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Humble

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Zen wasn’t exactly sure when or how it happened, but all he knew was this:  one moment, he was at the party, surrounded by adoring fans and loving friends; the next, he was in a dark room, tied to a chair, vaguely able to hear music coming from the party.  

“You just never know when to stop bragging, do you?” a voice purred in the nearby darkness.  Zen instantly recognized the pitch and manner of speaking.

“Jumin,” he guessed, and heard a snort.

“Obviously.”

Okay, so maybe he did remember what happened, he was just trying to put it out of his mind.  After all, didn’t everyone think he was straight?  The famous Zen, secretly harboring feelings for a man?  His fans would be crushed.  Jaehee would probably never forgive him.  Or maybe she’d ask to watch.  He wasn’t really sure.  

“Did you have to tie me up like this?” Zen whined, wincing at the ties biting into his wrists.  Jumin chuckled.

“You know I did,” he answered.  Zen heard movement, then felt Jumin’s breath tickling his ear.  “You don’t know what it means to be humble.  I am going to teach you.”

Unbidden, a low moan rose from Zen’s throat.  Jumin definitely did it for him, that was for sure.  Even after a few weeks of their secret romance, though, Zen still wasn’t used to Jumin’s totally non-vanilla tastes.  He couldn’t recall the last time he had been so helpless, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t do things to him.  There was something heady about the whole thing:  his hands tied together behind the back of the chair, his ankles bound to the chair legs.  Totally helpless.  

“They’re going to miss us at the party,” Zen pointed out.  “Someone will figure out what’s going on.”

“No they won’t,” Jumin answered.  “I excused myself for a little while, and I’m sure everyone will think you’ve run off with one of your fans.  All bases are covered.  Now,” he paused, then Zen felt a blindfold covering his eyes and, a few moments later, a piece of cloth being shoved into his mouth, “hush.”

“Mmf,” Zen protested around the gag, but in reality, he didn’t want Jumin to remove the invasive material.  He loved this part.  

Slowly, and with expert fingers, Jumin popped open the button at the front of Zen’s dress slacks and unzipped the zipper.  He didn’t bother with the belt, just snaked his hand into Zen’s boxers and pulled his cock free.  Zen grunted.

“Quiet,” Jumin chided softly.  His fingers moved delicately over Zen’s hard length, drawing a shuddering gasp out of the silver-haired man.  Another hand slipped into Zen’s hair, gently at first, then grasped his ponytail and yanked his head back sharply.  Zen yelped, the sound muffled by the gag.  Tears sprung into his eyes, threatening to pour onto his cheeks, but he willed his body not to do it, not to betray him.  He wanted to be strong for Jumin this time.

“Zen,” Jumin murmured.  “You know the signal.  You know I won’t hold it against you if you need me to stop.”  He removed the gag from Zen’s mouth momentarily.  “What’s the signal?”

Zen swallowed thickly, his mouth already feeling dry as a desert even after only a few minutes with the gag.  He licked his lips.  “Knock on the chair three times,” he said.  Jumin hummed in confirmation, then gently stuffed the cloth back into Zen’s mouth.  

“Are you ready?” he asked, as if Zen’s willingness even mattered to him.  Jumin never went too far, and he was never cruel or forceful, but he knew what Zen liked.  He liked to be teased to the point of tearful begging.  Jumin asking if Zen was ready was just part of the game; he would start when he damn well pleased.

“Mmm,” Zen hummed his consent.

“Good.”

For the first few minutes, Jumin did nothing but continue to hold Zen’s head back by his ponytail, licking and nibbling at his earlobe and down his neck.  With the gag present, they weren’t able to kiss, but Jumin never really seemed to like kissing.  He more than made up for it by exploring all of Zen’s erogenous zones.  Zen especially liked his nipples being played with, and Jumin knew it.  His free hand slid down Zen’s neck and to the buttons at the top of his shirt.  To this day, Zen didn’t know where Jumin had learned to unbutton those things with just one hand, but he did, slowly and methodically.  Once he had finished, he finally, mercifully, released Zen’s hair from his grasp and ran both hands down Zen’s chest and stomach.  

“Your body is perfect,” he praised Zen.  “It’s easy to see why you boast so much.”  One hand trailed back up the expanse of pale skin and over to one nipple.  “But you have to learn to be more modest.”  At that, deft fingers pinched the nipple.  Zen cried out, and even the gag barely contained the sound.  His hips bucked up, his cock leaking, craving to be touched.  Jumin chuckled darkly.  “In time,” was all he said.  Zen whimpered as Jumin continued his torture.  After a few moments, he switched to the other nipple and resumed his ministrations.  Zen felt heat coil in his belly as whatever blood remained in other areas rushed south.  Small, rhythmic cries and whines clawed their way up his throat as he thrust into thin air, seeking the warmth of Jumin’s fingers wrapped around his cock.  His body stiffened, nearly reaching its climax, when Jumin’s touch suddenly disappeared.  

“Ah-ah,” he berated Zen, both hands finding Zen’s hips and pushing them back down into the chair.  “You aren’t coming yet.”

Zen whimpered, tears finally spilling onto his cheeks, leaving wet trails in their wake.  Jumin softly wiped them away and leaned forward to kiss Zen’s forehead in an uncharacteristic show of affection.

“Don’t forget the signal,” he reminded Zen gently.  Zen just nodded, unable to articulate any words or make any sounds.  He got a moment’s respite before he felt the cool breeze of Jumin’s movement nearby.  A few seconds later, Jumin’s fingers wrapped around his cock and stroked up and down a few times.  Zen realized that, thankfully, Jumin had brought lube with him.  The friction of his fingers jerking Zen off was smooth and cool, assisted by the liquidity of the gel.  

