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“Stay steady,” Taehyung mutters, holding a vial over a beaker. Jungkook, crouched low, holds a thermometer in it. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.” Jungkook bumps Taehyung’s knuckles with his empty hand. The liquid in the vial sloshes to the lip, almost spilling over. At this point he wouldn’t even care if it did. Fuck accuracy, who really needs it anyway? All he needs is for this to be over.

“You are,” Taehyung snips back.

“I’m not. Shut up and pour.”

“I am—”

“You’re not—”

“Jesus Christ.”

As Taehyung pours Jungkook glances at him, the tight line of his jaw, how one of his fangs—which he’s normally more careful to conceal, for fucking etiquette purposes or some other vamp shit Jungkook doesn’t understand—pushes into his bottom lip.

He’s hot when he’s angry, some moronic part of Jungkook’s brain supplies.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, looking at Jungkook. He’s stopped pouring.

“What?”

“Pay attention, you gotta measure.”

“I know, I am. Go, hurry up.”

Right now, three hours into the potion mixing lab, Taehyung and Jungkook are falling behind. They haven’t collected all of the data they need yet, they still need time to finish the fucking write-up, and it really doesn’t help that Taehyung’s handwriting is literal ass.

Jungkook probably couldn’t have picked a worse partner.

“What’s it say?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook blinks and quickly casts his eyes back to the thermometer.

“39,” he says.

“Just 39? No point-something?”

“Yeah, just…39. Point oh.” It’s not really. He just wasn’t watching and the red liquid in the thermometer is already dropping. Oh well. As if half the data they’ve already collected isn’t inaccurate as well.

“’Kay,” Taehyung says, writing the values down on his page. His hands are neon blue, stains spotted from the chemicals they’d been mixing. “’Kay, we’re good, right? We’re done?”

Jungkook doesn’t even have to look at the clock to know it’s been way too long. And there’s still so much left to do.

“Yeah.” He quickly pours the blue potion they’d made in the beaker down the drain—definitely the wrong shade of blue, far too close to purple for the mixing to have had gone correctly—and gestures at the mess of lab equipment on the table. “Clean up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Taehyung snips, grabbing some glassware, their edges clanking together in his hand so loud it makes Jungkook wince. These things are fragile, Jesus.

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Jungkook says nothing. He'd prefer that they finish the lab in silence, anyway.

 


 

They end up getting a solid 35% on the lab, the lowest mark either of them have gotten this entire semester.

“Your fault,” Taehyung mutters, drumming his fingers over the table.

Both our faults.” Jungkook sips his coffee and winces when it burns his tongue.

They’re sitting in a cafe, people bustling around them. Metal chair legs scrape over the wood floor, the hiss of steam and the bitter smell of coffee in the air.

“Dude”—Taehyung shakes his paper in Jungkook’s face, thin finger pointing at a paragraph—“look. It says data inaccurate. There, you see it?”

Jungkook swats it away and grits his teeth. Sometimes he wishes he was a species other than human; maybe a werewolf, or something equally as frightening, just so he’d look more intimidating when arguing with people. Right now, facing Taehyung as his fangs poke over his bottom lip, Jungkook feels pathetic. So tragically human.

“Yes, I see.”

“Exactly. Your fault.” Dropping his page on the table with a loud swat, Taehyung picks up his coffee and takes a sip, turning slightly to the side in his chair so he doesn’t have to face Jungkook.

“You’re being”—Jungkook tries to find a better, less blunt word, maybe irrational or stubborn, but realizes he doesn’t care much whether Taehyung is insulted or not—“really, really stupid about all this.”

Taehyung shakes his head, glancing around the coffee shop, quite obviously avoiding Jungkook’s eyes. “You owe me.”

“Owe you what?” Jungkook sighs.

“I dunno. A better grade? Assistance?”

A small part of Jungkook, a desperate, impulsive part of him, immediately perks up at the proposal of assistance. But no way Taehyung means that. They haven’t done that in months. Been too busy.

“I got a bad grade too, y’know?” Reaching across the table, Jungkook flicks Taehyung’s forehead, pulling his hand back with a barely-concealed snicker before Taehyung can bat it away. “Not just you, Mr. Centre-of-the-World.”

For a moment Taehyung just sits there, rigid and frowning. Then his shoulders slump, and Jungkook can almost see his frustration melt away.

“Whatever. Sorry. Whatever. This is so shitty, I’m shitty, you’re shitty.” He glances around. Although they’re at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, it still feels like there are too many people around. “And I hate it here. Smells like fucking felidae and dryads.”

“’S wrong with felidae? You’re always complaining, buddy. Chill out a bit.”

“They smell. You can’t tell.” With a wave of his hand, Taehyung gestures loosely at Jungkook’s face. “Your human nose or whatever. Must be nice.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Shut up, I’d kill to be something cool. It’s boring, being this. Humans are boring.”

“You’re the only one who thinks that.”

It’s just a matter of perspective really. From Taehyung’s eyes, a non-human in a society of mostly non-humans, humans themselves are a rarity, a novelty. Sometimes he jokes that he only befriended Jungkook because he was one of the few humans he’s ever met, and he was curious. Ask Jungkook and it’s an entirely different story.

“Humans can do nothing. Like, y’know, all the fae people can do that cool magic shit, with the powder and the lights—”

“You can still learn to perform magic. It’s not like it’s some racist, closed market hobby.”

For a moment Jungkook thinks and furrows his brow, resting his chin on his hand. Then: “Wouldn’t it be ‘specist’?”

“Fuck, I dunno. Listen—you don’t know how good you’ve got it. Being human is, like, an asset. Say I’m broke—”

“You are.”

“—Shut up. Say I’m broke and I wanna borrow money from someone. You, little human”—reaching across, Taehyung pokes Jungkook, who wears a mildly indignant expression at the use of the world little—“would be able to do it way easier. Just ‘cause people wanna get on your good side. ‘Cause there are only, what—two humans on campus? Three? And everyone wants the human to like them.”

“That’s the adult perspective,” Jungkook argues. “It’s just less cool. I mean, Tae, in my lycanthrope history elective I met a girl who could fly, sort of. Imagine that.”

“More importantly,” Taehyung says and clicks his tongue, swirling his coffee, “you talked to a girl?”

Jungkook sits back and huffs. A smile plays at Taehyung’s lips, false contrition on his face that makes Jungkook want to punch him. If he did he’d probably get fucking killed, because as strong as Jungkook is he’s still undeniably human, soft-skinned and warm-blooded and weak. Nothing next to the power of a vampire.

“Is it a vamp thing? Being a massive dick?”

“You mean having a massive dick? Nah, that’s just a me thing.” Taehyung winks, and Jungkook wants to punch him even more.

He’s properly hid his fangs again, but Jungkook sees them glint in the dim cafe lighting as he smiles. His eyes are a warm brown colour, and Jungkook’s learned throughout the years that's a good thing. Sometimes they’re a little red.

The redder they are the worse his desire for blood is.

It makes him feel shitty and weirdly guilty, but a shiver runs down Jungkook’s spine at the thought of Taehyung drinking blood. His blood. Not even a shiver of fear, but of filthy arousal, how those cold fangs would press against his throat, knifepoint tips puncturing the skin and—Jesus, stop, there are people around.

Shifting in his seat, Jungkook clears his mind of that thought—that memory.

“Why,” a voice says, followed by a sudden dragging of a seat over the floor, “are you guys discussing Tae’s dick.”

Jimin plops down at the table, entirely unexpected and a little rude.

“Again,” he adds, glancing between Taehyung and Jungkook with a knowing grin.

“Distracted,” Taehyung says, ignoring Jimin’s crudeness. He crosses his legs beneath the table and the toe of his shoe bushes Jungkook’s calf. That alone is enough to make him jolt, now with stupid, sexual things running through his mind concerning his sort-of-best-friend slash sort-of-boyfriend, who he’s supposed to be at least a little mad at considering their earlier argument. “Jungkook was whining about being a human.”

“Not whining,” Jungkook says quickly, not wanting to hear the whole spiel from Jimin as well—an elf with insane agility and tricky wit and other cool shit he’s just conveniently born with. Not fair. “It’s just not as cool.”

“You’re special though,” Jimin says, grabbing Jungkook’s coffee and taking a sip before Jungkook can stop him. “Unique or whatever. You’ve always had a boner for standing out and being better, I dunno why you can’t get behind this.”

“It’s different.”

Jimin nods and takes another sip from Jungkook’s coffee before placing it back in front of him. “More importantly”—he picks up his book bag from the floor and rifles through it, pulling out a couple pages—“help me with this.”

“Is this all I’m good for?”  Still, Jungkook takes the papers and looks through them as he complains. “What do you need?”

“For my species study—humans. More notes on functions. Mostly about blood types and circulation and shit.”

“Stealing my study specimen?” Taehyung jokes, his finger flicking the tab of his coffee cup. Jungkook stiffens, because they never talk about it in public, especially not around other people. But there’s a smile on Taehyung’s face, and it doesn’t look like the topic bothers him at all.

Jimin snorts. He knows —Taehyung accidentally let it slip about a year ago. “Sorry, man.”

A hot blush creeps over Jungkook’s cheeks and he looks down at the papers again, pushing his and Taehyung’s sorry lab assessment out of the way. Grabbing Jimin’s pen, he begins to write.

“Y’know,” Jungkook says, taking extra care to steady his voice and having to try far too hard to keep his mind on these goddamn notes. He coughs and tries again. “You know I don’t know much about my blood circulation, right? Like, I took a species course last year and we talked a bit about humans, but it wasn’t that in-depth.”

“That’s fine.” Jimin waves it off. “I know fuck-all, so.”

Then Taehyung says, “Kook.” Something about his tone makes Jungkook stop writing and look up. Taehyung’s thumb and forefinger fiddle with the collar of his shirt, the buttons done up a few too low—Jungkook takes greater notice of this than he needs to. In the faint yellow light, surrounded by the browns and reds of the wooden walls, Taehyung’s eyes look darker. Something more piercing about them now.

It’s not as bad a thing as it might seem.

“Yeah?” Jungkook’s tone, oh God, it’s so breathy. Jimin’s literally right there, what the fuck, Jeon, get it together. Once again he shifts in his seat, feeling hot and stupidly dizzy.

“I’ve been…needing to do a report too. On the species I’m studying. I chose humans, I mean, you know that already. But like, yeah. You know.” Taehyung nods. It’s weird to hear him sound so uncomfortable. That’s always Jungkook’s forte.

