Work Text:
Lukai was such a soft thing. Every part of him so delicate, he would surely break in anyone else’s hands. That is why the boy was his . No one could ever treat him with the reverence he deserved. No, anyone else would break him. But not Jhin, Jhin would make him beautiful, as he made everything he touched.
In his hands, Lukai would always melt, like the clay that has yet to become a masterpiece. It wasn’t an easy task, but he would always melt, in the end. Lukai was a soft thing, but he was also full of contradictions. His features were gentle: every one of his curves, every inch of his skin. But his spirit was always fierce. The way he would grasp onto him for dear life was always intriguing, as if he didn’t realise Jhin was the very thing he was trying to escape. He would lean into the touch at one moment, then attempt to flee from his hands the very next. Always futile, but never unwelcome. It was a play of sorts, it wouldn’t be proper to jump to the third act for lack of patience.
His voice too was a contradiction. He loved to play coy with his quiet tones and tender words, but the truth only ever came out when the curtain was nearing its fall. Then, Lukai would speak the truth. Raw, honest, demanding. Whether they were fully formed words or nothing but animalistic noises, it was always passionate.
It was a sound he could drown in, not that he would ever admit to the sentiment. He who had never yielded such urges, he who had always held himself distant to such intimate acts. But here, he would be the hand to guide the puppet, whenever the puppet felt it necessary. And it would dance for him, writhing in soft sheets. And it would sing for him, with a hand over its mouth and a tear in its eye. He could drown in it, in him.
Lukai was a soft thing. He would break in anyone else’s hands. That is why he had to mould him so, into this hidden masterpiece that only he would witness. That is why the boy was his.