Chapter 9 || "Professor Kim: A victim. A Survivor. A Saint." || BOOK 2 OF PHOENIX IN HIS ARMS.

 Taehyung walked towards their bedroom, still carrying Jungkook like a sack of glittering chaos. Suddenly, Jungkook wrapped both arms around his neck like a koala and whispered near his ear: “Hyungie, let’s do the librarian fantasy now.”

Taehyung paused mid-step.

“…What?”

“You know…” Jungkook nuzzled his neck, voice dramatically sultry like a parody of a 90s romance drama. “I’m the bad student who won’t return books, and you punish me with… discipline.”

Taehyung stayed quiet and continued his walk with his long, angry steps. But Jungkook wasn’t even thinking. He was on a mission.

“No, no, wait. Wait! What about the prince and stable boy one? Or—or the bakery AU? You know where I’m the baker, and I offer you more than just muffins?”

“This, this, this, this one is soft, I promise,” Jungkook whispered, voice dipped in honey. “Just—you come home from war. And I’m your lonely bride waiting for you. You’re angry at first, but then you take me in your arms, and we forget the world—”

The door to their ‘soundproof’ bedroom slammed open with a sharp thud, the sound echoing off the polished walls of the Kim mansion.

Taehyung stormed in, boots thudding against the marble floor with each determined step. Draped over his shoulder like a sack of whining gold was a very drunk, very dramatic Jungkook—kicking his feet in the air and babbling nonsense between hiccups.

“Put me down, you overgrown chair leg! I don’t wanna be with you if you won't listen to me. Even the floor loves me more than you.” Jungkook howled, smacking Taehyung’s back weakly. “I’m calling child protection! You’re kidnapping me!”

“You’re not a child,” Taehyung growled, voice sharp and low, “and if you say one more word about your fantasies and the floor loving you more than me, I swear, Jungkook…”

“You’re jealous of the floor?” Jungkook gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as Taehyung dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. “I knew it! You hate that it touches my butt more than you do!”

Taehyung’s eyes glinted dangerously.

Without a word, he reached out, grabbed Jungkook by the waist, and flipped him over his lap like a child about to be scolded.

“Hey—what the hell—!”

Smack.

Jungkook jolted, both hands flying out to grip the sheets. “Hyu—!”

Smack.
Another sharp, firm slap landed on his clothed backside.

“You think I won’t punish you for the chaos you caused tonight?” Taehyung's voice was velvet-wrapped steel. “You embarrassed yourself. You spoke about our private moments in front of Mom and Dad. You accused me of cheating with a non-existent person.”

Smack.

Jungkook whimpered, not from pain—but from the pure, hot, and raw moment of punishment his soul was enjoying, and its proof was blooming on his cheeks and his pants.

“You can’t just spank me always. I will call CID and INTERPOLE and complain about domestic violence,” he mumbled into the sheets.

“Oh really?” Taehyung leaned down, lips brushing Jungkook’s ear. “Do it. And don’t forget to tell them that you also tried to expose exactly what I did to you last night in front of the maids and our parents.”

“That’s cause you’re a menace with a mouth and fingers of monster alpha wol—”

Smack.

Jungkook gasped again.

“You done?” Taehyung whispered against his neck, voice like thunder laced in silk.

Jungkook turned his head slowly, locking eyes with him, a mischievous glint hiding behind the flushed haze. “...Make me.”

Taehyung didn’t need a second invitation.

His hands gripped Jungkook’s waist, and in one motion, he flipped him back onto the bed, crawling on top, caging him in with a look that screamed danger and devotion all in one.

And then—he kissed him.

Not gently.

Not sweetly.

But like he was claiming every breath Jungkook had.

Their mouths collided, teeth clashing in the messy heat of it, Jungkook’s fingers fisting into Taehyung’s shirt like he was trying to climb inside his soul.

Taehyung kissed like a man starved, like this was punishment and reward all in one, lips dragging along Jungkook’s jaw, nipping his throat, tasting every inch of skin he could reach without undressing him.