For a few minutes, all Jumin did was slowly tug on Zen’s cock.  The motions were almost lazy, as if they had gone through this a hundred times and were working only on muscle memory.  Then, gradually, he picked up the pace.  Zen felt the beginnings of his orgasm returning in full force, and he lifted his hips up to meet Jumin’s downward strokes, effectively fucking into Jumin’s hand.  

“Mmm, good boy,” he heard Jumin praise, and he swore he detected a hint of arousal in Jumin’s words.  Very rarely did Jumin let Zen touch him, and they had never actually fucked; Zen figured Jumin was just too proud of a person to let someone stick their cock in him, but he really wished that one day he could feel Jumin inside him.  The thought sped him towards his climax even faster, and Jumin’s movement on his cock sped up to what he considered a near impossible speed.  Then, just as quickly, Jumin stopped jerking him and squeezed the base of his cock, stopping his orgasm in its tracks.

“Not yet,” Jumin purred.  Zen shuddered, an involuntary sob forcing its way around the gag.  More tears slid down his cheeks, dripping onto his collarbone and down his chest.  But he didn’t give the signal.  He loved this part; Jumin always promised him the orgasm would be stronger the longer it was delayed, and he was absolutely right.  So, with that in mind, Zen coaxed his body into a relative state of calm, before nodding.

“Are you learning, Zen?” Jumin asked, releasing the base of Zen’s cock and dripping more lube into his palm.  “Be humble.”

“Mmhmm,” Zen confirmed.  Jumin was silent for a moment, then he started slowly jerking Zen off again.

“We’ve been in here for half an hour,” he whispered in Zen’s ear as his hand continued its rhythm:  up, down, up, down.  “We should get back to the party.  But all I can think about is this.  You’re beautiful, you know that?”  Every upward stroke, his thumb flicked the sensitive head of Zen’s cock.  “Do you think if I let you come, you can go back to the party without talking about yourself the rest of the night?”  His fingernail dug into the underside of the throbbing length, making Zen’s hips jerk in a combination of pain and pleasure.  “I’m going to make you come, Zen, but only when I say so.  Can you do that for me?”

“Unh,” Zen moaned, his back arching, wrists pulling at their restraints.  That seemed to be a good enough answer for Jumin, because a second later his hand sped up again, setting a tortuous pace.  Each second that passed drove Zen closer and closer to the orgasm that he had been denied too many times now, and he knew that Jumin could tell.

“Are you close, Zen?” Jumin asked.  Zen groaned affirmation.  “How close?” Jumin removed the gag from Zen’s mouth.

“Fuck, Jumin,” Zen cursed.  “I’m so close, please, please let me come.”

“No,” Jumin commanded, and Zen groaned.  His hips bucked up of their own accord, his body trying to betray him into doing what Jumin was explicitly telling him not to do.  Jumin sensed it and if anything his fingers sped up even more.

Please,” Zen begged.  He tried not to concentrate on how good it felt, the heat of Jumin’s palm against him, how he imagined the two of them fucking for hours on end until all they could concentrate on was the painful rapture of frayed nerve endings.  But not thinking about those things made Zen think about them even more, and he heard himself pleading with Jumin to please, please, I need to come, let me come, please, it feels so good.  Then, as if he had just heard Zen’s begging, Jumin said one word.

“Come.”

With a cry, Zen spilled over into Jumin’s hand, his entire body screaming with pleasure and relief as wave after wave pulsed through him, and it was intense.  As he came down, he vaguely felt Jumin cleaning him up, but all he was able to do was tip his head back and take in shuddering breaths.  A few moments later he felt Jumin tucking his spent cock back into his pants and fastening them, then buttoning his shirt back up and untying the blindfold.  A dim light had been turned on and the sudden brightness compared to the stark darkness of the blindfold hurt Zen’s eyes.  He squinted against it and Jumin stroked a hand through his hair.

“You’re always so good for me,” he murmured, and Zen leaned into the touch gratefully.  He knew he probably looked a wreck, but that was the price of playing with Jumin.

“We should get back,” he said.  

“Right you are,” Jumin agreed, moving to untie Zen’s wrists and ankles.  Once freed, Zen rubbed at the marks on his wrists, wincing.

“Somebody is going to wonder where these came from,” he grumbled, holding his wrists out for Jumin to look at.  The other man snorted.

“Stop complaining.  You know you loved it.”

Zen couldn’t disagree with that one.

 

Approximately thirty minutes after they had rejoined the party (and endured the third degree from Jaehee, who had been the only person to notice their absence), Zen felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.  Excusing himself to a group of giggling fangirls, he fished the phone out of his slacks and opened his texting app.  All he had was one text from Jumin.

Bitch, be humble.

Feeling heat creep onto his cheeks, he put the phone away and looked around the ballroom, his gaze searching for his lover.  When his eyes finally landed on the brunette, their gazes locked.  Jumin gave him a small smile and took a sip of champagne, eyes boring into Zen, before disappearing into the throng of party guests.

“Zen?  Are you okay?”  Jaehee asked as she approached him.  

“What?” Zen started.  “Oh.  Yeah, I’m fine.  Just thought I saw someone I knew.  Excuse me.”

As he walked away from a very confused Jaehee and a very disappointed gaggle of fangirls, Zen could only think about one thing:  Jumin.