“Yeah,” Jungkook just says again, so fucking lame. His tongue feels fat and dry in the back of his throat.

In the corner of his eye he sees Jimin looking back and forth between them, making a mildly disgusted face.

“Will you help me?” Taehyung asks. This is one of the few things he gets visibly nervous about. The asking part. Seeing him fidget is so bizarre. But in all honesty, Jungkook’s worse right now.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. Again.

He tells himself he’s saying yes because it was sort of his fault that he and Taehyung got such a terrible mark on that lab. Tells himself this is his way of making it up to him. But it’s hard to fool himself when he knows so fucking clearly why he’s actually saying yes.

“Oh my God,” Jimin says, standing up and grabbing his bag. “I’m leaving, oh my God.” He points at the papers in front of Jungkook. “Finish that. I’ll buy you a coffee later or something. Just don’t get too gay and, like, die, I dunno.”

“Asshole,” Jungkook says after him, fully aware he can hear because that’s just another thing elves and even half-elves are generally born with—incredible hearing. Again, not fair.

A playful laugh bubbles from Taehyung’s lips.

“Why’d you ask like that?” Jungkook complains and balls up a napkin, throws it at him.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry at all.

“Shut up.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung says again, reaching over the table. Jungkook moves to pull his hands away but Taehyung grips his wrist. His fingers are always a little cold, not dead-cold but cold enough for it to be noticeable when they’re inside him—God, stop. Jungkook’s mind is all over the place.

“Now Jimin knows.”

“Jimin already knew.”

“It’s weird.”

“Jimin doesn’t know everything.”

Jungkook’s pouting, his brow furrowed, and he knows he looks childish but he can’t bring himself to care. With a sheepish smile, Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s wrist once before loosening his grip, so that his fingers are just loosely circling it. Skin on skin, cold on warm. Good and comforting and horribly implicative considering the current topic.

They leave the coffee shop and step outside, the trees bare and the traces of coming snow hovering in the air. Winter soon. The wind is cold and so is Taehyung’s hand, but with their fingers weaved together like this Jungkook can’t feel it.

“You don’t have to,” Taehyung says like he always does, sounds so guilty and self-effacing and so unlike himself. “You never do.”

“You know I want to,” Jungkook says simply. Steps closer, their clasped hands pressed between their close bodies.

“It’s weird, I know,” Taehyung says, the start of his typical spiel.

Not letting him finish, Jungkook brings his free hand around to Taehyung’s neck and brushes his fingers there, taking his surprised pause as an excuse to lean closer and press a kiss to the corner of his jaw, sort of on his cheek but not really. A shitty location for a shitty kiss, really, but both of them are used to Jungkook being kind of bad at this cute stuff.

It’s suddenly less cute when Jungkook opens his mouth, baring his teeth just slightly to scrape them along Taehyung’s jawline. Just a brief thing. Hearing the hitch in Taehyung’s breath, he smirks.

“Then we’re weird.”

 


 

“Hurry up.”

So weird.

That’s all Jungkook’s thinking, all Jungkook can think. How weird this is, sitting here on the edge of the hospital bed, being told to fucking ‘hurry up’ as he pulls his jacket and shirt off. Pants and underwear stay on for now. That’s the rule.

“I went and got some things from the lab,” Taehyung explains, sitting in an office chair and fiddling with some devices on the desk. “Some equipment. Just simple things today.”

He picks something up and twirls it around absentmindedly. Puts it down and sorts out his papers on a clipboard, picks up his pen, spins it a couple times. Bizarrely professional, an unperturbed aura about him that only gets Jungkook more on edge.

So fucking weird.

“Simple things?” Jungkook prompts, feeling more naked than he really is with just his shirt off.

“Mm-hm.” Taehyung nods and looks at Jungkook.

Today he’s in a white button-up, this time properly done up almost to the top, with the collar set crisp and not showing nearly as much skin as usual. It’s a shame, really. His skin is so perfect, inhumanly so—obviously. Some passed-down vamp trait. It’s not weird or pale or anything that the myths might suggest, just smooth and nice, comfortably tan and cold enough to catch Jungkook off-guard whenever they touch.

“We can go to the medical lab and do this there, if you want something more in-depth.” Taehyung gives his pen and twirl and Jungkook watches it, listens to the clicks of the plastic and metal, soft sounds that seem so loud. His heartbeat too. So loud now.

“N—no, I want to do it here.”

It’s better, more private. It’s one of the spaces the university supplies for students to do simple experiments without being bothered, a couple old rooms which used to be used by the nurses. That’s why there’s a bed, a nylon-covered mattress with the crappy sheets Taehyung and Jungkook had brought. In theory, the bed should not be put to use at all. But these two are, again, weird.

Another thing is that there are no locks. If anything that fact only makes Jungkook love this room more.

Not knowing what to do with his hands, he holds them limp in his lap. His legs sway back and forth, toes barely grazing the floor. This place smells like disinfectant, a sharp tickle in his nose.

“Okay.” Taehyung slides his chair over. Beneath the clean hem of his black slacks, professional and so doctor-like, are his dress shoes. Black and shiny. This whole outfit looks so fucking legit it hurts. “Comfortable?”

“Hm?” Jungkook blinks.

“You comfortable?” Taehyung repeats, holding his clipboard and pen in one hand as his other absentmindedly traces along Jungkook’s thigh.

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes.

“Don’t have to be nervous.”

He’s really not. They both know that. In fact, it’s less that he’s nervous and more that he’s excited for this. But nervous is a good way to put it, because that makes it seem more real. Like he’s actually with some weird doctor and like these experiments have some purpose.

“What are we doing?” Jungkook asks as Taehyung stands, pushing the chair to the corner.

For a while Taehyung doesn’t say anything, clicking his tongue and staring at his clipboard, tapping his pen against the side. “Things,” he eventually murmurs, doing a super shitty job of hiding his smirk, breaking character for a moment. Jesus, he’s always like this—blatantly cocky. “Here, sit up.”

His hand brushes against Jungkook’s bare side, and Jungkook jolts at the sudden cold. Doing as he’s told, he sits up straight.

Returning to the desk, Taehyung grabs something—a stethoscope.

Boring, Jungkook’s head supplies.

The flat metal circle is cold on his chest. So is Taehyung’s palm as it rests on his abs. Cold, so cold. Goosebumps rise to Jungkook’s skin and Taehyung’s hand presses a bit harder.

“Breathe in,” he says, voice low, controlled, a faint breath brushing over Jungkook’s shoulder. A rush of heat flows through his body, his pulse quickening. The corners of Taehyung’s lips pull up, obviously hearing it through the stethoscope as well as feeling it—those fucking unfair vampire senses he’s got that clue him in on the flow of blood in someone’s body.

Jungkook breathes in, shaky and trying to conceal it. Something stirs beneath his skin, an ugly impatience.

“Good,” Taehyung says, a quick and quiet word that still feels like so much. “Now breathe out.”

Jungkook does.

“Turn.” With a hand on Jungkook’s hipbone, right over the waistband of his jeans, Taehyung urges him to sit to the side so Jungkook’s back is facing him.

He does this a couple more times along Jungkook’s back, a few different places, all with the same soft direction of breathe in, breathe out. That metal circle touching here, there. That perfect voice of his sending chills down Jungkook’s spine. The command itself lacks force, but still leaves Jungkook entirely aware of the dominance Taehyung holds in this situation, how he could exert it if he wanted to.

“Good.” His hand gives Jungkook’s shoulder a light squeeze, the muscle firm and tense. There’s something about the air right now, a thickness as Jungkook tries to breathe in. Taehyung’s hand brushes down his back, fingertips catching right on the waistband of his jeans and pulling them lower before he pulls away entirely and walks back to the desk. Jungkook readjusts his seating position so he’s facing forward again, hands clasped together in his lap, clammy.

“Uhm—”

Taehyung hums in response, doing something else now, writing some things down.

“What now?”

“There’s a couple things I wanna test.” He glances at Jungkook, falling into his role better now. It always takes him a while to get serious, but Jungkook’s quick to adjust and Taehyung often follows. Patient and doctor, subject and observer.

So weird.

At this point Jungkook couldn’t give a fuck about that inner voice if he tried.

“A little bit on blood, like we said.” Taehyung goes on. “Pressure and oxygen saturation and maybe some general circulation patterns. Y’know. But mostly the mind, human memory. How well it holds up against”—at that moment Jungkook looks down at Taehyung’s hands, the clanging metal catching his attention, his throat feeling tighter when he sees the cuffs—“distractions.”

“Okay,” Jungkook breathes, unsteady with excitement or nerves or a nice mix of both. The word dies in the silence of the room. From the halls outside Jungkook hears the occasional sound of footsteps passing by, the muted echoes—thick enough to block some sound but not all.

“What’s this called?” Taehyung asks him, coming back over and holding something else, a cube-shaped thing. The room itself is small and it only takes a few steps to cross, but Taehyung’s taking his sweet time, pace slow and sure.

“Pulse oximeter,” Jungkook says too quickly. He remembers this one.

“Good. What’s it do?”

“Oxygen. Measures oxygen.”

“You sure?”

Jungkook blinks and looks up, catches Taehyung’s eye. The twinkle of mischievousness there, in his strong gaze that holds Jungkook’s too easily. It’s overwhelming and part of Jungkook wants to look away but he doesn’t, keeps their eyes locked, too aware of how close their faces are. Their lips.

God, Jungkook wants to kiss him so badly. But that would ruin the fun.

“Yeah.”

“Mm.” A gentle touch over Jungkook’s arm, from his elbow to his wrist. Instinctively, Jungkook lifts his hand and lets Taehyung’s subtle gestures guide him. “Good.”

And he shudders, subtle and suppressed but not enough so that Taehyung doesn’t notice.

“Cold?” he asks. His hands play with the device—the fucking pulse oximeter—clamping and unclamping it. It’s no bigger than Taehyung’s palm, with a screen on the front.

Jungkook shakes his head.

“Tell me,” Taehyung murmurs, his fingers lacing between Jungkook’s and playing with his knuckles, tracing the lines on his palm and the smooth surface of the back of his hand, so gentle, “why these are good to use.”

“It’s, like, simple. Noninvasive. You don’t—” Jungkook’s breath hitches when Taehyung squeezes the thick part of his palm, right near his thumb. Like some weird, pseudo-sexual hand massage. Fuck, why not? With a shaky inhale, he tries again. “You don’t have to pierce the skin, draw blood, take samples. Or anything.”

