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Jisung doesn’t need to be in this meeting. 

If you ask him, Jisung doesn’t need to be in any meetings. His title as prince of Miroh is flimsy at best. Chan wears his status as heir apparent with pride and even if he discarded his interest in succession, Changbin would take the throne before Jisung could even get close to it. Beyond attendance at important rites and celebrations, Jisung’s princely duties have always been somewhat of a joke. 

But he’s content with his life and its leisure pace. He writes ballads as he pleases, visits friends and shops and takes trips to the neighboring kingdom to go on hiking expeditions with Felix, another bored prince with no real chance at his own throne. Their hiking trips are often thinly veiled excuses to romp around the forest floor for a few days and skinny dip in the river. 

It’s a good life. His parents and brothers have always doted on him, assuring him that he’ll have anything his heart desires. Yet, somehow despite these promises, Jisung has ended up here—stuck in a strategy meeting in Levanter, a tiny faraway kingdom few have ever heard of. 

The order to play ambassador for the summer to “strengthen relations” came from the King himself so it wasn’t one Jisung could refuse despite his bitching to his hyungs. Chan and Changbin had shrugged him off apologetically and said their hands were tied when it came to their father. It would be good for you to stretch your diplomatic muscles, Chan had encouraged. He’d seemed particularly enthusiastic about the whole thing and even helped Jisung pack his bags despite his ongoing tantrums over the fact that he hardly had anything to wear for the summer. 

The only muscles Jisung wants to stretch are his thighs as he fucks Felix behind the waterfall they discovered on their last outing. He should have known that when he’d invited Felix back to his chambers after their adventure that he was as good as pouring blood into shark-infested waters. He’d always been careful about meeting Felix away from castle grounds. For Chan had caught one look at the freckled beauty and practically started drooling. Jisung should have known there would have been consequences. His brother’s greed has always been on par with his sense of responsibility. The announcement about his ambassadorship came two weeks later.

Levanter is technically one of Miroh’s political allies, and has been for centuries. The most recent rulers passed away suddenly last year without an heir, so their royal council has been acting as regent while they sort out their succession. During the interim, they’ve been inviting allied kingdoms to send ambassadors to help in an advisory capacity as they make plans for the kingdom’s future. Or that’s what Jisung picked up from Chan’s attempt at reminding him of the education the Royal Tutor tried imputing on him with little success during his adolescence. 

What Jisung has to do with any of this is beyond him. It’s not that he’s dull. He can tell from a look alone which advisors in the room are actually invested in fixing the storm-damaged trade routes and developing a stronghold in the closest harbor and which advisors are more invested in making snarky quips for the sake of hearing their own voices. Not once have any of them even asked for his supposedly valuable opinion.

One advisor is in the middle of waxing poetic about the importance of fresh fish over salted fish when Jisung decides he’s had enough. 

He stands so abruptly his heavy wooden chair skids and crashes to the floor. The advisors’ chatter halts in a gasping sort of silence, turning to stare at Jisung with dumbfounded looks as if surprised to find him standing there at all. He might as well be a ghost. 

Jisung gives a tasteless glance around the room before clapping his hands together. 

“Well, gentlemen, this has been enlightening, but I have other duties to attend to now.” 

The advisor closest to Jisung, a stout man with sparse facial hair, holds his hands out in a placating gesture. 

“Your highness, the meeting just started.”

The meeting has already been crawling toward an hour of Jisung’s precious time but he doesn’t correct the man. In the time he’s been here, these “strategy” meetings range anywhere from a few hours to days long.

“Ah, and it can continue without me,” he says amicably.

“Your high–”

But Jisung doesn’t wait around to hear the rest. He ignores their cries for him to wait a second and strides out the door, practically skipping down the hall until he makes it out into the courtyard where the sun can touch his skin directly. He’s sick of stuffy rooms with their opaque windows scattering the light into a depressing imitation of real sunlight. 

The courtyard is a breath of fresh air. He pauses a moment, allowing the scent of gardenias and lilies to waft over from the neatly kept garden, and settle over his senses. The gardens are lovely from what he’s glimpsed of them. He’d prefer to lounge there under the shade of a lofty tree with a book and a platter of fresh fruits. 

He sighs, the thought bringing more irritation than wistfulness. He’s hardly gotten to enjoy such pleasant things as flowers in a garden with all of his meetings and discussions and ambassador duties. 

He lingers only a moment longer before he is moving again back toward his wing of the castle. A whole wing partitioned for ambassadors and diplomats and other such visitors, although Jisung is the only one currently in residency. It even has its own separate courtyard and bath house. 

The rooms are large, even larger than his rooms back home, with an extravagant sitting area, a small library with a study and an enormous bedroom with a large bed and frame to match. It should be blissfully empty and tidy for him to lounge and nap the afternoon away. Perhaps he might even have enough daylight to strum a few chords and work on his next ballad. 

Except, when Jisung makes it to the bedroom, he is stopped short by a strange sight. There sitting at the edge of his bed is an unfamiliar man, his head tipped down as he flips through a book. Jisung startles when he recognizes it’s not a book at all but his private journal which the man holds with a lazy grip over a bundle of fabric in his lap. 

Jisung keeps his journal bound and stowed away which means the stranger must have been trifling through his things to find it. He stomps into the room, rage flashing through him at the violation. 

“Who are you?” he demands.

“I’m Minho,” the stranger says, not looking up from the journal. 

One hand holds the journal while the other fiddles with the fabric. Jisung recognizes it. It’s a scarf he was given as a welcome gift that he’d left untouched in a pile in the study along with the other trifles they’d plied him with upon his arrival. It’s a beautiful stretch of dyed fabric, one Levanter is famous for, and it looks even lovelier against Minho’s smooth pale skin, but Jisung doesn’t let the sight of something pretty distract him from his building rage. 

