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a study in scarlet

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Jeno didn’t know what to expect when he downloaded Fangs.

He certainly didn’t expect to match with two ancient vampires who might just want to eat him.

Jaemin’s silhouette, flashing in and out of focus in the passing streetlights, turns to Jeno as if he heard his thoughts. He trails his fingertips up the seam of Jeno’s jeans on the inside of his thigh. Jeno makes a Herculean effort not to let out a sound. The last thing he wants is the Uber driver to crash when he notices his passengers are groping one another in the back seat.

Jaemin has no such reservations. He noses into Jeno’s neck, his leather jacket brushing Jeno’s chin as he inhales deeply.

“You,” Jaemin says, his voice like a razor’s blade, “smell delicious.”

Renjun doesn’t look up from his phone screen that illuminates his face in the dark car. But he hums in agreement to Jeno’s left. His hand is interlaced with Jeno’s, resting on top of his other thigh, thumbing circles on his palm. “Doesn’t he just?”

Okay, amend that. Two ancient vampires that definitely want to eat him.

This is the record-scratch moment, where Jeno pauses the tape to ask himself, How did I get here, exactly? The events that led him here make sense when he looks at them individually. Point A to Point B to Point C, and so on and so forth.

But when he thinks back to where this all started two weeks ago, compared to where he is now, his brain blanks out like television static.

Fangs isn’t a new invention — a dating app for vampires and humans alike looking for an inter-species tryst. It’s one of the many platforms of its kind, numbering in the thousands, catering to any type of supernatural proclivity under the sun.

But whether paranormal in nature or not, dating apps always seemed almost clinical to Jeno. Plug in your ideal age range (eighteen to twenty-five), preferred gender (any — that one was easy), and distance (no more than an hour away — he was desperate but not that desperate). Jeno didn’t put too much thought into dating apps. He’d never had much success with them.

That is, until now. As he’s sandwiched between two vampires breathing down his neck who are more than eager to take a bite.

He doesn’t know why he installed Fangs in the first place. It was rash, amounting from post-break-up loneliness missing Chenle, expounded by tipsiness, and the combination of the two swirled together like the white rum in his mojito glass had him downloading the app despite his better judgment.

Jeno has little knowledge about vampires outside the vague, cursory education he was given in school. Dangerous, aggressive, approach with caution, et cetera, et cetera. He hasn’t met a lot of them in real life, honestly, so he’s not sure if there’s truth to the stereotypes. Their population has waned in the last few centuries since the establishment of blood banks. Vampires are rarer than fae and even rarer than werewolves, whose heritage is genetic.

He’s seen them in the movies, of course. Usually tall, dark, and hulking, often piercing the necks of waifish young women. The movies never show much blood, everything PG and sanitized. He knows feeding is different in real life. It’s apparently pleasurable — he can’t imagine how.

During sex with a human, it’s nearly impossible for a vampire to hold back from feeding — the intimacy of it, pressed close to skin, being inundated with their scent and their sweat and their powerful pheremones. It’s like leading a starving man into an all-you-can-eat buffet and saying, don’t touch.

And although Jeno wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he’s seen plenty of feeding in porn. It’s one of the most popular categories on those sites. And the actors certainly enjoy being fed on in those types of movies.

Vampires also, allegedly, don’t have refractory periods. Not that Jeno would know.

Call it morbid curiosity, but all of it has always made Jeno want to try. Just once.

That Saturday night, the app’s red icon with the sharp-toothed emoji face blinked to life. He marked his profile specifications the same as on other apps: age range, gender, distance. The age range slider went all the way up to 1,000+. That was a culture shock, but everything else was surprisingly routine.

That is, until he scrolled down to the option: Are you open to being bitten/fed on?

Jeno’s thumb hesitated, hovering in the air above his screen for an apprehensive moment, before he took the plunge and marked, Yes.

And now he’s here, at Point C, in the back of an Uber with the feverish knowledge that he’s about to get laid by two cold-blooded creatures of the night.

Life — or, more accurately, the afterlife — works in mysterious ways.

Jaemin’s hand creeps higher on Jeno’s leg, sweeping away any rational thought completely. Even through the thick material of his jeans, Jeno can feel the icy chill of Jaemin’s hands. The utter lack of body warmth should freak him out. Activate his flight-or-fight response, hard-wired from thousands of years of ancestral DNA. Run. Predator. Danger.

Instead, he bites his own lip so hard he tastes blood, and hopes wildly that the Uber driver doesn’t turn around.

Jaemin pauses his hand’s upward climb to dig his nails into the softness of Jeno’s inner thigh. Jeno lets out a shaky exhale. He feels a bead of sweat trickle down his hairline.

And Jaemin, being the demon that he is — and not just for his blood-drinking tendencies — leans closer and catches the sweat drop on the tip of his tongue. Jeno shudders and makes a half-aborted noise, cutting it off before he loses himself completely.

“Jaemin,” Renjun scolds quietly, and he leans over with the hand not holding Jeno’s to swat Jaemin in the stomach. “No tasting until we get home.”

“I’m just sampling.” But he relents and draws away from Jeno, to his sigh of relief. His hand doesn’t move from Jeno’s thigh, though. “Call it an appetizer. I can’t help it, he smells so strong.” His voice hitches on the last word.

“I know,” Renjun says with a smile. He leans up to give Jeno a quick peck on the cheek, almost — tender. But his next words aren’t. “Imagine how amazing he’ll smell when he’s covered in sweat.”

Jaemin growls low in his throat and it makes every hair on Jeno’s nape stand on end.

“I mean, I’m sitting right here,” Jeno says, despite the fluttering pulse in his ears. He’s half-annoyed that Renjun and Jaemin are so cavalier in talking about making him dinner. And half-hard at the idea of being treated like their object. Their play-thing. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t into that, too.

But he clings to his last shred of dignity. “I’m not just a piece of meat, you know.”

“Of course not, sweetheart,” Renjun says, teasing. He brings Jeno’s hand to his mouth and kisses the back of his palm gently. His lips are frozen but disarmingly soft. “Keep telling yourself that.”








Jeno takes a sip of his hot chocolate and licks the milk-foam mustache off his lip.

“So this is your first time, too?” He hopes he doesn’t sound as relieved as he feels.

The dessert café they’re sitting in is cool and airy despite how busy it is, the front door thrown open to let in the late September evening. But Jeno is sweating like — well, like a sinner in church. Although Christian metaphors feel too apt for the situation he’s in.

“Yes, this is our first. And we’re — a bit nervous, to be honest.” Renjun shrugs, the movement a little tense but trying hard not to be. His tiramisu in front of him remains uneaten, just like Jeno’s slice of cheesecake.

But it’s not because vampires can’t eat real food, as evidenced by Jaemin sitting in the booth next to Jeno, who finished off his brownie sundae ages ago and is eyeing Jeno’s plate. He has his leg pressed against Jeno’s under the table where the other café patrons can’t see. His weight isn’t on top of Jeno. But it feels like being pinned in place all the same.

Jeno enjoys it immensely and that makes him nervous.

Then Jaemin swipes his thumb through the whipped cream on top of Jeno’s cheesecake. He brings it languorously to his mouth and sucks it off, taking his time with obscene swirls of his tongue. Jeno is staring, slack-jawed, by the time he’s done.

Jaemin pulls his thumb from his mouth with an obscene pop. “Who said I was nervous?” he says innocently.

Renjun rolls his eyes, seemingly used to Jaemin’s machinations. “Okay, fine, I’m the only one who’s nervous. Jaemin, stop it, you're torturing him.”

Torture indeed, and an exquisite one. The small, grainy profile picture on the Fangs app didn’t do justice to the two men in front of Jeno. Jaemin, broad-shouldered with an easy smile, somewhere midway between punk rocker and boy-next-door, who is molded into his leather jacket like a second skin. And Renjun, smaller, bright-eyed, and striking, with flecks of paint on his fingers and a sweet grin that spells mischief.

And, well. It was like a higher power had taken Jeno’s two exact types of men and recreated them in perfect detail, then slapped them together as a sophisticated couple who live in Itaewon.

