𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱

ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ⓣⓗⓘⓡⓣⓨⓔⓘⓖⓗⓣ

It was so exciting to be doing this in his room, in his bed, underneath the blankets he would sleep in. He could imagine doing the exact same, accompanying him, watching him, admiring his godlike side profile as his eyes fluttered to sleep, his chest slowly rising up and down. He knew he could watch him for hours on end, simply marveling at the sight of him. His hand would slide towards him, softly reaching to his toned arms and then to his chest, drawing circles on the warm skin of his Master.

He moaned loudly, his hips jerking at the rough stroke of his hand on his cock. He could not remember just how many times he had done this; probably more than a dozen times. It was rare that his Master ever left the apartment, but when he did, it was for long enough for him to venture into his things, to dress up in his clothes, to clean himself in his bath, to shave himself with his razor. There was something so enticing in doing all those things, something that made his heart beat louder than any time before, that made his cock the hardest it had ever been.

He whined when he felt himself come closer and closer to his release, but had to stop himself before he would spoil his dear Master’s sheets. He wondered what would happen if he ever had, wondered how the man would react. Deep down, he knew he was a pervert; one of the worst kinds. Or maybe the best? He had heard his Master many times before, had seen what he did to his lover. Maybe seeing the spillings of another in his own bed would excite him… Who knew?

Leaving his scent in his Master’s bed was probably the most alluring thing to Jimin. He wondered if he had ever noticed the different smell in his bed sheets, a scent much sweeter than his own lover’s cologne. He was sure he had noticed, and anticipated the day where he would speak about it excitedly. Jimin made sure to leave not one single trace of him behind, smoothing out all the wrinkles in the bed covers, placing the pillows back in their original position. Thankfully for him, he had a great photographic memory, which made it easy for him to place everything back to how it originally was. He had become a pro at using the things of his employers without them noticing; a talent that had helped him in many delicate situations.

He glanced quickly at the slightly opened drawer of the nightstand, suddenly distracted by it, instinctively looking behind him to make sure no one was there. Yet again, there was no one, but his brain was always especially careful with things like this. His contract was on the line. Well, actually, his life was. He measured the exact length of how drawn out it was and opened it slowly, lips parting in anticipation at what could possibly be inside.

“Oh... my dear, twisted Master,” Jimin whispered before pushing the drawer back to its exact former position, his heart beating even quicker in his chest.

Jungkook straightened his jacket as he stepped into the dark room, the dim light of the thrift golden chandelier the only source of light. He was welcomed with grunts and snickers among the smell of cigars and booze, a perfume that had grown too familiar to him; comforting, even. With that smell came the presence of wonderful coworkers and friends; men he had grown very fond of over the past year, so much that he considered them as brothers.

“Isn’t it a bit early to he drinking, gentlemen?” he snickered, cocky.

“Fuck off, we worked all night when you were sleeping in your five star penthouse,” Yoongi grumpily spat before taking the last sip of his drink.

“I know that, and I greatly appreciate all of your work,” he said a little softer, genuinely. “Here, your pay.”

Jungkook threw the stack of hundred dollar bills onto the table, making cigarette buts and pocket change bounce at the impact. The men suddenly seemed interested, leaning over to put their hands on the load of cash. He could not help but chuckle at their sudden spark of energy, at the immediate response of enthusiasm to the simple sight of money. As much as they were practically brothers, Jungkook was still their boss.

“Did I ever complain?” Namjoon said, a grin lighting up his face as he counted the bills. “I fucking love this job.”

Jungkook laughed once more before taking his own seat at the end of the table, pouring himself just a bit of the old whiskey that sat solemnly on the table. He was not much of a day drinker, but this new lifestyle had made him more comfortable to the idea. When speaking money and business, it always helped to have that extra kick alcohol could give you.

If someone had told him he would be sitting in that very seat a couple of years from now, he probably would have laughed out loud and punched them straight in the face for being so dumb. Yet, here he was, the owner of one of the most prestigious night clubs in the city, with his team of rascals to help him out. Of course, it had all been possible thanks to Taehyung and his sudden inheritance, but he still had managed to run the place quite well. He never imagined himself a businessman, even less the owner of establishments he had spent most of his adult life in. He had a love-hate relationship with clubs: as much as it reminded him of his darker days, they had also been the reason he had met Taehyung. Moreover, he was familiar with them, and knew exactly what all sorts of people liked from them. It seemed fitting to take part in the industry, especially with Taehyung’s full support to the idea.

He looked around the table, at the team of young entrepreneurs that he had managed to build up from scratch. Many businessmen had asked him to join his team, to no avail. He wanted a specific set of people with each their specific skill. He had been told many times he was completely crazy for hiring these ‘idiots’, as many businessmen had called them, but he had seen something in them. They showed promise; they exuded the motivation of someone who had lost too much already and wanted to turn their life around. Jungkook admired that.