“What are you doing in my bedroom, Minho?”

“It seemed appropriate that we meet formally,” he says in the same mild tone, high and lilting, almost melodic. He flips another page, finger tracing over Jisung’s private words. 

“Have we met informally?” Jisung snaps. He wants to rip the journal from his hands but something is keeping him rooted in his spot. Minho still hasn’t looked up from the page as if Jisung is the one intruding on his space instead of the other way around. 

“Only in passing,” Minho says vaguely. “At meetings and rites.” 

“You have not been in attendance at any meetings of late,” Jisung denies. Among all the droll and nonsense of the summer so far, Jisung is sure he would have remembered Minho’s distinguished profile. Maybe it would have sparked some enthusiasm inside of him.  

Finally, Minho looks up.

Jisung sucks in a breath.

Minho is handsome. Sharp cheeks and dignified lips, cut like a statue from marble with dark, cold stone eyes to match. He’s dressed like the other advisors in modest dark robes but they seem to drape off his body artfully. Thoughts of yelling at Minho to return his journal flee his brain along with the rest of his common sense as heat curls in his belly. 

“Where have they been hiding you?” he blurts. 

Minho smiles, seeming amused by his response, eyes landing with purpose on Jisung’s mouth which has dropped open slightly. 

“You’re not very attentive, are you, princeling?” 

Jisung bristles and responds in delay, too caught up in cataloging Minho’s features. 

“I would have noticed you.”

“You’d have to be paying attention to do that.” 

“You have my attention right now,” Jisung counters smoothly and then offers a sweet smile, brain processing his new circumstances. 

“I’m sure I do,” Minho agrees. “And I’ll be sure to keep it from now on whether you like it or not.”

Jisung blinks. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”

Minho smiles sharply. He sets down Jisung’s journal and stands. Jisung startles and takes half a step back on instinct. Minho doesn’t advance but there’s something about his aura that seems to extend to every corner of the room, to fill the space entirely. 

“Do you know why you have been given private chambers?” Minho asks. He’s still holding the scarf, winding it through his hands like he means to bind a wound but there’s something tactful in the movement too. His hands, Jisung notes, aren’t very big although they have the deception of size. Wide palms but short fingers. 

“I’m a prince,” Jisung murmurs, distracted. He wonders how Minho’s hands might feel on his body or inside of him. Minho’s hands pause. 

“You’re not just a prince,” Minho says, stepping closer. Minho, himself, is deceptive in his size. He’s broader than Jisung but not much taller. 

Jisung swallows. “No?”

“No, princeling, from what I’ve heard, you’re also quite the brat.” 

Jisung’s gaze snaps away from Minho’s hands. 

“Excuse me?” he says, affronted. 

“I don’t think I need to repeat myself,” Minho says easily. “You’ve been neglecting your duties as ambassador and went so far today to make a spectacle at an important strategy meeting.” 

Minho moves then, short intentional steps toward him. Jisung stumbles backward, something tugging at him inside telling him he shouldn’t let Minho get too close no matter how handsome he is. 

“The meeting was hardly a spectacle and besides we ended early today,” Jisung lies. “How do you even–” he tries to ask but yelps when Minho backs him up against the closest wall. He’s trapped, both of Minho’s arms bracketing him in. 

“Like I said, you’re not very attentive.” 

“That’s not true,” Jisung denies despite the speedy pace of his heart. He is attentive just not to the things that disinterest him. 

“It is true,” Minho says. “You abandoned important advisors during a crucial meeting and have completely ignored the customs of this kingdom since your arrival.” 

Jisung glares back at Minho, the haze of his beauty finally falling away in favor of his outrage. If anyone has been ignoring anyone, it’s been the people of Levanter who seem to have absolutely no interest in Jisung. Even his attendants hardly talk to him. 

“You don’t know anything,” Jisung spits and moves to shove Minho off him. He won’t be intimidated and scolded in his own quarters. But his attempts to push free are swiftly intercepted. Minho catches Jisung’s wrists in a harsh grip and then roughly flips him around so he’s pressed up against the stone wall. 

Jisung yelps at the rough treatment, cheek smarting from the way it smacks against the hard surface. He’s too dazed to stop Minho from drawing his wrists together, binding them swiftly with the scarf in his hands. The material is silky soft but Minho is unforgiving in his knotting, tying tightly enough that when Jisung does finally gather his wits enough to struggle he finds himself uselessly bound up.  

Heat floods his cheeks. “What do you think you’re doing!” 

Minho hardly struggles to keep him pressed up against the wall now.

“If you’d read your welcome letter in more detail, you would know that this scarf is a symbol of welcome as much as it is a warning. You were to wear it upon your arrival to demonstrate you accept and submit to Levanter’s rule while you are here. Every day you’ve gone without it you have spat on this kingdom's history and traditions. From my count, you’ve already been here two weeks. Let’s start with fourteen swats then, shall we?”

“Swats?” Jisung questions, still struggling to free his hands as he wonders how Minho even knows about any of Jisung’s slights. Who is this man to suddenly appear and claim he’s been watching him all this time?

But Minho isn’t interested in explaining more. He ignores Jisung’s squeals of protest and drags him back over to the bed. The meaning of Minho’s words becomes abundantly clear when Jisung finds himself manhandled over Minho’s lap, face pressed against the soft sheets of the bed. 

Minho means to spank him. 

“Stop it!” he cries, embarrassed tears springing to his eyes despite himself. His face is so hot, he feels almost feverish. 

Minho ignores him and tugs efficiently at Jisung’s clothing, detangling him from his robes and tunic in an effort to expose his ass. 