“Right.” Nodding, Taehyung opens the pulse oximeter and clamps it over the tip of Jungkook’s index finger. One hand rests on Jungkook’s wrist, rubbing circles into the soft skin where his veins show most strikingly. “And what’s considered a normal oxygen saturation reading?”

“Isn’t that your forte, doctor?” Jungkook smirks, seeing the way Taehyung stiffens at the word, eyes darkening. A pause.

The way Taehyung looks at Jungkook makes him feel giddy. His flat gaze, his set jaw. The amusement in his eyes is the only thing he can’t mask.

“We’re supposed to be conducting tests.”

Jungkook nods. As Taehyung steps closer Jungkook feels his bravado fall.

“Can you answer that question for me?”

“95.” It’s said so immediately, a rush to please.

“You sure?” Taehyung’s voice is steady, makes the air feel stifling.

Jungkook fidgets, feels suddenly antsy under Taehyung’s scrutiny, his proximity. His body thrums, and he’s painfully aware that he’s shirtless while Taehyung’s so fully clothed, so properly done-up. The pulse oximeter feels hard and too-tight on his finger.

“95 to 100.”

Taehyung hums. “Good.”

Jungkook grinds his teeth together. This is so damn boring but he still feels like he’s two seconds from straight exploding. What the fuck. Taehyung’s nails graze the skin of his wrist and he tenses in surprise at the sudden sensation. Tender to rough. So quickly, so easily.

“Yours,” Taehyung says, checking the screen, “is 98%.”

“That’s good?” Jungkook asks, not thinking so much as trying to elicit a response. He just wants to hear Taehyung speak, the quality of his voice, the casual command he holds with every word.

“Shouldn’t you know, Jungkook?”

Fuck, the name and that fucking tone, the way Taehyung quirks an eyebrow, that goddamn smile still resting on his lips. Like he just knows this is the exact kinda shit that gets Jungkook’s dick hard. Authority—obeying it, defying it. A careful balance.

“Shouldn’t you, doctor?”

His skin prickles as he practically sees the dissatisfaction in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Guess I should.” He shrugs, steps closer, places a hand on Jungkook’s knee. Using that hold, he spreads Jungkook’s legs, the backs of his thighs pressing against the uncomfortable bed, and steps between them. At this angle, Jungkook has to look slightly upward to meet his eyes.

Just a little though. Their faces are close. Their lips. So close.

“But right now we’re testing your memory.” Taehyung clicks his tongue, removing the pulse oximeter with a careful hand. It leaves a bare indent on Jungkook’s skin. “Not mine.”

Jungkook inhales and exhales. Clears his head because Taehyung’s standing right fucking there between his legs, that hand on his knee slowly creeping up his thigh, and Jungkook’s not allowed to do anything about it.

The rules of this game they play.

Really, Jungkook’s not even sure what it is they’re doing. Not exactly. It’s under the guise of Jungkook helping Taehyung out with some research, but they always get weird and tense and, in the end, sidetracked.

“98,” Jungkook says. “98 is good.”

“Mm-hm. Good boy.”

It’s almost instant, the shaky exhale from Jungkook as if he’s been punched in the gut. It always gets him, the slow shift from just good to good boy to my good little slut. Maybe. It depends on Taehyung’s mood really, but maybe. Hopefully.

“Are—are you gonna write it down?”

He looks indifferent. “Later. I’ll remember.” And he tosses the pulse oximeter on the desk, the plastic clattering against the wood surface and the various metal objects left there. His hand tightens on Jungkook’s thigh, fingers digging in, the other one moving to Jungkook’s jawline, just touching, tilting his head slightly.

“You know,” Taehyung begins, his breath rushing over Jungkook’s bare skin. Then that hand tilts Jungkook’s chin farther to the side and grips just below the jaw, holding him firm at the side of the neck. Abrupt and rough. And he’s closer now, voice a low rumble. “The more oxygen there is in your blood, the better it tastes.”

Jungkook feels his heart stutter, pick up.

“Oh,” he breathes. That’s all he’s got.

Against his neck he feels the huff of Taehyung’s soft laughter, can envision perfectly the arrogant glint in his eyes. How his fangs look as he smiles.

An aroused shudder moves down Jungkook’s spine, brings goosebumps to his skin. Everything feels amplified and he’s so hyper-aware of the things Taehyung’s doing—the things he’s not doing. In this weird limbo, Jungkook’s not sure what’s on the table just yet.

“What’s your blood type?” Taehyung asks, sounding casual, as if he didn’t just fucking hint at the shit he’s planning on doing.

“You should already know, doctor,” Jungkook says, tone apparently a little too blunt for Taehyung’s liking.

“I do. But”—Taehyung squeezes, his hand cool on Jungkook’s hot, flushed neck, a subtle show of dominance that makes him dizzy—“I need you to tell me.”

Jesus. Like this, head tilted back slightly, neck exposed, all Jungkook can think about is how fucking close Taehyung’s mouth is to his skin. To the faded, nearly-invisible marks from those fangs.

“A.”

“Type A?”

“Mm.” It sounds strained. Jungkook wants more.

Steadily, Taehyung’s grip on Jungkook’s neck loosens, his fingers tracing down to rest on his chest, right over his booming heart. The one on his thigh moves up some more, moves inward. Touch dancing along his inner thigh, so close to his crotch. And he squeezes, pressing his fingertips into Jungkook’s thick thigh through his jeans. His cock twitches, not hard, but most definitely getting there very quickly.

“Type A blood, too…” Taehyung says under his breath. “Tastes so good.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook’s chest feels tight but he laughs anyways, a strained, trembling sound. Something desperate about his tone now. There’s so much that’s just not fucking happening. “Maybe you should have a taste.”

“Bold,” Taehyung comments. Pulls back slightly so he’s looking Jungkook in the eye again, instead of breathing hot and kinda weird against his neck. It’s a little disappointing to be honest. Proximity’s never a bad thing with Taehyung. “What do you take me for, Jesus. I have control. And right now we’re studying”—he pokes Jungkook’s chest, right over his heart, his eyes taunting—“you.”

“I know.” Jungkook nods to further solidify that yes, he knows.

“Okay. Memory,” Taehyung says, getting right into it. “In this country, what’s the most common blood type in humans?” He doesn’t have his clipboard, most likely because he didn’t care enough to step back to the desk and get it.

“O.”

“Rhesus?”

“Positive.”

“Good boy.” Taehyung smirks as Jungkook shivers again, breath quickening for just a moment before he reins it in. “In elves?”

“AB positive”

“In…nymphs?”

“B negative.”

“Mm.” His fingers, still dangerously close to Jungkook’s crotch, tap his inner thigh a couple times. “You’ll remember all that?”

That’s all he says but there’s something about his tone that makes Jungkook give a hurried, jerky nod. Cram all that shit into his mind and lock it up and keep it and remember it.

“Here,” Taehyung says, his hand now rubbing slow circles into Jungkook’s inner thigh. Jungkook swallows in response. Almost instinctively, he spreads his legs just a bit farther apart. “A major vein here. Longest in the body. What’s it called?”

“Great saphenous.”

“Good to bite?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“It can—uh, take a bigger bite to get to. Can hurt more.”

“Right…” As Taehyung pauses, Jungkook runs through his mind at record speed of the things he knows, the things Taehyung might ask him. Simple trivia, really. But even the simplest knowledge can be so hard to access when met with distractions, as Taehyung had been speaking of. “But why’s it good to bite?”

“Uhm—”

The hand on Jungkook’s upper thigh stays, the other moving around him to press flat against the small of Jungkook’s back. Pulls him closer to the edge of the bed, inner thighs pressed just under Taehyung’s hips. Jungkook’s eyelids flutter. Air feels scarce.

Taehyung’s teasing. Breathing softly and slowly and surely, gentle against Jungkook’s neck, against the hot pulse thrumming beneath the skin. He knows Taehyung can feel it, can hear it—knows Taehyung fucking wants it.

“Please,” he chokes out, squeezing his thighs together in a mild effort to hold him there. As if he’d leave. The guy couldn’t even pry himself away to go get his clipboard. He’s severely lacking in professionalism and, admittedly, role playing skill. Oh well. It’s Taehyung; that’s to be expected.

“Please what?”

Jungkook swallows, the words that spill from his lips tight and desperate. “Please kiss me.”

As if he’s acting out of order, Taehyung pulls back slightly, frowning. A jolt of worry moves through Jungkook, the idea that he’d stepped beyond the line feeling realer than it should. The reprimanding look in Taehyung’s eyes, that goddamn condescending squint—all weirdly real.

“Jungkook,” he says slowly, rubbing circles into his lower back. “We’re supposed to be doing tests.” He smiles. “You’re supposed to be helping me with my research.”

Tense in Taehyung’s hands, Jungkook grits his teeth. “There’s a fucking lot we’re supposed to be doing, doctor.” And he subtly hooks his ankles behind Taehyung’s legs, pulls him closer, forcing something he probably shouldn’t.

Saying nothing, Taehyung raises an eyebrow. They stay like that, eyes locked with a torrid tension balled up between them.

Taehyung’s thumb hooks on the back of his waistband, pulls down.

“Would you be comfortable, Jungkook”—he changes the topic however he likes. Eyelids hooding and a sure intention coming over his expression that makes Jungkook already sure of what he’s about to say—“with taking these off?” And he pulls at his waistband again.

Not trusting his voice, Jungkook nods.

“Is that a yes?” Taehyung’s determined to make him say it.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I—I’ll fucking take them off, Jesus.” The end of the sentence is barely a mumble. Unhooking his legs from around Taehyung, he scoots back on the bed and keeps his head down, feeling the blush spread across his cheeks. The heat of his body, the boom of his heart—all amplified. All obvious to Taehyung.

With his jeans off it’s embarrassingly apparent, his half-hard dick in his boxers, plumping up against his thigh.

“Cold?” Taehyung asks again, brushing his hand over Jungkook’s forearm, fingers trailing goosebumps in their wake.

“You know I’m not,” Jungkook mutters, fidgeting under Taehyung’s hard gaze, his eyes passing over his body, catching everything—the tension and the flush and the undoubted arousal.

“What is it, then? You look”—a breath, thoughtful and steady—“bothered.”

“I’m not.”

“No?” He’s stepped closer again, his hands on Jungkook’s body, teasing. Like this, in just his boxers, Jungkook feels like an idiot. All this touching, leading nowhere—he’s gonna lose his damn mind.

