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It's been months since Changdeok moved in with Jongwoo. Changdeok was a quiet, respectful presence. He did his part of house chores, that mostly included cleaning and laundry, claiming that Jongwoo's bathroom was a "biological hazard waiting to happen," and left the bathroom cleaner than he'd found it. The tension past was easily replaced by comfortable domesticity.
One evening, when Korea was drenching in an unstoppable rain storm.
The lock on the front door rattled with a violent, uncoordinated twist, pulling Jungwoo from a half-doze over a textbook. He’d been home from college today, and over the past months he’d learned to distinguish the unique sounds of Changdeok’s comings and goings.
This was the sound of a bad night. The door swung open and Changdeok stumbled in, bringing the scent of cheap soju and the chill of a persistent, miserable downpour with him. His jacket was soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead, and he listed to one side, catching himself on the back of the couch. "Jungwoo-ya," he slurred, a wide, sloppy grin spreading across his face. "I think I'm drunk."
Jungwoo sighed, marking his page and rising to his feet. He took Changdeok by the elbow, the drunk man’s weight a familiar, pliant burden. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes," he said, his voice low and even, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. The proximity, the smell of alcohol mixed with Changdeok's unique scent, was a potent cocktail, stirring a hunger he fought daily to keep caged.
In the bathroom, Jungwoo turned on the shower, the sound of spray a welcome noise to fill the charged silence. He helped Changdeok, who was now babbling about how incompetent Nam Taegum was, out of his sodden jacket and shirt. The tan skin that was revealed was flushed from the alcohol, damp and warm.
Jungwoo could see the frantic, life-giving pulse fluttering in the hollow of Changdeok's throat, a beacon in the dim light. He bent down, intending to get him out of trousers, but Changdeok’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist with surprising strength. "No," he insisted, his drunken eyes earnest. "I can do it. Alone."
Jungwoo froze, the touch branding him like a hot iron. The warmth of Changdeok's human hand seeped into his unnaturally cool skin, a jolt of pure sensation that shot up his arm. He looked from their connected hands to Changdeok's face, to the challenging, unguarded expression in his bleary eyes. The carefully constructed null, the wall of detachment he maintained, was beginning to crack.
"Alright," Jungwoo heard himself say, his own voice sounding distant. "I'll be right outside."
Ten minutes turned into Fifteen, but there were no signs of Changdeok coming out of the bath.
The world was tilting, a nauseating whirl of white tiles and silver chrome. One minute, Changdeok was trying to wrestle off a stubborn, soaked pair of jeans, and the next, the floor was rushing up to meet him. Pain bloomed sharp and immediate in his elbow and the back of his head. He lay there for a moment, the hot spray from the shower soaking through his shirt, the universe a hazy, drunken mess. He could taste copper in his mouth from where he'd bitten his tongue, and through the fog of soju, a wave of profound embarrassment washed over him. He was being a burden. He was messing up Jungwoo's quiet, orderly life.
What if the boy goes through a heartbreak again because of him? He didn't want to give him any hopes... not for him to end up again... like back then. Their relation was now kind of stable and honestly this was always a good set up for them, you know the hyung-dongsaeng setup. This was all he ever wanted.
Then the door burst open, and Jungwoo was there, a concerned blur kneeling beside him.
"Are you hurt?" The question was distant, warped by the cotton stuffing Changdeok’s ears. He tried to laugh it off, to make a joke about his own clumsiness, but the words wouldn't form. He looked up, and in his drunken, hazy vision, Jungwoo's face was a canvas of sharp angles and deep, dark concern. A wave of something hot and desperate washed over him. He was alive. Jungwoo was here, taking care of him again.
The carefully constructed walls in Changdeok’s mind, the ones built to keep their relationship safe and simple, dissolved in the alcohol-fueled heat of the moment. He reached up, not to steady himself, but with a clumsy, desperate need. His hand fisted in the front of Jungwoo's shirt, and he yanked him down, mashing their lips together in a hard, uncoordinated kiss. It tasted of soju, regret, and a desperate, mistaken bid for connection..
The kiss was a clumsy, wet and all teeth.
Jungwoo's entire body went rigid, not with desire, but with pure, unadulterated shock. He could feel the scrape of Changdeok's teeth against his lip, the faint, coppery tang of blood from the small cut on his own tongue where he'd bitten down in surprise. That single drop of blood, mingled with the taste of Changdeok's mouth and the smell of his rain-soaked skin, was a lit match dropped on gasoline. It hit the back of Jungwoo’s throat and ignited a roaring inferno. A red haze washed over his vision, and he felt a sickening, painful lurch in his gums as his fangs descended, elongating into sharp points. His control, the rigid discipline he had honed through two years of military service and a lifetime of secrecy, evaporated into steam.
He tried to pull back. His hands, which had been hovering uselessly in the air, flew to Changdeok's shoulders, intending to push him away, to end this catastrophic mistake.