They’d matched that Saturday night and talked every day since, Renjun and Jaemin alternating between the two of them to message Jeno. They always took care to introduce themselves so Jeno knew who was typing. As if Jeno couldn’t tell the difference between Renjun’s perfect grammar and Jaemin’s key-smashes and excessive emojis.

Everything about this is new territory for Jeno, the least of it being Renjun and Jaemin’s open relationship style. He isn’t that concerned about being on a date with two handsome kind-of-strangers.

Other than the fact that they’re, you know. Creatures of the underworld, and all that.

But they’re also shockingly — human, as Jeno has learned in the past few hours they’ve spent roaming the streets of Seoul. Renjun is a masters fine arts student, working on adding filmmaking to the many degrees he’s amassed. He owns a few art galleries scattered across Seoul, and Jaemin is a freelance photographer. They host exhibits for Jaemin’s works on the weekends, spend their nights in wine bars and their summers in Naples.

Jeno thought Jaemin was also a history buff, as he pointed out landmarks they passed and recounted their history, until Renjun ribbed him for being a show-off.

And Jeno realized that Jaemin was recounting from memory, not a textbook. That they know the city streets so intimately because they’ve explored them for hundreds of years.

It’s daunting, faced with the walking embodiments of eternity. Renjun and Jaemin are the two most interesting people Jeno has ever met. He feels a bit small and dingy next to their sparkle. But neither of them seem to be under the same illusion. They hang on to his every word. Laugh hard at his jokes, even if they’re corny. Especially if they’re corny. Jaemin pulled him under awnings and behind market stands to steal kisses that left him a blushing mess. Until Renjun found them and dragged Jaemin away so he could kiss Jeno, like a game of romantic tug-of-war and Jeno is the prize.

Jeno likes them. Really, really likes them. And he doesn’t want to mess this up.

Jeno tears his gaze from Jaemin’s mouth to focus on Renjun. “Um. So — you were saying. You’ve never fed on humans before?”

“Oh, love.” Renjun’s voice is teasing, but not cruel. He props his chin in his hand. It’s kind of devastating. “We’ve definitely fed on humans before. You’re our favorite.” His voice deepens on the word favorite, coloring it with something dark that goes straight between Jeno’s legs.

“I agree,” Jaemin says. “You’re hard to resist.”

The self-preserving part of Jeno’s brain knows this should probably make him run away screaming. He should be scared of two immortal beings who are fully capable of draining his life without a second thought. But Jeno has always been the type who, as soon as he steps off the roller coaster, begs for another ride.

And this thing between Renjun and Jaemin and him feels like he’s on the edge of the highest cliff of his life, looking down at the crashing ocean, miles below.

“So when you say this is your first time…” Jeno trails off.

“We mean we’ve never done it together,” Jaemin amends. “And we’re looking for a third.”

Jeno’s toes curl inside his Chelsea boots, the ones he borrowed from his roommate’s closet. A third. He knows rationally that Jaemin could simply mean a third for… feeding. A shared blood source.

But in context, and if Jaemin’s leg pressing against his and Renjun’s eyes that linger on Jeno’s fingers with a feral gleam are any indication, it means exactly what it sounds like.

If he was red before, it’s nothing compared to now. He pushes his glasses up his nose, casts desperately around for something to say to that, something clever and flirtatious that won’t have him humiliate himself. And all he can come up with is, “Oh. Oh, uh. Wow.”

“Does that surprise you?” Jaemin murmurs. “I mean, you’re on a date with us. We hoped that was obvious.” He suddenly flinches and hisses in pain, reaches down to rub his leg. Jeno realizes Renjun kicked him under the table.

Jeno shakes his head. “I knew what you were asking. I knew what all of this was. I guess — hearing the words is different from imagining them?”

“Well, then, consider this your formal invitation.” Jaemin leans in, his lips brushing the shell of Jeno’s ear. “Jeno, do you want to fuck us?”

Jeno’s entire body flushes hot and his heart sputters like faulty machinery, ka-chunk. And both Jaemin and Renjun gasp and lean forward involuntarily, eyes darting to his neck, before jerking themselves back from Jeno, aborted before completion. He thinks he sees Renjun’s eyes flash red for only a moment, but it might have been a trick of the light.

“Holy fuck,” Jaemin breathes. He’s gripping the table, white-knuckles. “I heard that. Loud as anything.”

“I did too.” After a steadying breath, Renjun reaches to take Jeno’s hand that’s resting on the table. Jeno flinches at the brush of chilled skin. Renjun immediately withdraws.

“I’m sorry, does that — was that too forward?” Renjun asks, wide-eyed, about Jaemin’s proposition.

Jeno summons what confidence he has and grabs Renjun’s hand, laces their fingers together. Renjun has a birthmark on the back of his palm, similar to an ink blot. The only beautiful blemish on an otherwise-perfect being. His smaller hand feels like he’s been outside in snow all day without gloves. It makes Jeno’s nerves crackle, imagining what they might feel like in other places hidden under clothes.

“No,” Jeno says, a little unevenly. “No, just your skin, the cold. It startled me a little.” He takes a deep breath. “If you’re looking for a third, I’m — very open to that.”

Renjun smiles and it transforms his entire face, turns his features from delicate and angled into something softer, almost boyish. He’s radiant. “We were hoping you’d say that.”

Jaemin snickers, his gaze bouncing between them, his eyes fathomless. “Look at you two. Already goners.” But his eyes don’t leave Jeno when he slings an arm around his shoulders and says, “Renjun, can we keep him?”

“I’m very open to that,” Renjun says, echoing Jeno’s earlier words.

Jeno is more than a little off-kilter from the raw, unfiltered desire he has for the two men in front of him, only compounded by their two-fold attraction to him. It’s like confirmation bias on steroids. He gulps from his hot chocolate just to have something to busy his hands. But before he can wipe the foam-mustache from his mouth again, Jaemin intervenes.

“Let me help you,” he murmurs.

And Jeno knows exactly what he’s going to do before he does it, but the noise he makes is still embarrassing when Jaemin pulls him into a kiss.

Jaemin cups his chin and swirls his tongue into Jeno’s mouth, then pulls away to lick teasingly across Jeno’s upper lip, lapping away the last of the milk foam. Jaemin draws away just slightly to breathe, “Taste like chocolate,” then Jeno is the one who fists the front of his shirt and drags him back into the kiss.

Jeno prays to whatever higher power exists that no one in the cafe is looking at them. Except for Renjun. He likes that Renjun is watching. But he doesn’t pull away, only presses his mouth closer to allow Jaemin’s tongue to more easily claim it.

“Oh my fucking God, Jaemin.” But Renjun’s laugh is crystalline and delighted. He leans across the table and pushes Jaemin bodily off of Jeno. Jaemin goes easily, grinning as his back hits the booth seat behind them, but Jeno trails after his lips, reluctant to part. “It’s like you’re newly-turned again. Public display of horniness.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, you dirty voyeur.” Jaemin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out.” But Renjun doesn’t deny Jaemin’s accusation, and Jeno dutifully stores away that information for later.

His head is swimming between the sweet sound of Renjun’s laugh and the slide of Jaemin’s mouth. But Jeno is articulate enough to choke out, “That’d be a shame. Then we’d have to go back to your place. Right?”

Jaemin is on his feet first, but it’s Renjun who drags Jeno out of his chair and towards the door of the café.

“Yes.” He looks over his shoulder at him with a spark in his gaze that heats Jeno’s blood with anticipation. “That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”






If you’d asked Jeno to describe what a vampire’s home would look like, he might have told you something close to Dracula’s castle: tall towers, Gothic spires, a drawbridge with a moat. Maybe a tasteful cloud of bats or two.

He would not have described a high-rise apartment building that bisects the city skyline, as lean and imposing as the two men he followed through the lavish entry way. It’s more Wolf of Wall Street than Anne Rice. They do have an aging doorman, though. That part is accurate.