Flashing through his head are bursts of facts after facts, the dumb things Taehyung likes to ask him, the common places for bites—on the inside of the elbow, on the wrist, behind the knee—just in case. Among those thoughts, though, are the less calculated ones, the ones just itching to grab Taehyung and kiss him breathless and snap at him to hurry the fuck up and do something, do anything—

“Tell me another thing,” Taehyung says. One hand on Jungkook’s waist. The other on his thigh.

Anything. Jungkook closes his eyes, not bothering to suppress the shudder this time, letting his back arch into Taehyung’s sure touch. Then Taehyung’s closer, right there, nosing beneath Jungkook’s jaw, lips right against his skin so cold and pleasant. His fangs too—now right there, sharp and tantalizing, like a warning or a promise or fucking something like that. Honestly Jungkook can’t think right now.

“What do you want?”

“I—” For a moment Jungkook blanks. What does he want? A lot of things, too many to name just one. Please kiss me, please bite me, please make me yours. So many things. “You.”

Against his skin, Jungkook feels Taehyung smirk and press a kiss a little bit lower, right on the juncture of Jungkook’s shoulder, trailing up the column of his neck, their body temperatures such a stark contrast. It makes him feel winded, everything too much to take in—Taehyung, so calm, paired against Jungkook, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his lips parted as he pants, his eyelids falling shut despite what he tells them to do.

Taehyung hums and kisses Jungkook’s jawline, just below his ear, before finally he slots his lips over Jungkook’s, soft and tentative.

A pathetic little mmh comes from the back of Jungkook’s throat, body pressing closer, his hands rising to Taehyung’s shoulders now that he knows he’s allowed to touch. Gripping hard, he’s quick to open his mouth, already so riled up from the stupid shit they’d spent all that time on. He really doesn’t know why they wait so long to get to this part. More build-up for the collapse, perhaps.

Allowing him this, Taehyung parts his lips and lets Jungkook lick into his mouth, growling softly as a warning when he goes too far, teeth scraping over Taehyung’s bottom lip.

“Please,” Jungkook mumbles into his mouth, unable to get much out clearly, too caught up in the taste of Taehyung and the hot slide of his lips against his own. His fingers tremble as they dig harder into Taehyung’s shoulder. Somewhere in the back of his mind is the thought that this isn’t allowed, with how they stand as technically patient and doctor. Technically.

“Please what?” Taehyung’s thumb rubs circles just above Jungkook’s hipbone, his breath flowing between their lips. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“You’re not that dumb, doctor,” Jungkook bites out, his entire body aching for more.

“Mm. Watch your mouth.” The words are sharp and heavy, hitting Jungkook right in the chest. Not quite growled but close enough, a hint of irritation there, burning under Jungkook’s defiance.

Pressing forward and bringing his hand around to the back of Taehyung’s neck, Jungkook kisses Taehyung with a bit more force, shivering when their tongues press together. It’s slow and languid and, lovely as it is, Jungkook’s had enough of slow.

Grabbing a fistful of Taehyung’s hair, he tugs hard. When Taehyung responds with a low, cautionary sound in his throat, Jungkook grits his teeth at the hot spike of arousal that flows through him. And he pulls back, panting, their faces still held so close, opening his eyes to see the irritation burning in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Watch it for me.”

It’s followed by a moment of silence, a smirk creeping over Jungkook’s skin because, for a second, it feels like a small victory. One of the best parts about this is getting Taehyung to lose his cool. As put-on as it is, it’s how doctors are supposed to act.

With just an unamused twitch of his eyebrow, quite an unsatisfying response, Taehyung moves to nose beneath Jungkook’s jaw. Almost on instinct, the hand Jungkook holds in Taehyung’s hair slackens, tracing down the back of his neck and holding onto his firm shoulders as if for support.

“Insufferable, aren’t you?” Taehyung mutters, leaving small kisses on Jungkook’s neck, lips still wet from Jungkook’s saliva. “Let me ask you something.”

The sudden change in his tone makes Jungkook pause, blink a few times, processing it and wondering what’s going to follow.

“Yeah?” he prompts, hating how breathless he still sounds.

“Can I bite you?”

Jesus. Jungkook’s mind stalls, his entire world zoomed in on the cool touch of Taehyung’s lips on his neck, slightly parted. Knowing how close his fangs are to that delicate skin makes him shiver.

“Now?”

Taehyung snorts. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Just—yeah.”

“Hm?” His tone is playful and condescending. Always wanting to get Jungkook to fucking say it.

“Bite me,” Jungkook says, shaky but determined.

“Now?” Taehyung mocks.

Jungkook snarls, already desperate, digging his fingernails into Taehyung’s shoulder through his crisp, white dress shirt, putting wrinkles in the smooth fabric. “Yes, Jesus Chr—ah.”

The pressure of Taehyung’s fangs is cold and hard, the pinpoint ends taunting the smooth surface of the side of his neck, scraping slightly. Enough to hurt. They press in until they puncture his skin, Taehyung going slowly so it doesn’t hit Jungkook all at once—the numbing effect of being bitten.

“Fuck,” Jungkook chokes out, his head tilting to the side to allow Taehyung better access. This shit is addictive, this semi-drug that flows into his bloodstream. The pain immediately drains out of him, replaced by a dizzying pleasure as Taehyung closes his mouth over the skin and sucks. A rough pang of bliss shoots through Jungkook’s body.

Almost immediately he gets lost in the stinging sensation, pain dulling further and further into something hot and overwhelming. Jungkook feels his cock hardening fast. It twitches in his boxers, fabric tenting up at the front. Jungkook squirms, wanting to press his thighs together to relieve some of the ache, but Taehyung stands just out of reach between his legs.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his mind too clouded and lost to say much more. He gives a helpless little moan, shifting forward and tightening his grip on Taehyung shoulders, urging him to step closer. His hips jerk sporadically, desperate for any sort of friction on his cock.

But before he’s even caught up, Taehyung’s already pulled back, licking along the wounds, his saliva closing them up a little—another vampire trait. Tongue passing over the corner of his mouth, he licks away the excess blood. Bizarrely pristine, considering.

“Tell me something,” Taehyung says again, tone so light and casual, as if Jungkook’s not still bleeding from a neck wound right in front of him. Knowing Taehyung’s not going to continue with anything until Jungkook responds, he does his best to collect his wits.

“Mm?” It’s really the best he can do. His entire body feels like jelly, still reeling.

“Here,” Taehyung murmurs, his hand moving up Jungkook’s thigh until it’s massaging his inner thigh, then slowly tracing the outline of Jungkook’s erection through his boxers.

“—Mm,” Jungkook hums again, strained this time, barely keeping his hips from jerking up at this slight touch. He nods frantically, wanting Taehyung to speed this shit up.

“You’re so hard.”

“Th—that’s not a question.”

“I know.” Taehyung doesn’t say anything for a while, just tracing Jungkook’s cock through his boxers, watching with amusement as he tenses, trying to hold himself still. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“God, what kinda fucking question is that—”

“Ssh. Do you?”

It’s not hard to answer or anything like that. But there’s probably a catch.

Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, touch me.”

Pressing his palm flat against Jungkook’s cock, Taehyung rubs him through his boxers, making him groan and squeeze his eyes shut. It’s not enough, and Taehyung knows that, laughing softly as he watches Jungkook squirm, rocking his hips upward for more.

“When I bite you…” Taehyung says, rubbing circles over the head with two fingers, a bead of precome leaking from the slit and soaking through the fabric, “there’s something in my saliva that changes how it feels. What’s it called?”

“S—sedative. Venom. Kind of a mix.” Jungkook’s too quick to answer.

“Good boy. What’s it do?”

“Makes—makes it feel good.”

Taehyung nods. His hand strokes up and down Jungkook’s side, dipping to fit to the pretty curve of his waist. “Do you feel good when I bite you?”

Jungkook nods frantically, his hair shaking out over his forehead, catching on the thin sheen of sweat there. “Y—yeah. Feels so good when you bite me.”

“Yeah? How good?”

“I—” Swallowing his unsure words, Jungkook brings one hand to Taehyung’s wrist and urges him to grind the heel of his palm down harder on his bulge. “Just, please. I want—”

Maybe Taehyung takes pity on him. Jungkook can barely get a damn word out. Pulling his waistband and moving the fabric out of the way, Taehyung’s hand slips into Jungkook’s boxers and grabs his cock by the base, pumping slowly. A needy moan spills from his lips, jaw going slack, body jolting as he tries to keep himself from fucking into Taehyung’s hand.

“Bite me,” Jungkook pleads.

“Where?”

“You know.

Usually this begging shit doesn’t work, but Taehyung must be feeling extra nice today. In an instant he pushes Jungkook farther back on the bed, guiding him wordlessly. Swallowing, Jungkook follows, lying back and supporting himself on an elbow. He watches with parted lips as Taehyung drops to his knees. What a fucking sight, having Taehyung between his legs like this, tracing a palm up his thick thigh almost reverently.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this. Still some things I need to test…” Taehyung’s voice is rough, his facade of control almost completely deteriorated. Jungkook wonders how hard he is. From this angle he can’t look down to see.

“D—don’t stop,” Jungkook stammers out, shaking his head, his fingers curling into the fabric of the sheets. “You can’t, not now. I want you to—this, I want this.”

Taehyung hums, licking his lips. There’s a brief flash of red in his eyes and it makes Jungkook whimper, wanting those lips over his bite wound and, Jesus, feeding on him. Even Taehyung knows he’s dragged this out too long.

“Spread more.” He pats Jungkook’s thigh, leans forward, mouths the lower part of his inner thigh and trails kisses upward, lips cool and soothing on his burning, flushed skin. Moving slowly, he grazes his teeth over the most sensitive parts that he at this point knows by heart, humming when Jungkook gasps, thighs tensing and shuddering.

His boxers are still on, Jesus. Beneath the fabric his cock leaks and twitches. All Taehyung does is push them upward and out of the way. Jungkook’s too far gone to complain about it.

“Hurry up,” he says, words quiet as if that somehow makes them less demanding. Taehyung complies.

The pain—it’s excruciating, always coming first.

But there’s something Jungkook loves about it. He cries out, struggling to keep his lower half as still as possible. Taehyung’s lips are cold and smooth on his inner thigh. He sobs as those fangs sink through his flesh, having to slice deep to get to this particular vein, but when it hits the pleasure is instant.

“Oh, fuck y—God, yes—” Jungkook’s body buckles, collapsing onto the bed, elbow giving out beneath him. Taehyung’s teeth push into the skin, mouth pressed hard against his meaty thigh, hand digging marks into it as he forces Jungkook to keep his legs spread. No matter how many times they do this, his bad habit of clamping them together in response to pain always seems to stick around.