“You can’t do this, I’m a prince,” Jisung shrieks, scrambling for anything that might make Minho release him. 

He’s met with a harsh smack to his left cheek that makes him yelp. 

“Stay still or I’ll bind your legs too.” 

The smack startles Jisung into stillness, mind whirring. 

“That hurt,” he sniffs. He sounds as confused as he feels, a sort of docility replacing his panic now that the first blow has been delivered. 

The hand pauses. Now that he can’t see Minho’s face, he feels disoriented, like Minho has somehow grown again in size, dwarfing him, making him feel small and useless. 

“Does it?” Minho’s voice floats above him, just a touch condescending. “Does it really hurt?”

Jisung sniffs again, wiggling around despite Minho’s firm grip on him. 

“It stings,” he mutters, face flushed beyond belief. 

Not even his parents disciplined him like this. Not Chan or Changbin and certainly not some random man. He debates calling out for help only to remember that all of his attendants are likely in other parts of the castle at this time of day, his wing left silent while he’s in his meetings. And even then, would they come to his aid? Is that why Minho mentioned the privacy of his chambers—to make a point about their isolation? How did Minho even get here so quickly if he was somehow in the meeting room with Jisung?

“It should sting,” Minho says pleasantly. “It’s a punishment.”

He delivers the next swat swiftly, this time with more force, making Jisung’s whole body jolt. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” he whines. The embarrassment is severe but so is the outrage. Who does Minho think he is? He wriggles harder but it only makes Minho’s grip tighten as he delivers the next two hits.

“If you didn’t do anything wrong, I wouldn’t have you over my lap,” Minho tuts, smoothing over Jisung’s sensitive skin with his palm. 

Jisung hisses at the feeling but then feels another sting of humiliation when he feels soothed by the touch. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Jisung insists again, tears falling freely now. 

Minho’s actions speak for themselves. The next spanks come one after the other, Jisung unable to help but whine and squirm with each delivery. 

“Your first lesson is about respect. You don’t respect this kingdom. You don’t respect its customs and you don’t respect its people.”

A thread of real regret weaves through him at Minho’s words. He didn’t mean to disrespect anyone. Truly. He just doesn’t want to be here. Maybe today’s exit was a little dramatic but the customs Minho mentioned weren’t things Jisung even knew about. Maybe he’s been a little negligent with his lessons back home but it wasn’t out of disrespect! And Levanter has been running smoothly without his input for the past year. Levanter doesn’t need Jisung like Miroh needs Chan or Changbin. 

“It’s not like that,” is all that Jisung manages to get out in his frazzled state. 

Again, one of Minho’s hands smoothes over the sensitive skin almost like he’s petting him. Jisung looses a whimper before he can hold it back. 

“I won’t argue with you,” Minho says, almost pityingly. “And it doesn’t matter anyhow. I’m not here to debate your behavior. I’m here to teach you. If you don’t understand now, you will soon enough.”

Minho delivers the final strikes swiftly. By the end, Jisung’s ass is on fire but his body has gone limp, the adrenaline crashing in his system leaving him feeling small and strung out. 

He whimpers lightly when Minho pets over him as if to offer comfort before covering his exposed backside again. He loosens the tie on his wrists as well, gently undoing it and gathering it up like when Jisung first walked in. The feeling of fabric against his ass makes Jisung hiss but he rolls off Minho’s lap at the first sign of his relaxed grip and curls back into the bed away from him. 

He sniffles into the sheets, pulling them around him and glaring at the court advisor. 

Minho looks down at him, amused in the way an owner might coo at a disobedient puppy.  

“You took it well for your first time,” Minho says. His tone is genuine but his body language has gone disinterested, faced toward the door like he might stride out without a second thought. Jisung won’t have that. 

“You have no right,” he spits, ass burning and tears still running down his face. A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over him when Minho catches his gaze head on. It feels like too much to look at him directly again after what just happened. 

“I have every right,” Minho explains calmly. He reaches into his robes and pulls out a letter, tossing it toward him. Jisung makes no attempt to catch it, watching it roll on the bed. Minho just stares at him until Jisung sniffles and wiggles out of his blanket cocoon to snatch it up. 

The blood drains from his face as he reads over the familiar script. The words on the letter are sincere but formal, promising Levanter’s council that Han Jisung belongs to the kingdom for the summer, including the appointment of a handler to ensure Jisung is taken care of and stays out of trouble. And there at the bottom is Chan’s name and the Miroh royal seal. 

“This doesn’t give you any authority,” Jisung denies weakly. 

Minho raises a brow.

“I was appointed as your handler by the council. I have full authority to discipline you. I take my duty to this kingdom seriously and under my firm hand, you will learn to do the same. I am faster than you and stronger than you. If you run, I will catch you. You can struggle and whine all you want but you will never beat me in a fight. The best thing you can do for yourself and your kingdom is to drop to your knees when I tell you to.” 

Jisung’s mouth snaps shut and his brain goes blank, any possible retort leaving him. It’s the way Minho says it, voice light and soft but eyes deadly, burning into him like he sees right through Jisung. 

His words feel impossible. Back home he’s a prince with free rein to live as he pleases. How is it that here he is bound to the will of a handler? But even he can’t deny the order that comes directly from Chan even if he stews in fury over his brother handing this power to someone else. 

We won’t be there to look after you, Chan had said when they’d hugged goodbye. I know you’ll do your best but please be good, Jisungie. Jisung had promised he would and left without a care in the world. 

Clearly, his promise wasn’t enough for Chan, Jisung thinks bitterly. 

He says nothing to Minho in response to his words. He just huffs and turns around, pulling the blankets tighter around him. Part of him expects Minho to scold him for his rude dismissal but all he’s met with is a surprised little chuckle. 

