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Primus inter pares.
Latin: “First among equals.”
Yeonjun’s words are simple, the way a knife to the throat is.
“Step in, or I will, Heeseung-ah.”
“And how should I step in, hyung?” Heeseung leans forward in his chair, conveying his focus on their conversation. Yeonjun’s always been sensitive about such things. If he detects the merest hint that Heeseung isn’t paying the appropriate attention, things will get bloody. Heeseung just put in a new carpet—he’d hate to soil it so early into its tenure on the floor.
“You’re not stupid,” Yeonjun says, arms crossing. “Those vampires from Gwangju, their quarrel’s with you. I’ve never cared about your vacuous political fights. But now your squabbles have affected me and mine, and if I end up having to step in, you won’t like what’s going to happen.”
Heeseung’s under no illusions. For all the neutrality in his tone, Yeonjun’s given him a threat, and Choi Yeonjun’s never made an empty threat in his too-long immortal life. There’s a reason they divided city duties the way they did—Heeseung handling politics, Seokjin handling inter-species relations, and Yeonjun handling the city’s defense, its law enforcement. Yeonjun’s a warrior, through and through. To him the world is wins and losses, throats to slit and missions to finish. If Heeseung brings him to the end of his rope, and he steps in, Yeonjun will leave Seoul red.
He fills his voice with contrition. “I assure you I’ll handle it, hyung.”
Yeonjun scoffs. “You’d better. Kai’s convalescing from an attack he was never meant to suffer, so I’m not feeling particularly forgiving. I want no traces of those vampires left in this city. You have a week.”
That’s the last thing Yeonjun says, before he rises out of the chair he sat in. He makes a crisp turn, ever the soldier, and walks to the hallway leading back to the mansion’s front door. In his wake, he leaves Heeseung, plus his half-finished teacup of A positive, flavored with candied tangerine peels, courtesy of Sunoo.
Within seconds of the front door going closed, Yeonjun gone, Heeseung’s no longer alone.
Jongseong zips in through the archway from the kitchen, in a burst of vampire speed.
He sits in the armchair Yeonjun vacated a mere minute and a half ago. “Well, that was direct.” He looks at Heeseung. “You look suspiciously calm for someone who got threatened.”
Heeseung finally allows his emotions to bleed through.
He smiles.
“I’ve wanted to get rid of those vampires for months now, but they never made enough of a mess to warrant total elimination. Unseemly, you know? There’s nothing more distasteful than looking like a tyrant.” Heeseung rubs his hands together. “But now I’ve got my pretext. I hate that Kai got hurt, but we’ve got to work with what life offers us. I didn’t think our solution would come through Yeonjun-hyung, but I don’t shun gifts that land in my lap.”
Jongseong’s eyes light up.
“So that’s why you’ve kept mum all this time, even when they were causing trouble.”
Heeseung shrugs. “I stay put when it’s the smart thing. All I needed was their frustration. Just one big enough wrong move. I was betting fifty-fifty—they’d either attack us, or someone associated, and now they’ve done it. I finally get to do what I want, and in a way that doesn’t raise questions.”
Jongseong leans an elbow on the armrest, rests his chin on his upturned palm.
“So what you’re saying is, now you can be judge, jury, and executioner.”
“Of course not,” Heeseung says, though he can feel the small grin stretching his face. “How could I be judge, jury, and executioner, if it’s Sunghoon who’ll write, and sign the edict naming their crimes? He’s the Chief Magistrate, so if anything, all I’ll be is a humble instrument of the law, conducting myself according to its will. What have I always told you? I’m no tyrant.”
“Yes, you are.” Jongseong’s eyes burn with mirth.
“Semantics,” Heeseung says, waving away the argument. “The important thing’s not to seem like one. People can survive well enough on illusions, they don’t have to know truths that will only hurt.”
Jongseong sighs, and Heeseung doesn’t miss the fondness laced through it.
“That pretty mind,” he says. “It’s times like this that I fear you.”
Heeseung gets out of his seat, and goes over to Jongseong, leaning down to kiss him. It’s indulgent, and their tongues tangle for a bit. Jongseong’s pushed down into the seat by Heeseung’s fervor, face cradled by his hands. When they break apart, Heeseung strokes a finger down Jongseong’s cheek, along his sharp jaw.
How beautiful he is. Centuries together, and he still makes Heeseung’s heart ache.
Heeseung says, “Fear? Of course you don’t fear me, darling. You love me.”
Jongseong looks up at him, and his smile is a sunrise. “Gods help me, but I do.” He gets up, and Heeseung moves back a bit to give him space. Jongseong pats Heeseung’s cheek. “You should get ready. Wear a cheaper shirt, since you’ll be out hunting. Sunoo won’t forgive you if you ruin another one of his gifts. Shall I get Sunghoon for you before you go? For the edict?”
Ah, Jongseong. Ever on his side.
“Please do. You’ll wait up for me, won’t you? I’m going to need you, my love.”
Jongseong kisses him, first on the lips, then on the forehead.
“Don’t I always wait for you? Go on, now. Get ready, I’ll have Sunghoon here when you’re done.”
Jongseong’s in the living room, along with everyone else, when Heeseung ambles in late that night.
The first thing Jongseong notes is the smell.
There’s Heeseung’s actual scent—oud, with a hint of spices. But it’s buried under a cloying sweetness, and the reason why is simple: Heeseung is drenched in blood. There are streaks of it in his hair, his hands, and all across the lower part of his face. It’s all over his clothes, and his gray dress shirt sticks to his chest, and a bit of his stomach, because of how wet it is. Even his jeans haven’t been saved. They’ve gone tight near his shins, the denim clinging.
The real kicker is how Heeseung sways as he walks towards them, a sot.
Jongseong’s just about to dislodge Jungwon from his lap, to go to Heeseung, but Jungwon gets up first.
There’s a split second where he wonders if he should step in, stop Jungwon from what he knows he’s about to do. Jungwon thinks this is something he can deal with. But Heeseung on a blood high isn’t something safely handled. He’s not safe even when sober. Still, Jongseong’s not of the same camp as Sunghoon and Jaeyun. Sunghoon always keeps his maknae—Sunoo—away from dangerous situations, period. It’s what he’s doing right now, holding Sunoo in his lap, preventing movement. Jaeyun’s much the same with Riki, preferring to soothe him when agitated, keep him centered, so that he doesn’t get wild ideas. At the moment, his method of choice is to keep Riki nursing on his wrist, so his focus stays on feeding, instead of going to Heeseung.
Jongseong is different. Why should he hold Jungwon back?
He needs his experience, let him learn. He’ll back away on his own when he does.
It’s like watching lightning strike someone, seeing Jungwon and Heeseung meet.
Jungwon’s a force all his own, no one knows that better than Jongseong himself. Sometimes he wonders if Jungwon made him fall in love by sheer will, giving Jongseong no choice, love me or die. But it’s amusing now, to see how quick Heeseung cows him. Jungwon doesn’t even get to situate himself, get a proper kiss in or anything. One moment he’s crashing into Heeseung, and the next moment, he’s pinned to the nearby wall, Heeseung’s fangs in his neck.
Jungwon whines, long, and plaintive.
From the sound, there’s no doubt what he’s asking for.
Help.
Jongseong starts counting to five. If Heeseung doesn’t unlatch himself before then, he’ll intervene.
He’s about to hit four when Heeseung draws back.
How is it even possible? Heeseung now looks even more drugged. His irises are red, the telltale sign of an ongoing high, but they’re so hazed, and his movements are so languid, that Jongseong wonders how he’s still upright. Is it an age thing? Heeseung’s nearing one thousand. Still, he came home already soused. Now he’s just finished drinking from Jungwon—yet more blood to add to however much he’s already had—and oh, Jongseong doesn’t like that look in his eyes.
Heeseung looks like he’s contemplating whether it’s enough to have fed, or if it would be good to fuck Jungwon, too.
Normally Jongseong wouldn’t be opposed, but not like this.
Not with Jungwon cornered, and Heeseung, quite plainly, out of his mind.
“Sweet, perfect darling,” Heeseung says to Jungwon, mouth blood-wet, words slurred. He leans in close, mouthing against Jungwon’s jaw. “Think you can handle hyung tonight? Look at you, all docile. What if I want to ruin you, lamb? Would you let me? Fuck you until you’re limp and then do it all over again. I’ll drink you dry. Could you handle that?”
“Hyung…” Jungwon says. Jongseong doesn’t know if it’s for him, or for Heeseung. Both, probably. He starts to wriggle, too, trying to back away, exactly as Jongseong predicted he would.
Jongseong stands, and zips over to them, gripping the back of Heeseung’s neck.
Heeseung growls in his grip, but Jongseong doesn’t relent.
“Now, now, hyung. Where are your manners?” Jongseong says, tightening his hold. He tugs, creating distance between Jungwon and Heeseung. He tells his maknae, “Jungwon, go to your hyungs, dearest. I’ll handle Heeseung-hyung tonight. Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson? Don’t traipse into situations you don’t know.”
Jungwon nods, quick as anything. “Sorry, hyung. I’ll be more careful next time.”
Heeseung growls again. Jongseong growls right back, with a quick snap of his teeth.
Jongseong returns his attention to Jungwon. “You’re forgiven, my heart. Go to your hyungs. Make sure to drink blood, to replenish what Heeseung-hyung took.”
“Yes, hyung,” Jungwon says, but then he leans forward, angled in Jongseong’s direction. He juts his lips out slightly. “Kiss, please?”
Jongseong pays no mind to how Heeseung’s trying to shake off his grip. Jungwon asked for a kiss—there’s no universe where he won’t prioritize that. So, with Heeseung still in his hold, he meets Jungwon halfway. Jongseong’s free hand goes to the hinge of Jungwon’s jaw, and he draws him into a kiss. To comfort, but also to please, because why not? The situation isn’t safe, but it’s manageable. A little indulgence won’t kill.
When Jungwon starts moaning into Jongseong’s mouth, Heeseung reaches the end of his tether. Jongseong has no time to react. Finally making his first real show of strength, Heeseung shrugs off Jongseong’s hand with a quick twist of his upper body. It jostles Jongseong enough that he’s made to move away from Jungwon, from the mere force of the action.
Oh, they’re in the danger zone now.
Jongseong’s priority is to keep his hyung contained.
“Jungwon, go, now,” he says. He shoos everyone else as well. This isn’t something for them to contend with. Everyone leaves, all blurs as they move. Now it’s just Jongseong and Heeseung.
One look at his hyung is enough to tell him what he’ll be in for.
That kind of night, is it?
Well, it’s not like Jongseong hasn’t missed it.
He knows what to do.
The three salient facts:
One, Heeseung is high. On blood, on his own power, on having perpetrated violence no one could’ve stopped him from. He went out intending to be the physical embodiment of I am the law, and came home a conqueror. Jongseong can only imagine the pleasure swimming in his hyung’s veins right now.
Two, Heeseung is a hard worker. It may not look like it sometimes, his effort might be internal, and quiet, but it doesn’t change the fact that he thrives off of victories hard-won. If he wins something easily, then it mustn’t have been all that valuable, and his only response to the worthless is to discard it.
Three, because of how high he is, there are only two options. First, Jongseong makes him crash down, summit to ground, naught in between. It’s doable. He’ll lock Heeseung with him in a room, hold on to him like he’s Proteus needing to be caught, and they’ll wait it out brute force, until he’s back to normal. Second, he can work off Heeseung’s energy less abruptly, but he knows what that’ll involve.