He feels a trickle of blood crawl down his thigh, some probably soaking into his boxers. The drip is hot and ticklish. He squirms, but Taehyung tightens his grip till it hurts and growls, making him stay fucking still. Jungkook’s head spins, moaning and barely managing to ramble a string of words, encouraging Taehyung to keep going even though he knows how dangerous this is. The heat is insane, this fire in his blood, scorching his body.

“Fuck—nh, that feels, that’s so—” He bites his bottom lip and forces himself to be quiet because he knows he sounds stupid. It’s just that he can’t help but fall under it. This weird dominance, Taehyung pressing fingerprint bruises into Jungkook’s skin, his fangs sunk into the supple flesh of his inner thigh. His cock bucks against his boxers and his hips jerk upward.

“So good,” Jungkook breathes deliriously, chest heaving, teeth clenched. Palming down his stomach, he kneads his cock through his boxers. He feels the vibrations as Taehyung makes a rough, almost animal sound in the back of his throat, sucking a bit harder, the sounds sloppy and wet and fucking nasty.

But, too soon or not soon enough, Taehyung’s pulling back. This time he’s careful to lick at the wounds, pressing his tongue over them and holding it there, making sure they're sealed properly. Licks up the excess blood. Jungkook shivers.

The indents of Taehyung’s fangs are barely visible, will be gone in a few days. And his boxers—they’re still fucking on, the front soaked with precome and now the bottom hem soaked with blood, which is really super great and not gross at all.

“Good?” Taehyung asks, standing up.

Too breathless to do much else, Jungkook nods. Lifting himself back onto his elbows, he looks at Taehyung. A droplet of blood trails from the corner of his mouth, down to his shirt collar. Crimson soaked into white, it’s kind of frightening to look at. His tongue is still red as he licks at the corner of his mouth, wiping the trail on his jaw with his thumb and sucking it into his mouth casually.

“Hands and knees,” Taehyung says simply, stepping back. “Boxers off. And don’t touch yourself.”

Jungkook blinks, bringing himself back to the moment. It takes a while to register but he’s quick enough. Making a pathetic noise, he scrambles to obey, shucking his boxers down his thighs and kicking them somewhere on the floor, crawling closer to the end of the bed. As he situates himself, ass-up and facing away from Taehyung, he feels the tell-tale dizziness begin to come over him. He must look like such a slut right now.

What if someone comes in?

There’s no lock on the door. Just beyond these walls are other people, strangers, just going about their lives. Maybe doing a bit of studying, maybe headed home after a long day. And in this room is Jungkook, begging to get fucked by his friend role-playing as a doctor.

Right, normal, right. No one’s gonna come in, it’s fine, it’s chill, he’s gotta calm down because his heart’s running a mile a minute and beating against his ribcage right now and whether it’s because of arousal or anticipation he can’t tell and Jesus it’s fine no one’s gonna fucking come in.

But God, if someone does all they’ll see is Jungkook bent over with his cock leaking over the sheets, and they’ll think he’s such a dirty fucking slut, and—

“Chill,” he hears Taehyung breathe, now behind him on the bed somehow. Who knows when that happened. “You good? What’s the word?”

Jungkook breathes, steadies himself, grits his teeth. “Fine. Red. I’m just—I’m fine.”

Taehyung’s hand soothes over the curve of his spine, the low dip as he arches closer to the bed and shudders. “Okay. I’ll keep going now.”

There’s a certain tentative air about his voice. Jungkook hates it. He’s calm. It’s fine.

“You’d fucking better,” he snips, pushing his hips back. Against his toe, he feels the brush of Taehyung’s slacks as he adjusts his position, giving Jungkook a better idea of what’s going on. By this point Taehyung’s probably got his shoes off. There’s a distinct metal clinking sound, chain links scraping together. As Taehyung leans over Jungkook feels the plastic buttons of Taehyung’s shirt brush over his back. His hands come to Jungkook’s wrists.

“Hands on the rail,” he instructs. When Jungkook obeys, clammy fingers curling around the lowest metal rung of the headboard, he dares to lift his head and look up from the sheets. Just it time to watch as the cuffs close over his wrists.

His throat closes in and it’s incredibly tough to swallow. This position puts a strain on his back, and he finds himself bending his arms and resting his elbows on the bed, head dipped down and forehead resting on the crappy, hard mattress. Breathing hard. Feeling lightheaded. Goosebumps on his skin.

“Cold?” Taehyung asks again, gently running his fingertips up Jungkook’s forearm, then up his bicep, to his shoulder. Brushing the hair out of the way from the back of his neck, he presses a kiss to the skin.

Jungkook makes a noise and shakes his head. He’s glad Taehyung can’t see his face like this, so flushed, his eyes probably glassy, watering at the corners. His body feels electrified, jolts of arousal punching through him at everything Taehyung does—carefully touching him, tracing over his shoulder blade, down the lines of his back muscles, resting just at his tailbone, right above the swell of his ass.

The fact that Taehyung’s fully clothed with Jungkook lying cuffed and stark naked under him makes this situation worse, better, more overwhelming. His blood rushes loud in his ears, and he knows Taehyung can sense it too. How worked up he is. Nothing’s even fucking happening.

“Remember what I said about distractions?”

That’s all Taehyung says—so casually too—before he thumbs Jungkook’s asscheeks apart and drips lube straight onto his asshole.

“Mmph—” Jungkook chokes, biting the sheets at the discomfort. “Cold,” he spits, muffled by the fabric, but Taehyung doesn’t give a shit at this point. Never did, really. All that asking about Jungkook’s comfort was really just to tease him, to set him more on edge so he’s easier to coax into caving when the time comes.

He dribbles a little more, how generous, quietly laughing as Jungkook tenses and holds still, making unhappy noises into the sheets. Taehyung takes the time to rub the lube over his puckered hole, the muscle clenching at the rough prodding, before he works one finger in.

Ah, oh God.” Jungkook’s shoulders slacken, subconsciously pushing back onto that finger despite knowing Taehyung probably wants him to stay still. Sure enough, as soon as he does it, Taehyung digs his fingers into Jungkook’s asscheek, pushing him forward again.

“Stay still,” he growls, gripping hard enough to make him whine in protest before he lets up, surely leaving red marks across his skin. “Don’t be difficult, we still have a lot to do.”

Right, that. Jungkook wonders how productive this fucking research has been so far, and he’s about to say something snarky about it too, but that train of thought and the words in his mouth die when Taehyung’s finger presses deeper, working back out again, being so slow and careful.

“F—fuck, ngh.” Every instinct in Jungkook’s body screams for him to rock back onto Taehyung’s finger, to beg for more, to demand that he go quicker. Instead he reins it in, biting his tongue and making an unsatisfied sound in the back of his throat.

“So tight,” Taehyung murmurs, crooking his finger and prodding at Jungkook’s inner walls. The pad of his finger drags over the muscle, rubbing the ridges. He coos Jungkook silent when he starts getting louder, more insistent, more desperate. “So tight like this, are you sure you can take my cock, baby?”

That makes Jungkook frantic, irrationally worried. The idea that Taehyung would bring him this far and in the end not let him even have it, not fuck Jungkook hard and rough like he always does, just leave him high and dry.

“Y—yeah, I can, I promise, please, I—you can’t just—” he babbles into the sheets, his hands gripping the metal bar harder. On his shoulder and neck, he feels the hot blood dripping from the still slightly-open wound.

“Shush.” Taehyung snickers, now rubbing a second finger over Jungkook’s asshole, but not putting it in. “I’m just teasing, baby.”

“Don’t,” Jungkook mumbles pathetically, somewhat indignant. He’s having trouble catching his breath, panting as Taehyung fingers him open, being a fucking jerk and completely avoiding rubbing his prostate. Circling his hips, Jungkook attempts to correct the angle, but once again Taehyung stops him, grabbing his hip and jerking him forward. With more force this time. More anger.

“I said stay still,” Taehyung growls, leaning forward. He mouths along Jungkook’s shoulder blades and licks crudely up to his neck, along the trails of blood. His reaction is instant and Jungkook feels it, the almost feral way Taehyung gets, the rough sound he makes as he laps up Jungkook’s blood, quickly dragging his teeth over the skin and fixing his mouth over that bite wound. Fangs sinking in, puncturing the skin he’d previously licked half-healed. “Shit, Jungkook,” he breathes, words muffled against his skin before he sucks properly.

“Oh God,” Jungkook chokes out. This always feels new no matter how many times they do it. The sudden heat flowing through his veins and the numbness that follows, the odd vertigo as if he’s falling and flying at the same time. Tipping right over a precipice. And it burns. “Fuck, that hurts, it hurts, oh fuck fuck fuck—”

Taehyung works a second finger in, effectively shutting Jungkook up, humming in approval when Jungkook moans and sets his knees farther apart on the bed, spreading himself for Taehyung to be able to open him up easier. Jungkook’s fingernails dig into his palm, fists clamped so tight the knuckles go white, the veins in his forearm bulging, his arms tense and shaking.

Ah—so good, Tae, holy shit, so good,” he rambles, nearly incoherent, spitting the words as they come. The pain burns through his body, a wild thing, nowhere near as bad as it should be. In fact, Jungkook’s almost ashamed of how much he’s enjoying this. As natural as it is for his human body to react like this, he knows he has to attribute some of the pleasure to the mindset being bitten gets him in—wanted, claimed, helpless, so fucking dirty.

Taehyung scissors his fingers, pushing at the tight muscle of Jungkook’s asshole, stretching him and doing a great job of fucking avoiding his prostate. Jungkook feels like he’s gonna lose his mind. It’s right there, Taehyung’s fingers are so close, and yet if he doesn’t want to give it to Jungkook then he doesn’t have to. That fact sucks hard considering how much of a tease Taehyung is.

“Please,” Jungkook whimpers, feeling his thighs beginning to shake with restraint. He desperately tries to keep himself from bucking back into Taehyung’s fingers. Taehyung unlatches his mouth from the side of his neck, licking it partly-shut again, and an embarrassing whine tears up Jungkook’s throat as he shakes his head, his forehead still pressed into the sheets and his voice muffled. “N—no, please, keep—nnh, bite me, keep—it feels so good, please.”

