Under Your Skin
Title: Under Your Skin
Author eoryndal
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: Tao/Lay
Genre: supernatural, pwsp (a.k.a porn with some plot)
Summary: Yixing has to get throat surgery and is admitted to hospital. However, he did not expect a nightly visitor.
A huge shock goes through his fanbase when Zhang Yixing's management announces that his world tour has to be cancelled. A heartfelt apology is posted on official sites, along with the promise to refund the tickets, and information leaks that he is rushed to one of Seoul's top hospitals to get throat surgery. Worry replaces anger and Asia's hottest star soon receives get-well-mails from millions of international fans.
The famous singer wakes up after his surgery to a row of doctors with frowning faces. His brain feels weak and foggy but he understand enough Korean to catch the phrases "difficult case" and "too much blood loss". His throat hurts as if he had swallowed a handful of nails and he is rather grateful when he slips into unconsciousness once more.
When he wakes up again, he doesn't feel much better but the smell of antiseptic that hangs in the room is reassuring in a sterile kind of way. When Yixing looks around, he notices that he's not in the ER room anymore but in a single bed hospital room, an expensive looking one. He sighs at the special treatment because he doesn't feel like a star at all right now. He feels very humbled.
There's a streetlight or something of that sort shining through his window. It's cold, distant, nothing like the center spotlight on stage which is so hot on his face that it almost melts his make-up off his cheeks. Yixing feels surreal and, for the first time in many years of being surrounded by devoted fans, lonely. Waking up in the middle of the night with nothing to do really sucks. He could ring for a nurse but even though he is a celebrity and expected to have an attitude, he's not that snobbish.
He wants to cross his arms behind his head and wait until he falls asleep again out of boredom, but something tugs sharply and really painfully at the back of his hand. He yelps and looks down to find an IV drip stuck there. He swallows (which causes an explosion of pain in his throat) and lets his eyes wander from the needle along the tube up to the plastic bag that is hooked up next to his bed.
In the dim light, its content looks eerily black but Yixing doesn't doubt that it's blood. He lets his head fall back into the pillow and exhales a deep breath, both of which are actions he realizes he needs to refrain from as long as they make his throat hurt this fucking much.
He stares up at the ceiling, biting back tears, trying not to whine in pain because that would probably make things worse. In the middle of silently but furiously damning all tonsils to hell and why do people need them? and what do they have to do with singing anyway?, he has a fucking creepy hallucination.
A black winged creature slowly descends from the ceiling, defying all laws of physics. Its huge wings blend into the shadows of the hospital room, leaving it several shades darker and the contrasts that much sharper. Its face resembles a pale-skinned, dark-haired man with piercing stare and lips curled into a snide grin, like a predator sure of its prey. Slowly, he lands at Yixing's feet on the bed and sits on his haunches.
Yixing's breath is stuck in his chest and he kicks his feet fearfully which only sends the blanket to the floor. He scrambles as far back as possible until he is pressed up with his back against the wall with nowhere left to go. He cannot tear his eyes away from the demon's stare and gazes into those black depths, transfixed by their disturbing beauty. The creature crawls up Yixing's body, extends a pale hand that clutches around his throat and presses down. A scream slips out of Yixing's mouth as a bolt of pain shoots through him. No hallucination could hurt this much.
It must be real. He starts to panic. A fit of dizziness fogs his brain as his heart pumps what little blood he has in his body at an alarming speed. He can hear his own pants in his ears and whimpers. The hand finally leaves his throat and when his vision clears, he is again caught by a self-satisfied smirk.
"Do you... like my blood in you?"
The voice is soft and heavy, like the rustle of a velvet curtain being pulled close. Yixing suddenly feels like he's sitting in an ancient, stifling room. A hot shudder wanders down his spine. He almost yelps when the demonic man leans down and sniffs his neck, right where his carotid artery runs. Yixing hears him make a sound like someone who just drank a really good wine.
"I can feel it coursing through your veins, everywhere your brave little heart pumps it to. Especially here -"
One hand, surprisingly soft and warm, caresses Yixing's cheek and he feels them heating up even more as if the blood is drawn to those hands.
"- and here."
The other hand presses into his lower stomach and he feels himself getting hard. He knows he's completely under this demon's spell, but he can't fight it, doesn't want to fight it. The warm, steady pressure on his stomach drives him crazy. His eyes fall close and through his parted lips rash pants escape as he concentrates on how fucking close that hand is to where he wants it.