The fact that brings together the ones above:
If Jongseong runs, Heeseung is high enough to chase. And a chase implies hard work, plus a reward at the end, two things that are Heeseung’s favorites. And yes, he could pursue either option of bringing Heeseung down from his high, but why go the dull route? If Heeseung’s going to keep him up all night, it might as well be in the fun way.
Which means there’s but one thing to do.
Making sure that Heeseung’s eyes are on him, Jongseong snarls, and drops his fangs.
He stays standing, head high. It says he’s the predator here, he won’t bow.
Three, two, one—
Heeseung shows his own fangs, says only two things. “Jongseong-ah, submit.”
Jongseong snaps his teeth. “Unearned? Who do you think you are?”
“Submit.”
“Make me.”
Jongseong runs.
They end up in the backyard, far enough from the house that they’re closer to the property’s treeline than to anything else. It doesn’t merit more thinking. The yard’s trimmed. No cover. All Jongseong could ever do here is run in circles, and between the two of them, his hyung’s always been faster. A speed game’s out of the question, he’s dead right out the gate.
Into the woods it is, then.
Jongseong speeds into the trees. Granted, it’s more a grove than an actual patch of dense forest, but it’s enough. There are competing smells, there’s tree and shrub cover, and while Heeseung’s fast, Jongseong’s the better climber.
He scopes out various trunks, to pick the best one to climb. He knows Heeseung will chase him up, but it’s not really about winning. It’s about working off as much of his hyung’s energy as he can, before their game ends, and they end up fucking. The conclusion’s foregone, but he can still stretch things out a bit, can’t he? Anticipation is half of pleasure.
Jongseong picks his tree of choice, works out the height of his target branch from the ground.
He jumps, vampire strength propelling him upwards, and when he lands on the branch, he stanches his strength immediately. Not only so the branch doesn’t break, but so that his landing makes the least possible sound. It’s not utterly silent—never could’ve been—but it’s as silent as he can make it. Once perched, Jongseong crouches, carefully, and holds his body still. It’s their kind’s stalking stance, an unnatural immobility to better sneak up on prey. Or, in this case, the reverse: to avoid attracting a predator’s notice.
He hears Heeseung come to a stop, boots skidding along the detritus of the forest floor.
Jongseong doesn’t even risk breathing. It’s not like he’ll die from the lack of it.
“Hyung can smell you, my love,” Heeseung says, a shark in red waters. “Will you give up now, and come to me, or will I have to chase you down and put you in your place?”
Jongseong holds his stillness, his silence.
The next sound that comes is Heeseung’s cruel laughter.
“As you wish, darling. Ready or not, here I come.”
Jongseong thinks it won’t take more than ten seconds. Ten seconds until Heeseung’s climbing this very same tree, taking him in his arms, bringing him down. But Jongseong waits ten seconds, and…nothing. Ten turns into fifteen, twenty, thirty, and when it hits forty-five, it looks increasingly like Jongseong’s counting unit will be minutes.
What’s going on here?
What plan is Heeseung concocting in that head of his?
At two minutes and a half, Jongseong hears a whoosh of movement. And then, a beat of silence, like an omen. Before he can even speculate about what’s next, a large rock comes flying in his direction, thrown with inhuman force. It hits his branch, right where it joins the main trunk. A helpless crunch, and the branch gives way, taking Jongseong down with it. He’s already preparing to land on the ground, but it’s not the forest floor that meets him. Another whoosh of movement, and then he’s caught in strong arms, held so tightly he knows his only move is a white flag.
There’s only a little over a century’s gap between him and his hyung.
But to their kind, even small gaps like that matter.
“Caught you, love,” Heeseung says, setting him down on the ground.
Heeseung’s already leaning forward by the time Jongseong’s on solid footing. A breath passes, and then he’s being led into the one of the filthiest kisses he’s had in a while. There’s no chaste pecking, no little kisses to the corners of his mouth first. Which is to say, no permission’s being asked. Jongseong’s mouth is Heeseung’s for the taking, simply because he wants it. More pointedly, it’s like Jongseong is his just because he exists.
Jongseong groans into the kiss, lets himself fall into his hyung’s dominion.
Heeseung kisses hard enough for his fangs to drop, and cut Jongseong’s bottom lip. When the blood wells out, Heeseung gets vicious, licking, reveling in it.
When they pull apart, Heeseung’s still unmerciful.
He grips Jongseong by the neck.
“Submit,” he says, the word spilling rough from his mouth, like his throat’s lined with briars.
Jongseong’s already lax in Heeseung’s hold, but he can’t resist a last tease.
“Should I? Will you make it worth my while, if I do?”
The next seconds are a hurricane. Jongseong processes nothing except that Heeseung’s moving them both. By the time he’s in a position to figure out what’s happened, they’re already in the yard, and he’s flat on his back, Heeseung looming over him, a blood-soaked specter. Heeseung’s fangs are out, half glinting in the moonlight, half shadowed by their proximity. The icing on top is how Heeseung’s still got a hand on his neck, and is already starting to grind his hips down, bringing their cocks flush against each other through their clothes.
Heeseung drops his head to Jongseong’s ear.
“Submit to me,” Heeseung says, the sentence like dark smoke. “You know how I can reward obedience, Jongseong-ah. Give yourself to me, and I’ll tie a bow on the world and give it to you in return.” Heeseung cants his hips into Jongseong again, and they both groan. “See? You’re already under me. Your body already knows its place. Just have to let your mind and heart catch up. Give in to me. Let hyung fuck you, let me break you and put you back together how I want. Will I leave you hanging? Have I ever disappointed you? My Jongseong, have I been faithless?”
Jongseong is silent. Not out of ignorance of what to say, but because he fears he’ll come, if he so much as opens his mouth to talk. His mind’s already soaked in images, awash in the recollection of so many nights like this one—Heeseung’s hands and his mouth and his cock and his body, his teeth in Jongseong’s throat, his words dark, but ever true. Heeseung’s never been faithless, has never failed him, has never left him unmoored.
They’re each other’s pillars, in pleasure and all other things, and that’s what the world rests on, the very foundation of Jongseong’s life.
“Answer me,” Heeseung says, a conflagration in the red of his eyes. “What have I done, but adore you?”
Jongseong splinters apart, just as the tree branch did.
“Nothing, you’ve done nothing,” he says, his own instincts starting to rattle inside him, a rising sea, as he brings Heeseung’s head in for a kiss. They pull apart with lips wet, both blood and spit. “You’ve done nothing,” Jongseong repeats, driving the words in, a tent spike into soil. “You’ve only adored me, upheld me, pleased me. My only hyung…”
They kiss again, swept away in the tide of each other’s longing. When Heeseung pulls away, it’s only to kiss at Jongseong’s neck, fangs grazing there like a promise, their two bodies one aching writhe. Heeseung draws his head up, away from the crook of Jongseong’s neck and shoulder. His eyes are blood moons as they peer down at Jongseong, and Jongseong lets his own irises change to match.
“Do you submit? Say that you do, Jongseong-ah.”
Jongseong nods, fervent. “I’m yours entirely.” He strains upward, lips reaching for his hyung. “Come to me, please. Give me a kiss, and then let’s go to bed. Sate yourself with me. Give me everything you have.”
Heeseung groans, and the sound rumbles through his entire body and down into Jongseong. “My Jongseong-ah. You’ll let hyung have his fill?”
“Even if you empty me, I will love you,” Jongseong says. “Kiss me. Please.”
Heeseung falls into him like the end of the world.
Heeseung pins Jongseong to the hallway wall, and starts stripping him.
Fisting at the collar of his white dress shirt, Heeseung pulls, one long yank down, and the fabric surrenders. The shirt’s bisected, buttons flying, and it falls from Jongseong, rain down a glass window. With Jongseong’s torso bare, Heeseung charges forward, pressing his mouth to Jongseong’s collarbones, letting his canines scrape against them. The motion cuts Jongseong’s skin. A line of red oozes out, vermilion against honey.
Heeseung tongues at the blood, shuddering.
Humans? They have a whole range of flavors, especially when you add in other things. It’s based on this principle that Sunoo does all his experiments. He’s fond of infusions—peppermint, citrus, berries, whatever takes his fancy. Vampires? Their blood has a tinge of smoke under sweetness. When it’s that kind of blood, Heeseung always thinks of roasted fruit. But Jongseong’s blood? The blood of one of his mates?
It’s drinking a burning star.
The taste of the birth of the universe.
It makes Heeseung greedy, even greedier than he already is.
He draws back up, and sinks his fangs into Jongseong’s throat.
As the blood flows into him in earnest, a gush of heat, he hears Jongseong growl, feels him squirm.
Prey’s not meant to move.
Heeseung uses his full strength, holding Jongseong’s shoulder to keep him in place, the wall helping to trap him. Except, it only manages that for a few seconds. Soon there’s a faint cracking sound, which grows louder, and Jongseong’s hand goes to Heeseung’s neck, pushing him away.
“Jaeyun won’t like it, you breaking the house like this,” Jongseong says.
“Let him take it up with me, then,” Heeseung says, displeased at the interruption. He changes tack. If Jongseong’s going to be dull by insisting on some modicum of responsibility, Heeseung will simply have to break him enough that pesky things like thoughts finally stop intruding. And the first step to breaking him is getting him to let go of his pretty decorum. He’ll have to fight him for it, Jongseong’s nothing if not refined, but Heeseung’s never been war-shy.
He puts his hand on the waistband of Jongseong’s jeans.
“Hyung, no, the maknaes gave this to me—don’t—”
Heeseung does what he did with the shirt. One hand on the right side, the other on the left. He tears hard, and everything gives way—Jongseong’s belt, the leather snapping, buckle falling to the ground, and then his jeans, the denim paper under Heeseung’s hands. His boxers, too. It leaves Jongseong a slightly comical sight, utterly naked save for his expensive loafers.
Heeseung can’t help chuckling, even as he eyes Jongseong’s cock, now exposed.
“Think this is funny, do you?”
Heeseung mollifies him with a long kiss on the mouth. “You know you’re handsome no matter what. But darling, if you don’t get your shoes off, I’ll do it for you, and you won’t like how. You know the mood I’m in. Get them off so I can have you kneeling without you whining about footwear.”
“Right here in the hallway—”
“I’ll have you wherever I want, get that in your head, my sweet,” Heeseung says. “Shoes, now.”
Jongseong obeys, and Heeseung’s treated to the sight of his body, the long curve of it, as he bends down to get his shoes off. When they’re gone, thrown somewhere along the length of the hallway, Heeseung doesn’t let Jongseong rise to standing again. He puts a hand on Jongseong’s left shoulder, and pushes him down. Were he human, he would’ve stumbled, but Jongseong rights himself quickly, and before long, he’s knelt and peering up at Heeseung. There’s still some fight in his eyes, submission warring with manners, but that’s no trouble. They have all night.
It’s even more delicious that Heeseung’s still in the clothes he went hunting with. One of them clothed, the other bare. It only reinforces the difference between them, who’s the conqueror, and the conquered.
Heeseung yanks off his belt, opens his fly, and tugs his jeans down to mid-thigh, just enough to get his cock out, and so that he’s not constricted.
He strokes along Jongseong’s jaw. “Open up, pretty, let’s quiet down that mind of yours.”
Heeseung starts feeding him his cock.
Jongseong’s mouth is hot as a brand, and the heat sears through Heeseung, centered around his length, but spreading all along his body like lava flow. He hisses as more inches go in, fingers going into Jongseong’s hair for a grip. He appreciates that Jongseong’s got enough control to keep his fangs up, so that his path inside is safe, and unimpeded.