“It is good that we’ve met, Jisung. Be good from now on, won’t you,” he sings and then walks off.

Jisung huffs and stays curled in his little cocoon, heart beating in his throat as he waits until the door shuts behind his new handler. He lets out another breath, this one dripping in shame as he frees himself enough to reach down beneath his underclothes to touch where he has grown unbearably and shamefully hard. 

He comes with a whimper minutes later, fury and pleasure warring inside of him as he thinks of the hot sting of Minho’s strong hands on his body. 

Jisung revisits the welcome gift and the textbooks provided to him on Levanter’s customs and practices and finds everything Minho said to be substantiated in some shape or form. Too weary of repeating yesterday’s visit, he resumes attendance at the strategy meetings, sure to wear the scarf where visible. He even reads up on the proper way to tie it, his sore bottom serving as motivation while his fingers struggle with the intricate knotting pattern.

The advisors greet him as usual, no mention of his early departure the day before, but their eyes do linger briefly on his scarf with something like amusement tugging on their lips. Jisung feels himself flush but otherwise carries on as usual. 

Despite everything, he finds himself looking for Minho now that he knows his handler is watching. Like he thought, Minho isn’t actually present in the meeting room, at least nowhere Jisung can readily see. He looks for him in the hallways and in the faces of attendants who bring him his meals. He searches for him in the faces of the gardeners and other advisors he passes in the halls and even at the townspeople who he greets when he makes his occasional visits down to the market stalls. 

He's stupefied and more than a bit curious. 

The following night, he finds a tin of healing balm on his bedside with a note to apply it liberally to any sore areas. Jisung holds the note longer than he probably should, tracing over the letters wondering if it’s Minho’s script or a random attendant’s hand who wrote them. 

He follows the instructions and applies the balm liberally, soothed by its cooling effect. It makes his skin tingle and when the light of the sun has gone down and Jisung is shrouded in darkness, he can’t help but give himself a little swat, hissing at the sting against his tender skin. 

It’s not the same—touching himself. It’s not the same without Minho’s cold gaze and firm hands to smooth over his skin after the harsh delivery. His hand wanders lower, fingers entering himself with relative ease due to the slick texture of the balm. He sucks in a breath at the feeling and adds in another finger once he relaxes enough. 

He hasn’t touched himself in this way since coming to Levanter. He rarely touches inside, typically stroking himself off to completion when the desire arises. This more intimate touch he usually reserves for his sexual partners. But he can’t help himself now, rocking back into his own hand as he humps into his bed. He doesn’t need a partner to feel washed up in intimacy. He feels echoes of it in the room itself, the thought of Minho’s hidden gaze somehow watching him as he breaches himself.

He moans at the thought. Perhaps Minho is some kind of wizard with a magic pond he uses to gaze upon Jisung. Perhaps he is standing in the shadows now, dark eyes locked on to Jisung’s messy figure, thinking about how Jisung isn’t only a bratty prince incapable of following rules but also a wanton whore who he needs to—

Jisung whines as he comes, fingers slipping out of him as he stutters through his release. 

He catches his breath, trembling through the comedown, staring into the dark corners of his room until drowsiness steals him away into sleep. 

Days pass with no stitch in his routine. 

Jisung abides by his ambassador duties, reads his textbooks, attends relevant meals and events. He continues to touch himself every night, almost disappointed when the soreness on his ass goes away, hardly a sign that Minho was there at all. He’s half-convinced Minho was some sort of apparition Jisung summoned to entertain his bored brain. 

Soon enough, he’s back to where he started at the beginning of the summer, bored out of his mind and desperate for some sort of distraction. 

So, he takes matters into his own hands. 

The following morning he declines to attend his meetings. He sends his attendants out before even his first meal, favoring an early stroll in the gardens he’s neglected, a variety of instruments he’d brought from home in tow. 

He sits under a large cherry tree and enjoys the day as the sun walks its path up the sky, warming his skin as he warms his vocals, singing tunes old and new to refamiliarize himself with music. Perhaps before he leaves he can put on a performance for the council and show them Miroh has gifted him with something worth sharing. 

It’s only in the afternoon when the summer heat grows a little too sweltering does he retreat to the coolness of his rooms, brow damp with sweat. He strips down to his underclothes, a threadbare shirt and matching shorts. At his request, his attendants came by with lunch while he was out and he’s just in the process of placing a pear slice in his mouth when his handler strolls into the room with a stern look on his face.

Jisung tries to hide his delight and bites into the flesh of the fruit, caring little when a bead of juice trickles down the side of his mouth. Minho’s gaze tracks the droplet. 

“Care to join me?” Jisung asks, failing to hide the eagerness in his tone. 

He sits at the table, legs spread in his chair, naked skin on display. His chest too, is all but bare. His top has lacing going from his midsection to his throat but Jisung has left it loose and plunging. It’s an improper display even with the hot weather as an excuse but so is Minho bursting into his chambers unannounced. 

Minho frowns briefly at the decadent lunch spread that Jisung had requested with Minho’s potential visit in mind. Along with the fruit platter, he’d asked for plum and cherry wines, wondering if he could skip the discipline and convince his handler to learn some of Jisung’s customs. In bed. Posthaste. 

“You missed your morning appointments,” Minho says. 

“I was busy,” Jisung brushes off and gestures to the seat next to him, trying to look as inviting as possible.

“You’ve been neglectful again,” Minho corrects, still not moving. 

He’s frowning still, eyeing Jisung like he’s trying to pick him apart. It sends a shiver of delight through him to have Minho’s eyes on him while so much of his skin is exposed. During his last visit, Minho had the upper hand, catching Jisung off guard entirely. Now Jisung has a plan. 