“How in the sweet Christian hell,” Jeno asked once they crowded into the gold-plated elevator, “do you afford the most expensive apartment building in the city on a starving artist budget?”

“Insider trading,” Renjun said, deadpan. At the look on Jeno’s face, Renjun chuckled. “I’m kidding. It’s all perfectly respectable.”

Jaemin nuzzled into Jeno’s shoulder from behind, arms slung low around his waist. “White collar crime is more of a goblin thing.”

Renjun waited until the elevator rose to their floor — the thirteenth, of course, because why wouldn’t it be — and the doors glided open with a ping. Then he stood on his tip-toes to whisper in Jeno’s ear, “We steal all the money from the people we eat.”

Before Jeno could ask if he was joking, Jaemin steered him down the hallway with his lips on his neck, and Renjun pulled him by the wrists and through their apartment door.

Stereotypes. Tonight Jeno is learning they’re almost always wrong.

Their apartment is lavish, a product of centuries of accumulated wealth. Jeno only gets a glimpse of gauzy white curtains and fur rugs, before Jaemin backs him into a wall and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and all interior decorating musings are quite forgotten.

“I’ll go get the bedroom ready,” Renjun says over his shoulder, already moving down the hall. “Don’t wait up.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jeno says against Jaemin’s lips, to a surprised laugh from both Jaemin and Renjun. Then Jaemin pulls him back down by the collar and he’s lost again.

It feels like an addendum to their kiss in the cafe, picking up where they left off as if they never stopped. Jaemin’s mouth is bruising, almost cruel in his desperation to kiss Jeno, like he’s a dying man and the antidote is on the back of Jeno’s tongue. It’s wet and untamed and fucking filthy, the way Jeno can feel Jaemin’s saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth.

Then Jaemin pulls away to kiss his cheek, the mole under his eye, the tip of his nose. His lips are so soft they hurt. The switch from harsh to tender makes Jeno’s head spin.

Jaemin trails over his jaw to press open-mouthed kisses down his neck, still achingly gentle. Jeno wonders briefly how it would feel to be kissed by his mouth full of fangs. And as if Jaemin sensed it, he hovers for a moment over his pulse point, just the space of a breath from his skin. An intimation of what’s to come.

“You want this, don’t you?” Jaemin says, husky. “Want my teeth so bad, it’s driving you insane.”

Jeno’s heart pistons so fast he sees spots. And he ducks under Jaemin’s arm that’s caging him to the wall, and croaks, “Bathroom. Need to use the bathroom.”

Jaemin’s eyes crinkle in concern. “Oh. Sure. Okay.” But he steps back to make room. “First door on the left. Use anything you need.”

The granite countertop sparkles mockingly at Jeno as he leans over the bathroom sink. He gathers a handful of cold water and splashes it across his flushed face. It cools his skin but does nothing for his head.

When Jeno had fantasized about being with a vampire — and after matching on the app, fantasized about being with Renjun and Jaemin — he’d imagined it to be intense. Even rough. He wants that so badly he feels it in his marrow. Ever since he discovered what masturbation was as a teen, his imagination had always featured scenarios of domination: being pinned down, taken apart, used.

And he knows that with Renjun and Jaemin, it will be the ultimate relinquishment of control. Vulnerability beyond that of anything he’s felt before. A trust that he can put his life in these creatures’s hands and they will leave him unscathed.

Correction: relatively unscathed. He intends to hobble out of their bedroom looking like he’s been mauled by a wildcat. That much is certain. His skin, the canvas, their mouths and nails and teeth, the brush. Bruises on soft skin and twin red bites on his neck, from two sets of fangs. Marked.

He sucks in a breath. Arousal coils through him, thinking about leaving here tomorrow morning, passersby noticing the bites and knowing exactly what he’d been doing and who he’d been doing it with. Shame roiling hot in his belly at their curious eyes.

Jesus. He grips the sink counter and leans over, letting his head fall forward as if in supplication to his own body’s reaction. Slight exhibitionism—Jeno adds that to the list of things he’s learning about his own libido tonight.

If Renjun and Jaemin are truthful—and Jeno has no reason to doubt them, because they haven’t given him reason to—he is, as of now, the first person to share their bed. And that makes Jeno anxious as hell to leave his mark. Call it performance anxiety, but the weight of their centuries spent together, just the two of them, presses heavy on Jeno’s mind. He is equally as novel to them as they are to him. Whatever is done tonight, neither party will be likely to forget anytime soon.

Jeno wants to prove he’s worth their while. He wants to be good for them.

With a shaky breath, he shrugs off his jacket. Then his shirt, followed by his belt. His hands tremble as he unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them. Even after the moment’s hesitation in the hallway with Jaemin, there’s nothing hesitant in his movements now.

He spares a quick glance into the mirror. His hair is a wreck from Jaemin’s fingers and his lips are swollen red from Jaemin’s mouth. It seems Jaemin has already left his mark on him, at least.

The hallway is silent when he steps out of the bathroom with his clothes in hand, and switches off the light, bathing everything in almost-darkness. It’s a short walk to their bedroom, but it feels impossibly long as he pads to their door.

He steels his spine and turns the doorknob.

The bedroom is dim, lit only through the large window by the luminescence of the city skyline and the moon. But he can make out Renjun and Jaemin sitting on the bed.

They’re in the middle of a hushed conversation, hands intertwined on the mattress. A bubble of intimacy Jeno is nervous to penetrate. But they fall silent when they turn to see Jeno in the doorway.

There’s a moment’s indecision that flutters through his chest, second-guessing taking his clothes off in the bathroom. But even in the dark, Jeno can’t miss when their eyes flash red and stay that way, at the same moment they realize he’s undressed. Their eyes almost glow. The gap between Jeno with the mortal heart that beats in his chest, and the two apex predators poised on the bed, taut with tension as they stare hungrily at him, has never felt bigger.

And Jeno has never felt more like prey.

A thrill of equal parts fear and adrenaline scorches through him, rooting him to the spot.

“Oh, Jeno.” Jaemin sounds like the crack of embers on a fire. “Look at you.”

“Are you okay?” Renjun asks. But he’s affected, too.

The intensity of their attentions, red eyes raking over his body, makes Jeno a bit light-headed.

“A little nervous,” Jeno rasps. “A lot horny.”

“I can see that,” Jaemin says, eyeing the beginnings of a tent in Jeno’s boxer briefs.

“How do you want this, sweetheart?” Renjun asks. “This is your night.”

“I want —” Jeno’s voice breaks over his parched throat. He turns and closes the door behind him, pauses, swallows thickly. Then drops the clothes in his hand to the floor. “Want you to pin me down and eat me alive? Is that —”

Jaemin pounces.

He’s off the bed and across the room in an instant, discarding his shirt as he goes, and pulls Jeno into a searing kiss. He drags Jeno backward and onto the bed on top of him, and Jeno stumbles a little over his own feet in his eagerness. He makes a noise he’ll be ashamed of later when Jaemin cants his hips into his, meeting the hard crux of their bodies.

Jeno fumbles unbuttoning Jaemin’s pants, and he takes pity and peels them off himself. Then he’s rewarded with Jaemin digging his fingers into his ass, molding his cheeks appreciatively with his fingers through Jeno’s underwear. And Jeno hears Renjun let out the breath he was holding with a hiss.

He likes this, Jeno thinks dizzily. He likes seeing Jaemin take Jeno apart.

Then Jaemin rolls Jeno over to press on top of him, circles both his wrists, and pins them next to his ears. Exactly the way he asked for.

And every muscle in his body goes weak and loose, his skull buzzing with pleasure, with a rightness. A slotting into place: a body on top of his, hands holding him down, rendering him helpless. Exactly the way he loses his fucking mind for.

Jaemin must sense the change in Jeno, because his eyes dance with amusement. “Oh, do you like that?” His eyes rove over his face, mapping its every contour. “Renjun, I think he likes when we’re rough with him.”

Renjun’s laugh almost sounds like he’s in pain. “You’re making him blush, baby. Keep going.”