He keeps going, forward, forward, until the head of his cock hits the back of Jongseong’s throat.
Having him poke around back there has the spit welling in Jongseong’s mouth, and Heeseung groans at the building wetness. Heeseung pulls back, and uses it to coat his cock on the way out, Jongseong a darling when he uses his tongue to press firmly against the vein on the underside.
“What, that’s it?” Jongseong says, when his mouth’s empty. He’s got an imperious brow up as he speaks, his voice at odds with his position on the floor, speaking like a king, like Heeseung’s cock isn’t in his face, throbbing. “Gave me all this trouble, stripped me naked and got me kneeling, and we’re done? Don’t disappoint me, hyung. You promised to ruin me, and I’m not feeling very ruined. Perhaps I should’ve gone with Jungwon. Now he’s always been good for me—”
Heeseung’s fingers curl tighter around the strands of Jongseong’s hair, and he shoves his cock back in his mouth.
“All this talk about your darling Jungwon,” Heeseung spits out, as his hips cant, deeper and deeper each time. “Don’t lie to yourself. When I came home tonight, there was a window of time, wasn’t there?”
Heeseung lengthens his thrusts even more, and the tip starts sinking into Jongseong’s throat regularly now.
He doesn’t stop speaking.
“You could’ve ignored me, had anyone else deal with me,” he says. “Jaeyun could’ve done it. Wouldn’t have escaped unscathed, but he could’ve. Sunghoon, too. Perhaps even Riki, if he was with Sunoo.” At the tail end of that sentence, he finally fucks Jongseong full in the throat. Heeseung’s never been happier that their kind doesn’t need air. He thrusts, as deep as ever, and then stays for a couple seconds, like he’s carving his name into Jongseong’s tissues.
He pulls his cock out, and Jongseong is a mess.
The spit drips out the corners of his lax mouth, thick and viscous, and he’s gulping in air that won’t do a thing for him.
“Isn’t hyung right?” Heeseung says, twisting the words in. “You could’ve done anything else.”
Jongseong’s reply is a poor, beaten thing. A cat left out in a downpour.
“I could’ve, yes, I could’ve, hyung—”
Heeseung, like he’s bestowing a blessing, kisses the crown of Jongseong’s head.
“You could’ve, but I asked you to wait for me tonight. I said I needed you. That was all I had to say, wasn’t it? I said that, and because I did, you would’ve waited for me for thousands of years.”
That forces the first real sob out of Jongseong since they began. Before Heeseung can crow about it, suddenly there are hands scrabbling at him, at his hips, the flesh of his ass, and Jongseong’s pulling him back into his mouth, like the absence of Heeseung’s cock is the one thing that will kill him, a creature near unkillable.
Heeseung groans as he sinks into Jongseong’s heat again. When Jongseong moans as he goes further into his throat, the fire in Heeseung’s groin flares, surprising him enough with its suddenness, that he grips Jongseong’s hair tight. It must sting, but Heeseung’s past caring, and Jongseong, who’s got his eyes closed like a connoisseur savoring his own defeat, looks past caring, too.
“Fuck, look at you,” Heeseung says. “You look like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Jongseong only gurgles, unable to speak past the repeated intrusions of Heeseung’s thrusting cock.
Heeseung yanks Jongseong’s head up, so they can look at each other. “Is it?”
Jongseong keeps his eyes trained on Heeseung, tears falling like tropical rain.
“Is it?” Heeseung says again. “Admit the truth, Jongseong-ah. Be a good boy, and tell hyung.”
All Jongseong can manage is to nod. Well, he can’t be blamed. How do you speak with a cock in your mouth? Heeseung pulls out. It’s a horrid thing, to have the air hit his cock now that it’s gotten used to its home in Jongseong’s throat, but Heeseung can accept trading one good for another. Yes, his cock’s not going to be in Jongseong, but now he can please his ears, hearing Jongseong’s admission.
And make no mistake about it, give Heeseung an inch and he’ll eat the world—he’s going to get Jongseong to admit every single thing until he’s satisfied.
“Look, hyung can be nice, can’t he?” Heeseung says. “You can talk now. Tell me what I want to hear.”
“Heeseung-hyung—”
Heeseung coos. “Having trouble, sweet boy? Don’t worry, your hyung is here. All you have to do is listen to me, and everything will be alright. Now, tell me, Jongseong-ah. Don’t you love this?”
Jongseong’s nod is vehement. “Yes. Yes, I do, Heeseung, please—”
His name is sweet out of the mouths of all his mates, but rarely does it sink into him as deep as it does when it’s Jongseong calling out. Jongseong, first among equals, the one who stood beside him when there were no others yet, the one who’ll still be there when the world is ashes. The thought of Jongseong’s constancy only stokes Heeseung’s fire. He grips his cock, rubs it along the seam of Jongseong’s lips. Jongseong’s mouth immediately falls open, ready to take it in, but he’s only admitted one thing. There’s so much more Heeseung wants to hear.
He takes his cock away, and smiles when Jongseong whines for it like a dog.
“You love this, that’s good,” Heeseung says, angling Jongseong’s head so that his gaze can’t go anywhere. “And what is it that you love? Use your words. What is it we’re doing?”
“I’m…I’m…”
“Shed your politeness, darling,” Heeseung says. “You’re naked in our hallway. That ship’s sailed, no?”
Jongseong groans. Heeseung wonders if he needs more coaxing, but then there’s something that leaks into Jongseong’s gaze. Heeseung doesn’t know what, because all Jongseong’s doing is looking at him, as if searching. Whatever it is he finds in Heeseung’s eyes, it changes something in him, because in the next second, his words spill out, a waterfall of lust.
“I’m sucking your cock,” Jongseong says, and the words taste so good to Heeseung, better than blood. “I’m kneeling and sucking your cock, and I want it in my throat again. Please, Heeseung. Mercy. You said you needed me. Have mercy, I need you too.”
If he were weaker, Heeseung would already have given in. But weak’s never been a word for him. Poor, distraught Jongseong. Kneeling for so long already, his usually sharp mind addled by lust, tears on his face like he’s dunked himself in water, spit making a mess of his mouth. Heeseung isn’t completely heartless. Jongseong is close, very close. Just two more things, and Heeseung will deliver him from his suffering, give him the reward he already deserved from the first moment he took Heeseung’s cock past his lips.
“You must hate me being mean like this,” Heeseung says, fingers stroking down one of Jongseong’s cheeks, following the trail of his tears. “You’re so used to me giving you everything. But don’t you worry. I’ll do that, darling. Hyung doesn’t break his promises. Only, hold on a little longer, and answer me. You’re sucking my cock, and where are you doing it, Jongseong-ah? Prim, regal Park Jongseong, one of the royals in this city. I’ve reduced you to nothing, and where have I done it?”
Jongseong’s words are ravaging soldiers. They leave his mouth like they’re taking everything he’s got with them.
“Hallway,” he says. “My hyung’s fucking my mouth in the hallway, and everyone—”
Heeseung knows where he’s going, and he takes over.
“Exactly. We’re out here in the hallway, and you’re kneeling for me like a whore. Absolutely anyone could see you like this. All they’d have to do to see you ruined is peek out of their rooms. How do you think your precious maknaes would feel, hm? They do put you on a pedestal. Jaeyun, he’d probably scold me for what I’ve done, but Sunghoon—oh, he’d ask for his turn next, wouldn’t he?” Jongseong lets out a sob again, and Heeseung laughs. It’s not just the sob that draws his laughter, there’s something else, and he’s happy to direct Jongseong’s attention there.
Why not? Jongseong is his. Whatever he chooses to do with him is right.
“My poor sweetheart,” Heeseung says, using the voice he always uses right before killing people. He points down. “Look at what’s happened to you. All I need to do is mention everyone seeing how I’ve broken you, and look, your cock jumps at the thought. A wonderful idea, is it?” Heeseung puts a hand under Jongseong’s chin, tipping it up. Their gazes meet. “Sadly, you’re mine tonight, and what’s all of this but proof? So, one last question. Why exactly are we here, Jongseong-ah? I’m breaking you in front of all and sundry, and you’re letting me. Why is that, hm? Why let me do this?”
Jongseong’s next words are a devastation.
“Because I’m yours,” he says, kissing the head of Heeseung’s cock. But then he reaches for one of Heeseung’s hands, and kisses it too. The back of it first, and then the palm. “Because I’m yours, and because I love you.”
“Fuck,” Heeseung says, brutally yanked to an edge he thought he was still far from, cock hard beyond belief, his groin aching, sharp like a scalpel. “My perfect Jongseong. No one could please me the way you do. Everyone else is also mine, but you, love, oh, you’ve just proven it. No one could be mine like you.”
“Heeseung, please—”
Heeseung puts a hand against the wall, bracing himself. His other one, he puts right under Jongseong’s chin, palm against his throat. He’s not going to hold back, and he wants to feel every single moment of it. “No more waiting, my own darling. You’re going to have everything you want, and then some. Open up for me again, let me fuck you. Make me come—”
Jongseong scrambles to drop his jaw, to open himself up the way Heeseung asked. Soon Heeseung is surrounded by slick heat again, and because Park Jongseong really doesn’t know what’s good for him, he holds Heeseung’s hips and yanks him forward. After that, it’s no hardship at all to say goodbye to everything. Goodbye to Heeseung’s restraint, his concern, and anything but the pursuit of his own pleasure. Now it’s tunnel vision. The entirety of Heeseung is bent on one thing.
He’s going to come down Jongseong’s throat and nothing will stand in his way.
“That’s it, fuck, let me in,” Heeseung says, when Jongseong’s nose is pressed to the smooth skin of his stomach. Nothing about Jongseong is refined now, and Heeseung shivers because of it. Jongseong’s never looked lovelier than when debauched.
Heeseung keeps thrusting.
“Don’t know why I ever agreed to rule this city,” Heeseung says, drunk on the sound of his cock going in and out of Jongseong’s mouth, delirious from the pressure, when he lodges it down his throat and keeps it there. “What do you think, darling? Should I just quit? I’ll tell Yeonjun-hyung to take over, tell Seokjin-hyung I don’t want any more work. Don’t you want that? You’ll have hyung all to yourself. I can keep you chained to our bed, settle you with my cock in your mouth, fuck you for days and days and days…”
It’s not like Heeseung expected no reaction, but he’s surprised by the violence of how Jongseong does react.
His hands move from Heeseung’s hips, and within half a breath, his nails score down both of Heeseung’s thighs, digging in deep enough that he tears at flesh, not just skin. It’s no mere sting—it’s like being bitten, but vastly cruder, because this has no finesse, and Jongseong’s nails aren’t as sharp as his fangs. Jongseong isn’t scratching him, no, he’s being torn into, and Heeseung doesn’t care at all. The violence only pleases him more, makes him fall forward, trapping Jongseong against the wall, cock all the way down his throat.
And as if that’s not enough, Jongseong, pinned and all, moans.
He moans, and closes his eyes like this is his utopia, and Heeseung snaps in two.
He knows he’s cracking the wall again with how hard he’s pushing against it, but he doesn’t care. Let Jaeyun nag him a thousand times, and he still wouldn’t trade this for anything. His flesh a torn inferno from Jongseong’s nails, and Jongseong’s abject love of how he’s being used—it’s what makes Heeseung come, and he tips his head back and roars when he does, lightheaded from the rush.