He’ll seduce his handler properly. He shifts slightly in his chair, crossing his legs so that the fabric shifts to expose more of his thighs. 

“I have other duties to attend to. That is life as a prince,” Jisung denies. 

“Singing to the birds is hardly a pressing matter.” 

Jisung blinks. So Minho had been watching him this afternoon. The garden has quiet pockets, a maze of well trimmed shrubs, bushes, and trees creating illusions of privacy but still it wouldn’t be hard to pick him out from the castle windows. Yet Minho would have had to be closer than the castle windows to hear Jisung carry a tune. 

“A man’s vocal chords go rusty if they are not maintained properly,” Jisung says. “And it’s not like you gave me any instructions as to when I could prioritize my vocal chords.”

“You want me to tell you when you can and can’t sing?” Minho says and cocks a brow. The stern expression hasn’t moved but now there’s a layer of amusement as if Jisung is more jester than prince. It is not the look of someone in the process of being seduced. 

Jisung huffs. 

“And where have you been?” he deflects. “Don’t you have other duties besides stalking around like my shadow?”

“I’m busy,” Minho says, a mockery of Jisung’s earlier words. 

He’s still just standing there. It should make him look stilly, stranded out in the outlandishly large rooms but instead it makes Jisung feel ridiculous for sitting all splayed out and nearly naked. 

“Doing what?” Jisung snaps. If Minho is so busy around the castle, how come Jisung never sees him? How is it that he’s always somehow aware of Jisung’s movements? 

“Watch your tone,” Minho cautions. 

“Or what? You’ll spank me again?” Jisung challenges, arching his own eyebrow as he goes to pour himself a goblet of plum wine. His heartbeat has started to rabbit in his chest but he’s grateful when his hands are at least steady as they pour the sweet liquid. 

He takes a sip, savoring the taste knowing it is a mistake to drink on an empty stomach but unable to resist. Minho’s presence is already making him dizzy, he might as well indulge himself. 

Minho cocks his head to the side again, assessing him. 

“You liked it.” It’s not phrased like a question.

Jisung flushes and refuses to look Minho directly in the eye when he searches for Jisung’s gaze. He takes another sip from his goblet, trying to focus on the warm, sweet taste instead of the way his body is already starting to react to Minho’s presence. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Minho asks, tone light but something in it Jisung can’t read. 

“We just met,” Jisung says as if that’s enough explanation.

Minho tuts.

“I didn’t ask how long you’ve wanted me although that was obvious enough during our first meeting. Has your kingdom been neglecting you, princeling? Have you longed for someone to give you what you need? To bend you over their knee to give you the orders you so desperately want to follow.”

“I’m a prince, I don’t take orders,” he snaps.  

“You’ll take mine,” Minho says mildly. “You’ve done better these past few weeks even if you’ve decided to be a brat again today.” 

“I’m not a brat,” Jisung mutters. This isn’t going how he hoped. 

Minho just raises a brow. 

“I’m not,” Jisung insists again although this time it comes out more like a whine. 

“You’re not in a position to decide that, but I would be remiss as your handler to not acknowledge the work you’ve put in these past few weeks.” 

Jisung’s eyes go wide. Minho offers him a genuine smile and well, Minho is beautiful and Jisung is just a man. The thought of Minho noticing him in a positive fashion makes him pulse in a new way. He shifts in his seat.

“You think I’ve been good?” Jisung asks. 

“Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming of a prince.” 

Jisung scowls. “You just said I’m good.”

“No, I said you’ve been doing better. Clearly not good enough if today’s behavior is any example. Since your spankings didn’t stick as a punishment, should we try something new today?” 

“No,” Jisung says petulantly, plopping another pear slice into his mouth. He tries not to pout and fails spectacularly. It’s not that he expected Minho to handfeed him fruit slices and call him beautiful names but he at least could have handled a spanking. He might even have enjoyed it. Whatever Minho is thinking of now, Jisung wants nothing to do with it. 

“No?” Minho raises an eyebrow. “So you want the spanking and something new?”

“That’s not what I said,” Jisung snaps. 

Minho is still just standing there. It’s not at all what Jisung had planned out in his head. He’s not exactly sure what he’d planned out, but certainly that he wouldn’t be drinking alone while Minho watches with disinterest. 

“No? Perhaps you need something more.” 

“You’re not listening to me at all,” Jisung gripes and slams a fist on the table. Minho is talking around him, saying words, staring at him but doing nothing. 

“Perhaps you’re not saying anything worth hearing,” Minho says evenly. 

He moves then, stepping toward Jisung and Jisung startles at it, just as he did the other day, something inside of him instinctively intimidated by the force Minho seems to carry in every step, like he has control of every inch of his body. 

He stops short of a foot away from Jisung. Jisung is still gripping the goblet of wine in his hands loosely and he sets it down, worried he’ll spill. 

“Come here,” Minho says. 

“Make me,” Jisung spits before he can think of it. Despite his irritation, some time between Minho entering the room and this moment, Jisung has become hard. With the little clothes on his body, it will be glaringly obvious should he move his position. The thought keeps him rooted in place. This isn’t going as he’d hoped and if Minho catches sight of his arousal before Jisung can seduce him properly, he’ll look even more like a fool. 

Instead of looking irritated, Minho just cocks his head to the side. 

“Is that really what you want, princeling? You want me to use force?”

Jisung squeezes his legs together tighter. It is what he wants if it means having Minho’s hands on him again. But he can’t admit that, not out loud, so he steels himself and stands instead of answering Minho’s question. 

