Last Threnody (1/?)
Title: Last Threnody (1/?)
Fandom: BTS, B.A.P
Pairing: J-Hope x V , Jin x Namjoon , Suga x Jimin, Daehyun x Youngjae , others
Rating: NC-17 overally
Genre: futuristic vampire!AU
Warnings: prostitution (not graphic so far), violence
Disclaimer: They are not mine, obviously.
Summary: In a catastrophic world where people sell not only their bodies, but also their souls and everything that once was theirs, Taehyung finds something to live for.
Creatures hide in the shadows; twisted, hungry and soundless in their rage.
Claws tear flesh, teeth graze skin --
Future, drowned in their howls, is not at all like we imagined it.
There are eyes everywhere, dilated pupils and senses scanning for prey in this hazardous, toxic abyss that we created with our greed,
and the Earth takes its bitter revenge, depraving us of everything we once loved so dearly.
The air we breathe is poison, the water we drink burns our lungs
There is no food, no shelter
no love
Some say that this is the end,
but
.
.
.
hope
always dies last
Taehyung is used to this place. The smell of cheap perfumes, walls dripping red paint and dirty cushions supporting random men with random, oily fingers, gesturing to him as if they really believed he’d enjoy becoming their subdued pet of choice for the night.
It’s his home, and in this elusive maze made of smoke, stained mirrors and torn tapestry lies a fraction of him, a single broken thought that halts his muscles each time he turns around and tries to leave this place for good.
Home.
A home in which he is allowed to observe - always from a safe distance, always a ghost among the living. Untouchable.
But not for much longer.
''I’m telling them all you’re younger than you really are, you know. Young and in training.'' He hears the Baroness say, and a moment later a cigarette is lit in the darkness. Taehyung winces. ''But you’re a cute little boy and it’s not like I can hide you forever. You gotta work too, lad. Earn your shelter and food.''
I work, he wants to say. I pick locks for you and search those disgusting bodies for coins and jewels before they wake up. I help others after the clients are done with them. I work. It costs me too.
But he doesn’t voice that out loud, just chews on his lower lip in thought as a bony hand drops onto his head and starts patting his red hair in a mockery of parental caress, slowly and deliberately.
A cute little boy worth five gold pennies. That’s all he is to them.
''It won’t be that bad, sweetie pie.'' The Baroness says again, unmistakably taking his resigned silence for fear. ''No one will hurt you, I’ll make sure of that. They won’t touch you like they touch some of the others.''
The Baroness is a man, like all of them. A thin, unhealthy looking man in a long, red dress that’s seen better times. His presence is not quite a comfort but it’s not alarming either, a neutral sort of being that’s always just there, seeing everything and regretting nothing; a patron of his and in the same time the only person that saves Taehyung from starving to death like a street rat.
Times are harder than ever.
''I know,'' he answers simply, figuring that some sort of reply is probably needed. The hand lifts from his head. “I’ll do what I have to.''
He feels rather than sees the Baroness’ mouth stretching in the shadows, and long, manicured finger raising lazily to point forward. ''All you have to do right now is take care of room 102. Meet me in the lobby after you’re done, daily utility card’s waiting. Go, little marten.''
Taehyung nods. He does his best not to run for it, instead forcing himself to calm down and walk among all those men stinking of whisky, groping his flesh and pouring filth into his ears as he passes, gracefully tiptoeing his way forward like it's nothing.
Outside, a thunderbolt tears the sky in two.
Home.
---------------------------------------------
Daehyun is only remotely aware of his body being tossed around on the bed like a torn ragdoll, limbs alarmingly out of place and tangled with some sort of material he doesn’t quite recognize. He feels numb and breathless and unsure whether the damage that was done is extensive or not, and yet it’s all good, good in away only a person at peace can feel-- Daehyun knows, even in his current state, that he served his purpose well, that whatever happens to him has little meaning now.
Only that voice in his ear; that soft and broken and almost wailing sound that resonates in his brain sends a crack in that eerie state of tranquility he’s trapped in, whispering frantically and begging him to stop. That voice.
The only one.
It’s not like he’ll ever be able to listen. He is safe.
