don't mind you under my skin (i'll let the bad parts in); for bluedreaming
Title: don't mind you under my skin (i'll let the bad parts in)
Rating: R/vaguely NC-17
Side pairing/s: past!unrequited!Baekhyun/Minseok, mentions of Lu Han/Minseok
Length: 2530 words
Summary: They are the blood in each other's veins.
Warning/s: barely edited, swearing, brief allusion to breathplay, brief mention of prostitution, brief mentions of drug use, vampirism
Notes: To my recipient, first of all, thank you for your lovely prompts. I had initially started writing for one of your other prompts but I ended up hitting a wall with it and had to churn this out at the last minute. I really wish I could have written something more for you, but I hope this is somewhere along the lines of what you were looking for and I hope you enjoy it/I will make it up to you in the future. And to Z and E and A, thank you for your help and/or for putting up with all of my crying.
They meet beneath pulsing red lights, bone-rattling bass. With black and tears and sweat smeared across eyelids, clinging to eyelashes, curving along the sharp contours of cheekbones.
And he is beautiful, Baekhyun decides. All sultry expressions and sinful sway, thrust, swivel of hips. Baekhyun's had his eye on him for weeks now. Has watched from afar, night after night, the show he puts on to draw them in.
But no one ever gives him what he wants. ("He's looking for someone to turn him.") No one wants the responsibility, the risk, the commitment. It's what keeps him coming back. Because he may be fucked up like the rest of them-surely he must be; he's here after all-but he is not a creature scorned by Hell itself.
It's Baekhyun's turn now, though.
And this is how it starts. This is where they begin. Back flush to chest, hands guiding Baekhyun’s hips, breath hot on the nape of his neck. This is how Baekhyun falls in love with falling in love. And it’s a bit asinine maybe, but this stranger's blood sings to him-calls him like a siren. He can feel the flow of it, every last thrum of his pulse and everything in between. And the scent is sweet and heady and fucking devastating.
"Your name," Baekhyun prompts, more or less a demand than a request.
"Kim Jongin," the other breathes.
And this is how Baekhyun takes Jongin home. Where the rooms are cold and nearly bare and the windows are boarded to keep out sunlight and prying eyes. Where Baekhyun finds himself trapped between Jongin and the wall, unforgiving against the swells of his spine. And just the scent of him alone has Baekhyun aching for it-in his chest, yawning against his ribs and toward his navel.
There's no question that he's hungry, dense darkness bleeding deeper into the edges of his vision, coiling pain in his gut. And on any other night he would take the kill and leave it at that because fuck sentiment and you only have yourself, Baekhyun. But there's something about this one. Something about Kim Jongin that evokes a certain caution within him. Has him minding the sharp edges of his fangs when he kisses Jongin hard and unrelenting. Has him thinking maybe he really wouldn't mind keeping this one.
Because when Baekhyun fucks him into the mattress on the floor, he swears there's a whisper of potential feeling in Jongin's fingertips on his skin, in his hushed moans, in the way his breaths carry Baekhyun's name when he tips over the edge.
And when he leaves he tells Baekhyun he wants to see him again.
Please.
You know where to find me.
And Baekhyun wonders if this what Jongin tells all of the ones like him who take him home. But something in him doesn't fucking care if it is. And so Baekhyun smiles at him-quiet and intimating. Draws him into one last lingering kiss that leaves him buzzing with want all over again by the end of it. And, "of course."
Because this is where they begin.
-
Baekhyun seeks Jongin out night after night after night. Always finds him in a throng of bodies, eyes glazed over and half-lidded with a cross of lust and intoxication and something sad as he grinds up against whoever will have him. And Baekhyun sees flashes of himself in those eyes-they're the same eyes he catches in the mirror from time to time. Longing eyes, telling of something hollow, of something lost or maybe something that never quite was.
But when Baekhyun makes his way through writhing bodies, makes his way to Jongin, Jongin falls into place with him so easily. Like he's been waiting. And the thought ignites something under Baekhyun's skin-something vaguely possessive. Has his fingers curling so sure at the crook of Jongin's neck. Has him pressing impossibly close and unapologetic against Jongin like he belongs there.
And it's like this that he grows accustomed to the stutter of anticipation in Jongin's pulse beneath his touch, the slight incline of its speed, the interval of stillness between rushes of blood each time he takes Jongin by the wrist to lead him away from all of this.