It’s mortifying, how intensely Jeno’s body reacts to being the center of attention. But he’s not to be outdone. He surges up to Jaemin’s collarbone. And he concentrates his entire depth of focus into leaving hickeys across his chest, anywhere his mouth can reach. Like it’s worship and Jaemin is the altar. He lets his eyelashes flutter, lets the sucking sounds of his mouth get wet and lewd, all for Renjun’s sake, whose eyes are boring into him as he works across Jaemin’s shoulders.

Jaemin’s breathing is ragged, almost a pant, when he’s finished. At some point he let go of Jeno’s wrists, and gripped them around his thighs instead. Jeno can feel Jaemin’s cock, stiff and full, digging into his hip-bone through Jaemin’s underwear.

Jeno lets his head fall back onto the mattress.

“So you do bruise,” he whispers, and digs a thumb into a mark he left on the juncture of Jaemin’s neck and shoulder. “I was wondering.”

“You,” Jaemin says, lungs heaving, “are—fucking—unreal. Where the hell did you come from, baby? I wanna send them flowers.”

And without warning, Jaemin slots a thigh in between Jeno’s legs and presses down against Jeno’s cock. It sparks something hot that roils through Jeno’s gut, deep down into his spine.

He bucks a little just to get some friction, but Jaemin, noticing his dissatisfaction, pins his wrists again and holds him down, taking back his control.

“Jaemin.” Jeno tries to move again, and Jaemin holds him fast. “Jaemin.” He tries to filter the petulant note from his voice. “Come on. Give me something.”

Jaemin hums, pretending to consider. “No,” he finally decides. “I don’t think I will. I want you to beg for it.”

And, oh, God, does Jeno want to. The pressure is fucking amazing, but it’s not enough.

And he needs to tell Jaemin this, because he’s dangerously close to coming before he gets to that point. But Jaemin’s hand comes down between Jeno and his thigh, to grope Jeno’s cock through his underwear, and Jeno’s ability to speak is stolen with a hard gasp.

Tell me.” Jaemin pairs his tone with a particularly hard dig of the heel of his palm. Jeno’s vision whites out for a brief moment. “I want to hear you say it.”

Renjun is watching all of this, perched on the bed next to them, still far too dressed and composed for Jeno’s liking. He’s motionless, betrayed only by his shallow breath and his eyes, with pupils blown so big the red is almost eclipsed by black. He watches Jaemin tease Jeno’s head with his thumb through his briefs, traces the trail that Jaemin’s mouth leaves up Jeno’s neck.

But just watching isn’t enough for Jeno. Everywhere Jaemin is wild and unrestrained, Renjun is steady and self-controlled, but with a hint of something vicious simmering under his skin. Like it’s ready to be unleashed at any moment. Jeno understands how they’ve worked together over the centuries, the way they balance one another out. The way Renjun keeps Jaemin in check. The way Jaemin gets under Renjun’s skin to draw him out.

And Renjun is holding himself back for Jeno’s sake.

But Jeno didn’t come here to be cautious. He’s not in the bed of two vampires because he wants to feel safe. He wants Renjun’s layer of carefully cultivated civility to fall apart. And Jeno wants to be the one to shatter it.

“Jaemin,” Jeno croaks.

“Louder.” His thigh presses harder. “Say it again.”

“Ah—” Jeno is so hard he can see galaxies behind his eyes. “No, Jaemin. Fuck. Stop for a second.”

Instantly, Jaemin lifts his thigh, and Jeno misses the press of his weight. He searches Jeno’s face intently. “You wanna stop?” He lets go of Jeno and smoothes a hand across his stomach, fingers tracing the pattern of musculature there. “If this is too much—”

“No, I—I like this.” He swallows hard. “This is—yeah. I like this a lot.”

“Then something different?”

Jeno’s eyes fall to Renjun, who’s watching this exchange without a word, gaze sharp like an animal lying in wait.

“Oh,” Jaemin says, understanding clicking into place. He smiles, wicked. “You want Renjun?”

Renjun’s spine is straight, posture loose, but his knuckles are white as he fists the bed sheets underneath them. Jeno doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands. And he definitely doesn’t miss the bulge trapped in the front of his pants. “How do you want me?”

And Jeno, struck by a surge of bravery, says, “I want you to drink from me.”

The reaction is immediate, triplet shivers down all three of their spines. For Jeno, it’s a bit like fear. But mostly it’s like jumping off the cliff.

Jaemin whines, “No fair,” but he’s already sitting back on his heels to make room.

“Too bad. I’m older.” Renjun shifts forward to loom over Jeno, but his words are directed to Jaemin. “Seniority rules. Move over, baby.”

“You still got first kiss.” Jeno brushes a thumb across Jaemin’s collarbone, connecting the dots between the bruises his mouth left there. Jaemin preens at the attention and tries to make it look like he isn’t. “And you get to watch while Renjun fucks me with my blood in his mouth.”

Finally, a crack in composure: “Fuck,” Renjun says, rough, and digs his fingernails into Jeno’s bare thigh. It stings and it feels like a victory.

“We might be the monsters, Jeno,” Jaemin says, “but you are fucking filthy.”






Point A to Point B to Point C. And that’s how Jeno ends up with Renjun straddling him, finally stripped down to his underwear and pinning Jeno’s shoulders against the headboard, eyes darting to his jugular every few seconds and snapping away almost as if he’s guilty.

“What’s drinking blood like?”

Jaemin hums, thoughtful, and looks to Renjun for help.

“Humans always ask that. I honestly can’t remember a time when I needed things like water and food,” Renjun says. “But I guess it’s like drinking a glass of iced tea on the hottest day of summer. Or eating that first bite of your mother’s warm, home-baked cherry pie.” He grins, feral, a sudden crack in his tame exterior. “And like coming after edging yourself for fucking hours. It’s like that, too.”

Renjun makes a satisfied noise when Jeno’s cock twitches against him from where he’s straddling him.

Jeno breathes a laugh. “Does that make me dessert?”

“That’s what it means to drink from you,” Renjun says, but it’s distracted. “I need you to understand. I’ll only take a small amount, but it’ll be hard for me to stop. Hard for both of us.” His next words are lower. “And I think with you, it’s going to be almost impossible.”

“How so?” Jeno licks off his sweat beading on his upper lip, and Renjun’s eyes follow the motion.

Jaemin, next to him against the headboard, runs a finger lightly over his collarbone, down one of the veins in his bicep. His eyes are bloody red. “You have no idea how good you smell.”

“You know how werewolves have their scenting?” Renjun’s lips trail up Jeno’s neck, not quite close enough to connect. Just a susurration of air against his pulse point. It’s maddening. “How to them, their mates have the strongest, most tempting smell of all?”

“Sure.” Jeno’s hand shakes when he grips Renjun’s shoulder, desperate for purchase. He’s melting into the satiny sheets underneath him. “You saying you wanna breed me?”

Renjun growls low in his throat. And Jeno is reminded of the deadly nature of these creatures he has followed into their home. That dragged him into their bed. And he went eagerly. What does that make him?

“Maybe.” Renjun’s lips are like ice as they finally press a kiss to his flushed neck. “But what I’m really saying is, your scent is — overwhelming. Irresistible.”

At Jeno’s side, Jaemin shudders at his words.

Jeno’s eyes are fluttering closed. The world is narrowing to the press of Renjun’s body on top of his, cold everywhere that Jeno is molten, burning up. But he has the lucidity to say, “Then stop teasing and taste me already.”

He tilts his head all the way back, exposing his throat. He offers himself like a sacrifice.

And Renjun is more than willing to take it.

He feels Renjun smile. Jeno thinks he hears him say, “This will only hurt a little,” before his fangs pierce his neck, and Jeno’s vision blacks out with pain.

It’s fucking agony, like white-hot knives in his jugular spreading to every nerve ending in his body. He arches against Renjun, his body blindly trying to writhe away, and Renjun’s cool hands on his chest press down and hold him fast. Someone is whimpering, and he realizes after a heartbeat that it’s him. A few hot tears well in his eyes and streak down his cheeks.