Minho offers him a pleased smile and beckons him closer. Jisung goes until he’s directly in front of him. He regrets his clothing choice further when he feels the back of his shirt stick to his skin, still damp from sweat. What’s worse is the obvious damp spot at the front of his shorts. 

Minho glances down briefly. 

“Do they not teach self control to their princes in Miroh?”

Jisung burns, fingers twitching to cover himself. There is no point in it now. It’ll just make him look even more guilty. 

“They teach us freedom of expression,” he spits, or attempts to. His voice comes out with a little wobble. 

It shakes a chuckle out of Minho. 

“And this is you expressing yourself? You must not have a lot to say. Perhaps you should stick to your pretty melodies.” 

Jisung waffles, brain trying to process Minho alluding to his small size but all he can do is latch on to the fact that Minho called his melodies pretty. He doesn’t have time to form a response before Minho continues on. 

“How about this? I will quiz you on what you’ve learned since our last meeting and if you get my questions right, I’ll help you… express yourself.”

Jisung’s eyes widen, trying to make sense of Minho’s words. Hope stirs in his chest but he doesn’t want to rely on it. 

“Don’t speak in riddles.”

“I’ll touch you,” Minho says bluntly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you keep looking for me in the halls and sulking through your meetings despite how I told you to be good?”

Jisung wants to deny it but there’s no point. He’s here, nearly exposed in front of the man of his nightly desires with an offer on the table to get what he wants. Still. This can’t be the only way to get it. Minho’s amused disregard of him sears into him. It burns because it’s true and burns because it makes him want Minho even more. 

“This is humiliating,” he bursts out. 

He feels overcome by it, the feeling radiating from his head to his toe. No one has ever made him feel like this, like he’s in a constant state of tripping over himself, like the whole kingdom has its eyes on him when it’s just the two of them in the room. 

He just wants Minho to tell him he’s being good. He would even take him telling him he’s bad if it’s followed by his touch.

Minho just laughs. 

“Good. I want you to be humiliated.” He says it’s obvious like Jisung is silly for even saying it. “Now answer my question. Do you want me to touch you or not?”

Jisung nods but Minho tuts. 

“I need words, princeling.”

“Yes,” he huffs.

“Yes, what?”

“I want you to touch me,” he whispers. “Please.”

“A ‘please’? from the prince? How polite,” Minho coos. “Alright then, how about this? I’ll even allow you a study aid.”

Minho plucks one of Jisung’s text books at random and drops it into his hands. Jisung almost drops it but catches it in time, flipping open to a random page. He’s met with a dated map of the nearby kingdoms, Levanter at its center. Miroh is but a small dot in the upright corner, a distant neighbor. 

He closes the book again and realizes it’s entirely a book of maps, the least helpful book in the stack of texts he has on the table. He might as well not have it at all but he doesn’t say anything, too aware of the way Minho is stalking around him, settling behind Jisung, his breath tickling his ear as he props his chin over Jisung’s shoulder. 

“Keep it open,” Minho instructs. 

Jisung would protest that the book is nothing more than a prop but Minho places a hand on his hip and words leave him. He opens the book obediently, holding it out in front of him as Minho’s other hand grazes over his abdomen, making his stomach muscles clench. 

“Let’s start simple, then,” Minho says. “What animal is on the Levanter royal seal?”

“What?” 

“I’m quizzing you,” Minho reminds him. “If you answer my questions right, you’ll get a reward.” 

It is an easy question. Jisung has seen the seal countless times. It’s just that. Jisung hasn’t been looking closely. He has no real reason to inspect the seal, all of the documents he reviews are opened for him here. He tries to think but it’s hard to focus on anything with the way Minho is pressed up against him. 

“A lion,” he guesses weakly. 

Minho’s finger trails down his stomach, approaching where Jisung wants so desperately to be touched but not actually touching him. Just hovering. Teasing.

“Why don’t you try again,” Minho suggests, doting almost. “Maybe try not to think so big.” 

Jisung is more focused on trying not to thrust up into Minho’s hand or drop the heavy book in his hands. 

“A cat,” he guesses at random. 

Minho says nothing but then his shorts are being pulled down far enough for his cock to spring free and Minho’s warm hand is wrapping around him tightly. 

The noise that comes out of Jisung is a pitch he’s only made in song. His eyes squeeze close, stars flashing behind his eyelids. He can’t help it. Minho is stroking him steadily, his hands soft but his grip bordering on too tight. He runs his hand over the top of his cock, gathering the moisture there to help with the glide. 

“Good job,” Minho murmurs in his ear. 

Jisung outright moans, trying not to sink back into Minho’s grip entirely. The dribble from Jisung’s cock isn’t enough, though, and soon the friction is more pain than pleasure and Jisung hisses. Minho’s hand disappears. 

“Don’t like your reward?” Minho asks, amused like he knows what he’s doing. Jisung is sure he does. 

“It hurts,” Jisung whines. 

“I think you like when it hurts.” 

“I don’t,” he denies even as his dick twitches, betraying him. 

“Very well,” Minho intones and then there are three fingers being shoved into Jisung’s mouth. Jisung’s jaw drops open on instinct, accommodating for the intrusion as Minho’s fingers slide against his tongue toward the back of his throat, not stopping until Jisung gags hard enough that tears spring to his eyes. He tries to pull back but Minho’s fingers simply chase after him, unrelenting. 

“Come on now,” Minho coos, “I know you know how to use your mouth.”

Jisung chokes again, this time for a different reason. 

He hasn’t stopped touching himself at night, addicted to the feeling of it, imagining Minho’s fingers inside of him. But he’d run out of the balm too quickly and he had to make do, so he’d done just as Minho is doing now, sucking on his fingers and spitting into his palm to help lubricate himself. 

