faking their way into his wallet and into his pants. He pushed himself up too fast, legs wobbling and head throbbing a steady rhythm. Thankfully the shade of red dissapeared somehwere through the chaos.

"Sir, lets get you home," a pair of hands gripped his arm too tightly, body too close to his own. He jerked away, vision blacking out before sharpening and dulling. The voice persisted, pulling him along with it, another pair of hands gripping his other arm and tugging. He was too weak to break free, complying and following, tongue too numb to form words.

He was pushed onto his bed by who he hadn't known were his assistants, groaning as the world turned again. He blacked out, falling asleep alone and drunk again.

...

It was some hour late in the night when he awoken, still drunk and numb.

The edges of his vision were less blurry, senses kicking in enough to feel the uncomfortable fabric of his suit straining his body. He forced the clothes off with slow fingers, throwing the thousand dollar items to the floor without a single care. It was when he felt the chilled air of the room hit his bare skin that he sighed in content, sliding himself up so his head could reach the pillows. The silk sheets beneath his skin made him tremor, chest brushing the cool fabric. The alcohol surging through him intensifyed the feeling, eyes falling shut when he pressed his face into the plush pillow.

A shaky breath racked through his lungs and turned to a moan, vibrating against each of his ribs as it made its way up. His hips jutted gently against the silk, the slide easy and quick against himself. His head spun, eyes rolling back behind shut eyelids as he lost himself, the world becoming a complete blur to him. His tether broke, sending him off the face of the earth and into a false reality that lived in his drunken mind.

He grinded against his sheets, lips parted and dripping spit laced with expensive liquor. Everything was expensive about him, from his wet lips to the muscles that strained in his back, their movements visible under the dim glow of the room. His house was expensive, his clothes were expensive, his naked body glimmering in golden sweat was expensive as it writhed in hazed pleasure-- alone. He was a piece of art not to be touched, priceless beyond belief. No one could touch him, he was guarded behind gold bars.

His body shuddered, thighs tensing and sheets becoming stained as he came-- untouched by even his own hands.

...

His bed was a sinking ship.

Holes had been burned into the sides, water flooding in too quickly, too greatly. His eyes opened to see the waters surface overhead, stomach churning as his ears filled with deafning water. The salt burned his eyes, gasping for air, letting the burn enter his lungs. He was drowning with no way out, no life jacket to carry him to safety.

He sat up and tried to get his eyes to adjust, ignoring the throb in his skull that beat mercilessly. His skin was sticky, chest smeared in last nights endeavors that stained his silken sheets. A groan was all he could muster up before forcing himself to his bathroom with languid movements.

The shower came to life with a warm spray, washing over his body as soon as he stepped in. He let it wash himself down the drain, wanting it to scorch himself clean of the night before. He wanted to start over again, a new day. But it wasn't, it was just like every other day. As he stepped out of the shower, towel hung low over his hips, there was that damn knock on the door and eyes that bombarded his personal space, warning him 'meeting at twelve, sir' while her eyes would scan his body. The only difference was his response.

"Next time any of you come in here without my permission, you're all fired." He spoke lowly, voice dark and scouring. He usually didn't use his authority in this way, but it was about time he started. She back out quickly and closed the door without another word. His jaw set tensely, needing some change.