Something slips past his lips into his mouth and Yixing has a moment in which his heart skips a beat until his tongue finds the texture of two fingers. He blushes at his initial dirty thought and then blushes even deeper when he realizes the meaning of those fingers in his mouth. He moans in the back of his throat unintentionally which hurts but earns him a hand sliding from his stomach up and down his inner thigh, mixing pleasure and pain in a sinful way.
"Suck. I can't ruin your throat this time", the demon commands with his velvety voice and pushes his fingers deeper into Yixing's mouth. He swirls his tongue around them dutifully, trying to coat them with as much saliva as possible because he figures this is all the lubricant he will get. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registers that they taste faintly of iron, just enough to remind him of the IV drip releasing drop after drop of demon's blood into his own veins.) He moans again, not caring how raspy his voice is and how wanton this makes him sound.
"You're going to like this", the low voice continues, getting closer to Yixing's ear. "When you're already this excited to have something of me -" Hot breath fans over the sensitive shell of Yixing's ear. "- ...inside you."
Yixing bucks his hips up but still doesn't get the contact he's craving for. He swears he's so hard he'd come at the lightest touch. The hand on his thigh is only teasing, frustrating him so much that he almost can't handle it. He's a panting, willing mess in those damned skilled hands, and he doesn't want it any other way. His attempt at begging to be touched comes out as a jumbled, hoarse mess of words but the demon seems to get it anyway.
The fingers leave Yixing's mouth, giving him more room to take much needed gulps of oxygen and then his pajama pants are pulled off. His whole body is burning under the demon's stare but he opens his legs with shaking knees and a coiling in his stomach. He's rewarded with a grin and a burning gaze from half-lidded eyes that makes him want to grab him by the wrist and slam those slick fingers into him, but his hands grip the bedsheets so tightly that he can't seem to remove them. He's completely at the mercy of this demonic creature and the thought turns him on more than he'd like to admit.
He is vibrating with sick anticipation, so much that the pain is almost a relief when it finally comes. He gets no warning, no time to adjust, and he screams out, throwing his head back and rolling his hips in time to meet every thrust. The demon's fingers hit something inside him that surpasses every stimulation he's ever felt before; it's so mind-blowing that he wants it again and again, riding those fingers as hard as he can. Just when he thinks he can't take it anymore, the demon closes his other hand around his cock and that's all he needs to come apart in the most intense orgasm he's ever had.
He lies still for several seconds, trying to come back to his senses. It takes even longer to regain his breath but when he finally does, the pitch black eyes are already waiting to catch his gaze and hold it. The curled lips draw up into a dirty smirk and then the demon slowly pulls his fingers out. Yixing gasps and feels his (or rather their) blood rush back to his groin, pulsing through his still sensitive cock.
The demon lets out a knowing chuckle but he retreats, stands up and suddenly his wings are back. Their darkness seems to span the whole room and only then Yixing remembers that he's still in a hospital room. He can't help but stare open-mouthed as the man rises into the air.
"Sleep now." His voice floats down on Yixing like a warm, heavy blanket and makes his eyelids droop instantly. He's so, so tired. Sleeping seems like such a good idea.
"But don't forget, you owe me your life."
When Yixing opens his eyes the next morning, the first thing that happens is that the memories of his nightly encounter rush back. He blushes heavily and feels a languorous shudder deep inside of him. What confuses him though is that he's wearing his pajama pants he can't remember putting back on and is lying under the blanket. There's no visible sign that anything of what happened was real. And, Yixing has to admit, in the broad daylight it seems a bit too impossible. A demon fulfilling his sexual fantasies? Highly unlikely. Nothing of that sort happens again in the following nights, so he comes to dismiss it as a kinky dream.
His throat heals quickly and the doctors' frowns turn into pleased smiles. The last red drops run out of the plastic bag into the tube and into Yixing's veins, he's put through some more tests and gets a few more reminders to start slowly with the singing if he doesn't want to risk permanent damage.
He does his vocal practice diligently, calls his parents, his stylists, and staff members from the most important venues. Soon he's back in the showbiz, starting slow, with a few magazine shoots here and there that barely require him to talk, then short interviews and finally radio shows. His fans welcome him back with open arms, craving for his comeback, praying for him to fully recover as soon as possible.