“Aw, baby.” Taehyung chuckles. Jungkook takes a sick pleasure in his gruff voice, strained as if he’s barely holding back from feeding on Jungkook till he’s drained fucking dry. In truth it’s probably not too far off from that. His hands shake, the fingers working inside Jungkook gone somewhat still, Taehyung’s entire body tense against Jungkook’s back. “I have to be careful, you know that.”

Jungkook does. There’s always the shitty fact that he could technically die from this. Super shitty. He could honestly spend hours getting half-high and delirious off the feeling of being bitten.

“I know,” he breathes, shoulder slumping as he collects his breath. Using this brief lapse in intensity, Jungkook pushes his hips back, sighing when Taehyung’s fingers move deeper inside him. His cock twitches between his legs, hard and hot, precome dripping from the slit, more oozing out when Taehyung curls and twists his fingers. “Th—three. Now.”

“Manners,” Taehyung snarls into Jungkook’s ear, resting his weight over him and holding him down. The fabric of his shirt is rough against Jungkook’s bare back, the button of his slacks indenting his skin. Fuck, pressed against him like this, Jungkook can feel it now, the heat and pressure of Taehyung’s erection straining against the front of his slacks.

Please.” Jungkook sobs and grinds backward, gritting his teeth when the chains of the cuffs clack, links pulling against each other. They’re fairly comfortable, mostly suede, but the metal parts dig into his skin, a damn good incentive not to move. Just as Taehyung wants him—holding still and being a good little boy, laid out and pliant. “Please, fuck—”

Taehyung presses a third finger in, the ring of muscle stretching to accommodate it. Jungkook makes a pleased, high-pitched sound, arching and shoving himself back into the feeling—the way it burns, the perfect length of Taehyung’s fingers, how fucking deep they get as they slide in and out of his slick hole. Now Taehyung’s being generous too, curling them and rubbing the pads right over Jungkook’s prostate.

“A—ah, yes, fuck yes.” Jungkook’s words tremble, voice breathless and dazed. “There, oh—”

Stupid, needy sounds escape him, body tense as Taehyung’s fingers work back and forth between his hot walls, pressing around that gland and applying the perfect amount of pressure, knowing exactly what to do to turn Jungkook into a delirious mess.

The air feels too thick, too hot, his lungs not working properly, his chest heaving and his lips parted as he tries to steady his breathing. Each exhale is accompanied with a whiny little noise. His muscles stay taut in an effort not to shove himself back onto Taehyung’s fingers, to fuck himself like that and let Taehyung know how fucking bad he wants this, how he can’t think at all, trembling and squirming around those fingers pressed inside him.

“Yeah, shit, you m—make me feel so good, God, love your fingers,” he babbles, feeling sweat collect along his brow and drip down his neck, mixing with the oozing blood and soaking into the sheets. Fuck, that’s gonna leave a mess. But he can’t worry about that now, not with Taehyung’s fingers so deep inside him, rendering him unable to compose a single coherent thought. His rim catches on the knuckles, muscle clenching tighter as Taehyung’s fingers pull outward.

His body jerks, arms pulling against the restraints. As much as he tries his best to keep his hands on the rail, his instincts keep telling him to reach between his legs and touch himself. Fuck, that sounds so good right now. He could probably come from that, really quickly too. Right on the fucking edge. Taehyung’s so damn good with his fingers. Just a little more and Jungkook could be coming hard all over the sheets. But any sort of pulling would just hurt his wrists.

“Your blood pressure’s so high right now,” Taehyung murmurs, pressing the cool pads of his fingers over Jungkook’s neck to solidify this observation. The heady pulse there, the same heartbeat thrumming through his body, a hot pounding in the back of his head.

“D—don’t talk about that shit right now.”

“It is why we’re here.”

“But—”

Jungkook doesn’t finish that though, his words melting into a breathy moan as Taehyung crooks his fingers again, another thick bead of precome being pushed out the slit of his cock.

“You still have to help me,” Taehyung says. “You promised.”

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to speak without having it come out a whiny, desperate mess of words, Jungkook just nods and mumbles some affirmation into the mattress. Next thing he knows, Taehyung slips those fingers out of him too quickly, leaving him gaping and cold.

“Tae,” he whimpers, mildly panicking when he feels Taehyung sit back on the bed, knowing far too well that he’s still fully clothed and Jungkook’s not hearing the pop of a button or the zip of a zipper like he should be.

“Ssh, I’ve got you,” Taehyung says, coming closer again, his hand soothing over the dip of Jungkook’s spine. It takes a stupid amount of time for Jungkook to catch up with what Taehyung’s doing, especially considering they’ve done this shit before and he should really know what to expect. But it still takes him by surprise when he feels the blunt press of a toy against his hole, too smooth and artificial to be anything but.

Ngh—fuck,” he chokes out, arms pulling and the cufflinks snapping tight before he forces himself to relax.

“Can you tell me,” Taehyung says, circling the toy around his hole but not pushing it in, “what your blood type is?”

This shit again, Jesus.

“A,” Jungkook says, exasperated.

“Good boy.” There’s a smile in his voice, like he’s having too much fun teasing Jungkook. “The most common type in humans?”

“O positive.” Trying to be subtle about it, Jungkook pushes his lower half back and sighs when the toy breaches his hole just slightly. Taehyung’s quick to pull it back though.

“Be patient,” he says lowly.

“Quit teasing,” Jungkook bites back, lifting his head to glare at Taehyung over his shoulder. Seeing him now, Jungkook realizes he’s far less composed than he had been earlier, the ease of his voice entirely an act. The top buttons of his shirt have been undone, the collar flagged over his chest. He looks so hot like this, with the hard set of his jaw and the cocky way he raises an eyebrow as he meets Jungkook’s eyes. A touch of red lines the corner of his lips—Jungkook’s blood.

He swallows hard. Something flickers in Jungkook’s chest, a heavy booming of his heart. There’s a dark crimson overshadowing the brown of Taehyung’s eyes and fuck, that’s the kind of shit Jungkook lives for.

“So fucking slow, Taehyung. Pick it up.” Jungkook growls. Wiggles his ass back, eyelids fluttering when the toy presses in again, a little deeper than last time. Wanting a response.

And he gets one. Taehyung’s just so fucking easy to rile up sometimes.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he snarls, pressing his body closer. And Jungkook hears it before he feels it, the harsh slap coming down on his ass. A loud sound ringing out that hits him straight before the blunt shock of pain.

Fuck, that’s good. Jungkook’s body rocks forward, a broken moan tearing up his throat, reeling in the burn. He buries his face back in the sheets. With his lips kept parted like this as he pants, drool begins to collect on the fabric.

Mmh, shit—oh my God.” Jungkook grits his teeth and groans, hating the way he pushes back toward Taehyung, hating how he wants more, hating Taehyung most of all for being such a damn tease. His grip on the rail tightens, the chain links clinking as he adjusts his hold.

For a moment Taehyung sits back again, leaving Jungkook nervously playing with the chain links and shivering when the insides of the cuffs drag over his wrists as he shifts.

“Are you—” he starts to say, lifting his head again to glance behind him. But then he feels Taehyung’s hand on his asscheek, squeezing and kneading at the hot, reddened flesh and pulling it to the side. It’s sudden, uncomfortable. Totally shitty of him to do. Cold lube dribbles over Jungkook’s stretched hole, some sliding in as Taehyung spreads it open more with his thumb and forefinger.

“A—ah, fuck, c—cold,” Jungkook spits, writhing in discomfort.

“Shut up,” Taehyung mutters, harsher now, voice sexier in a way that makes Jungkook feel weak, dominated, owned. “You can take it, baby. You promised you’d help me, didn’t you?” He presses closer, his breath rushing over the side of Jungkook’s neck, over the open wound there, still bleeding and dripping onto the previously clean sheets.

Honestly, this research premise is gonna be the fucking death of Jungkook.

He mumbles something incoherent into the mattress, tensing when Taehyung adjusts himself, knowing what’s coming. Then he feels that toy pressing once again over his wet hole, widening the rim as Taehyung eases it in, cooing when Jungkook tilts his hips and babbles out a rush of breathless, quiet words: yes, feels so good, Tae, yes, yes.

At first it’s slow, a stark contrast to the roughness of Taehyung’s touch, the hot burn on Jungkook’s asscheek still stinging. Taehyung slips the toy all the way in, Jungkook’s body accepting it so easily. Much wider at the base. He realizes belatedly that it’s a plug.

“God, you’re fucking built for this, aren’t you?” Taehyung hums and works it outward until only the tip is kept inside Jungkook. Then he moves it in again, so slick and smooth and thick, making Jungkook shudder and press his weight back, arching to rub his cock against the sheets. “Opening up so easily. Such a good slut for me, Jungkook, look at you.”

He moans, winded, feeling those words hit him right in the chest hard and heavy. Backs himself up against the plug, wiggling and searching for the right angle.

“Fuck—” Jungkook gasps when he finds it, the tip rubbing over his prostate, Taehyung angling it generously to get it just right. Over his shoulder he feels the rush of Taehyung’s breath, cool over the burning, pulsing bite wound. “B—bite me again,” he hears himself say, voice broken and trembling and demanding.

Taehyung clicks his tongue, licks over the dripping blood, his fangs raking so close to the marks but not pushing in. It should hurt like a bitch but Jungkook can’t feel it, all jacked up on this filthy, erotic high.

“Needy little slut,” Taehyung says, something rough about it that makes Jungkook feel warm, dizzy. Jungkook hears the click before he feels any change. The distinct press of a button—on the toy, he realizes. It vibrates faintly, suddenly much more overwhelming now. “You’ve gotta wait.”

“Mmnah, I—fucking hell.” Squeezing his eyes shut, unable to think straight, Jungkook sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites back a groan. He squirms when Taehyung moves it a bit faster, keeping the thrusts shallow, the vibrating tip moving back and forth over his prostate and making his drooling cock kick up so hard it hits stomach. “That—oh Tae, oh my God, it’s—”

Taehyung hums in satisfaction. Turns it up a setting.

“Question,” he says casually.

Jungkook feels his heart drop. He can’t. Not now.

“What’s your blood type?”

Jungkook’s mind stalls but he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, turns his head to the side so his cheek’s smushed against the bed, and forces himself to speak. “A.”

“Louder. Can’t hear you.”

He tries again. “A. T—type A.”

“Mm. Good boy. How about…”

Jungkook’s expecting him to ask for the most common in humans, like last time. The words “O positive” rest on his tongue.

“Most common in elves?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook stutters, his voice catching in his throat because fuck he doesn’t know and can’t think and has no time and what the fuck—

“O positive?” he still says, stammering through it because he knows it’s fucking wrong but maybe he didn’t hear correctly and Taehyung had asked for the most common in humans. Maybe.