“Ungh, fuck—” Heeseung says, forcing his eyes open so he can look at Jongseong, at his cock in his mouth. “Don’t move,” he says. “Be still, and take everything—”
Jongseong’s obedience is perfect. He stills, and lets Heeseung finish, Heeseung finally pulling out with a long, wet sound. And then, because Jongseong is Jongseong, he decides to go past perfection to some plane well beyond: when Heeseung bends down to kiss Jongseong’s forehead, as proof that he’s been pleased, his lips have barely gone past hair before Jongseong’s groaning, like someone’s got a sword in his stomach and is twisting it in his guts.
It’s the work of a second, to find out the reason for the sound.
A glance down shows Jongseong coming, cock spurting into the empty air, cum wetting his naked torso, but also Heeseung’s legs, white mixing with the drying blood on the fabric of Heeseung’s jeans.
It’s not even his actual release that’s got Heeseung worked up again. No, it’s the clarity of knowing that Jongseong came because he pleased Heeseung, because Heeseung was giving his approval, because Heeseung was praising him for a job brilliantly done. And no, this isn’t the first time his approval has caused someone’s destruction this way. It’s not even the thousandth. All his mates have submitted to him over the years.
But this is Jongseong.
Jongseong, the only one who can really stand up to him. Jongseong, who saw him when he was still trying to make it in a harsh world, and yet believed so early on that their fate was glory, so long as they stood by each other. Jongseong, whose censure holds a different weight. Jongseong, first to give his heart into Heeseung’s keeping. Jongseong, whose approval—even if he doesn’t say it much—he needs, too.
Oh, how this man makes him burn.
“Fuck, come here, get up,” Heeseung says, frantic, what he just saw still playing in his head like a haunting. He yanks Jongseong up until he’s standing again, and then he runs his hand through the mess on Jongseong’s torso. It’s filthy, the cum still warm, and Heeseung brings his stained hand to both their spent cocks. Vampire stamina kicks in, their lengths hardening the very moment Heeseung’s got them both in his fist. Jongseong’s cum mixes in with the traces of Heeseung’s own, with the spit still thick on the shaft, Jongseong’s own doing.
Jongseong hisses, but still, he bucks his hips forward.
Heeseung makes his terms plain.
“We’re going to come again.”
“Oh, fuck, hyung,” Jongseong says, before his fangs drop. “I have to bite you, I can’t help it—”
Heeseung bares his neck.
Jongseong’s bite is brutal. His teeth dig in, just as vicious as his nails earlier. It’s his neck, so Heeseung can feel the rush of blood as it leaves him, Jongseong taking big gulps. His unusual savagery turns Heeseung on more. He tugs at their cocks, pace and movements messy, but then, this doesn’t have to be anything grand. Heeseung solely wants them to come again, because it’ll make them feel good.
After a final, long swig, Jongseong pulls away from his neck. Scarlet runs down the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his throat, and the skin of his chest.
“Tighter, hyung,” Jongseong says, and oh, that’s lovely—now he’s beginning to slur too.
Heeseung closes his fist more firmly around them, jerking them off, buoyed by the growl building up from Jongseong’s chest. Heeseung knows he’s close, and he’s in the same boat.
He uses his free hand to grip Jongseong by the jaw, forcing their gazes to lock onto each other.
“Shatter again for me. I want to see.”
That unravels Jongseong, and he fucks hard into Heeseung’s fist, hips a storm as they move. The friction has his cock rubbing against Heeseung’s own, and Heeseung can’t help but writhe with him. He goes easily, when Jongseong pulls him into his arms, just so they can rut against each other better. This is the filthiest possible version of a hug, but Heeseung has no complaints. What is it but the most delicious progress? Only a little while ago, Jongseong was ever so perturbed by the idea of fucking in the hallway. Yet here they are now, both about to be on their second orgasms.
“Fuck, your cock’s twitching like mad,” Heeseung says. “You going to come for me?”
“Yeah, yes, close, hyung. I only need a little more.”
What is Heeseung except happy to provide?
He draws his hand away from their cocks. Jongseong whimpers at the sudden drop in stimulation. It’s not for long, though. Heeseung bites into his wrist, and then brings it down, so his blood can drip over their shafts, the liquid hitting them like hot wax. And then Heeseung fists their cocks again, his very blood aiding the slide, and he doesn’t even get four tugs in, before Jongseong is cradling Heeseung’s face, angling his head down so they can both see.
See, in glaring detail, as Jongseong comes again, Heeseung following within seconds.
They thrust in rhythm, a perfect, unholy union, Heeseung’s tight fist and their mad hips helping to milk them dry. They’re left in a mess of red, and streaks of white, and in utter contrast to the profane thing they’ve just done, Jongseong puts his lips on Heeseung’s forehead. He kisses him there like they’ve just won a battle, like Heeseung’s dropped some sacred victory in their laps.
“Perfect hyung,” Jongseong says, kissing him at the temples now. “My other half, my Heeseung.”
Heeseung leans into the kisses, grinning. “My Jongseong. Still celebrating me, even after that?”
“Always, dearest. Always.”
Heeseung brings his hand, now even filthier than before, to his lips. He licks all around his palm, his digits, eyes trained on Jongseong as he does so. Jongseong’s eyes glow, hot coals. “And what would you say, my own, if I told you I still needed you? Hyung still wants to fuck you. What does my darling say to that?”
Jongseong kisses him, moans into his mouth at the taste of them both.
Then, his answer, no louder than a whisper: “I’d say, good, let’s go. You’re not the only one still unsatisfied.”
Ah, his Jongseong. Heeseung really will tie the world to a string, and give it to him to play with.
They’re barely in the room, Heeseung’s left the door wide open behind them, and yet he’s already pushing Jongseong towards the bed. While Jongseong appreciates the enthusiasm—who doesn’t like feeling utterly wanted—he has a better idea.
He resists his hyung’s pushing, and instead presses close to him, leaving soft kisses on his cheeks, along his jaw, and down his neck. He’s not trying to bank Heeseung’s fire, just harness it a little. Direct it how he wants.
They’ve already come twice. Heeseung must be on a more even keel now.
Lips still on Heeseung’s throat, Jongseong starts unbuttoning his hyung’s dress shirt, fingers coming away sticky from the half-dried blood. There are even bits of entrails on the fabric, but Jongseong forgoes his usual primness. He has no basis right now to be pushing for it, anyway. From how much and how hard Heeseung’s pressed against him since they started—as well as how he pulled Heeseung to him in his own fervor—Jongseong’s skin is similarly stained. It’s like a bloodthirsty toddler finger-painted all over him, then smeared everything for good measure.
He pushes the now-opened shirt off of Heeseung’s shoulders. It hits the floor with a wet, sad plop.
He starts kissing the top of his hyung’s left shoulder, speaking against the skin.
“Your turn to tell me, hyung.”
Heeseung hisses when Jongseong’s fangs scrape against his flesh. “Tell you what?”
Jongseong pulls away from his shoulder, makes sure to let his irises go red. “How did you kill them?”
“Jongseong…”
He goes back to kissing Heeseung, this time moving left to right, a horizontal path dotted across his collarbone, until his lips land on Heeseung’s right shoulder. Jongseong licks at a stray bit of blood there, waiting for Heeseung’s answer. He knows Heeseung won’t hold the information back. Heeseung may not be one of the maknaes, may not be Sunghoon, but he loves praise as much as they do, and oh, does Jongseong know how to praise him.
“You were the one who told me,” he says, “that I don’t fear, but love you. So tell me, hyung. How did you kill them?”
He reinforces the possibility of reward by putting one hand against Heeseung’s hip, so close to his cock, hard again and straining. Let Heeseung make of that closeness what he will.
“I went to their coven headquarters,” Heeseung says, grunting when Jongseong lets his hand drop, just that little bit lower. His hyung’s hips are already canting up, and when he bucks particularly hard, the head of his cock grazes against the skin of Jongseong’s hand. “They wouldn’t come out, they wanted to hide.”
“Oh?” Jongseong kisses at Heeseung’s chest now. “That must’ve frustrated you.”
Heeseung huffs. “Can’t have a house to hide in if they don’t have a house, so—”
Jongseong’s lips move to one of Heeseung’s nipples, and he laves at the bud with his tongue. He finally lets his hyung have some of the contact he’s been craving, but he restricts himself to just letting his hand brush against Heeseung’s cock. Heeseung’s breath hitches when Jongseong’s fingers pass briefly over the the head, but he doesn’t manage words, because Jongseong gives his other nipple some attention, rubbing lightly with his thumb.
Jongseong kisses Heeseung’s sternum.
“So you huffed, and puffed, and blew their house down?” he says. “Big bad wolf, hyung?”
That draws a laugh out of Heeseung, though it melts easy into a groan.
“There was a lamp post,” Heeseung says. “It’s not like this city isn’t mine, so I made good use of my property. I wrenched it out of the ground, speared through their front door with it. If that’s what you call huffing and puffing, then I suppose that’s what I did.”
“Property damage,” Jongseong says, lowering himself to the ground again, so he can move his kisses down to his hyung’s navel, and start the work of getting his jeans fully off, shoes too. “So, uprooted lamp post, broken door, likely a fucked-up entryway. After that?”
“I yelled, said I’d throw a bench into their front wall next,” Heeseung says, just as Jongseong gets his shoes off. The jeans follow after. When Heeseung starts to explain the rest, how the coven spilled out into the street because of Heeseung’s threat, Jongseong gets the bright idea to lean in close. He sticks his tongue out to lick at the wounds he inflicted on his hyung’s thighs in the hallway. Jongseong chuckles at how Heeseung’s cock throbs.
Jongseong spends some time there, just licking at the gouges he made in the flesh. Heeseung hisses each time his tongue digs in deeper than strictly necessary. The wounds are already knitting closed, so Jongseong’s trying to squeeze out as much enjoyment as he can, before they heal entirely. At one point, just because, he takes his index finger, and pokes into one of the healing lines of flesh. His nail reopens the wound, and Heeseung’s blood wells out, deep red and hot.
Heeseung’s fingers curl in his hair, criminally tight.
“Are you trying to get your throat fucked again, sweetheart?”
Jongseong chuckles, kisses at the newest injury he made. “I’ll be good.” He shakes off Heeseung’s grip, gets off his knees, back to full height. With his lips still blood-stained, he presses his mouth to Heeseung’s jaw, tongue coming out to play a little with the skin. “Finish your story. What did you do to them?”
“Killed them,” Heeseung says, and it’s impossible not to hear the satisfaction in his tone. Like a miner who’s just struck gold, a crown prince finally anointed king, a lover dancing over a rival’s grave. “Every last one of them. I didn’t even get that much of a fight. Their eldest was what, maybe 600? My fangs were in their necks before I could even work up a sweat. Drab, all things considered, but then, the feeling of viscera around one’s fingers never gets old.”
“You’re such a butcher. My handsome madman,” Jongseong says, and to communicate how pleased he is, his hand goes to Heeseung’s cock, wraps around it, and gives it a few, firm tugs. “Was that it?”
“For the most part,” Heeseung says, fucking Jongseong’s fist a little, the filth of it a contrast to the gentle way his nose nuzzles Jongseong’s temples, the mussed strands of his hair. “Their severed heads rolled very nicely along the road, though. That was probably the highlight of my night. Well, until you knelt for me in the hallway and I came in your throat.”
Jongseong shakes his head, smiling. “How did you ever make me love you, with how crass you are?”
“I’ve never needed to be anything but crass,” Heeseung says. “You’re the nobleman of the two of us.”