"Hyung...Stop," he tried to say, but the word came out as a guttural, inhuman growl, a vibration that he felt more in his chest than he heard with his ears. But his body betrayed him.
The moment his cool fingers made contact with Changdeok's wet, feverish skin, the primal instinct to claim, to consume, overwhelmed the weak, screaming signal from his brain. Instead of pushing, his hands tightened, fingers digging into the firm muscle of Changdeok's shoulders, holding him in place. The drunk man, mistaking the violent tremor in Jungwoo's body for reciprocal passion, deepened the sloppy kiss, and that was the final, fatal straw.
"Jongwoo ya..."
The broken whimper of his name, desperate and raw, was the final, shattering note. Whatever fragile thread of sanity Jungwoo was clinging to snapped completely. The world dissolved into a crimson-tunnel vision focused solely on the man in his arms. He didn't speak. There were no words left. With a feral strength that surprised even himself, he hauled Changdeok up from the wet floor of the bathroom. The drunk man offered no resistance, pliant and trusting in his grip, his head lolling against Jungwoo's shoulder. Jungwoo carried him out of the steam, the scent of damp tile and blood replaced by the sterile, familiar air of the apartment.
He didn't bother with the lights. In the pale glow of the city filtering through the window, he laid Changdeok down on the bed, the mattress dipping under their combined weight. He loomed over him, a creature of shadow and need, his red eyes burning in the darkness. The rational part of his brain, the part that was still Jungwoo the student, the soldier, the roommate, was silent, drowned out by the deafening roar of his instincts.
He could feel the frantic beat of Changdeok's heart like a drum against his own chest, see the pulse thrumming in his throat. He lowered himself, covering Changdeok's body with his own, the cool, hard lines of his form pressing down on warmth beneath him. He was done fighting.
"Jungwoo-ya," Changdeok’s voice was low, a rough murmur that seemed to vibrate directly in Jungwoo's bones. He streched his hand forward, closing the small gap between them. The heat radiating from his skin was intoxicating. "You're shaking."
His cool, damp fingers brushed against Jungwoo’s Cheek. The contact was electric. Every nerve ending screamed in response, a jolt of pure, undiluted need that shot straight to his core. Jungwoo's breath hitched, a ragged, audible sound in the suffocating silence.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound not entirely human. His hand shot out to grip the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the wet strands of his hair. He yanked him forward, their bodies colliding with a wet smack. There was no hesitation, no gentle lead-in. Jungwoo's mouth crashed against Changdeok's, a kiss that was all teeth and desperate, consuming hunger. He tasted the water on Changdeok's lips, the faint, bitter hint of coffee from hours ago, a,nd beneath it all, the intoxicating, living essence of him. The shuddering in Jungwoo’s body intensified, a tremor of pure, unadulterated need that he no longer bothered to suppress.
Changdeok gasped into the punishing kiss, but it was a sound of surprise, not protest. His hands, which had been hanging limply at his sides, came up to clutch at Jungwoo’s shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his soaked shirt. He met Jungwoo's ferocity with a surprising strength of his own, kissing back with an equal desperation. The world outside this room ceased to exist. There was only the slick slide of their bodies, the frantic pounding of their hearts, and the raw, primal energy arcing between them. Jungwoo broke the kiss, panting, his forehead resting against Changdeok's. The sight of the man's kiss-swollen lips and glazed, dark eyes sent another jolt of want through him.
Jongwoo grumbled, a sound of pure possession as he shoved a knee between Changdeok's thighs, pressing up against the hardness he could feel straining against the damp layer.
With a rough tug, Jungwoo ripped the button on Changdeok's bottom and shoved the zipper down. He didn't bother with finesse, shoving his hand inside the wet fabric, wrapping cool fingers around the hot, rigid length of him.
Changdeok cried out, a choked-off moan as his hips bucked instinctively into Jungwoo's touch.
"Ahh...."
The sensation of velvet skin over steel, of life pulsing so insistently against his palm, was intoxicating. Jungwoo began to move, his grip firm and demanding, stroking him with a rhythm that was so gentle and arrousing. He watched, transfixed by the way Changdeok's face contorted in pleasure, his head thrown back against the pillows, the skin of his throat a taut, vulnerable expanse that made Jungwoo's fangs ache.
He whipped out his own dripping, reddened hardness and along with Changdeok's, his hand slide back into the rhythm.
It ended with a shuddering gasp, Changdeok’s body arching off the bed as they spilled over Jungwoo’s fist. The high, desperate sounds he made slowly subsided into ragged breaths, and the tense, coiled energy in the room began to dissipate like smoke.
The red pupils were still prominent, but the world came back into focus: the dim glow of the city, the tangled sheets, and Changdeok, lying prone and utterly wrecked beneath him. His brown hair was a mess on the pillow, lips swollen and bruised, eyes half-lidded and dazed. A wave of cold, sharp self-loathing washed over Jungwoo. He had taken advantage. He had let a drunken mistake, a moment of weakness, unleash the monster he kept caged inside. He pulled back, breaking contact as if burned, a knot of shame tightening in his gut.