“That’s it, baby boy,” Jaemin says, caressing down Jeno’s arm. “You’re doing so well.”

Renjun moves against him, sliding easily with the thin sheen of sweat across Jeno’s body. He’s hard against Jeno’s abdomen. Jeno’s hands come up to claw down his back, through his hair, and Renjun pauses for only a breath to moan at the sensation, then latches onto his neck once more with a fresh spike of pain.

And then, as it builds and builds in a never-ending peak, just as Jeno is about to beg him to stop, endorphins flood through him in a hot rush. He sags against the headboard with a broken moan.

Fuck,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck, please.”

It washes over him in waves, the most intense, spine-tingling, toe-curling pleasure he’s ever experienced. It’s more than physical, almost mental — like an orgasm but never-ending, like champagne bubbles sparkling through his bloodstream.

“Oh, you like that, Jeno?” Jaemin rasps. “That feel good, baby?” He cards his fingers through his hair, pushes the sweaty strands off his forehead.

Renjun rocks against him, grinding down on Jeno’s cock that’s as hard as if he had been hours-deep into foreplay. Ecstasy zings from Jeno’s head to his feet, every motion of Renjun’s body amplified by the carnal pleasure radiating from where his fangs are buried in Jeno’s neck.

Jeno leans back and lets Renjun use him, gives him better access to ride Jeno’s cock through their underwear. Renjun’s mouth works against him with every circle of his hips. Jeno can hear himself gasping and whimpering, in no more control over his own mouth than he is over the rest of his body. He feels Renjun’s muscles in his thighs, bracketing his waist, flutter with the strain of holding himself up.

They’re not having sex, but their bodies move in an imitation of it. Jeno grips Renjun’s waist, his hands huge on his tiny abdomen, and tilts his hips to grind his cock against Renjun’s through his briefs.

Renjun keens at the new angle and breaks away from his neck, and with a few frenzied, stuttering cants of his hips, comes hotly with a curse, his head in the crook of Jeno’s neck, shooting enough to soak through his briefs and into Jeno’s in a wet stain. In a daze, he slumps against Jeno’s chest.

“Did you just come in your pants, baby?” Jaemin says, breathing hitched. “Fuck, that’s so fucking hot.”

And Jeno realizes Jaemin is jerking himself off watching them, his wrist moving frantically under his underwear’s waistband.

Then Jaemin leans over with his other hand and fists both Jeno and Renjun’s cocks together, pressing them flush through the fabric of their briefs, still hot and sticky with Renjun’s cum. Renjun digs his fingernails into Jeno’s chest and moans, open-mouthed, at the sudden touch in his oversensitivity.

And with a few pumps of Jaemin’s fist, Jeno sees white. His hips jerk off the bed and his orgasm rolls over him like a force of nature, as he slides slick against Renjun’s body and his cock drools through the fabric of his briefs. A shiver runs down Renjun’s spine when he feels Jeno’s wetness mix with his own in the mess at the meeting of their bodies.

Jeno sags against the headboard, utterly spent. There are no words to express what just happened.

He settles on, “Holy shit.”

The marks on his neck are still bleeding freely. Renjun notices and lifts his head with a noticeable effort to lave his tongue across the bites, sealing them with whatever magic that just gave Jeno the best orgasm of his life.

Then Renjun swipes two fingers through the blood dripping down his collarbone. He reaches his hand out to Jaemin. He looks adorable, hair in pieces and flushed with post-sex glow, so at odds with the filthiness of what they just did.

“Here, baby.” He even has the nerve to giggle.

Jaemin, still stroking his own cock with frenetic jerks, lurches forward and sucks Jeno’s blood off Renjun’s fingers with a groan. He’s coming before he even swallows, one hand clutching Renjun’s wrist and the other palming himself inside his briefs, staining them dark.

And Jeno doesn’t miss the flash of fangs in his mouth when he collapses into Jeno’s other shoulder.

“Oh my God.” Jaemin sounds as wrecked as Jeno feels. “I would say I just died, but I’m already dead.”

Renjun snickers and lazily smacks his shoulder. “That was so fucking lame. Even for you.”

After a minute, Jaemin heaves himself up with considerable effort and disappears into the bathroom, then returns with a few damp towels to clean up. He takes extra care peeling off Jeno’s ruined underwear and wiping him clean.

Even though Jeno just came minutes ago, his stomach still flutters at the attention between his legs and he can’t clamp down his whine at the press of Jaemin’s hand against his oversensitive sex.

“Ready for round two, huh, baby?” Jaemin says, voice sweet. He kisses Jeno’s forehead softly. “Maybe next time.” He drags the towel over Jeno’s stomach, soothing and warm. “You did so good tonight.”

Jeno must have dozed off, because he comes back to himself with Renjun and Jaemin nestled on either side of him, their heads on his chest. His nose is in Jaemin’s hair. The sound that woke him buzzes across his skin again. It’s Renjun, mumbling something.

“What did you say?”

“I just decided.” Renjun’s voice is froggy, like he’s fighting sleep, too. “We’re keeping you.”

Jeno whispers, “I’m very open to that.” But they’re both already under.






They fall into a routine.

Renjun keeps a meticulous calendar, marking off the days he and Jaemin drink from him like a food diary. They alternate. They have a system. Jeno scoffs at the whole idea, knowing he’ll be perfectly fine even if they drink from him a few days in a row — it’s not like it’ll kill him.

“And if it does,” Jeno says, “you can just turn me. It’s fine.” Immortality, frozen at twenty years old forever, doesn’t seem like a bad deal.

Renjun frowns. “It’s not that simple.”

“It was that simple when you turned Jaemin, wasn’t it?”

Jeno knows this from one of his solo dates with Jaemin, when they went cycling along the Han River. Renjun is often busy with his art galleries and works late. He insists they still spend time together even if he can’t make it. It happens often, between Jaemin travelling for shoots and Jeno’s classes, that all three of their schedules don’t line up. But they make it work.

It’s what they’ve been doing, these past several months. Making it work. And they work very, very well. Jeno has started leaving his toothbrush at their place.

“That was different,” Renjun says softly. “He was dying. I saved him.”

“Really? He didn’t tell me that.”

Renjun lays a hand gently on his forearm, looking up at him. And Jeno is reminded, not for the first time, of the heavy weight of the centuries that Renjun has seen, fathoms-deep and dark in his bright eyes.

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, the way they seethe under his skin. He doesn’t seem so otherworldly when he’s asleep and tangled in sun-washed blankets on Sunday mornings, cheek squished into his pillow next to Jaemin. Or when he hums along to the radio while he cooks dinner in his apron.

“I’ll tell you the whole story.” He laces his fingers with Jeno’s. “Another day. It’s not a happy one.”

But whatever happened between them in the past, he thinks they’re happier now. He feels it in the way Jaemin wraps a protective arm around him when they cross the street, in the way Renjun, after hearing Jeno couldn’t afford a meal plan this semester, started packing him Tupperware lunches to bring to campus.

He comes home one night after a midterm to find Jaemin and Renjun slow-dancing in the kitchen. Jaemin’s hand is on the small of Renjun’s back, chin resting on top of his head. Renjun is singing along softly to the scratchy voice on the radio, the ancient one from the 1960s. One of the many relics they’ve preserved from days gone by.

Jaemin meets Jeno’s eyes, half-hooded and sweet, and they smile over Renjun’s head. He crosses the kitchen and wraps his arms around the both of them.

And Jeno is so in love he could die.

It doesn’t hurt that the sex is phenomenal, too. The thing about refractory periods is true, Jeno discovers quickly. They’re as insatiable as their thirst for blood. That suits Jeno just fine. And they don’t carry bacteria, so he gets to take their cocks raw, whenever he wants. The perks of being undead.

There’s an art to it. Renjun and Jaemin have centuries of practice. To the outside world, they are family-portrait-perfect, the kind of neighbor couple you invite to the backyard summer barbecue.

But with Jeno, in the privacy between silken sheets and late night hours, they are allowed to unleash the predatory instincts they are usually forbidden from indulging.