A severe understatement. Yes, Heeseung was mid-ranking at best, when he was human. The second son of a minor lord. But by the time he came to Jongseong, he was already a vampire, and a feared general, at that. These days, Heeseung’s as noble as noble can get, especially with their Seokjin-hyung’s backing of his position. Still, the humility’s endearing, even if false, and it makes Jongseong smile. Jongseong’s the technical nobleman, but everyone knows Heeseung’s got the crown.
“It must’ve been your sword,” Jongseong says. “You had the prettiest, sharpest sword I’d ever seen, when we first met. Made you look so regal. And you in your armor, too. So tall. Every bit the warrior.”
“My sword,” Heeseung says, with a glint in his eye. He’s nudging Jongseong’s hand with his cock again. “You know very well how good I am with my sword.”
Jongseong snaps his teeth at him. “And I know just as well how you want to impale me with it.”
“So what’s stopping you from bending over, so I can do that?”
“Crass,” Jongseong says again. “I’m being stopped by my own amusement. I like making you wait.”
Heeseung gets more insistent then, and he fucks forward, so that their groins meet, cocks grinding against each other. A moan spills from their mouths. More than that, he’s now got one arm banded around Jongseong’s waist, keeping them close. He brings his head in to kiss at Jongseong’s neck, and his voice is deceptively low, but Jongseong’s not fooled. The lack of volume’s no match for his vampire ears. He can still detect the strain in his hyung’s tone.
Heeseung says, “So tell me what it will take. What else is it I should tell you? Tell hyung what you still want to hear, so we can be done with our games. I want to put my cock in you, darling. Hyung’s going to fuck you so hard tonight.”
Jongseong’s groan is heavy, like it’s weighed down by lead. He says, “Just one thing.”
“What?”
“You know you like to hear it. Share the pleasure with me. Admit it to me, too.”
Heeseung starts growling, hips writhing against Jongseong. “What do I admit?”
“That they deserved it.”
That flips a switch in Heeseung. Because one moment, they’re standing in each other’s arms, and the next, Heeseung’s got him flat on his stomach on the bed, in a burst of his impressive speed. Jongseong’s dizzy at the motion, but it passes quickly. He’s grounded by the sudden feel of their soft duvet, their sheets, against his cheek.
“Just as bloodthirsty as me,” Heeseung says, his entire body a cage atop Jongseong’s. His kisses are drips of molten metal, against Jongseong’s shoulder blades. “You want me to say that they deserved it? That they deserved to die? Heads and arms and legs all over the street, entrails like lace on the road?”
Jongseong doesn’t back down. “Didn’t they? Their crime was the worst of all.”
“That crime being?” Heeseung says, nipping at the back of Jongseong’s neck.
Jongseong answers plainly.
“They opposed you.”
Heeseung’s laugh is a demon’s laugh. Jongseong knows, if it were anyone else right now, they wouldn’t recognize the laughter, nor the person it came from. Jaeyun would never even bring Heeseung to this point. Their love lives too much in the light. Sunghoon would look at Heeseung askance, brow up, thinking him still too high. Sunoo would laugh too, but only to distract Heeseung, to steer them back to safer ground. Jungwon would be curious, would let Heeseung speak, but his heart would be racing, not entirely for good reasons. And Riki, Riki would just go silent. He’s known Heeseung the shortest out of all of them. He simply wouldn’t know what to do.
But Jongseong isn’t them, isn’t like them, and that’s the crux of the matter.
So instead of fearing Heeseung’s laughter, he feeds the fire.
“Am I wrong?” he says. “They opposed you. What more audacious crime is there?”
He feels Heeseung’s lips against his mid-back, his hint of a smile.
“Everyone who stands in my way should die, is that it?”
“The world exists for you to be atop it,” Jongseong says. “The removal of anyone, and anything that hampers that position is your right. Haven’t we understood that for centuries now?”
“You really do love my violence.”
Jongseong pushes up slightly, so he’s not as pressed down against the sheets. He needs Heeseung to hear it clear. “Your violence is nothing but one of your means. Your brilliant mind, your snake’s tongue that sings ruin, your teeth as sharp as your sword? All tools. It’s not your violence I love. You misunderstand me, Heeseung. What I live for—what I have always lived for, from the moment we met—is your glory.”
There it is. The truth only Jongseong understands whole.
Heeseung’s destiny has always been triumph.
And Heeseung only keeps proving it—the conquest that runs in his blood—with how he starts to move down Jongseong’s back.
There’s intent there. A brewing tsunami, a general about to order a charge. Jongseong, unable to do anything but lie on his belly, has no choice except to feel it all. Feel the path of his hyung’s lips downward, Heeseung’s tongue blazing a trail down his back. Feel the shifting of his hyung’s body as he moves lower, the bed jostled by it. And most of all, he’s helpless, when Heeseung finally gets himself where he wants to be, his hands groping the flesh of Jongseong’s ass. His squeezes are firm, assured, like a veteran breeder evaluating a prize animal.
Jongseong says, voice muffled by the sheets, “Are you going to conquer me, hyung?”
Heeseung laughs. “After all that it’s taken me to get you here, I’d do so little?” Jongseong feels Heeseung’s breath now, coming in closer, hot. His lips kiss at the flesh of Jongseong’s tailbone first, before Heeseung nips at his ass, the tips of his canines grazing. And then he feels Heeseung’s hands spreading him open, and there’s not even an ounce of shame in him. Just a trusting anticipation that Heeseung will now give them what they both need.
“Conquering you isn’t enough. I don’t want a city that’s mine, but left standing,” Heeseung says. “I’m going to lay waste to you. Leave you in ruins.”
Heeseung gives him no time to do anything. No time to question, to offer back a response, nothing. The same moment Heeseung’s words are finished, his tongue is there, licking a long, flat stripe over Jongseong’s hole. It’s a wet, wet lick, determined, and Jongseong’s breath leaves him in a rush.
Heeseung repeats the motion, licking like no tomorrow will ever come and the only thing that exists is this, forever. He gets Jongseong wet that way, methodical and total, and Jongseong soon feels it—so much spit, hot from Heeseung’s mouth, sliding down from his hole, wetting his perineum, the underside of his balls, the bed below him. And gods, not just the licking itself. The sounds of it, too. Heeseung’s making a mess of his rim, coaxing it open, and he sounds like he’s downright feeding, like he’s taking in blood.
“There we go, that’s a start,” Heeseung says, after a while. He kisses the underside of one of Jongseong’s legs, affectionate, like he’s calming a pet dog. “Relax more for me, darling. Let hyung’s tongue in.”
Jongseong groans at the thought of what’s coming next, burying his head in the sheets, going fully face-down.
The next thing he feels is the tip of Heeseung’s tongue, all pointed. He still doesn’t push it in. The tip of it just explores, soft little taps, and slow swirls around Jongseong’s rim. For the most part, this is what Heeseung repeats over and over now, but occasionally those broad licks return, as if Jongseong’s not already wet beyond saving, skin and flesh sopping from Heeseung’s attentions.
For a while, it’s just that, and then there goes the tip of Heeseung’s tongue again, except now he is pushing it in, and he only does that for about two seconds, before he draws his mouth and head back.
What leaves his lips is a laugh, incredulous, and sudden like a gunshot.
Jongseong already has a good idea of what he’s going to say.
“Naughty, beautiful boy,” Heeseung says. “My tongue went in much easier than I thought it would, even considering how I’ve been relaxing you. What were you up to, when I was out hunting, hm? Could it be that my Jongseong decided to be a harlot, and get himself ready for me as a welcoming gift?”
Jongseong stays mostly in position, moving only enough so he can speak. He says everything like it’s casual, something for Heeseung to gloss over, an errant interlude in their lust. “To be fair, when I got in the shower earlier, I only wanted to get properly clean. Prepared. All by my own effort. How was I to know Jaeyun would barge in? I think he did just want to share a shower, but he saw me braced against the wall—”
Heeseung’s voice is every sin, like cherries crushed into dark wine.
“And what, he couldn’t help himself? Tell me, did he fuck you?”
Jongseong could’ve let him do it, to be sure. Jaeyun’s good with his fingers, and his mouth, and his cock. Jongseong’s always enjoyed his energy, his eagerness, both ways. So yes, Jongseong could’ve let Jaeyun have him, earlier. And if he’d done just that, Heeseung would be in a punishing mood tonight. They’ve developed codes, him and his hyung. Before he went out hunting, Heeseung told him to wait for him. That contained everything Jongseong needed to know.
Jongseong says, “Of course not. He did help stretch me out—I swear, he’s learned so much from you it’s like his fingers are yours sometimes. But no, hyung. I didn’t let him fuck me.”
“Because?”
“Because I’m yours tonight, and I know that.”
Heeseung’s hum is benign, a pleased despot calmed by the affirmation of his rule.
“Mine tonight, and all nights,” Heeseung says. “But tonight especially. That’s good. Very good, my own.”
“Well there, I’ve been good.” Only now does Jongseong crane his head a bit to look at Heeseung. “Since you yourself admitted that, please, hyung. My little surprise aside, please, I want your tongue back in me.”
“Greedy,” is the word that leaves Heeseung’s mouth. But with its tone, the word might as well have been wonderful.
Immediately, Heeseung is back on task. He briefly spits onto Jongseong’s hole, before his tongue’s right there again, entering Jongseong slowly, by degrees. And with each slow centimeter forward, Jongseong’s mind settles, as the long minutes tick away. Like a lake going still. Jongseong’s mouth goes as silent as his thinking.
Heeseung’s the opposite. Words without end.
“You don’t know the paradise you are inside,” he says, after he’s pulled his tongue out. “With how soft and open you are, I don’t think I even need to use fingers.” Even as he says that though, his fingers are already making themselves known, the pads of his index and middle rubbing against Jongseong’s rim. “What do you think, Jongseong-ah? Should hyung skip? Can I ram my cock into you now, split you open?”
Jongseong knows he’s been spoken to. But his tongue is a stone in his mouth.
Heeseung raises his volume.
“My darling, broken little one,” he says, and he moves up Jongseong’s body, to speak closer to his ear. “Hyung asked you a question. Can I fuck you? Make you scream?”
A single word leaves Jongseong as a wet gurgle.
“Hyung—”
Heeseung’s voice filters into Jongseong’s ear like dark bells.
“My cock’s not even in, and so ruined already,” he says. “No matter. You don’t have to think, hyung will do the thinking for both of us.”
Jongseong knows there’s something condescending, something that lowers, in what he’s been told, but it’s just hard to parse the individual words. Heeseung’s tone conveys the condescension well enough anyway, and while Jongseong does register it, there’s no part of his mind roused enough to care. His hyung can condescend all he likes, so long as he keeps Jongseong beside him.
Barely has Jongseong’s consciousness shifted from condescension, back into stillness, before it’s being rocked again.
Jongseong feels Heeseung shift back down, to where he was before he spoke. Except, that time, Heeseung was doing nothing but rubbing at his rim.
Now, he’s—fuck.
That’s…that’s two fingers going in him, none to two, no interlude.
Jongseong hisses. He’s wet, and he’s open, but the jump from being rubbed to being fingered still makes him quake. Not to mention, Heeseung’s not usually so careless. Yes, his hyung works him to the bone, even here in bed, but Heeseung has never been one to slack off with preparation. Usually, by this point, Jongseong would be slathered in lube, but fuck, there’s none of it. Just Heeseung’s fingers, pressing in, like a siege engine advancing.
The stretch burns, and Jongseong tries to breathe through it.
Heeseung pulls his fingers out, slow, and spits again. The slide back in is wetter, but it still eats all of Jongseong’s attention—the sensation of his hyung’s long fingers, the slight roughness, the feel of his knuckles as the entirety of his digits sink in.