Before long, new dates for his cancelled world tour are announced and it's like he's never been rushed to the hospital in the first place. Just once in New York, the shadows in his spacious hotel room on the twenty-first floor seem to darken. But maybe it was just an illusion caused by passing headlights of a car. And one evening in Paris as he's sitting on a park bench in the Jardin des Tuileries, a rush of blood heats up his cheeks as if guided by invisible hands. But it might just have been the warm summer air.
The last concert of the internationally renowned pop star's world tour takes place in Changsha, his hometown. Zhang Yixing's brimming with pride as he steps out onto the stage and lets his gaze wander across the huge stadium, filled to the last seat with excited fans. Determined to give his best, he grabs the microphone and lets the spotlight wash over his face. Fans will later write reports about his perfect stages and some will comment that it seems a bit like magic that he recovered so fast from his surgery.
Immediately after the concert though, when everyone has already gone home, Yixing takes a very mundane moment to stand outside the back entrance of the venue and stare up at the stars, a habit he has picked up somewhere along the way. He's still high from the applause, the fan chants, the thumping beats. It feels glorious.
Suddenly, a voice speaks from behind him and makes his heart almost jump out of his ribcage in shock.
"You still owe me."
Yixing whirls around and sees a person leaning against the wall, arms crossed, lips curled in exactly the self-satisfied grin he has imagined the moment he heard that velvety voice. The night air shifts around him and turns just a bit darker as he makes his way over to Yixing who doesn't even bother to hide how weak his knees get. Lips descend on his in the rough, dominating way that makes his blood heat up. Fingers that have touched him in the most intimate ways dance over his throat, down the side of his neck, and pull the neckline of his shirt.
"You owe me as long as you have my blood in you", he clarifies and bites down on Yixing's shoulder, hard, bruising, marking him. Yixing moans out freely this time since his throat doesn't hurt anymore.
"I can hear that healed just fine", the soft voice purrs into Yixing's ear. "Now get down and put that throat of yours to good use." He doesn't have to ask twice.
A/N: I think I read somewhere that Yixing really got an operation on his tonsils. I'm not sure if it's true but omg, I feel like such a creeper now because my mind takes that bit of info and turns it into smut fic *headdesk*
I didn't find any information on Tao's blood type, so I don't know if he would be a suitable donator for Lay irl. OTL (But then again, those things probably don't matter since he's some kind of winged demon in this haha)
Author eoryndal
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: Tao/Lay
Genre: supernatural, pwsp (a.k.a porn with some plot)
Summary: Yixing has to get throat surgery and is admitted to hospital. However, he did not expect a nightly visitor.
A huge shock goes through his fanbase when Zhang Yixing's management announces that his world tour has to be cancelled. A heartfelt apology is posted on official sites, along with the promise to refund the tickets, and information leaks that he is rushed to one of Seoul's top hospitals to get throat surgery. Worry replaces anger and Asia's hottest star soon receives get-well-mails from millions of international fans.
The famous singer wakes up after his surgery to a row of doctors with frowning faces. His brain feels weak and foggy but he understand enough Korean to catch the phrases "difficult case" and "too much blood loss". His throat hurts as if he had swallowed a handful of nails and he is rather grateful when he slips into unconsciousness once more.
When he wakes up again, he doesn't feel much better but the smell of antiseptic that hangs in the room is reassuring in a sterile kind of way. When Yixing looks around, he notices that he's not in the ER room anymore but in a single bed hospital room, an expensive looking one. He sighs at the special treatment because he doesn't feel like a star at all right now. He feels very humbled.
There's a streetlight or something of that sort shining through his window. It's cold, distant, nothing like the center spotlight on stage which is so hot on his face that it almost melts his make-up off his cheeks. Yixing feels surreal and, for the first time in many years of being surrounded by devoted fans, lonely. Waking up in the middle of the night with nothing to do really sucks. He could ring for a nurse but even though he is a celebrity and expected to have an attitude, he's not that snobbish.
He wants to cross his arms behind his head and wait until he falls asleep again out of boredom, but something tugs sharply and really painfully at the back of his hand. He yelps and looks down to find an IV drip stuck there. He swallows (which causes an explosion of pain in his throat) and lets his eyes wander from the needle along the tube up to the plastic bag that is hooked up next to his bed.
In the dim light, its content looks eerily black but Yixing doesn't doubt that it's blood. He lets his head fall back into the pillow and exhales a deep breath, both of which are actions he realizes he needs to refrain from as long as they make his throat hurt this fucking much.