And Jeno is more than happy to be the catalyst. Like tonight.

Renjun has been withdrawn and quiet, even since before they came to the hibachi restaurant where they had dinner. He gets like this sometimes. He draws the curtains and closes the blinds and retreats into himself, when Jeno knows he’s overwhelmed and wrung out. Maybe from a long work week, or from the listless, numbing fog that he sometimes suffers from when it rolls in like a rainstorm.

On nights like these, Jeno knows he wants nothing more than to be drawn out of his own head.

“You,” Renjun hisses, dragging him by a hand on his back and a fist in his nape onto the bed on top of him, “need to be taught a lesson.”

Jeno gasps a laugh, the prickle across his scalp from the hair-pulling practically luxurious, compared to what he knows comes next. He smiles against Renjun’s mouth. “What for?”

“Brat. You know exactly what.” Renjun tugs Jeno’s shirt off his shoulders, rips his fly open without ceremony. “Rubbing my thigh. Groping me under the table soon as the waitress turned away.”

He punctuates his words with a hard bite to Jeno’s jugular, not with his fangs but just his human canines—but pleasure skids across Jeno’s body all the same. He arches his spine, tilts his head for better access for Renjun to suck a wicked bruise into his neck. He almost has to admire Renjun for his restraint in not taking a bite out of him right then.

He loves Renjun and his sweetness, his careful insistence, his gentle touches when they’re in public like he’s afraid Jeno will break. But he loves Renjun best like this—not quite a feral creature but just shy of it, demanding and animalistic, that draws out the obedience from Jeno that he craves to give.

He lets Renjun roll on top of him, straddling his hips. His hand comes up to grip Jeno around the throat, barely even pressing on his windpipe, but Jeno chokes on a moan nonetheless.

“So pretty like this, baby,” Renjun says, and Jeno flushes red. “All desperate and whiny for it.”

Jeno bucks his hips, pressing his hardness flush against Renjun’s, just to hear the growl ripple from the older man’s throat. Jeno’s hands come up to press flat against his waist, the same one he traces circles across with his thumb when he wakes up before Renjun and Jaemin, tangled in their arms and warm with sleep.

“Oh, God, that’s so good—harder.” His voice is hoarse from Renjun’s hand around his neck. At his plea, it tightens a little on his windpipe and his eyelashes flutter. “Please.”

Jeno doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but he wants more. He’s been playing this game for hours, teasing them at the restaurant, palming himself under the table and rocking against his hand when he knew Renjun and Jaemin were looking, whispering in their ears about how badly he wants them to bend him over the table. When they hissed at him to sit down and behave, it only made him more persistent. He’s been hard on-and-off for so long, his balls are tight and aching in his jeans.

He needs something inside. He needs to be splayed out and filled, fucked into, stuffed to the brim until he overflows.

Jeno hears the bedroom door close, Jaemin having returned from the bathroom. There’s a few soft whumps when his clothes hit the floor, as he makes his way across the bedroom.

Renjun lets go of his throat and pushes off of Jeno, then slides off the bed. Then he tugs Jeno into standing, to make room for Jaemin to sit on the mattress. He watches their every move with a predatory gleam in his red eyes.

And Renjun—Renjun sinks to his knees in front of Jeno, pulling Jeno’s briefs down with him and letting his cock spring free. The sight itself is so fucking hot, Renjun on his knees in front of him, still in his work clothes, fingernails digging into Jeno’s ass and eye-to-eye with his throbbing red cock. Jeno almost streaks white across his face right then and there.

Renjun lets one, hot breath skate across Jeno’s cock, and he gasps at the tingling sensation, his cock twitching involuntarily. His fingers thread through Renjun’s hair.

“Want this so bad, don’t you?” Renjun taunts. He presses a tiny, kittenish lick under the head of Jeno’s cock. His mouth is like ice. Jeno makes a noise that’s utterly inhuman. “Want to come in my throat, baby boy?” Another lick up the underside of the length of his cock.

Yes.” Jeno’s hand that isn’t carded through Renjun’s hair grips his shoulder, anchoring himself before he falls apart just from Renjun’s tongue and his teasing alone. “Yes, please, can I—?”

“Too bad.” He rises to his feet and presses a kiss, delicate, to the corner of his mouth. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

Then he cups Jeno’s jaw, almost gentle, and turns his head to look at Jaemin.

Who’s sprawled across the bed, propped up on the pillows and his cock in his fist, stroking himself lazily to hardness. Jeno is longer in size than both Jaemin and Renjun, but Jaemin is thick, his girth red and turgid, nestled in black hair that trails from his belly button to between his legs. Jaemin notices Jeno’s stare and smirks, then releases himself to let his cock slap, heavy and enormous, against the lean muscles of his abdomen.

Jeno’s mouth waters.

“Suck his cock.” Renjun’s voice is like velvet and brooks no disagreement. “Since you want to be such a little fucking tease.”

Renjun bends him over the bed, but it’s Jeno who goes willingly, crawling on his hands and knees in desperate obedience to hover over Jaemin’s cock. He settles his hands on Jaemin’s pale inner thighs and comes eye-to-eye with his member.

It’s almost as thick as Jeno’s wrist. He’s dying to choke on it.

Before Jeno brings him to his mouth, Jaemin tilts his chin back with two chilled fingers. “So good for us, sweetheart,” he murmurs, with a beatific smile. “Love you.”

Jeno’s heart stutters a beat, and Jaemin smiles when he hears it. “I love you.”

Renjun presses a kiss to the base of Jeno’s spine from behind him. “Love you too. Both of you.”

Then his fingers are digging into Jeno’s thighs hard enough to bruise. Jeno hopes they do, hopes they join the constellations of bruises and scratches and bites that criss-cross his inner thighs, down his back, across his neck where his shirt collars can never quite cover. Jeno suspects Jaemin and Renjun do that on purpose. To mark him as theirs.

Renjun’s voice drips with authority. “Now choke on his cock like a good boy while I eat you out.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jeno whimpers.

He couldn’t disobey if he tried. He relaxes his jaw and takes Jaemin onto his tongue, swirls it around his head, just tasting him. Jaemin hisses the moment his mouth connects.

And in one swift motion he swallows Jaemin almost entirely, his nose just brushing the curls where Jaemin’s shaft meets his body. Jaemin actually snarls. Jeno hears his head hit the pillows under him as his head falls back.

“Goddamn, baby.” Jaemin’s voice is like gravel. “You trying to kill me?”

Jeno lets the inside of his mouth well up, wet and filthy with spit, as he works his mouth over Jaemin. It’s a little disgusting, and the noises Jeno’s mouth makes should gross him out. But he’s hard for it, full and heavy where his cock hangs between his legs, his head occasionally brushing against the silken sheets below them with just a shiver of friction.

Jaemin is so thick, Jeno’s jaw starts to ache with the strain, as he slides farther and farther down his shaft, closer with each bob of his head to taking all of him. He feels the moment that the heady taste of Jaemin’s precum coats the back of his tongue.

Jaemin’s hand comes down to his cheek to push against it lightly, feeling the stretch of him inside Jeno’s mouth. Then Jeno runs his hand across Jaemin’s thigh, pauses to grip his fingers into the flesh there, then slides up to massage Jaemin’s balls with his palm.

His reaction is immediate: his hips buck up into Jeno’s mouth, involuntary, and that’s the moment he pushes fully into Jeno’s throat and he chokes. Tears burn his eyes. He pulls off with a wet gasp.

“Fuck, sweetheart, sorry.” Jaemin strokes a thumb across his cheek. “That felt incredible.”

Jeno wipes the slick off his mouth with a smile. “You should do it aga—”

Then his words are cut off when he cries out at the cold, wet tongue that plunges into the cleft of his ass.

“Oh, God, oh, my God,” he squeaks, head falling into the dip of Jaemin’s hip bone. Jaemin’s cock obscures most of his vision through his half-hooded eyes.