“Hyung—”
“Easy, my love,” Heeseung says, kissing Jongseong’s lower back. He stills his fingers. “Can you bear it, or do you want me to stop?”
There’s no question that Jongseong can bear it. It’s a pinprick in the grand scheme of things. He’s felt what it’s like to get stabbed in the gut, to have his flesh burned off of him, to get his bones dislocated, enough to have them sticking out. And yet, why should he have to bear it? Heeseung will make it hurt, no question, but there are two types of hurt, and why should Jongseong have to feel even a little of the bad kind, the kind they didn’t both agree on? He may have torn into Heeseung earlier, but that was good hurt. Heeseung likes it, when his lovers lose control. Jongseong likes the same, but up to a point. Heeseung can make it hurt, but Jongseong wants the hurt associated with being well-used, not this.
They can play with this kind of pain another day.
“Don’t need much lube,” Jongseong says, fighting to get the words out through the buzz in his mind. “Don’t want much either. I do want to feel it, but still, use a little. If you’re going to make it hurt, make it hurt the way I like. You know what I mean, hyung, please—”
It’s a testament to the beautiful thing they’ve built, how easily Heeseung bends to his wishes.
He pulls out his fingers, slow and careful, and not without a soft kiss to the flesh of Jongseong’s ass, too. And then the bed shifts as Heeseung gets off of it. He doesn’t go far, just the oak drawer by the bed’s headboard. Jongseong doesn’t even bother checking on him. He’s content to wait until Heeseung’s back, once again in position. A bottle cap clicks, there’s the sound of viscous liquid, and then Heeseung’s fingers are back at his hole, rubbing softly, and they’re so wet that Heeseung must’ve overcompensated.
“Hyung’s not unhappy with you, my sweet,” Heeseung says. Jongseong didn’t even know he needed to hear that, but his heart settles into a bed of soft soil when he does. “This is better. Hyung always wants you to be honest, to be clear. You told me what you wanted, and I adore you for it.”
Jongseong reaches backward, hand scrabbling slightly. His hyung understands what he’s asking for, and he gives him his free hand to hold. Jongseong says, their hands clasped, “I want everything. Don’t misunderstand, I want everything. Prepare me nicely, hyung, but break me after.”
Heeseung hums. “It’ll be my pleasure, Jongseong-ah.”
Heeseung squeezes his hand a last time, before he lets go. He taps on Jongseong’s thigh.
“Up now, darling,” he says. “Get on your knees, but keep your torso low.”
Jongseong does nothing but obey, not even a sound leaving his mouth. He clambers onto all fours, makes sure his stance is stable, and then he drops down slowly. His forearms give way until his chest is against the bed, his back is arched, and his ass is nice and high, bared for Heeseung’s viewing pleasure. Jongseong twists his head slightly so his cheek is pressed against the sheets, and he breathes easy, settling into the new configuration.
Heeseung kisses the backs of his thighs, hands groping his ass. “Beautiful boy.”
Jongseong hums, pleased.
He hears shuffling, and the bed dips. Likely his hyung getting into position himself. Soon Heeseung’s fingers are back in play. It’s two fingers again, just like earlier, but now they’re coated nicely in lube, joining the slick mess Heeseung already rubbed around his rim. The entry doesn’t burn anymore, but it still numbs Jongseong, his hyung’s thick fingers giving him a focal point, a thing to latch onto.
Heeseung starts moving his digits. Long, full strokes, repetitive, almost calming. The hand he’s not using to stretch him open, Heeseung instead uses to stabilize him. That hand firmly grabs at one of Jongseong’s thighs, to make sure he doesn’t fall, and also so he doesn’t move much. Jongseong’s not even thinking of moving.
Soon two fingers turn into three, and Heeseung’s digits start to scissor, stretching Jongseong out even more. One particularly deep drive in has Heeseung’s fingers brushing against his prostate, and Jongseong immediately pushes his ass back—he wants Heeseung to focus more there. But instead of the indulgence he expects, his hyung goes coy, deliberately slowing his pace, and avoiding his prostate altogether.
“Want hyung to touch you there?” Heeseung says, and back again is that voice of his, thick as the honey Sunoo always adds to Jongseong’s morning cups of blood.
Jongseong wiggles, trying to get Heeseung’s fingers where he wants them.
His hyung chuckles. “But what if my fingers are tired?” He makes a big show of groaning, his fingers going so slow they’re almost unmoving. It yanks a whine out of Jongseong’s chest.
“Hyung—our kind doesn’t get tired that way, stop it—”
Heeseung pulls his fingers out entirely. “Even hyung has his limits, have mercy.”
Jongseong’s lust-addled, not stupid. His mind’s moving slower than he’d usually allow it to, but it’s still there. He’d bet his left lung: Heeseung wants to hear him beg. As abjectly as possible. As if he didn’t already do just that, multiple times tonight. Heeseung lives off of dominion, and while Jongseong loves him for it, right now there’s a thought forming in his head that he’s sure will press all of his hyung’s buttons wrong.
Heeseung wants to hear him beg, yes? Well, Jongseong will beg.
Not his fault Heeseung didn’t specify whom to beg.
Gods, there will be no pardon for him after this.
But, eh, Heeseung could’ve stopped playing games and just touched him the way he wanted, but he didn’t.
It’s like a mud swim, the effort to shift from docility, back into full thinking, but Jongseong manages. He rises up, braced on his arms and legs, as he was before Heeseung asked him to lower down. He twists so he can look behind him, right at Heeseung, whose eyes are already telegraphing surprise. Good. Jongseong submits to him, but it’s good to remind Heeseung that he submits only by his own sufferance.
Eyes locked on his hyung, Jongseong yells, “Jungwon-ah! Come to me, my love!”
Jongseong doesn’t fear that Jungwon will disregard him, even knowing he’s with Heeseung. Jungwon could be in the throes of a feeding frenzy, and he’d still come if Jongseong called. Why is Jongseong so devoted to him? Because Jungwon is just as devoted in return.
Jungwon comes zipping in, dressed in pajamas of black silk, carried by vampire speed.
He doesn’t even acknowledge Heeseung, just crouches down by the head of the bed so he can look at Jongseong. He strokes Jongseong’s cheek. “What can I do for you, hyung? Tell me, please.”
Heeseung made a whole performance of his supposed tiredness. Jongseong puts on his own show.
“Your Heeseung-hyung is apparently exhausted,” Jongseong says, filling his voice with disappointment. “So now he can’t do his job, and I’m left here waiting. Take his place, my heart. I’m pent-up enough that I just want to get fucked, but well, now we have to deal with all this rigmarole. Come make your hyung feel good, sweet one.”
Jongseong knows the gauntlet he’s putting his darling through, but it’s not like he’ll actually make Jungwon go through with it. Heeseung just needs to get riled up enough so that it sinks in—Jongseong wants to be ruined, and he wants no more detours on the way to that.
Jungwon starts to go to the foot of the bed, where Heeseung is.
Heeseung snarls like he’s about to send heads flying.
“You really dare?” he says. Is it for Jongseong, or Jungwon?
Jungwon barrels on. “Hyung asked me.” Ah, his little brave one.
Jongseong hears the snick of fangs dropping, and he cranes his head to look.
Heeseung’s fangs are down, and his irises are rubies again.
“I don’t care if he asked you,” Heeseung says to Jungwon, his tone fat with venom. “You’ll disregard your Jongseong-hyung for once, and leave this room, or you and I are going to fight, Jungwon-ah.” Jongseong sees Heeseung shift, torso turning to face Jungwon head-on. Never mind that Heeseung’s naked. It doesn’t take clothes to make a threat. “Don’t stand there and wait for me to get off this bed. Your Jongseong-hyung just delights in tugging my strings—you’re not needed here.”
Jungwon whimpers, but still, he looks at Jongseong. “Hyungie—”
Oh, he really does love this boy.
Jongseong nods. “Go on, darling. Obey Heeseung-hyung.”
Jungwon makes to step closer. “But you…”
Heeseung’s words fall, gavel and guillotine, and he addresses them to Jungwon. “He asked you here to rile me up, no more. Now he wants to apologize to you for this little ruse of his. But I’m at my limits. Let him coo at you tomorrow. He’s mine tonight, and I will not be gainsaid. Get out.”
To Jungwon’s credit, and his continued safety, he gives in.
The moment he’s gone, Heeseung is pushing Jongseong down again with a hand on his back, and he’s growling. Jongseong feels the tip of his hyung’s cock against his hole.
“You could’ve been obedient,” Heeseung says, and he’s rubbing his cockhead against Jongseong’s rim, a low moan leaving him. “But you just had to have your fun, didn’t you, Jongseong-ah?”
“You wouldn’t give me what I wanted.”
“Oh, you won’t have to think about what you want anymore,” Heeseung says. “Because now it no longer matters. You wanted to get a rise out of me? Wanted to get me to react? Well now you’ve got me, and the gods save you if your body gives out before I’m satisfied.”
That’s the last thing Heeseung says. Then he slams his cock into Jongseong, and starts up a brutal pace.
There’s no build up, no careful creation of a rhythm. Heeseung fucks him like they’re animals. All around Jongseong, the world goes dim, because his hyung bends his whole body over him, blocking out the bedroom’s overhead light. It’s in shadow that Heeseung breaks him, hips pistoning. The impact of his hips is strong enough that Jongseong already knows he’ll bruise everywhere—his ass of course, but also the backs of his thighs. Not to mention all around his torso, because Heeseung’s wrapped his arms there, hold so tight it’s like Jongseong’s ribs will cave in.
“This is what you sought,” Heeseung says. “You wanted to be owned like this, didn’t you?”
Jongseong only moans, a wounded sound.
Heeseung speaks like a crazed tyrant.
“Don’t go stupid on me,” he says. “You’ll answer when spoken to.”
Jongseong’s mind scrambles to catch up. What was he asked?
Oh, right, something about being owned.
“Answer!” Heeseung says, hips unceasing, his cock ravaging Jongseong like the Greeks razing Troy. “You wanted to be owned, didn’t you?”
The word is yanked out of Jongseong, and it comes from the most broken part of him.
“Yes. I wanted this,” he says, “I wanted it, hyung.”
“And you thought the way to get it out of me was by testing me? Defying me?”
Jongseong shakes from Heeseung’s onslaught, a full-body quake that threatens to have him drop even lower, until he’s flat on his belly again. He doesn’t even know how he manages to hold on, keep his ass up, stay presented like that. Neither is he sure of what answer to give his hyung, so he just gives Heeseung something honest.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” he says, and there’s a sob right after. “I’m sorry—!”
Heeseung’s hand comes down on his ass, hard, and then twice more. After the strikes, Heeseung doesn’t soothe. “Foolish, foolish boy. You thought you had to rile me up into owning you? Must you be reminded? Is that skull full of air?” Heeseung fucks his cock in deep, and then grinds it in. “Let me make it clear, in case you’ve forgotten: you do not rile me up into owning you, Jongseong-ah, because there is no world, no state, no moment, where you are not already mine.”
The words burn through Jongseong like a fire through a forest, and still Heeseung doesn’t stop.
He keeps fucking him, like his hips are electrified, and his words keep pouring, filth without end.
“Every bit of this city,” Heeseung says, pulling back until only his tip is left, and then shoving right back in with a growl. Jongseong feels every inch as it rakes his insides. “Every paving stone, every bench, every lamp post, every tree. Every building, every residence. Every human here, every vampire, every other supernatural. This entire home, and all our mates inside it. Everything is mine, Jongseong-ah. Everything. Why would you ever think you’re exempt from that?”