He stares up at the ceiling, biting back tears, trying not to whine in pain because that would probably make things worse. In the middle of silently but furiously damning all tonsils to hell and why do people need them? and what do they have to do with singing anyway?, he has a fucking creepy hallucination.
A black winged creature slowly descends from the ceiling, defying all laws of physics. Its huge wings blend into the shadows of the hospital room, leaving it several shades darker and the contrasts that much sharper. Its face resembles a pale-skinned, dark-haired man with piercing stare and lips curled into a snide grin, like a predator sure of its prey. Slowly, he lands at Yixing's feet on the bed and sits on his haunches.
Yixing's breath is stuck in his chest and he kicks his feet fearfully which only sends the blanket to the floor. He scrambles as far back as possible until he is pressed up with his back against the wall with nowhere left to go. He cannot tear his eyes away from the demon's stare and gazes into those black depths, transfixed by their disturbing beauty. The creature crawls up Yixing's body, extends a pale hand that clutches around his throat and presses down. A scream slips out of Yixing's mouth as a bolt of pain shoots through him. No hallucination could hurt this much.
It must be real. He starts to panic. A fit of dizziness fogs his brain as his heart pumps what little blood he has in his body at an alarming speed. He can hear his own pants in his ears and whimpers. The hand finally leaves his throat and when his vision clears, he is again caught by a self-satisfied smirk.
"Do you... like my blood in you?"
The voice is soft and heavy, like the rustle of a velvet curtain being pulled close. Yixing suddenly feels like he's sitting in an ancient, stifling room. A hot shudder wanders down his spine. He almost yelps when the demonic man leans down and sniffs his neck, right where his carotid artery runs. Yixing hears him make a sound like someone who just drank a really good wine.
"I can feel it coursing through your veins, everywhere your brave little heart pumps it to. Especially here -"
One hand, surprisingly soft and warm, caresses Yixing's cheek and he feels them heating up even more as if the blood is drawn to those hands.
"- and here."
The other hand presses into his lower stomach and he feels himself getting hard. He knows he's completely under this demon's spell, but he can't fight it, doesn't want to fight it. The warm, steady pressure on his stomach drives him crazy. His eyes fall close and through his parted lips rash pants escape as he concentrates on how fucking close that hand is to where he wants it.
Something slips past his lips into his mouth and Yixing has a moment in which his heart skips a beat until his tongue finds the texture of two fingers. He blushes at his initial dirty thought and then blushes even deeper when he realizes the meaning of those fingers in his mouth. He moans in the back of his throat unintentionally which hurts but earns him a hand sliding from his stomach up and down his inner thigh, mixing pleasure and pain in a sinful way.
"Suck. I can't ruin your throat this time", the demon commands with his velvety voice and pushes his fingers deeper into Yixing's mouth. He swirls his tongue around them dutifully, trying to coat them with as much saliva as possible because he figures this is all the lubricant he will get. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registers that they taste faintly of iron, just enough to remind him of the IV drip releasing drop after drop of demon's blood into his own veins.) He moans again, not caring how raspy his voice is and how wanton this makes him sound.
"You're going to like this", the low voice continues, getting closer to Yixing's ear. "When you're already this excited to have something of me -" Hot breath fans over the sensitive shell of Yixing's ear. "- ...inside you."
Yixing bucks his hips up but still doesn't get the contact he's craving for. He swears he's so hard he'd come at the lightest touch. The hand on his thigh is only teasing, frustrating him so much that he almost can't handle it. He's a panting, willing mess in those damned skilled hands, and he doesn't want it any other way. His attempt at begging to be touched comes out as a jumbled, hoarse mess of words but the demon seems to get it anyway.
The fingers leave Yixing's mouth, giving him more room to take much needed gulps of oxygen and then his pajama pants are pulled off. His whole body is burning under the demon's stare but he opens his legs with shaking knees and a coiling in his stomach. He's rewarded with a grin and a burning gaze from half-lidded eyes that makes him want to grab him by the wrist and slam those slick fingers into him, but his hands grip the bedsheets so tightly that he can't seem to remove them. He's completely at the mercy of this demonic creature and the thought turns him on more than he'd like to admit.
He is vibrating with sick anticipation, so much that the pain is almost a relief when it finally comes. He gets no warning, no time to adjust, and he screams out, throwing his head back and rolling his hips in time to meet every thrust. The demon's fingers hit something inside him that surpasses every stimulation he's ever felt before; it's so mind-blowing that he wants it again and again, riding those fingers as hard as he can. Just when he thinks he can't take it anymore, the demon closes his other hand around his cock and that's all he needs to come apart in the most intense orgasm he's ever had.
