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“I just don’t get it–”
“We’re really talking about this again?” Chanyeol complains from beside him, his soda sloshing dangerously in his cup when Jongin slumps further against his side.
Of course he’s complaining – he doesn’t understand. How could he? He’s not the one with a thousand-year-old undead (and very sexy) boyfriend who refuses to drink his blood.
Jongin knows that Chanyeol, or any of his friends, truly get it; the attraction of having someone feed is lost on them. He can’t even say it’s something he ever considered much before – before Junmyeon, that is – and yet he’d taken one look at him that night, sharp teeth flashing as he smiled, and despite his own fear he found himself seduced by fantasies of those same teeth sunk into his supple flesh, pulsing as blood was drawn from his veins.
And he got the guy, in the end, after months of them dancing around each other, so he should be happy. Correction: Jongin is happy. The happiest he’s ever been. Junmyeon is sweet and charming and never ceases to make him laugh, and when his eyes get that sharp little glint shivers always trickle down Jongin’s spine at the promise of what’s to come, but . . .
Nothing. No matter how much Jongin conveniently bares his neck, or how much he avoids any sort of scented products (it cost him a petty penny to replace his deodorant, and lotions, and shampoo, and just about everything) because of that one time Junmyeon let slip that he quite enjoys his, uh, natural musk, nothing happens.
Sometimes Junmyeon stares at his throat when he thinks he isn’t looking, or spends too long mouthing at the prominent veins on his wrists, his inner thighs, but even the faintest graze of teeth against his skin is rare.
Junmyeon treats him as though he’s something precious and breakable, which he adores, but Junmeyon doesn’t seem to understand that Jongin wouldn’t mind being broken, just a little bit.
“It’s not fair,” Jongin continues to whine, flopping his head around dramatically and putting on a pout that’d put a toddler to shame. “Is it me? Don’t I smell good?”
Across the table, Jongdae pointedly looks anywhere but at him, as if sensing his train of thought. After all, who better to ask than another vampire? “Do I smell bad, hyung? Is that it?”
“No, no, of course not,” Jongdae is quick to reassure, the inner corners of his brows titled skywards and an awkward, amused smile tugging at his lips. “You smell fine, Jongin-ah – I’m sure you’re very tasty.” He’s looking around awkwardly, eyes flitting between Jongin and someplace past their secluded little booth.
Rather than soothing his worries, it only serves to make Jongin whine again, an exasperated, pitiful noise that he’s not proud of. He sounds positively miserable when he says, “aren’t I biteable? Don’t I deserve to be bitten?”
Across the table, the incessant slurping sound of Kyungsoo’s milkshake gets cut off with a sudden cough – stunted laughter, maybe, whilst Baekhyun simply begins to cackle, the noise too-loud in the enclosed walls of their favourite dive, Midnight Cafe.
Off to the side, someone clears their throat just as Jongin’s forehead comes to rest on the tabletop. He doesn’t acknowledge it, drowning in self-pity, until a gentle hand shakes his shoulder; when he looks up, faded blonde hair falling down over his forehead, he’s faced with the sight of Junmyeon and Sehun standing at the edge of the booth. They’re both staring at him, sire and fledgling, looking far too amused.
Jongin can’t even escape, trapped between Chanyeol and Yixing, and so as his cheeks begin to burn a furious red he slaps his hands over his face and sinks down into the seat as much as he can. He’d slide under the table to hide if there was any room to fit his body.
“What’s this about biting?” Junmyeon asks with a smile.
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Even as Jongin tries to control his breathing there’s nothing he can do to mask the way his pulse is fluttering high in his throat as Junmyeon’s lips graze his skin. There’s an element of fear, of course – he doesn’t know what to expect, how much it will hurt, not firsthand; he’s only ever heard other people recount their experience.
“Was it really so hard to ask?” Junmyeon teases, his voice low and husky as he drops a wet kiss on the place where his veins run closest to the skin. Jongin shivers, fingers tightening in the back of his shirt as he holds Junmyeon’s cool body closer to his own. Junmyeon’s own fingers are skirting his bare ribs, his other hand keeping Jongin’s head tilted obediently to the side with a gentle but firm grip.
In the end, no, it wasn’t that hard to ask, but only because Jongin felt like it was impossible to embarrass himself more than he already had. How was he supposed to know Junmyeon was waiting for him to broach the topic? That he’d been waiting patiently for Jongin to use his words, no matter his obvious attempts to seduce him into biting?
“Don’t be mean,” Jongin manages to rasp out. His breath hitches again when teeth just barely prick his skin – he’s toying with him. Has been for weeks. “You made me think you didn’t want my blood.”
Junmyeon chuckles against his skin. The noise is strained, barely holding on by a thread. Junmyeon’s fingers flex against his skin.
“Well, we can’t be having that, can we?” he says.
Something impossibly sharp carves into Jongin’s skin. He flinches at the initial burn, then melts as liquid heat begins to curl through his veins; his eyes flutter, then close, and a breathy moan slips past parted lips at the first pull as Junmyeon draws on his blood. His body acts of its own accord and arches upwards. Junmyeon cradles him closer and continues to drink his fill.
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Jongin is absolutely insufferable the next time they all meet up.