PART - I

The corridor was dark, serenely silent accompanied by sparse illumination, a few lanterns hanging above, timidly flickering against the walls. Through the wide passages that blissfully bathed in the nocturnal tranquility, a man walked. His footsteps were hasty, creating a rythmic clicking of boots against the marbled floor, the only sound audible in the ambience other than the soft hymns of the swirling breezes.

The man hastened his pace and took swift turns within the region, a sense of duty engaging his presence, determination and urgency clamped to his demeanor. In his hand he carried a jar, expensive and exquisite, precious glass adorned with intricate designs and other varieties of alluring jewels. He carried the container with care, close to his chest, fingers grasping it with tightness, lest it should slip and fall. He wouldn't dream of letting something like that transpire.

Not when it was a substance of immense value and an object of His Majesty's favourites.

Moments later, the man found himself breathing heavily in front of a massive door, his legs wobbling and about to give way and crash to the floor. Yet, he had an order to execute. Securing the jar with one hand and extended the other towards the door, he knocked upon the wooden surface of the coverage, a gesture of courtesy and of rich behavior, and when he heard a short 'come in' from within, he gently pushed the door open and allowed his feet to carry him into the extravagance of the interior.

The chamber indoors was a coruscating view of luxury, a prominent image of a life basking in opulence. The room was vast and voluminous, with extraordinary carvings all across the ceiling, wide tapestries and multiple covers carrying the richness of crimson mingled with the depths of burgundy, the vast windows veiled by the incarnadine coverages of silk and satin. The aureate walls shone softly under the warm glow of the candles, exhibiting murals and portraits and several other pieces of land and foreign origins. The room was embraced with a soft scent, a sweet fragrance that pleases the system and rests the soul in a solace, or arises a surge of desire and longing, a temptation to venture deeper, saccharine and sensual.

The man slowly walked over to the enormous bed, an expansive stretch of a canopy over it, supported by four bedposts, all draped by sheer curtains of pale pink and white. The covers were scarlet, rich wine red with a delicious aroma emitting from the surface. He slowly placed the jar upon a small table situated by the bedside and paused for a while. And then, he proceded to raise his sight and make it settle upon the large mirror by the western wall of the chamber, a table with a chest of drawers and a chair in front of it.

The surface of the table was littered with a plethora of substances, haphazardly strew across the wooden expanse. From items of cosmetics to several types of brushes, paints, lipsticks including expensive oils and other precious products of skincare were preserved in bottles and jars and small pouches, some even without the covers, just left about in a careless manner. The man's eyes weren't upon the objects.

Rather, it was currently fixated upon the one who was seated in front of the mirror, indulged in the items scattered before.

The chair shifted, as the person seated upon it pushed it slightly backwards and stood up, momentarily pausing to inspect his reflection upon the mirror and then turned towards the other man, finally unveiling his identity and presently standing right in front of his vision.
And to keep it within a limited description, it would be valid to say that the man who had walked into the room a few minutes ago could already feel his heart skip beats, the organ throbbing mercilessly against his ribs in a forced fashion, the loud hammering clearly audible.

There stood before him the human incarnation of Aphrodite, a breathing example of the stars above, the incandescence being blinding and yet so attracting. His lithe form was wrapped in a short robe of an erubescent hue, a ribbon tied by the side of his petite waist, holding the piece of cloth in place. The cover came just above his mid thighs and his legs were bare, his chest being the same, uncovered with a small pendant glistening in the centre. His hair, soft and sleek, dark as the inky midnight, fell over till his shoulders, neatly combed and settled. His face displayed his aphrodisiac beauty, indescribable in mere words, and his lips were shiny, with a tint of cherry red smeared upon them.

He looked tastefully ravishing, in his short dress and his night glow. And to say that the other presence in his enormous chamber was already weak on his knees at this pleasing sight would be the exact truth as it was.

Kim Hongjoong, the personal attendant of His Majesty was currently finding himself going absolutely berserk in the mind at the sight of his Lord's nocturnal view and was having quite a difficult time in standing erect with hands in front and head buried low, lips tugged beneath his teeth and eyes stealing short glances at the exquisite beauty before his eyes.

"Oh, thank you," chimed the prince, as soon as his eyes fell upon the jar previously introduced in his room. Walking to his bed and settling upon the soft mattress, the youth extended his hand for the jar and immediately secured it within his grasp, cradling it upon his lap and inspecting the designs upon the surface with keen attention.

"Gorgeous," he whispered, lips parted in awe, soft breath emitting from the gap, and eyes gleaming at the object, mirroring a child's glee upon receiving a precious toy.

Hongjoong was having a hard time to keep himself focused and not let his eyes stray upon the prince's thighs, as his little robe had rode above his mid thighs the moment he sat crossing one leg over the other upon his bed and currently, the cloth was way higher up, revealing a vast portion of his smooth skin.

"They're kind," the prince hummed with a smile, tracing the tip of his finger upon the little opalescent jewels studded upon the container, "The royals of the Middle East. Such a dear present. I love it."

Hongjoong just nodded in response, not really comprehending what to frame as a subtle reply. His mind was too distracted in the bareness of His Majesty's skin, just a small piece of a crimson clothing wrapping up the rest in a loose fashion. Hongjoong did not want to think, yet his mind was dragging him to places where he shouldn't venture, to thoughts he shouldn't entertain and dreams he shouldn't see.

The prince looked up at him, lips curling upwards, looking mischievous, "Where is Suhee?"

"She is presently unwell, Your Majesty," Hongjoong replied with a short bow, "She has requested for a day's break and it was already noted that you had granted it earlier this morning."

"Oh! My bad," the prince clicked his tongue and stuck his lower lip out slightly in a pout, "I'm so forgetful tsk! Now, what shall I do with his oil?" He spoke, looking at the jar in his arms with slight disappointment, "I wanted this to be used tonight."

Hongjoong did not know what to reply. To brighten up the prince's mood, he quickly replied, "Your Majesty, should I call for Jih-"

"No," the reply was immediate and Hongjoong instantly shut up, "Well," the prince then continued, "I do have something else in my mind."

His gaze quickly shot up at Hongjoong, the smile didn't smudge a jot.
Hongjoong visibly gulped, yet unknown to the meaning behind that unreadable smile. His fingers tangled over each other, continuously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and when the royal spoke next, he already felt his heart stop beat.

"You," whispered the prince, not breaking the eye contact, "You'll do it for me tonight."

"I- Wh-What?" faltered Hongjoong, not believing a word.

"I'm tired of their soft hands, frail and fragile," the prince's reply was nonchalant, "I want something bigger, rougher and tough against my skin. Strong and stable, agile and able. And that must fit the description of your hands, Hongjoong."

Hongjoong did not know what he was delving himself into. To deny the royal's orders would be a grave mistake. And yet, to execute it would be a near to impossible task.

As, to touch the skin wherein lay his burning desire would be equivalent to a moth being drawn to it's pyre of demise.

And he knew the best.

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Any expectations for pt II?