''Dae…Dae, can you hear me?''
He feels his fingers twitch. It’s quiet, too quiet, and if it wasn’t for the sobbing, he could swear that it was mortuary linen he felt beneath his skin; a coffin embracing his body and calling him into the world of morbid darkness. He wishes it was that easy.
''Daehyun, please!''
To the lullaby of that sweet voice, his sanity slowly seeps away along with his consciousness.
---------------------------------------------
102 is a room Taehyung particularly dislikes. Too small, too dark and too sultry around the edges, like a cramped cage covered by a thick rag that makes you suffocate instantly once inside. But most importantly -- it was Youngjae’s room, and the reason behind disliking Youngjae lied so deep within Taehyung he himself wasn’t entirely aware where exactly.
He grits his teeth before pushing the door open, already knowing who is inside.
''It’s not his room,'' he spits in the general direction of the bed, closing the door behind himself with a loud thud. Fury rises in his chest like a starving monster seeking prey, and when he turns to face them again, he knows exactly just how twisted and ugly his expression is. ''Are you happy that he’s slowly killing himself for you, Youngjae?''
Taehyung sits on the bed, ignoring the other boy shrinking underneath his accusing gaze. He maneuvers Daehyun’s head onto his own lap gently and presses a gauze to the soft skin of his cheek, cleaning dried blood, spit and other filth he refuses to think about. Then he proceeds to wipe off the remaining of his make-up -- eyeliner smeared across pale cheeks -- and takes some extra time to carefully clean Daehyun’s lower lip, split and still bleeding.
Taehyung finds his lips especially beautiful.
It’s almost too much to see him like this again.
Daehyun’s eyes are closed, but Taehyung feels his steady pulse under the tips of his fingers and sighs with short-lived relief just before his right hand slides down the boy’s bruised side to find an alarming bump. ''What…''
He has a broken rib. A broken rib, while the visitors, as Taehyung calls them, have no right to hurt any of them to that extent. He won’t recover for weeks, and he already has clients booked for this evening.
Just a couple more hours before he has to go.
Taehyung cleans the rest of Daehyun’s body to distract himself from the despair that starts building up somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He feels sick and tired and helpless.
''Why didn’t you call for help? He had no right to do this to him…'' he mumbles, lip between teeth. ''Why didn’t you?!''
When he looks again, Youngjae’s face is streaked with tears and his hands - fingers laces tightly with Daehyun’s -shake uncontrollably. ''I…I…''
They are close, and Taehyung is not the only person to know as much. Relationships are usually not allowed in places such as this one - where people sell not only their bodies, but also their souls and everything that once was theirs - but there are exceptions when it might prove profitable enough, and the Baroness allowed Daehyun and Youngjae to nurse their blooming relationship as long as it pleases their clients.
They can’t look after one another, however, and Daehyun ends up standing up for him and suffering in his place day after day, so often Taehyung gets sick just by the mere thought of all those nights Youngjae spends crying in the corner with Daehyun being beaten and tormented in the same room, within his reach.
Youngjae is weak - physically and mentally. Fragile. Breakable.
Maybe that’s why Daehyun loves him so much, Taehyung would sometimes think when he’s left alone in his room and lets his monsters get to him. Because he’s the exact opposite of what Daehyun represents.
What Taehyung thinks he himself represents, too.
And yet it doesn’t hurt any less.
''I was scared,'' Youngjae whispers after what feels like decades, faint and earthy. Taehyung doesn’t bother looking up at him. ''I’m not…I’m not strong like the two of you. I’m so sorry…If I could, I …And now he’s hurt. I shouldn’t have said anything…I knew he had clients tonight, and yet I asked…It’s my fault…Taehyung…I’ll, I’ll go.''
Bruised and bloodied, Daehyun’s lips part ever so slightly and the corners of his mouth seem to lift. Even now, he seems peaceful.
Taehyung stands up before he can feel stinging behind his eyes at that odd picture. ''I will take care of everything. Just stay with him.'' He forces himself to say, glancing one last time at Daehyun's damp eyelashes before gathering his things and leaving the room.