Has Minho really been watching him? Watching somehow from the shadows, as Jisung ruins himself?

The thought spurs him on and he moans around Minho’s fingers, moving his tongue messily under them, relishing on how well they fill his small mouth. He can’t help the tears, his throat still not able to handle the way Minho occasionally thrusts too far and they begin to stream down his face. 

He knows he must look like a mess, his face surely tomato red by now, but Jisung takes some solace in the fact that Minho is behind him guiding him through it so he can’t actually see what a pitiful picture Jisung must make. 

Just when Jisung is starting to worry about his lack of air, Minho pulls back, dripping hand falling back on Jisung’s cock. Jisung’s chest heaves, trying to catch his breath as Minho wraps around him again, Jisung’s spit making the glide smoother. The sound is obscene but the feeling is amazing, the wet tight warmth of Minho’s fist making Jisung see stars. 

Then, suddenly, Minho’s touch is gone. Jisung whimpers and thrusts forward but Minho’s other hand steadies him, petting at his hip. 

“Touch me,” he whines, still gasping for breath.

Minho makes a little singing noise. “I thought we were working on being more attentive. That’s not how this game works.” 

Jisung wants to get off. He doesn’t want to play a stupid game. He moves to drop the book to free his hands but Minho tuts and squeezes his hip hard. 

“If you touch yourself now, I’ll make sure you don’t find pleasure for the rest of the summer.” 

Jisung scoffs in frustration. “How would you even do that?” 

Minho squeezes him again, so harsh he’s sure to bruise in the shape of his fingertips.

“Don’t test me. You won’t like the results.” 

“Then touch me,” Jisung demands again but this time it comes out more like the plea that it is. He just wants Minho’s touch. It’s all he’s been able to think about, all he’s been craving every night. It’s cruel of him to taunt him with it, disguising it as a reward when it’s really a new form of torture. 

“Please,” he adds, a fresh wave of tears pouring down his cheeks. 

The grip on his hip loosens. He can’t see Minho’s face with the way they’re positioned, but Jisung swears Minho nuzzles his nose into his neck briefly, as if in comfort. 

“Answer another question correctly and I’ll touch you,” Minho encourages softly.  

“Then ask it,” Jisung sniffles. 

Minho does. 

He quizzes Jisung on the things anyone with a basic knowledge in Levanter politics would be able to answer. Luckily, Jisung is able to keep up with correct responses. For each correct response, Minho rewards him with harsh strokes, sometimes mixing up his touches paying more attention to his cockhead or balls. 

One such correct response rewards him with nearly ten minutes of Minho teasing his nipples to the point where Jisung’s knees buckle and the book finally falls from his hands. Jisung drops to the floor to pick it up, fear swallowing him at the thought of Minho punishing him for it, but Minho surprises him. He simply takes the book from his hands and sets it aside on the table and gently pulls Jisung to his feet, relocating them to the bed. 

Jisung rids himself of his clothes completely and Minho helps prop him up against the headboard, settling between his spread legs, eyes intent on his face as he continues his onslaught of questions. 

Jisung isn’t sure how many questions Minho asks, only that he continues to get the questions right and Minho continues to touch him, occasionally making him spit into his palm, occasionally sticking his fingers back into his mouth, the feeling more intense now with Minho kneeling in front of him, eyes locked onto the Jisung’s own teary gaze. But Minho never touches him long enough for Jisung to reach his release. Even laying back against the headboard for support, Jisung is trembling at the brink. 

“Don’t stop,” Jisung practically sobs after he answers the next question correctly and Minho pulls his hand back once again. 

His dick twitches pitifully, and he’s ready to take control of his own fate, consequences be damned. Perhaps this one orgasm will be satisfying enough to carry him for the rest of the summer. Minho must see he’s at his breaking point because he relents. 

“One last question for you, princeling.”

“What is it?” he rasps. 

Minho smiles at him and now there seems to be something almost mischievous in it. 

“How does Levanter handle succession to the throne?” 

Jisung could sob in relief. An easy question. Thank god. 

“It goes to the ruler’s child,” he says. 

“And if the ruler has no child?”

Jisung pouts. “That’s a new question,” he grumbles. 

“Your answer was incomplete,” Minho murmurs but he compromises, one hand coming to stroke soothingly along his inner thigh. It’s not what Jisung wants but he’ll take it. 

“The ruler’s next of kin,” Jisung adds.

“And if there is no surviving next of kin?” 

Minho’s fingers climb higher, teasing little strokes of his blunt nails against the sensitive skin. Jisung shivers. If Minho even so much as taps his shaft, he’ll come in an instant. 

“It--ah!--It goes to the royal council to decide,” Jisung responds, already lifting his hips trying to meet Minho’s hand. But Minho pulls just out of reach. 

“And how does the council decide?”

Jisung blanks. How does the council decide? He doesn’t know. He’s certain he never learned that, not from Chan and not in any of his stupid textbooks. 

“Why should I know? I’m not on the council,” he whines.

“Not even a guess?” Minho asks, hovering between condescending and amused.

“Minho,” Jisung begs, dragging out his handler’s name. “Please.” 

He’s tired of these questions. His brain is made of pudding and if Minho doesn’t touch him he might just come untouched out of spite. 

Minho giggles. 

“Alright, princeling. I’ll help you out with this last one. If the ruler dies without an heir, the royal council leaves it up to the wiles of the kingdom to bring in fresh royal blood.” 

Minho’s words confuse him enough that he stops trying to thrust into Minho’s teasing hand. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Levanter has always been too small of a kingdom to depend on a single bloodline for its succession. Do you ever think about how it’s managed to remain so connected to the broader lands? To leverage such impressive trade routes with distant neighbors? To afford such lavish gardens and festival celebrations?” 