“You drive me insane,” he whispered against Jungkook’s mouth, breathing ragged.

“And you love it,” Jungkook shot back with a grin, wrapping his legs around Taehyung’s waist, pulling him closer.

Their bodies tangled in a mess of heat and gasps, but Taehyung didn’t push further. He didn’t need to.

This—this chaos, this kiss, this Jungkook—was enough to burn through every nerve in his body.

When they finally broke apart, both panting and flushed, Jungkook reached up and poked Taehyung’s nose, whispering smugly:

“You still jealous of the floor?”

Taehyung smirked and whispered darkly against his lips—

“I’m about to make the floor jealous of you, us.” Jungkook barely had time to blink before Taehyung was moving—hands gripping his thighs, dragging him to the edge of the bed with little care for his whines or lazy protests. The older man’s jaw was clenched, eyes dark, dangerous, and filled with something primal.

“Hubby—what are you—?”

“Don’t you want to make the floor jealous?” Taehyung growled, already yanking the pillows from behind Jungkook and tossing them to the ground. 

“Let’s see how jealous it can get. Do you think it will turn red in embarrassment if I fucked you on it? You, lying over it, necked, tied, whimpering, begging, and all on my mercy? I should cover it with your cum, make it foggy with your warm breath and make you sweat rivers even if the marble is cold on your skin. Should I do it, baby?”

He lifted Jungkook effortlessly and laid him down—not on the bed, but onto the soft pile of pillows now arranged directly on the cold marble floor. The temperature contrast made Jungkook shiver, and not just from the chill.

He gasped as Taehyung hovered over him, one knee pressing between his legs, both arms caging him in.

“T-Taehyungie hyungie…??”

“Tell me,” Taehyung’s voice was low, teasing, and heavy with heat, “how it feels to have me right here. Not the bed. Not the couch. But on the floor, Jungkook. The one you cried over. The one who touched your butts more than me?”

Jungkook’s breath hitched, his back arching ever so slightly.

“You’re insane,” he whispered, lips parting.

“And you’re mine,” Taehyung answered, before catching his lips in a bruising kiss.

It wasn’t gentle—it was all lips, teeth, and muffled gasps. He kissed Jungkook like he was making a point, like every press of his mouth was a claim, a brand, a punishment, and worship rolled into one.

Taehyung’s hands roamed, firm and controlling, one gripping Jungkook’s wrists above his head, pinning him to the marble, while the other ghosted along his waist, drawing tremors from every inch of his skin.

Jungkook whimpered into the kiss, the cool of the floor beneath him barely noticeable under the heat of Taehyung’s body pressing him down.

“You said the floor hurt you,” Taehyung murmured against his lips, voice like molten lava. “Let’s change that memory.”

Every move Taehyung made was deliberate, teasing, and charged—never crossing into graphic territory, but drawing gasps, whispered pleas, and flushed moans from Jungkook that echoed off the high ceilings. His touch was punishing but controlled, rough but reverent.

At one point, Jungkook’s leg curled around his waist, pulling him even closer, breathless and dazed.

“I—I think the floor’s jealous now,” Jungkook mumbled, half-laughing, half-melting.

“Good,” Taehyung smirked, nipping at his bottom lip. “It should be. But darling, we are not done yet. It's still a long night.”

Their tangled forms shifted over the cushions and cold floor, creating warmth that defied marble and moonlight. It was rough, messy, and overwhelming—but it was them.

As said, Taehyung ended up fucking Jungkook until the floor was all covered with their dirty deeds. Dried cum, sticky sweat, foggy floor, foggy mirror with Jungkook’s body printed on it and cum flowing over it just at the place Jungkook’s dick was pressed brutely while Taehyung was ramming inside him like some beast in heat. It was something straight out of some adult movie, but who can stop them? No one.

It wasn’t about the floor.
It wasn’t even about jealousy.
It was about reclaiming, relieving, and reminding.

That even in chaos, in drunken messes and floor fights—

Taehyung was Jungkook’s home.

And tonight, he made sure Jungkook never forgot it.

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