“In elves,” Taehyung repeats, slower this time, syllables more enunciated. As if Jungkook’s fucking stupid. It pisses him off a little.

“AB,” he stammers after some time, forcing his mind to work.

“Longest vein in the body. We talked about it earlier. What’s it called?”

This shit is elementary. And Jungkook still can’t answer, tongue thick in his mouth, body so tight.

Taehyung barely seems like he’s paying attention, apparently too focused on driving Jungkook out of his mind with this fucking plug. Working it in and out, he coos as he watches Jungkook’s hole stretch around the base to take it in, muscle closing in tight around the narrower part.

Part of Jungkook is inclined to just say “O positive” again and hope for the best. What the fuck was the question? God, this toy’s fucking big, holy shit.

“Uh—nnh, I d—I don’t know, fuck—”

Once again, the sound of the slap comes before the pain.

With a loud sob, Jungkook’s body rocks forward, arms jerking against the chain links, suede cuffs soft on his wrists save for the small portions of exposed metal. His fingers shake as he grips the rail tighter, palms slippery.

“You told me earlier,” Taehyung reminds. Voice so even, a soft rumble in his chest as he presses himself against Jungkook’s back. The heat and pressure of his erection is apparent. He quietly hisses as he pushes his hips flush against the curve of Jungkook’s ass.

“I—ngh, I know, I—” Jungkook whines, Taehyung’s palm soothing over his stinging asscheek, squeezing quite rough. The words get stuck behind Jungkook’s clenched teeth: I forgot, I’ve been bad, I can’t think, please, please, please.

Without thinking, he grinds his ass onto the plug, rolling his pelvis and shuddering when it pushes deeper, rubs against his inner walls. He feels a cold, nasty mess of lube glide along his crack and drip down his inner thighs.

“Stop,” Taehyung spits, another hard slap coming down on Jungkook’s ass, this time on the other cheek. He gasps and reels, cock jerking between his legs, pulsing hot and heavy and full. Helplessly, involuntarily, he moans, the pleasure clouding his mind and making him fall apart in Taehyung’s hands.

“Taehyung, please.” Jungkook writhes, his hips twitching. Fixes the position of his knees, making sure to kick his legs inward and knock his heel against the side of Taehyung’s thigh. Harder than he should, hard enough to be obvious it’s not an accident. “You’re being—fuck, I hate you so much, s—such a dick right now,” he says, sounding more petty than pissed off. He brings his foot in again, blindly aiming, kicking Taehyung wherever he happens to hit—right above the knee.

“Kook.” Over his shin Jungkook feels the cool touch of Taehyung’s hand, fingers tracing down and curling around just above the ankle. “Do I have to strap your legs down too?”

“N—no, please, no.” Frantic, he shakes his head. Taehyung pushes the toy all the way in, Jungkook’s asshole sucking it in and clenching around it, holding it inside him. The vibrations move through him, heady and fucking incredible combined with the width of the plug. Something about it makes him feel so dirty, how he knows how stretched his hole’s gonna be, all opened up so Taehyung can just have him all he wants.

“Gotta behave.”

“I will.”

“Gotta at least try to get the answers right. Skewing the data,” he teases, sounds smug. If Jungkook were to turn around he’s sure that would be the expression Taehyung wears—smug and shitty and cocky and somehow so fucking sexy.

“I am,” Jungkook grits, rolling his hips back and jolting when the end of the toy applies pressure to his prostate, letting out a weak mewl when Taehyung holds it there and pushes on the base. The pleasure is too much but it’s so fucking good. Jungkook holds himself there for as long as he can before he jerks forward, overwhelmed, letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, panting and whining.

“Mm…I’ll ask you again,” Taehyung murmurs, tone bordering more on playful now, having too much fun with his role. “Longest vein in the body?”

Jungkook’s got it this time. It takes him a while but he gets the answer fine. “Great saphenous.”

“Good boy,” Taehyung murmurs, playing with the base of the toy and circling his fingers over it almost tauntingly, applying the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to make Jungkook squirm and keen, push back, struggle to keep still.

“What’s the major artery in the wrist called?”

“Um,” Jungkook stammers. He knows, and he knows that he knows, but his mind’s not working. “I—Tae, I don’t, I can’t—”

Smack.

Taehyung hits hard, always has. Tears well in Jungkook’s eyes, his voice catching in his throat because fuck that hurt and fuck if it doesn’t just make his cock harder. His body is a taut wire and he can’t do this and Taehyung knows it.

“You gotta try,” Taehyung scolds.

Too worked up for words, Jungkook whimpers and shakes his head, feeling his sweaty hair brush over the nape of his neck, caked with blood as more spills from his half-open wound.

Smack.

“Try,” Taehyung snarls through his teeth, crowding closer to Jungkook, hand coming under his jaw and jerking his face to the side, forcing him to lift his head from the mattress. With his back arched and head held up, his entire body hurts.

“I c—can’t.” Jungkook is dizzy as he smells the iron tang of his blood, dizzier still when Taehyung jostles the plug inside him again. At this point the vibration is barely a hum behind the shocks of being spanked.

Taehyung’s breath is cool over his skin. It’s calming, somewhat. Pulls him back, grounds him. The rise and fall of Taehyung’s chest isn’t even by any means, noticeably affected, but Jungkook’s breathing is even worse off, ragged and frantic.

“Maybe that’s enough of this,” Taehyung murmurs, turning the plug off and sliding it out, dropping it on the bed. Jungkook had expected relief, but the first thing he really feels is discomfort—at being left empty, untouched. His asshole gapes, lube dribbling thick and slippery down his thighs.

“Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, wincing. Taehyung’s hand comes off his jaw, letting up on the pressure on his neck. Then he hears the distinct sound of a zipper, the bed shifting as Taehyung moves to kick his slacks off. The sound makes Jungkook's stomach swoop, his breath quickening, toes curling. There’s silence as Taehyung undoes the remaining buttons of his shirt.

Jungkook wonders how he managed to keep all that clothing on this whole time. Trying to get more comfortable, he shifts, adjusting his elbows, the cuffs clinking.

But then they’re gone. Confused, Jungkook lifts his head, looks at his hands, diligently kept holding the headboard rail. His wrists—bare.

“Tae?” Jungkook says, glancing behind him.

“Hold yourself up,” he instructs, reaching around Jungkook and placing a hand on his chest to lift him.

“Why?” His voice cracks, throat wrecked at this point.

“Because.” He shrugs. As Jungkook obeys he doesn’t miss the amusement in Taehyung’s eyes, laughing softly as Jungkook clambers to press his palms flat against the mattress. His elbows shake, wrists sore and stiff.

Taehyung lines up his cock, the tip thick and wet and against Jungkook’s slicked up hole. One hand placed flat on Jungkook’s spine, he soothes upward, cooing as Jungkook trembles and arches into the touch. Then his fingers come to the back of Jungkook’s neck, trace down and around to press on his throat lightly. “Heart’s beating fast,” he comments.

Jungkook growls. “Fuck do you expect?”

“Your blood pressure and all that—I need to know. For research,” Taehyung drawls, gliding his cock up and down Jungkook’s crack, teasing.

“The fuck it is. Just, c’mon”—Jungkook wiggles his hips impatiently—“get in me.”

“Mm. One more question.”

No. Fuck me.”

“Just one.” He grips Jungkook’s hip, steadying him. Pushes in slightly, just the head of his cock entering Jungkook’s hole. “What’s a blood pressure gauge called?”

“Don’t you know, doctor?” Jungkook sneers. He packs as much sarcasm into his voice as possible, with such an infuriating lilt to how he says that word.

Taehyung doesn’t hesitate to give him another spank, the resulting smack too loud in the quiet room. With a broken moan, Jungkook drops his head down, arms threatening to give out. But he forces himself to stay up, knowing he’ll get hit again if he gets lazy. His eyes tear up and he squeezes them shut.

Taehyung notches his hips forward, cock pressing deeper inside Jungkook.

“What’s it called?”

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent and shakes his head.

“One word.” Taehyung snickers and presses in even deeper, easing himself in until his hips are flush against Jungkook’s ass.

The main reason Jungkook doesn’t want to say it is pride—or whatever semblance of it he has left, pinned under Taehyung, spread open and at his mercy. But he also knows Taehyung won’t fucking do anything until he complies. So, though his voice is shaky and wrecked and stupid, mind stalling and focusing too much on the girth of Taehyung’s cock stretching his rim and pulsing inside of him, he spits, “Sph—Sphygmomanometer.”

Taehyung just laughs. Eases back, making Jungkook clench and writhe. This is slow. Jungkook’s had enough of it.

“Big word, ain’t it?”

Fuck you.”

Jungkook shoves his ass back on Taehyung’s cock, moaning when he slackens his hold on Jungkook’s hips, lets him have this. He feels so full.

Ngh—ah, yes, yes, fuck.” His arms shake, weak and spent, and he groans when Taehyung drops his weight over his body and thrusts in hard. So cruel and rough, like he knows Jungkook loves. “F—feels good—oh—”

Taehyung’s hand rests on his ass, gripping the spanked, red skin unapologetically. Jungkook’s cock is heavy, bobbing as Taehyung fucks him open faster and finds a solid rhythm.

“Nnh, fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits, one hand on Jungkook’s waist as Jungkook tilts his pelvis to drive Taehyung’s cock deeper inside. Back arched, arms wobbly, Jungkook bites his bottom lip till he feels blood well under the sharp edge of his teeth. It tastes like hard iron on his tongue. The blood from his wound drips slower now, mixes with the sweat running down the column of his neck, viscous and hot.

“Faster, Tae,” Jungkook pleads. “Wanna come so bad, please.” He writhes and clenches around Taehyung’s cock so tightly that Taehyung has to slow his thrusting, growling a warning in Jungkook’s ear.

“So needy, Jungkook. This not enough for you? Hm?” He squeezes Jungkook’s asscheek, bouncing the plump flesh before he gives it a good smack, the blunt sound resounding through the room as Jungkook lets out a desperate little whimper. It’s impossible to think straight, Taehyung handling him like this, spitting this filthy shit into his ear, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck and letting his fangs scrape just slightly. “So goddamn thirsty for your doctor’s cock, couldn’t even get through the tests before you were begging to get fucked.”

“D—don’t say it like that.” Jungkook whines.

Taehyung chuckles. “What?”