Jongseong straight up cries.
“Hyung, I’m yours. Please, I’m yours, you know that—”
Heeseung laughs, cruel like the lash of a whip.
“Oh, I’ve always known. You’re the one who needed reminding.”
“Don’t let me forget,” Jongseong says. He’s not sure how he gets the words out. Maybe it has something to do with how it’s so true no haze could bury it. “Don’t let me forget. I’m yours, I’m yours. Heeseung, my Heeseung-hyung…”
Heeseung coos then, and with a careless push, he makes Jongseong go fully down, until he’s splayed out, on his belly, meat on an altar. Heeseung follows right after, his cock not even pausing its brutality. “I won’t let you forget, don’t you worry. My cock, and my cum won’t let that happen. I’m going to fill you so much, come inside you so hard, that your body will forget there was ever a time you owned it.”
Jongseong doesn’t even process the words completely, but again, the feeling around the words is more than enough. Besides, words aren’t even necessary. There’s no way to escape—no way to dull—what’s happening above him, around him, inside him. Above him: Heeseung, his hand pressed down hard in between Jongseong’s shoulder blades, hips riding Jongseong like a favored warhorse. Around him: the sound of Heeseung’s grunts, the mad huffs of his breath, the slam of his hips like a cudgel. And inside him: the wet, burning slide of Heeseung’s cock against his walls, no quarter given.
Heeseung thrusts over and over, Jongseong’s ribs compressed by how Heeseung’s pressing him down. At first it’s just that, the feeling of compression, being mastered by his hyung’s cock, but soon enough, Jongseong notes a change: Heeseung’s cock is twitching in him, swelling, growing even harder. Heeseung’s about to come, and Jongseong knows it. The knowledge prompts an instant response.
He starts clenching, hard.
“Fuck,” Heeseung says. “Don’t want to let hyung’s cock out, hm?”
“Inside me, you promised, inside—”
The words leave Heeseung’s mouth, the fondest accusation. “Needy whore. But how could hyung ever refuse you, when you beg like that to be filled?” Heeseung’s rhythm breaks, and his hips speed up, bent on chasing his pleasure. He lets himself go, and as his cock starts to empty itself, Heeseung digs his nails into Jongseong’s shoulder. Pain flares through him like a sun-ray, but a more dominant thought surges into Jongseong’s mind—he’s holding me down, my mate, filling me, showing me I’m his. The thought’s enough to make him come too, and his cock wets the sheets.
Heeseung keeps thrusting, milking himself together with Jongseong, dark praise leaving his lips.
“You’re clenching so tight. Fuck, I feel like I’m never going to stop coming. Jongseong-ah, do you like it, little one? You like hyung spending himself in you like this? It’s so wet inside you now, my cock’s so fucking bathed, darling—”
Jongseong has no idea what makes him say his next words.
Then again, it’s not like he’s really got anything approaching ideas, anymore.
He’s a hole to be used, and that’s the beginning and end of it.
“More,” he says, the word a floppy, disintegrated thing. No spine. “Hyung please, more—”
His hyung laughs, delighted, and gives in.
Heeseung executes everything within seconds.
He pulls his cock out of Jongseong, flips him over onto his back, and then he clambers right back atop him. He guides Jongseong’s limp legs, to wrap how little they can around his waist. Jongseong’s eyes are glassy, his entire face stained with tears and spit, and he’s peering up at Heeseung like he’s trying to figure out what’s even been done to him.
Heeseung doesn’t let him orient himself. Jongseong doesn’t need to get oriented to get fucked.
Heeseung takes hold of his sopping cock, which still hasn’t flagged, and he shoves it right back into his lover.
Jongseong’s groan wraps around Heeseung like a cloak.
Heeseung starts thrusting, his pace only slightly slower than it was earlier, but that’s because he doesn’t want Jongseong to be overly jostled. Not considering what he’s got planned.
He reaches up to hold Jongseong by the jaw. He uses that grip to turn Jongseong’s head sideward, so his neck is exposed. His neck, bitten so many times already tonight. There are no punctures, because of their kind’s healing ability, but the entire area is smeared red, the blood in various stages of drying.
Heeseung kisses right on Jongseong’s pulse, and then he bites, deep.
Blood starts flowing into his mouth, and time dilates. Heeseung knows it must hurt, but he keeps his teeth dug in, half because it makes his dominance instincts purr, and half because his fangs are a nice stopgap, keeping the flow of Jongseong’s blood regulated. Heeseung wants this to last, wants to go long. He wants to see how far Jongseong will let himself be taken, pliant to Heeseung’s wishes solely because they’re Heeseung’s.
He slows his thrusts to match the speed of his drinking.
Leisurely is the only word for it.
Jongseong makes his own contribution to the proceedings. Whether by instinct or choice, Heeseung doesn’t really care—Jongseong’s legs move to cling tighter around his waist, and not only that. He wraps an arm around Heeseung’s upper back, and his other hand, he leads to Heeseung’s head, tangling softly into his hair, so he can keep him close.
Heeseung rewards Jongseong’s clinging with short, but hard thrusts, and every so often he’ll grind in and stay, to give both Jongseong’s prostate, and his own cock, relief. Jongseong’s only reactions are periodic clenches of his walls, and a slow litany of soft groans, like he’s some sleepy thing woken too early. Jongseong’s descending into languor, plain and simple, and Heeseung lets himself be carried down as well, until all the world feels like one interminable drip of syrup.
As his hips writhe, Heeseung keeps drinking.
Little, careful sips, savoring.
Only Jongseong’s blood has ever managed to make him feel like this.
Of course, Heeseung’s tasted all his mates. But Jongseong alone is incomparable in his layers, every drop of blood a paradox. Even now, it’s still what’s happening. Half of Heeseung is being lulled by the steady flow of Jongseong’s blood, a liquid lullaby to rival even Sunoo’s voice, when it sings Heeseung into dreams. And yet, the blood also rouses him, making him want to go on forever. Never rest. Ruin himself this way, his cock endlessly rocking into Jongseong like a ship riding the sea, Jongseong’s precious blood flowing into Heeseung like a gift without limit.
Like Heeseung could drain him, and Jongseong would smile.
As the minutes flow into one another, that starts looking more and more likely.
Especially considering how slurred Jongseong sounds, when he speaks near Heeseung’s ear.
“Lovely hyung. Precious, darling hyung,” he says, voice dancing. “You can kill me, if you want.”
Heeseung knows his response should be to stop, to draw away, but Jongseong’s lilting permission only makes him bury his teeth deeper. His cock follows suit, surging into Jongseong with more force now. How could it be otherwise? Heeseung’s got six mates, and this one alone has given him leave to end his life. It doesn’t matter that Jongseong’s likely out of his mind from all they’ve done, from his lost blood. Heeseung still knows it’s a real offer. Jongseong’s life is his for the asking.
“Are you going to?” Jongseong says, and his voice is faint now, like the silence that creeps in after faded thunder. His hand strokes the back of Heeseung’s head. “I don’t care. You brought me into this life, and it would be a beautiful thing for you to deliver me out of it. I’ve told you, right? I’m yours. You’re my only hyung, my pillar, the greatest reason I’ve lasted this long…”
And Jongseong is still so reverent, still so worshipful even on the verge of death, that Heeseung stops from pure awe.
He pulls his fangs out, and his mouth comes away dripping.
“Jongseong—”
Jongseong doesn’t even look like he’s totally here, though his hazed eyes are zeroed in on Heeseung.
The words leave Jongseong’s mouth like a night wind. “My hyung.”
Heeseung presses a kiss to his forehead. Then he moves his lips to his cheeks, and whispers against the skin. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Jongseong turns his head to the side, nuzzling into the touch. His next words, spoken softly because of their closeness, hold Heeseung’s heart in their grip.
“You’re the stuff of my daydreams, do you know that? You’ve always been all my hopes made real.”
Heeseung drops down helplessly, all of his weight, and if it’s a burden on Jongseong, it’s one Heeseung knows he can bear. This time it’s his fingers curling into Jongseong’s hair, holding him low, near the nape. Heeseung exposes his own throat, brings Jongseong closer with the grip he has on him. Heeseung’s tone, when he speaks, is a pleading thing. If Jongseong doesn’t give him his teeth, doesn’t drink from him, Heeseung will die.
“Please, darling, please—”
Jongseong’s tongue licks at the area, preparing.
“Bite hyung. Finish us this way, Jongseong-ah.”
The world blinks out of existence for a moment, when Jongseong’s teeth tear into him.
Heeseung groans, the deep sound rumbling through his very flesh. With how close they’re pressed against each other, Heeseung can’t really speak, but he doesn’t need to. Jongseong will understand his straining huffs, his broken breath. Heeseung doesn’t need his mouth, when all his body is saying what’s worth saying. His hands, keeping Jongseong against him. His legs, an anchor to his surging, a chain that assures Jongseong they’re always going to be together. His torso, a steady weight, and a promise—you’ll always have me, I’ll stand by you. And his cock, fucking into Jongseong with long strokes, conquering sweet: I will always give you all the pleasure you deserve.
Jongseong doesn’t dare drink for as long as Heeseung did. After some time, he pulls his mouth away with a soft moan.
“Fuck, hyung,” he says. “I’m close.”
Heeseung speeds up.
Jongseong, below him, shakes his head. “No. Slow, darling. Slow. Let me feel you.”
Heeseung’s obedience follows after a beat.
Now he’s not so much thrusting as driving into Jongseong, making sure every inch of his cock scrapes against Jongseong’s walls, the motion accompanied by discordant, cut-off moans from them both.
“Like this, yes,” Jongseong says, rising slightly to kiss Heeseung. “All the time in the world is ours.”
“Is it?” Heeseung says, groin a living ache because of how close he is, too. “Promise me.”
Jongseong smiles at him, hand on his cheek. “When you turned me, I promised you my loyalty, my presence, my counsel, my love. I’ve kept that promise nearly eight centuries now, hyung. I’m not about to start breaking it. Time bends to the will of those who love, don’t you know? We will always have time, you and I.”
As if he knows that that’s what will break Heeseung, Jongseong immediately pulls him close once his words have ended. And he’s right, because scarcely has Jongseong pulled him into the crook of his neck, before Heeseung’s coming in Jongseong again, agonizing spurts that make him strain, hips slamming into Jongseong like a ship repeatedly battered against sea rocks. Heeseung fights to get every last drop into his lover. As if anything’s going to escape with how deep he’s fucking his cock in.
Jongseong comes too, while Heeseung’s still in a frenzy, but he’s quieter about things. He just continues to hold Heeseung close. All that really leaves his mouth is rough groans, and Heeseung’s name, in an endless, adoring chain.
It’s then that a thought floats into Heeseung’s mind. Instinctively, he knows it’s right.
Jongseong doesn’t understand. He’s got it all wrong.
It’s not Heeseung at all, and never has been.
It’s Jongseong—who for 780 years straight, has been the fulfillment of everything Heeseung’s ever known to hope for.
Much later, if a quarter hour can even be called that, Jongseong’s laid out on the bed, legs spread and bent at the knees. Heeseung’s there, in the cradle of his lower body, leaving little, wet kisses on the skin of his inner thigh. Jongseong groans, and makes a token attempt to push his hyung away, but Heeseung only nuzzles at the skin, tongue occasionally coming out for soft, sweeping licks.