These are all things Jisung has noted in passing during his time in Levanter: how happy the people of the kingdom seem to be, how almost every summer week seems to be dedicated to a new form of lavish celebration. All of the rites and rituals and celebrations have been background noise to the glumness Jisung has felt about his predicament.  

“The throne belongs to any member of the Levanter court who marries into another royal line,” Minho continues. “That is your answer.” 

Before Jisung can question him further on what exactly he means, Minho wraps a hand around Jisung’s length, swallowing him once more in a tight heat. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers, brain emptying out completely as Minho works him over steadily.

“That’s it princeling, you can come now,” he soothes and Jisung does with a loud cry, collapsing back against the headrest, mind going white with pleasure. He falls so deep into it, he hardly registers Minho’s continued cooing, only brought back when Minho continues his harsh pace, working Jisung into overstimulation. 

“Please,” Jisung whimpers and tries to roll away but Minho doesn’t falter. Tears are rolling down his face and it hurts. He’s beyond spent and Minho is still touching him. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Has my greedy prince really had his fill? Don’t you want to give me another or should I add stamina training to your summer lessons?”

“Minho, I can’t,” Jisung sobs. 

“Not even if I tell you to?” Minho asks. “You should remember that this is part of your punishment, princeling. I decide when we’re done here.”

It boggles Jisung’s mind that Minho could push his pleasure so far that it turns into something Jisung is shying away from, strung out and desperate to escape it. But he’s already made it this far and even as sobs wrack through him, Minho’s words touch something inside of him. 

Not even if I tell you to?

Minho is his handler. He was appointed with Jisung in mind. He would know best here where Jisung’s limits are, wouldn’t he? If he wants one more, regardless of Jisung’s pain, he must know that Jisung is capable of giving it. 

“Ok,” he sniffles. “One more.” 

“One more,” Minho repeats, smiling. He strokes a thumb against Jisung’s cheek, wiping away his tears. “What a good prince.” 

And then to Jisung’s surprise, he takes his other hand off his cock. Jisung sighs with relief but it only lasts a moment. Minho grabs him and flips him on his front. 

“Let’s do it this way, shall we?” Minho murmurs from behind him and Jisung allows himself to slump completely into the soft blankets, turning his head to the side so he can look back as Minho begins removing his robes, revealing a soft but sturdy build underneath. 

His eyes widen. 

Minho is large. His cock stands fully erect, clearly not unaffected from Jisung’s punishment. 

“Don’t look so scared,” Minho says sweetly. “You’ve been doing half of the work for me lately, opening yourself up every night.” 

Still, he pulls a tin from his discarded robes. It’s the same balm he gave Jisung from before. He uses it to slather up his cock and hand and wastes little time in entering Jisung with one of his fingers. 

“You’re so pliant after an orgasm,” Minho notes when he’s met with little resistance.

“Hnnnngg,” Jisung manages to respond as Minho moves methodically, pressing against his walls. 

He increases the number of fingers until he has three of them pistoning in and out of him, scissoring inside his walls making Jisung’s mouth drop open permanently with how full he feels. But Minho manages to evade his prostate, the pleasure in Jisung’s core turning from overbearing to a pleasant buzz. 

The buzz shifts to sparks when Minho’s fingers slip out only to be replaced by the head of his cock nudging at his entrance. As Minho slowly sinks into him, Jisung can’t help but wonder how he got here, drooling into his bedsheets in the middle of the afternoon, speared on a Levanter advisor’s cock when only hours before he was humming tunes to himself in the garden snacking on berries. 

A gentle hand on his lower back draws him back into the moment. He arches to the best of his ability, allowing Minho to mold him as he pleases while he carves a home inside of him. 

“Mmm, you feel as good as you look,” Minho murmurs, the slightest strain in his voice as he bottoms out. 

Jisung looks back at him through half-lidded eyes. Minho looks even more beautiful now, dripping sweat and eyes dark with focus. 

“Be nice to me,” he murmurs. 

Minho's gaze jumps to him and he grins wickedly. He pulls out all the way only to thrust back in again making Jisung gasp and his eyes roll up. He swears he can feel Minho in his throat. 

“I am being nice,” Minho says. 

As if to prove it, he adjusts his angle, hitting Jisung’s prostate consistently. Jisung doesn’t have the energy to do much more than moan through it. It hurts. It feels good. It swallows him entirely. 

He can already tell he’s going to be limping tomorrow, that his nightly touches won’t be enough to get him off anymore. He’ll crave this for the rest of the summer, for the rest of his life. He’ll want to be right where he is now, sweating through the sheets, dripping with his own saliva and sweat and release. 

“S’good,” Jisung slurs.

Calling this a punishment is laughable. Minho is mistaken if he thinks Jisung won’t do whatever it takes to have him like this every night. 

It’s that thought and a few well timed thrusts that have him wailing through his second orgasm, so fucked out he hardly registers Minho’s corresponding moan as he finishes inside of him before carefully pulling out. 

Jisung whimpers at the emptiness but Minho soothes him gently, breath labored as he adjusts them again so they’re laying on their sides, right in the middle of their mess. He strokes Jisung’s side as he comes down from his high, his brain still mush as Minho murmurs praise into his ear. 

“See what happens when you put in a little effort into being good,” Minho says. 

“I’m always good,” Jisung mutters in retort, eyes fluttering in pleasure when Minho places gentle kisses along the nape of his neck. He wishes, distantly, for Minho's kiss to land somewhere else.

“No,” Minho disagrees. “But that’s alright. With the right training, you’ll make an obedient little bride.”

Jisung hums in blind agreement, Minho’s words hardly registering as he drifts off to sleep.