He lies still for several seconds, trying to come back to his senses. It takes even longer to regain his breath but when he finally does, the pitch black eyes are already waiting to catch his gaze and hold it. The curled lips draw up into a dirty smirk and then the demon slowly pulls his fingers out. Yixing gasps and feels his (or rather their) blood rush back to his groin, pulsing through his still sensitive cock.
The demon lets out a knowing chuckle but he retreats, stands up and suddenly his wings are back. Their darkness seems to span the whole room and only then Yixing remembers that he's still in a hospital room. He can't help but stare open-mouthed as the man rises into the air.
"Sleep now." His voice floats down on Yixing like a warm, heavy blanket and makes his eyelids droop instantly. He's so, so tired. Sleeping seems like such a good idea.
"But don't forget, you owe me your life."
When Yixing opens his eyes the next morning, the first thing that happens is that the memories of his nightly encounter rush back. He blushes heavily and feels a languorous shudder deep inside of him. What confuses him though is that he's wearing his pajama pants he can't remember putting back on and is lying under the blanket. There's no visible sign that anything of what happened was real. And, Yixing has to admit, in the broad daylight it seems a bit too impossible. A demon fulfilling his sexual fantasies? Highly unlikely. Nothing of that sort happens again in the following nights, so he comes to dismiss it as a kinky dream.
His throat heals quickly and the doctors' frowns turn into pleased smiles. The last red drops run out of the plastic bag into the tube and into Yixing's veins, he's put through some more tests and gets a few more reminders to start slowly with the singing if he doesn't want to risk permanent damage.
He does his vocal practice diligently, calls his parents, his stylists, and staff members from the most important venues. Soon he's back in the showbiz, starting slow, with a few magazine shoots here and there that barely require him to talk, then short interviews and finally radio shows. His fans welcome him back with open arms, craving for his comeback, praying for him to fully recover as soon as possible.
Before long, new dates for his cancelled world tour are announced and it's like he's never been rushed to the hospital in the first place. Just once in New York, the shadows in his spacious hotel room on the twenty-first floor seem to darken. But maybe it was just an illusion caused by passing headlights of a car. And one evening in Paris as he's sitting on a park bench in the Jardin des Tuileries, a rush of blood heats up his cheeks as if guided by invisible hands. But it might just have been the warm summer air.
The last concert of the internationally renowned pop star's world tour takes place in Changsha, his hometown. Zhang Yixing's brimming with pride as he steps out onto the stage and lets his gaze wander across the huge stadium, filled to the last seat with excited fans. Determined to give his best, he grabs the microphone and lets the spotlight wash over his face. Fans will later write reports about his perfect stages and some will comment that it seems a bit like magic that he recovered so fast from his surgery.
Immediately after the concert though, when everyone has already gone home, Yixing takes a very mundane moment to stand outside the back entrance of the venue and stare up at the stars, a habit he has picked up somewhere along the way. He's still high from the applause, the fan chants, the thumping beats. It feels glorious.
Suddenly, a voice speaks from behind him and makes his heart almost jump out of his ribcage in shock.
"You still owe me."
Yixing whirls around and sees a person leaning against the wall, arms crossed, lips curled in exactly the self-satisfied grin he has imagined the moment he heard that velvety voice. The night air shifts around him and turns just a bit darker as he makes his way over to Yixing who doesn't even bother to hide how weak his knees get. Lips descend on his in the rough, dominating way that makes his blood heat up. Fingers that have touched him in the most intimate ways dance over his throat, down the side of his neck, and pull the neckline of his shirt.
"You owe me as long as you have my blood in you", he clarifies and bites down on Yixing's shoulder, hard, bruising, marking him. Yixing moans out freely this time since his throat doesn't hurt anymore.
"I can hear that healed just fine", the soft voice purrs into Yixing's ear. "Now get down and put that throat of yours to good use." He doesn't have to ask twice.
A/N: I think I read somewhere that Yixing really got an operation on his tonsils. I'm not sure if it's true but omg, I feel like such a creeper now because my mind takes that bit of info and turns it into smut fic *headdesk*
I didn't find any information on Tao's blood type, so I don't know if he would be a suitable donator for Lay irl. OTL (But then again, those things probably don't matter since he's some kind of winged demon in this haha)