“Hyung,” Jongseong says. He knows his hyung is already in his normal, clearer headspace, but even then, Heeseung’s not out for the count.
“Only two more,” Heeseung says. “Come for me twice more, and we’re done.”
Jongseong doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They’ve already come four times apiece.
“What if I can’t?”
Heeseung says, “Of course you can. Because I wish it.”
There’s not even any special inflection. Heeseung just says it like the most mundane of facts, an axiom, a mathematical proof.
Jongseong tips his head back, throwing a forearm over his eyes.
“Whatever you want,” he says, giving in. “Whatever you want, my own.”
Heeseung laughs, kisses one of Jongseong’s hipbones. “Hyung loves you.”
Jongseong takes away the forearm over his eyes, reaches down to push Heeseung’s head close.
“Don’t make me regret it. Get to work.”
Heeseung does.
He’s attentive, thorough, all the things Jongseong knows to be the foundations of his hyung’s personality. First Heeseung kisses every spot his lips can reach—Jongseong’s thighs again, his hips, the lower part of his navel, the side of his cock, and then the crown of it. That alone already turns Jongseong into a puddle, but apparently it’s just a prelude to Heeseung’s tongue coming out to work. And work really is the word for it, because he starts licking at Jongseong like this is the only right way for him to be cleaned.
Normally, Jongseong would spare a thought for the filth he’s subjecting his hyung to. How many times has he been teased for his insistence on manners? Manners at the table when sharing a meal, manners when feeding, manners around guests, manners in speech, manners about being constantly clean and bathed, sometimes thrice in a day just because. And yet, Heeseung right now is so nonchalant about things, tongue starved as he licks at everything on Jongseong’s body. Blood, the remnants of his cum, remnants of Heeseung’s own spend, faint traces of sweat, everything. His tongue is devouring, like Jongseong’s his banquet, and that attitude sweeps all of Jongseong’s misgivings away, a breeze scattering leaves.
When Heeseung’s tongue starts inching towards Jongseong’s hole though, that’s when he really reacts.
“Oh, fuck…”
Heeseung lifts Jongseong with a grip under his ass, bringing his rim closer.
Jongseong squirms.
“Be still, love. You wanted me to get to work, right? Hyung’s only indulging you.”
Jongseong knows further protest will be useless.
Heeseung seems to sense his surrender, and he starts licking around Jongseong’s hole. Jongseong can only imagine what his hyung must be seeing in between pauses—Jongseong’s hole, puffy from use, likely flushed a deep red from how hard they’ve gone tonight. It’s not like the sight is exactly unwelcome, Jongseong himself has been on the other end, doing just this to their other mates. Still, experience makes it no easier to be gazed upon, and to him, Heeseung’s gaze has always carried special weight.
Heeseung’s damnable bluntness certainly doesn’t help matters.
Jongseong feels his tongue sink in deep, probing his walls for a while, and then Heeseung’s tongue leaves him in a slow tug outwards, and his next words—
“I taste good coming from you, sweetheart.”
Jongseong groans, but he also feels his cock twitch, so the high ground isn’t his.
“I don’t care anymore,” Jongseong says. “Do what you want. Gods, just do what you want.”
Heeseung licks across his hole. “Isn’t that what I always do? Now tell me, does it sting anywhere?”
Jongseong knows what that means. This is far from the first time Jongseong’s been asked, and not even the first time tonight. If he says yes, Heeseung’s going to prick his own tongue with his fangs, maybe a finger, and sink it into Jongseong to help speed up his healing. But within the meaning of Jongseong’s categories of hurt, the sting inside him right now is a good hurt, a reminder of how well they’ve loved each other tonight.
“Leave it be,” Jongseong says. “I like it. Knowing how well I’ve pleased you.”
Heeseung asks again. “You’re sure?”
“Leave it be.”
Heeseung lets go of the matter, and goes back to his work. He spends a little more time rimming Jongseong, filling the air with the maddening sounds of his careful slurping. Then he gives Jongseong’s hole a last lick, and his tongue goes up, up, past Jongseong’s balls, until there’s a path of wet fire up the length of his shaft. Heeseung ends with a kiss to the tip, a perverse coronation.
Jongseong’s barely closed his eyes to savor the feeling, before Heeseung’s lips are parting to take him in. He starts there, just suckling softly on the head of Jongseong’s cock. Even when he starts to bob, he takes in no more than the halfway point each time. It’s a soft command—Jongseong’s not being sent hand over fist towards the edge, not being driven like a beaten pack horse. Instead, he’s being softly coaxed, cajoled there by Heeseung’s gentle insistence.
Heeseung pulls away briefly to say, “However you want it, Jongseong-ah. Control me.”
Jongseong knows: such blanket permission is the same as Heeseung admitting he belongs to him, too.
Jongseong reaches out to his hyung, fingers nestling into the sweaty, disheveled mess of his hair. He leads Heeseung back down to his cock, hips already starting to buck, the tip of his cock pushing just past Heeseung’s lips. He uses his other hand to angle his shaft just right, and he says, “Get ready for me, hyung. You wanted me to come for you. I’m going to do just that.”
Jongseong starts moving. He doesn’t really bother starting off too slow, picking quite a clipped pace. It’s not like he’ll hurt Heeseung—this far from the worst Heeseung’s endured at their hands, Sunghoon not known for his control whenever he gets his eldest hyung to bow for him. Then again, Sunghoon is Sunghoon, and Jongseong is Jongseong. For Jongseong, this is just right. Fast enough that his cock never suffers from a lack of stimulation, and yet slow enough that he can feel his shaft scraping along Heeseung’s cheeks, cockhead hitting the back of his throat.
He changes his grip on his hyung’s head, once his cock really starts sinking in deep.
He puts his hands near each temple, fingers dug into Heeseung’s hair.
“Like that, like that, hyung,” Jongseong says. “Let me in your pretty throat, let me fuck it—”
Sounds leave Heeseung’s mouth, but they’re knotted things, near unintelligible.
Jongseong does hear one instance of what sounds like his name, though.
“Calling out for me?” he says. “For a good reason, or a bad one, my love?”
Jongseong gets his answer when Heeseung drops his head of his own accord, until Jongseong’s in his mouth and throat to the hilt. What makes it more intense is the way Heeseung’s got his throat full, and yet his hands go to Jongseong’s hips, as if to hold him down. As if it’s absolutely vital that Jongseong not get any stupid ideas, like taking his cock away.
Jongseong responds with equal fervor, his grip on Heeseung’s head keeping him still. Jongseong uses him, bucking in short, greedy strokes, until he comes.
His hyung’s name leaves his lips, strangled.
“Heeseung, fuck, Heeseung—”
His hyung moans, and the sound quakes through Jongseong, keeps his cock spurting, going hard.
“At this rate, I might support your plan, darling,” Jongseong says, lust-drunk. “Quit ruling. Just be mine forever like this. Be my cocksleeve too, let me come in you over and over. I’ll treat you so good, keep you well-fed. I’ve always had a gold spoon in my mouth, you said so yourself. I was born an aristocrat, no one knows better than me how to treat pretty things.”
Heeseung swallows around him at that, and Jongseong roars, finishing himself to the dregs.
When Heeseung finally lets him go, Jongseong’s cock leaving his throat with a nasty, wet sound, Jongseong thinks it’s a reprieve. Apparently, Heeseung plans nothing of the sort, because once he’s set Jongseong’s cock free, it’s only a moment’s liberty. Soon enough, Heeseung is moving, clambering up the bed so he can lay beside Jongseong, and pull him into his arms, positioning them so they’re lying on their sides.
Heeseung throws a leg over him, pinning him with the weight of it, and he reaches for Jongseong’s cock. It’s not given even a moment to go soft.
“I said two, didn’t I?” Heeseung says, kissing Jongseong’s face everywhere. His last stop is a long kiss on Jongseong’s mouth. “One last, Jongseong-ah. Come for hyung one last time, tonight.”
Jongseong notices Heeseung’s cock, equally at attention.
“You should come too, I want you to—”
Jongseong reaches in between their bodies, but Heeseung stops him by the wrist, swatting his hand away. “You needn’t touch me, darling. Your pleasure is hyung’s own, I promise you that. If you give me what I want, come for me the way I asked, I’ll come with you. We’ll mark each other. You said you were good at keeping pretty things. Make us the prettiest thing of all. Mark your hyung, Jongseong-ah. I want to see proof that I belong to you.”
How could Jongseong ever hope to fight that?
He acquiesces, burying his face against Heeseung’s neck, near where it meets his shoulder.
“That’s it,” Heeseung says, cheek resting against Jongseong’s hair. “Put yourself in my keeping. Who could harm you, with hyung beside you? Think of nothing but your pleasure. You’re safe with me, dear one. Let yourself go.”
It really doesn’t take long. Heeseung gives his cock, what, maybe ten long strokes? Less, probably, but it’s enough. On the last pull upwards, Heeseung twists his hand, squeezing at the head of Jongseong’s cock, and Jongseong crumbles into sand. There’s no fear of any grain of him being misplaced, though. He’s here with Heeseung, and Heeseung has never once broken a promise.
“Hyung, I love you,” he says, as his cock spills.
That’s all Jongseong is capable of. Heeseung’s own voice takes over, the perfect antiphon to his hymn. His words are soft, like the passing of clouds overhead, and they’re the only things Jongseong can really pay attention to, even as Heeseung comes himself, his mess joining Jongseong’s, their torsos splattered white.
“I love you too, my sweetest,” Heeseung says, soothing him, bringing him down, holding him close. “Hyung’s loved you for centuries, and every day you only prove that my best decision. You’ve stood by me through everything, and you can’t know how I honor you for it. Hyung loves you beyond words, Jongseong-ah. Beyond words, beyond death, beyond time.”
A love unfettered by anything: Jongseong’s never known a sweeter music than that promise, and he lets its murmur sweep him slowly into rest.
Jaeyun enters the room with soft footsteps, as the night surrenders slowly to the dawn.
His two beloveds are sleeping, tucked into each other like locket halves.
Jaeyun heard everything, of course. They all did. Every groan, every broken huff, every bite, every thrust, every hitched breath. All the sounds, all the words. How could they not? Vampire hearing never shuts off, not completely. So, all of it, like a symphony that rang clear and strong, throughout their home.
Heeseung and Jongseong have never needed music to sing to each other.
I said I needed you. I said that, and because I did, you would’ve waited for me for thousands of years.
You’re my only hyung, my pillar, the greatest reason I’ve lasted this long.
Time bends to the will of those who love. We will always have time, you and I.
Hyung loves you beyond words. Beyond words, beyond death, beyond time.
Jaeyun knows that for others, such words would’ve been a spur to jealousy. Are Heeseung and Jongseong devaluing all the other relationships they’ve built? Jaeyun shakes his head at the idiot thought, glad he doesn’t belong to the ranks of the foolish. At his age, it would be an embarrassment to think so childishly.
Regardless of what Heeseung and Jongseong have, their relationships with him are resplendent. What Jaeyun himself has with Jongseong is a shining thing, the beauty of two hands clasped, in the sincere effort to make a home. What he has with Heeseung is a wonder also—the perfect peace you only get when your soul is mirrored in another person.
There’s no room to be jealous. Why would there be?
The only proper response to a love so beautiful is gratitude.
Jaeyun is grateful, for what Heeseung and Jongseong have found with each other.
What they’ve made, together.
He walks towards them, the careful gait of a worshiper coming to a temple.
He kisses Heeseung on the forehead, and Jongseong, too.
They’re together, so Jaeyun has no cause for concern.
They’re together, and all is well.