Renjun’s tongue swirls around his rim, then dips in. Jeno’s body goes weak and his weight gives out completely. He falls to his elbows, but Renjun holds him fast, angles his hips in the air so he can continue laving his tongue across Jeno’s hole.

Jeno clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled, and Renjun must notice because he plunges his tongue inside his walls, soft and cold and filthy wet with his spit. Jeno thrusts his hips in a pathetic attempt at getting friction from something.

He’s so fucking hard he can’t breathe and he needs to come so badly it’s a physical ache in his cock, twisting deep in his gut. He reaches down to stroke himself, relieve the pressure, anything, and Jaemin grabs both his arms and pins them to the bed.

“Naughty,” Jaemin taunts, but his voice is ragged. “Not allowed to come until Renjun says so, baby boy.”

Please, just let me—” He tries to twist from Jaemin’s grip with a whine, but Jaemin holds him fast. And Jeno is every bit strong enough to throw off Jaemin’s grip, even if he wanted to. But he chooses to submit and lie still, his whimpers building louder and louder as Renjun eats him out, tongue sliding slick against Jeno’s hole.

They talked about this, at the restaurant. It was one of the depraved things Jeno whispered in Renjun’s ear. And Renjun is always more than happy to indulge him.

It’s always like this, with Renjun and Jaemin — the only constant being that they are never the same. Especially when Jeno is sharing their bed with nothing between them but skin in the darkness. Utterly vulnerable.

In the past, Jeno would have blushed at even the suggestion of a conversation about kinks, or experimentation. Renjun and Jaemin still surprise Jeno every day, just when he thinks they’ve pushed him to his every brink and then further. It’s raw and it’s a tiny bit dangerous and it’s fun. Jeno didn’t know love could be so much fun.

And Jeno has been in love before, sure, but he’s never been revered with the same giddy, reckless abandon that he feels in these two men’s arms. He’s never been loved without reason, without margins. And now that he knows what it feels like, he’s never letting go.

Jaemin’s hands move from Jeno’s wrists to his hands on the bed sheets, and their fingers interlace.

“You still with us, baby?” Jaemin says softly.

Jeno nods into his skin. “Always.”

Then Renjun pulls away all at once. Jeno whines in displeasure at the absence, but Renjun taps his ass lightly to quiet him. “Hush.”

There’s a dip in the mattress as Renjun slides off of it, then after a moment, a slight jostle as he returns and positions behind Jeno. Who stays in the same position dutifully, hands still pinned by Jaemin, ass high in the air. The way he knows Renjun likes him.

Renjun grabs a pillow and slides it under Jeno’s hips, who leans gratefully into it.

“Is it okay if I —”

Yes,” Jeno says. And then, “Please.”

And Jeno through his haze hears the bottle of lube opening and closing, and he knows exactly what’s about to happen but still shudders when Renjun’s fingers, even colder than usual with lube, circle his rim.

The noise Jeno makes comes somewhere deep inside himself — maybe the same feral place that Renjun and Jaemin tap into when they drink his blood — when Renjun’s finger slides inside Jeno to the first knuckle. And meets no resistance. Renjun hums in satisfaction.

Jeno smiles into Jaemin’s skin. “Jaemin stretched me out so good for you this morning, baby.”

Renjun breathes a laugh, at the same moment Jaemin groans and lets go of Jeno’s hands to fist his own hardness. Jeno knows he’s probably aching now, neglected by Jeno’s mouth but still shiny with his spit.

“He really likes that, Jeno,” Renjun says, low and playful. “Being told how good he is.”

Jeno says, “Jaemin, your boyfriend is gonna fuck me just as good as you did, yeah?” And Renjun presses his whole finger inside in one slick motion and curls, directly against Jeno’s prostate.

Jeno thrusts back into Renjun’s hand at the same time Jaemin lets out a guttural, “Oh, God,” and comes with a broken noise. His cock jerks next to Jeno’s face, a few ropes of his cum splattering across Jeno’s cheekbones. Renjun laughs in delight.

Then everything becomes hot and frantic all at once. Jeno is lost to the stretch of Renjun’s fingers moving in and out of him with loud, filthy squelches. He rocks back into him, begging for more the second he adjusts to every new intrusion, until Renjun is working him open with three fingers, every brush against the bundle of nerves inside him setting fireworks across his skin. His cock is trapped between his abdomen and the pillows underneath him, the soft slide with every jerk of his hips delicious but not enough.

He’s still buried in Jaemin’s hip bone, the streaks of his cum dripping down his face. Jaemin runs his fingers through his hair, gentle and murmuring praises.

And he realizes the wetness under his mouth is from his own drool, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan as Renjun stretches him wider and wider.

Again, Renjun pulls away too soon. Until Jeno hears the cap of the lube bottle open and close again.

Then he feels Renjun drag his tip across his entrance, but his sex isn’t lubed yet. It’s just a hair too dry for the drag over his hole, and his tip catches at Jeno’s rim to his gasp.

“Oh, fuck, oh, my God.” Jeno’s eyes almost roll back into his head and his heart flutters with equal parts fear and desire. He’s going to split Jeno open, spear him on his cock until Jeno is cleaved in two —

“Stop teasing and fucking rail me already, please,” Jeno sobs.

Then there’s a wet, frantic sound of lube being generously spread. A growl rips from Renjun’s throat, one that makes Jeno’s hair stand on end with arousal and the smallest prickle of fear — just enough that his cock twitches in anticipation trapped between himself and the pillow.

“Spread wider for me, sweetheart.” A soft kiss with steel teeth brushes the base of his spine. And Jeno can’t see Renjun, but he can imagine his eyes bloody-red and pupils blown wide, his mouth full of fangs. “I’m going to give you what you asked for.”

And Jaemin’s hand is on his shoulder when Renjun sinks into Jeno’s heat, and Jeno keens.

Renjun fucks like he’s running out of time. He barely gives Jeno a moment to adjust to the stretch, and then Renjun is driving into him without mercy, the snap of his hips against Jeno’s ass hard and unrelenting. When he dips and adjusts the angle and thrusts back in, so hard Jeno’s whole body pitches forward with it, he nails Jeno’s prostate and every nerve, every cell in his body lights on fire.

Jeno is blabbering, curses and pleas for more and nonsense spilling from his mouth in a whimpering rush. He’ll be embarrassed for it tomorrow, for the noises he makes when Renjun’s cock slams into him. He doesn't care.

His own cock is throbbing, heavier and heavier, filling so full it’s painful.

“Please, Renjun,” he sobs. “I need to come.”

But Renjun tugs his hair viciously. Jeno’s eyes fill with tears. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Coming on my cock.”

“Yes, fuck, I want to.” Jeno writhes underneath him. “Please, let me, please, I’ll be good, I promise—”

Renjun pairs his words with a stinging slap across Jeno’s ass and one more brutal tug. But his words are soft. “Just a little longer, baby.”

Jeno’s face is still on Jaemin’s thigh, though. And he opens his eyes to see the obscene view of Jaemin’s cock bouncing with every rock of Jeno’s body against him. Jaemin is already half-hard again, watching Renjun fuck into him. Jeno heaves himself up, wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth, and half-heartedly sinks his mouth around Jaemin’s length.

Jaemin pulls his head by his nape, up and off of his cock. “Not yet. Want you here for this. Want you here when Renjun comes inside you.”

And at his words, Renjun’s hips slam one last time and he spills with a curse inside Jeno, painting his insides with his cum, pumping him fuller with every thrust. Jeno’s eyes roll back into his head for a second at the sensation, the hot wetness of it. It’s so good it’s foul, practically obscene, the way Renjun’s cock feels gushing inside of him.

Too easily, Renjun slides out of Jeno. His hole clenches around nothing in his sudden absence. There’s something wet dribbling from his ass, either lube or Renjun’s cum. It makes him shiver.

“Turn around, sweetheart,” Renjun rasps. “Sit on Jaemin’s cock.”

Jeno whimpers, his body feeling too heavy and weak to move. But Jaemin guides him into position, turning him over and lining up with his entrance. Jeno feels wetness overflow from inside him, pouring down his inner thighs.