I will take care of you, just because he would want me to.
Fandom: BTS, B.A.P
Pairing: J-Hope x V , Jin x Namjoon , Suga x Jimin, Daehyun x Youngjae , others
Rating: NC-17 overally
Genre: futuristic vampire!AU
Warnings: prostitution (not graphic so far), violence
Disclaimer: They are not mine, obviously.
Summary: In a catastrophic world where people sell not only their bodies, but also their souls and everything that once was theirs, Taehyung finds something to live for.
Creatures hide in the shadows; twisted, hungry and soundless in their rage.
Claws tear flesh, teeth graze skin --
Future, drowned in their howls, is not at all like we imagined it.
There are eyes everywhere, dilated pupils and senses scanning for prey in this hazardous, toxic abyss that we created with our greed,
and the Earth takes its bitter revenge, depraving us of everything we once loved so dearly.
The air we breathe is poison, the water we drink burns our lungs
There is no food, no shelter
no love
Some say that this is the end,
but
.
.
.
hope
always dies last
Taehyung is used to this place. The smell of cheap perfumes, walls dripping red paint and dirty cushions supporting random men with random, oily fingers, gesturing to him as if they really believed he’d enjoy becoming their subdued pet of choice for the night.
It’s his home, and in this elusive maze made of smoke, stained mirrors and torn tapestry lies a fraction of him, a single broken thought that halts his muscles each time he turns around and tries to leave this place for good.
Home.
A home in which he is allowed to observe - always from a safe distance, always a ghost among the living. Untouchable.
But not for much longer.
''I’m telling them all you’re younger than you really are, you know. Young and in training.'' He hears the Baroness say, and a moment later a cigarette is lit in the darkness. Taehyung winces. ''But you’re a cute little boy and it’s not like I can hide you forever. You gotta work too, lad. Earn your shelter and food.''
I work, he wants to say. I pick locks for you and search those disgusting bodies for coins and jewels before they wake up. I help others after the clients are done with them. I work. It costs me too.
But he doesn’t voice that out loud, just chews on his lower lip in thought as a bony hand drops onto his head and starts patting his red hair in a mockery of parental caress, slowly and deliberately.
A cute little boy worth five gold pennies. That’s all he is to them.
''It won’t be that bad, sweetie pie.'' The Baroness says again, unmistakably taking his resigned silence for fear. ''No one will hurt you, I’ll make sure of that. They won’t touch you like they touch some of the others.''
The Baroness is a man, like all of them. A thin, unhealthy looking man in a long, red dress that’s seen better times. His presence is not quite a comfort but it’s not alarming either, a neutral sort of being that’s always just there, seeing everything and regretting nothing; a patron of his and in the same time the only person that saves Taehyung from starving to death like a street rat.
Times are harder than ever.
''I know,'' he answers simply, figuring that some sort of reply is probably needed. The hand lifts from his head. “I’ll do what I have to.''
He feels rather than sees the Baroness’ mouth stretching in the shadows, and long, manicured finger raising lazily to point forward. ''All you have to do right now is take care of room 102. Meet me in the lobby after you’re done, daily utility card’s waiting. Go, little marten.''
Taehyung nods. He does his best not to run for it, instead forcing himself to calm down and walk among all those men stinking of whisky, groping his flesh and pouring filth into his ears as he passes, gracefully tiptoeing his way forward like it's nothing.
Outside, a thunderbolt tears the sky in two.
Home.
---------------------------------------------
Daehyun is only remotely aware of his body being tossed around on the bed like a torn ragdoll, limbs alarmingly out of place and tangled with some sort of material he doesn’t quite recognize. He feels numb and breathless and unsure whether the damage that was done is extensive or not, and yet it’s all good, good in away only a person at peace can feel-- Daehyun knows, even in his current state, that he served his purpose well, that whatever happens to him has little meaning now.
Only that voice in his ear; that soft and broken and almost wailing sound that resonates in his brain sends a crack in that eerie state of tranquility he’s trapped in, whispering frantically and begging him to stop. That voice.
The only one.
It’s not like he’ll ever be able to listen. He is safe.