But Changdeok was sinking into a drunken stupor. His eyes, dazed, tracked Jungwoo’s movement.
He held Jongwoo's wrist once again. Not wanting to depart from the warmth and cool touch.
"Don't go Jongwoo-ya", he pleaded, his voice rugged and low, still lost in a haze of misery and soju, and the words tumbled out, messy and unguarded. "
More... I want you."
It was a plea, a confession of a deepest desire he likely wouldn't even remember in the morning. But in the humid, sex-scented darkness of the room, it was the only thing that mattered.
A dark desire flashed through Jongwoo's eyes. His chest heaving heavily. He took a deep breath in.
"Hyung, don't do this to me"
Not now, not in this state, at least not, after knowing what feelings he held for him. He knew this was drunk nonsense. He knew this very well, but a part of him wanted this to happen so badly. To posses this man in front of him, to mark his body, stamp him with his fangs, paint it with them, red. To hold him so dearly that he never dares to think of leaving. But all these were just his wishful thinking
Even if his Changdeok Hyung was not sober, Jungwoo was and even if they fucked, he wanted his Hyung to remember who nailed him. But not now, not like this, when he will forget him by the next sunrise. Somethings needed time, and this was exactly that time. So as to what he thought.
For now, just to satisfy his dear hyung's desire, with a rough tug, Jongwoo tore away the remaining fabric of Changdeok's bottoms, the trousers ripping with a satisfying sound. He tore each and every piece of fabric still stuck to Changdeok's body away, revealing the soft, tanned olive skin beneath. Glistening with sweat and water, it shone beneath the dimness of the room, a canvas laid bare for his consumption.
Freed from the outer wetness, he was determined to create a new one. His gaze fell to the tight, pink pucker of Changdeok's entrance, and a wave of possessive hunger washed over him. He wanted to be the first, the only, to touch him there. He leaned down, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to the small of Changdeok's back, a stark contrast to the violence of his actions moments before. Then, with deliberate slowness, he brought a single, cool finger to that tight entrance. He circled it once, twice, before slowly pressing inside, watching transfixed as the tight ring of muscle gave way to him, swallowing his digit to the first knuckle.
"Ahh...Jongw-...mmmm"
The hoarse, wordless exclamation that left Changdeok was exactly the gratification he'd been hoping for, although he anticipated even greater pleasure for the both of them in the very near future. Teasingly, he dragged the flat of his tongue over Changdeok's entrance again, wringing a high-pitched whimper from the other man before he worked his tongue inside, first with gentle, exploring twists and then shifting into firm, plunging strokes. This was a different kind of claiming. The initial, violent need had been sated, replaced by a deeper, more intimate hunger. Jungwoo learned the taste of his hyung, the sounds of his pleasure as they shifted from insensate cries into babbled pleas for more, each broken whimper a validation of the dark, possessive drive that had consumed him.
He reveled in the control he wielded, in the way Changdeok’s body bucked and writhed, completely at the mercy of the sensations he was inflicting. He could feel the tight muscles clenching around his tongue, a silent, desperate plea for something more, something bigger. He withdrew, ignoring the disappointed whine that escaped Changdeok's lips, and replaced his tongue with two fingers, scissoring them inside the tight heat, stretching him, preparing him. He watched, transfixed, as his fingers disappeared into Changdeok's body, the sight sending another jolt of raw, unadulterated desire straight to his own aching hardness. This was what he wanted: to own him, to mark him, to ensure that no matter how drunk he was, a part of this night would be etched into his very soul.
His fingers curved inside, finding that secret bundle of nerves with an unerring instinct. "Hyung," he breathed, his voice a low, rough murmur that vibrated against Changdeok's skin. "How do you like it?" His eyes, glowing with a faint, hungry crimson in the dim light, were fixed on Changdeok's face, determined to etch this memory into his mind. He made note of every moan, every cry, every action Changdeok did, whether it was the broken whimpers that escaped his lips or the way his half-lidded eyes rolled up with the intense, overwhelming sensation. This was his Hyung, undone, pliant, and utterly beautiful in his surrender, and Jungwoo was the one orchestrating every single note of his pleasure.
He watched, mesmerized, as Changdeok's body arched taut as a bowstring. A long, shuddering cry tore from his throat as he released his seeds, spilling over Jungwoo's hand and the tangled sheets below. He had made him cum purely through his back, with no direct stimulation to his front. The knowledge sent a surge of sheer satisfaction through Jungwoo, a dark, possessive triumph.
He had claimed this part of him, unlocked a pleasure he hadn't known he was capable of giving. As Changdeok collapsed, boneless and panting, onto the mattress, Jungwoo slowly withdrew his fingers. The sight of the other man, utterly wrecked and sated from his touch alone, was the most intoxicating thing he had ever seen. This memory wasn't just for Changdeok to subconsciously recall; it was a brand seared onto Jungwoo's own soul.