“Don’t—” Jungkook grumbles something instead of finishing that thought, drops his head, face flushed, wishing he could fall onto the bed and go back to burying his face in the covers.

“Really shouldn’t be doing this,” Taehyung murmurs, the words sending a jolt of adrenaline down Jungkook’s spine. “Should be quieter, baby. Someone’s gonna hear us.”

“I am quiet—”

Taehyung thrusts in hard then, his hips making a dull smacking noise as they slam against Jungkook’s ass, wet with the lube Taehyung hadn’t bothered to wipe off his hands before he’d spanked him. Jungkook moans, delirious with the sting of pain. His hands reflexively curl into the sheets, putting a strain on his wrists as he struggles to support his upper body.

“You’re not. Such a noisy little cunt, whole fucking building’s gonna hear us if you can’t shut your mouth.”

It’s too fucking much. Taehyung’s cock is so thick and hot, ramming into Jungkook’s tight hole, ruining him. Lube drips down to Taehyung’s balls and the soft, wet skin hits Jungkook’s ass with each thrust, an obscene, nasty sound accompanied by the moans spilling from him. His lips stay parted as he pants, unable to hold back the delirious little noises he makes, the stupid shit he says, drunk on pleasure.

“I—nnh, oh fuck yes, yes, Taehyung.” Quivering, Jungkook spreads his knees farther apart on the bed, feeling the shift in the angle and the sudden change in how Taehyung pushes into him, how the tip of his cock runs over the muscular ridges of Jungkook’s inner walls. Taehyung’s pressing into his prostate now, sending warm, numbing shocks of pleasure through his entire body. His toes curl, a winded gasp falling from his lips, body tensing. “Oh my God, oh—yeah, so good, your cock feels so good in my ass, fucking me so good, Tae—ngh—

“Yeah? You like that?” Taehyung snarls and gives Jungkook’s ass another smack, not as hard as the other ones, being a little nicer now but not by much. “Feels good when I hit your ass? When I fuck you hard like this, make you my little slut?”

“Yes, oh God, yes, so good—nnah.”

He lets out a high whine and his arms finally give out, buckle beneath him, front half collapsing onto the bed. It’s so much easier like this, to lie there and just take it as Taehyung fucks him. But Taehyung’s not having that.

“C’mon,” he says, slowing down a bit. Jungkook groans in protest and wiggles his hips, jolting and letting out an embarrassingly satisfied moan when that gets him another spank. “Up.”

“N—no, just fuck me like this,” Jungkook says petulantly.

“Gotta hold yourself up for me to fuck you. C’mon, baby.” Taehyung noses at the side of his neck, urging him to tilt his head to the side, mouthing gently at the bite wound the blood caked there. A low growl rumbles in Taehyung’s chest. Jungkook feels the restraint in his body, the tension held in his muscles as he holds back from giving into instinct, biting into Jungkook, feeding on him and making him scream. “Don’t get anything till you do.”

“B—but, please, I just—”

Pressed against Jungkook’s back, Taehyung gives him small, shallow thrusts, just shy of rubbing over his prostate and he knows it. Jungkook’s barely able to get a word in, too focused on trying to get his hips at just the right angle so the head of Taehyung’s cock is right up against that gland. But Taehyung holds him still, a large hand on his waist.

“Up,” he instructs again, word bitten through clenched teeth, baring his fangs against the delicate skin of Jungkook’s neck, thin surface giving under the sharp pressure.

Shakily, Jungkook obeys and lifts himself, his biceps straining and sore, shoulders in pain. He pushes himself back on Taehyung’s cock, sighing when Taehyung grunts in approval and starts moving quicker again.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Bite me. Please.” Jungkook bares his neck, trembling when Taehyung groans and breathes his scent in. “Please, Tae, feels so good when you bite me, want you to bite me, want it so bad.”

“God, Jungkook—” Taehyung’s teeth are right there. So close, tongue licking over Jungkook’s slowly dripping blood. “I’ve already—”

“I don’t care, I’m fine,” Jungkook spits, revelling in the metallic smell of his blood that’s soaked into the sheets, how it paints his palms red—and the knowledge that the smell is so much stronger for Taehyung, so much harder to resist. “I know you want to, I know you do, Tae. I can handle it, don’t be a fucking bitch about it, don’t—”

Taehyung makes a feral sound in his throat, shoving Jungkook forward and slamming into him hard and fast, flesh meeting flesh, reddened and abused. “Got a big mouth, Jungkook,” he says lowly.

Then the next thing Jungkook feels is pain. White and hot as Taehyung’s fangs sink in, ripping the half-closed wound open again, cutting into the blood vessels.

“Mmph—fuck fuck fuck—” He sobs, feeling that familiar pleasure begin to flood through him, making his cock twitch between his legs, a fat drop of precome sliding down the shaft. “Oh God, that feels—mmh, I’m so—so hard, Tae, feels so good, please, please.”

As Taehyung sucks, Jungkook begins to feel lightheaded, floaty and weirdly intoxicated. He moans desperately and arches against Taehyung, sighing when he sucks harder, feeling the odd pull and rush in his veins and the way his cock jerks and drools. Taehyung hums against Jungkook’s skin. Reaching around, he then slides two fingers into Jungkook’s hot mouth, depressing his tongue to the back of his throat, a gasping, choking sound coming from him before he catches up and realizes in the back of his muddled mind, shit, he’s being loud.

When Taehyung unlatches, pulls back, breathing hard, Jungkook whines and presses back, begging for more around Taehyung’s fingers.

“Shut up,” Taehyung growls, trails of red running down his chin, his chest, vile and obscene and sexy as fuck. Completely different from the immaculate, put-together air he’d had about him before. Hot blood gushes from the wound on Jungkook’s neck, and he keens as Taehyung moves in to lick it closed, saliva washing over the broken skin. He removes his fingers from Jungkook’s mouth. “Someone’s gonna hear.”

“I don’t care,” Jungkook says between gasps. “Fuck me. Hard. Now. Wanna come so bad, so close, so fucking close.”

With a grunt, Taehyung shoves Jungkook’s front half down, this time letting him collapse onto the bed, ass raised.

“God—such a good slut for me, Jungkook, feel so fucking good on my cock.” Taehyung thrusts in and out of him, body pressed over his and pinning him down, panting along the back of Jungkook’s neck, licking at the sweat and lingering blood.

“God, so big, Tae—oh, yes, there, keep going, don’t stop—”

Jungkook’s knees chafe against the sheets, his entire body aching and burning in Taehyung’s hands. He’s so close, feels a certain heat pooling in his lower belly, his balls pulled tight to the base of his rock hard shaft. He whines as Taehyung shoves his thighs apart farther, lube-slicked balls slapping against Jungkook’s perineum as he fucks into him.

“Fuck, so fucking good, Jungkook, fuck, fuck—” Taehyung reaches around to jerk Jungkook’s cock, thumb running over the thick, pulsing vein along the bottom and flicking over the head, dragging his sticky precome everywhere.

“Oh, sh—shit.” Jungkook grits his teeth, lurching forward, Taehyung having to steady him with a hand on his waist. “I’m—ah, I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jungkook babbles, body going tight and moaning breathlessly as Taehyung keeps fucking him, hitting his prostate, hand wrapped around his length. He snarls as Jungkook tightens around him, rim clenching and inner walls rippling around Taehyung’s cock, thighs shuddering as he comes with a loud sob, spurting white all over the blood-soaked sheets.

Taehyung’s sweaty hair brushes the back of Jungkook’s neck as he buries his face there, mouthing at the flushed skin and grabbing Jungkook by the hips, pulling him back against the curve of his body and holding him there.

“Coming,” he barely chokes out, going still, groaning and panting with his cock buried inside Jungkook, making him feel how he twitches and throbs as he unloads into him. Trembling as Taehyung rocks into him a few more times, Jungkook relaxes and goes slack, sighing in pleasure as Taehyung’s come dribbles out of his asshole.

“Jesus Christ,” Jungkook says, barely a whisper, so weak and dead-tired. With a soft hum of agreement, Taehyung pulls out and collapses next to him. More lube and come drips down Jungkook’s thighs.

They lie there for a while, skin against skin, listening to each other breathe.

“You good?” Taehyung mumbles after a while, blindly reaching over, his hand flopping on Jungkook’s back.

“Mmph.”

“’Kay.”

Taehyung rolls closer and presses himself against Jungkook, covered in Jungkook’s sweat and cold. It feels weird, his low body temperature next to the dampness of his skin. Jungkook shivers, a little grossed out, but sighs and melts into his touch, humming when he feels slow kisses trailing along his skin.

It’s not for a while that they finally get up, lethargic and spent. Jungkook sits on the edge of the bed, eyes half-shut, watching Taehyung wipe the blood off his chest and slowly get dressed.

“Here,” Taehyung says, handing Jungkook his clothes. “We gotta get out of here. You good?” he asks again, eyebrows knitted. “How’s your head? Is your head good? You look dizzy. You’re good, right?”

Jungkook grins. “Super good. Just, like, tired. My ass hurts. Got some fuckin’ dick game there, doctor.”

“Okay.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Get dressed.”

“Did that help with your research?”

“I mean it. We’ll get caught.”

Jungkook laughs and hops off the bed, legs shaking, and grimaces at the wet slide of fluid down his thighs.

“C’mere.” Taehyung reaches for him, gently towels off his shoulder. The wound there is still a little open, so he leans closer and presses his tongue over it, sealing it off.

“Gross,” Jungkook mutters, letting his head fall to the side. “You’re gross.”

“Sorry.” Taehyung grins, fangs sharp and white. Standing here with his hair mussed up, in his boxers with a slightly bloodied dress shirt thrown on, still unbuttoned and falling off his shoulder, he looks so stupid. Jungkook feels a flutter in his chest, smiles, feels lame.

They make sure to remove the sheets before they leave, using it to wipe off the blood that soaked through onto the nylon hospital mattress. All of Taehyung’s “tools” are shoved unceremoniously into a backpack. They leave the building as quietly as possible, Jungkook freaking out about everyone they pass along the way, saying they fucking heard, man, they totally heard.

As paranoid as he is, it’s still Jungkook who’s the one clinging to Taehyung’s arm as they leave the building, saying, “That was fun.”

“It’s, like, major illegal,” Taehyung says, glancing around them.

“Still.” Jungkook grips tighter and Taehyung looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “We should do that again.”

Taehyung laughs, sweaty hair tousled in the wind, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Illegal,” he reminds.

Jungkook snorts and steps closer to him. “As if you ever cared.”