And it’s with a whine of pleasure deep in his chest that Jeno sinks onto Jaemin’s cock, straddling his lap, his back pressed flush and hot against Jaemin. He’s so slick with lube and Renjun’s cum, it’s with only the slightest of burns that Jaemin buries himself to the hilt.

“So wet for me, baby.” Jaemin drags a tongue across Jeno’s neck, tasting his sweat. “Take my cock so well.”

Jaemin’s thickness stretches him impossibly wider, tight and almost unbearably full. He swears he can feel his insides pull apart — making room for him, piercing him so deep he can feel Jaemin in his throat.

His thighs shiver with the exertion of holding himself upright. Jaemin’s arms come up to wrap around him, pressing his hands over his chest, over his jack-rabbiting heart.

And then he starts to move.

If Renjun fucks like he’s running out of time, then Jaemin fucks like he has an eternity, slow and sensual. Their bodies slot into one another, the sheen of sweat across Jeno making it too easy to ride Jaemin’s cock. He grips Jaemin’s thighs underneath him for dear life. He’s lightheaded, heady with the rush in his blood, the greedy joy of being broken open and stuffed.

“Doing so good, baby boy,” Jaemin whispers into his neck. He can feel the razor-sharpness of his fangs brush against his jugular. “Such a good boy for me.”

And Jeno knows Jaemin is close, can tell by the way his rhythm goes irregular as he grinds into Jeno, his hips stuttering. Jaemin’s chest is heaving, his nails dragging across Jeno’s chest in thin lines of pain.

And he’s so full and dripping wet with lube and Renjun’s cum, squelching out of him after every thrust, and he’s agonizingly hard and all he fucking wants is to burst. The entire world has narrowed to the need, the aching desire to let go.

He opens his mouth for one, final beg, and then Renjun’s lips press a kiss to the inside of his thigh.

He looks up at Jeno coyly through his eyelashes. His eyes are redder than fresh blood. “Can I—?”

“God, yes, do it,” Jeno rushes.

Renjun doesn’t need to be told twice. His fangs pierce Jeno’s inner thigh.

It hurts less than the neck, but the wash of pain is almost as intense as the first time. Renjun’s mouth is freezing on the soft flesh of his inner thigh, the stab of his fangs exquisite. Jeno thinks he’s going to come undone before the pain will even lessen.

Then the pleasure of whatever magic in Renjun’s fangs washes over him, and Jaemin wraps a fist around his cock and pumps once, twice, thrice, and Jeno sees white. He’s coming without warning, a sob of happiness tearing from his throat, and he falls back against Jaemin when his limbs go weak and limp as Jaemin fucks him through it.

But he doesn’t stop. It’s fucking torture, so good it hurts. Jaemin’s cock continues to grind against his already-abused prostate. His eyes are streaming again at the overstimulation, at the rough jerks of Jaemin’s hips up into him, his nerves fried and hyper-sensitive. His cock is an angry, pulsing red.

They also talked about this at the restaurant. Not stopping. Driving him to the edge.

Jaemin skims Jeno’s wet hole with his fingers, testing the stretch and feeling him give, to make room for more.

“You still have some room left, baby,” Jaemin pants. “Wonder if you could take me and Renjun at the same time.” Jeno flushes even redder than he already is at the thought and chokes on a moan.

Renjun breaks off of his thigh for a moment, wipes Jeno’s blood from his mouth. “Jaemin, bite him.”

Jaemin cups his face and presses a kiss, almost sweetly, to his jaw. Then he threads his fingers in his hair to yank his head to the side, but the prickle of pain is nothing compared to when his fangs pierce Jeno’s neck.

Jeno almost blacks out with pleasure right then and there, between Jaemin inside him and drinking from him, and Renjun’s bruising bite on his thigh. Jaemin swallows the first mouthful of his blood and he’s coming, growling into Jeno’s neck, filling him even wetter and fuller with sickening squelches of his cum as he fucks into him.

Jeno’s cock is still hard, somehow, and so sensitive it throbs, and it’s too soon for him to come again, but his cock isn’t listening to him anymore. It’s like his body has forgotten its restraints.

Renjun licks over the wound on his thigh to close it and surges up. With a snarl, he bites the other side of Jeno’s neck.

And with the flash of delicious pain so much he can hardly take it, before the chemicals from Renjun’s bite even have the chance to overcome him, Jeno’s second climax roars through him like a thunderclap, a roll of white-hot pleasure that bursts through his cock and engulfs his entire body. He feels like a dying star.

He jerks and wails, hips bucking out of Jaemin’s lap. He swears he loses his vision, his cock twitching almost painfully, almost out of cum to expel but streaking a few pathetic strings of white.

Something wet splashes across his front, and he barely has the awareness to recognize that Renjun just came, too, fisting himself as he drinks and drinks.

He dimly registers Renjun’s mouth meeting his, and the coppery taste of his own blood coating his tongue.

“So good, baby,” he whispers against Jeno’s mouth. “You were incredible.”

Time passes, either a minute or a century. Jeno has no way of knowing. He returns to his body in pieces, regaining feeling slowly as his vision clears. First his fingers, then his toes, then seeping into his limbs. He knows rationally his body will be able to move again one day. But that’s doubtful.

Renjun is curled in his lap, head resting over his heart. Jeno is slumped back onto Jaemin’s chest, and sticky everywhere with sweat and cum and flakes of dried blood. The sheets are dotted with it under his thigh, where Renjun’s fangs dripped, bright against the white linen like a study in scarlet.

Jaemin is, as always, the first to pull away. He shifts Jeno gently onto his side and pulls out of him with a low groan. Renjun goes with him, throwing an arm over Jeno’s chest and nuzzling into his side. He’s a little chilled — they’re both always so cold, especially against Jeno’s feverish skin after sex. But as if Jeno’s body heat or blood or both somehow heated him up, Renjun is almost warm. Jeno wraps his arms around him and feels Renjun sigh in contentment.

Jaemin presses a cold kiss to his flushed neck. “Did so good, baby.” He rubs a hand gently across his lower abdomen, uncaring of the sticky mess Jeno made of himself there. “So proud of you.”

Jeno is cum-dumb and hazy with afterglow. But he pulls himself together enough to croak, “Yeah. You did all right, too, I guess.”

Renjun is fighting his tiredness just as hard as Jeno, but he joins Jaemin in soft laughter.

“You,” Renjun says, voice destroyed, and he leans up and presses a kiss to the side of Jeno’s nose.


Renjun’s head falls onto Jeno’s chest, breathless. “You just had to go and be exactly what we needed, huh?”

Jaemin heaves off the bed and pads to the bathroom, and Renjun noses into Jeno’s neck. And Jeno knows he’s been sated, because his eyes don’t even burn red at being so close to his pulse.

“Don’t tell Jaemin,” he mumbles into his skin, “but you’re my favorite.”

Jeno summons his last reserve of energy and brings his hand to his chest in pretend-shock. “You like me better? Better than the one you turned to make your eternal life partner? I’m so telling.”

“You better not.” He leans over and nibbles Jeno’s earlobe, who squirms away. “His ego will never be able to take the hit.”

Jaemin returns with three damp towels in hand. “If you’re talking about me, I’d like to be part of the conversation. I’m my favorite subject.”

“See?” Renjun gestures at him. “He’ll never recover.”

They both dissolve into laughter, and Jaemin piles on top of them, squishing them both until Renjun sticks his finger up Jaemin’s nose and he begs for surrender. Then Renjun takes the towels and cleans them both, taking extra care with the tender bites on Jeno’s neck and thigh that are already beginning to bruise, then himself.

Towels can only do so much, and Jeno needs a boiling-hot shower before he can feel clean and respectable enough to return to the world.

But Jaemin slots his chin into his shoulder from behind. Renjun slings his arm around his waist. And Jeno isn’t immortal yet — maybe he never will be — but he thinks he could be content with spending eternity like this, enveloped on all sides by cool limbs and ruined bed sheets, and twin hearts without a pulse pressed to his chest.