''Dae…Dae, can you hear me?''
He feels his fingers twitch. It’s quiet, too quiet, and if it wasn’t for the sobbing, he could swear that it was mortuary linen he felt beneath his skin; a coffin embracing his body and calling him into the world of morbid darkness. He wishes it was that easy.
''Daehyun, please!''
To the lullaby of that sweet voice, his sanity slowly seeps away along with his consciousness.
---------------------------------------------
102 is a room Taehyung particularly dislikes. Too small, too dark and too sultry around the edges, like a cramped cage covered by a thick rag that makes you suffocate instantly once inside. But most importantly -- it was Youngjae’s room, and the reason behind disliking Youngjae lied so deep within Taehyung he himself wasn’t entirely aware where exactly.
He grits his teeth before pushing the door open, already knowing who is inside.
''It’s not his room,'' he spits in the general direction of the bed, closing the door behind himself with a loud thud. Fury rises in his chest like a starving monster seeking prey, and when he turns to face them again, he knows exactly just how twisted and ugly his expression is. ''Are you happy that he’s slowly killing himself for you, Youngjae?''
Taehyung sits on the bed, ignoring the other boy shrinking underneath his accusing gaze. He maneuvers Daehyun’s head onto his own lap gently and presses a gauze to the soft skin of his cheek, cleaning dried blood, spit and other filth he refuses to think about. Then he proceeds to wipe off the remaining of his make-up -- eyeliner smeared across pale cheeks -- and takes some extra time to carefully clean Daehyun’s lower lip, split and still bleeding.
Taehyung finds his lips especially beautiful.
It’s almost too much to see him like this again.
Daehyun’s eyes are closed, but Taehyung feels his steady pulse under the tips of his fingers and sighs with short-lived relief just before his right hand slides down the boy’s bruised side to find an alarming bump. ''What…''
He has a broken rib. A broken rib, while the visitors, as Taehyung calls them, have no right to hurt any of them to that extent. He won’t recover for weeks, and he already has clients booked for this evening.
Just a couple more hours before he has to go.
Taehyung cleans the rest of Daehyun’s body to distract himself from the despair that starts building up somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He feels sick and tired and helpless.
''Why didn’t you call for help? He had no right to do this to him…'' he mumbles, lip between teeth. ''Why didn’t you?!''
When he looks again, Youngjae’s face is streaked with tears and his hands - fingers laces tightly with Daehyun’s -shake uncontrollably. ''I…I…''
They are close, and Taehyung is not the only person to know as much. Relationships are usually not allowed in places such as this one - where people sell not only their bodies, but also their souls and everything that once was theirs - but there are exceptions when it might prove profitable enough, and the Baroness allowed Daehyun and Youngjae to nurse their blooming relationship as long as it pleases their clients.
They can’t look after one another, however, and Daehyun ends up standing up for him and suffering in his place day after day, so often Taehyung gets sick just by the mere thought of all those nights Youngjae spends crying in the corner with Daehyun being beaten and tormented in the same room, within his reach.
Youngjae is weak - physically and mentally. Fragile. Breakable.
Maybe that’s why Daehyun loves him so much, Taehyung would sometimes think when he’s left alone in his room and lets his monsters get to him. Because he’s the exact opposite of what Daehyun represents.
What Taehyung thinks he himself represents, too.
And yet it doesn’t hurt any less.
''I was scared,'' Youngjae whispers after what feels like decades, faint and earthy. Taehyung doesn’t bother looking up at him. ''I’m not…I’m not strong like the two of you. I’m so sorry…If I could, I …And now he’s hurt. I shouldn’t have said anything…I knew he had clients tonight, and yet I asked…It’s my fault…Taehyung…I’ll, I’ll go.''
Bruised and bloodied, Daehyun’s lips part ever so slightly and the corners of his mouth seem to lift. Even now, he seems peaceful.
Taehyung stands up before he can feel stinging behind his eyes at that odd picture. ''I will take care of everything. Just stay with him.'' He forces himself to say, glancing one last time at Daehyun's damp eyelashes before gathering his things and leaving the room.
I will take care of you, just because he would want me to.