Because they fall into a routine. Certainly nothing exclusive. ("Fuck no," Jongin had laughed on their third night together. And Baekhyun had focused then on the brilliance of Jongin's smile rather than his own shattering hope.) Though with each passing night, Baekhyun feels something slithering tighter and tighter around his neck. Something that manifests in his dreams as Jongin's hands-branded with phantom affection.
What they have is something shallow and yet something that pierces so, so deep. Too detached to be anything and yet too personal, too intimate to be nothing. Because Jongin is always gone by the time Baekhyun wakes. Leaves nothing behind but his scent on Baekhyun's skin and the promise of you know where to find me.
But some nights they don't fuck. Some nights they lie in the dark on Baekhyun's substandard mattress in Baekhyun's shitty, rundown haunt. Bask in silence; touch just for the sake of touching. And some nights they talk. And Baekhyun learns about Jongin-why he seeks solace in substance and the noncommittal graze of strangers' skin. ("I'm not fucking broken, if that's what you think.") But he also learns about himself-things buried beneath too many years passed, too many narcotics, too much repression.
They fall into a routine until one night. Thirty nights after Baekhyun takes him home for the first time. When Jongin, in their post-sex daze, fingers exploring the shallow dips between Baekhyun's ribs, tells him in a whisper, "I want to be what you are."
And Baekhyun has known from the outset. Had heard from others like him back in the club, whispers of the boy who wants so desperately what no one will give him.
But Baekhyun likes Jongin. Far more than he should, really.
It's enough to have him considering giving him what he wants, enough to have him considering spending at least a fragment of damnation with him. Wanting to, even.
"It's permanent, you know," Baekhyun says. Circles sharp nails at the jut of Jongin's hipbone.
"I know."
"It's not all it's made out to be."
"I know."
"You'll need me."
"Yes."
-
And it's all rather unceremonious when it happens. A night like any other night of debauchery.
Baekhyun can feel him shudder, doesn't miss the hitch of his breath as he drags his tongue along a vein in Jongin's neck. Breathes a laugh because the action is so deliberate and Jongin is so fucking transparent-feverish with just the implication.
"Now, Baekhyun. Do it now. Please. Please," Jongin urges, his voice breathy and pitchy and insistent.
"You sure?"
"Yes-fuck."
Jongin comes somewhere between a gasp and a choked-off moan, just as Baekhyun's teeth sink beneath his skin.
-
And it all leads up to now.
When he wakes to Jongin shaking beneath him, whimpering. With cold sweat settling into the dips of his collarbones and thick crimson crawling from the corners of his mouth. And maybe it should send Baekhyun into a fit of panic, maybe. But he only frowns. Because Baekhyun remembers this well-the body's rejection of the venom. No matter how many goddamned decades have passed-fifteen, he thinks numbly-since he was turned.
(And Baekhyun remembers Kim Minseok well-centuries-old, pretty, fucking fatal. With eyes like the blood moon-caustic eyes, and a crooked smile. Probably couldn't forget him if he tried.
He remembers a cold hand held out to him, pallid skin saturated in the light of the moon. Remembers the hushed, "come; you must be cold." Remembers sobbing out his name when Minseok had asked for it, fingers running through Baekhyun's hair as he'd helped him wash it clean of God knows what.
But Baekhyun was more or less a servant. Lowly human-lured from the streets with the promise of immortality, of beauty, of something better; waiting for his turn to be bitten-waiting for it to be decided that he'd earned it. And through his fawning, his catering to every need-even those unspoken-he had.
Because Baekhyun had fallen in love with Kim Minseok-somber, cunning, seductive Kim Minseok. Dreamt of harboring the elder's blood in his veins. They probably all had at one point or another-the others like him. Because Minseok was powerful; Minseok was security.
But he was never meant to be Baekhyun's, nor any of theirs for that matter. Already had centuries-old, pretty, fucking fatal Lu Han on his arm. It would have been enough, though-to spend his new life in the shadow of Lu Han, doing what he could to please Minseok. It would have been enough-his delusional, broken forever. Because to have him just out of reach was still close enough.
Though in the end Baekhyun was nothing more than a meal. Uprooted from the household for the safety of those still human. Left to suffer the rebirth on his own. Because he was fucking unhinged, insatiable. Condemned to stalking the streets in the dead of night-having to fight, beg, sell himself, anything for a drink. Anything to hinder the pain.
And yet all the blood in the world could not dull the pain in his heart.)
Tears tinged with traces of blood slip down Jongin's cheeks when Baekhyun eases him upright, settles in his lap. And as his fingers skim over Jongin's wet skin, wiping away the blood and the tears, Baekhyun tells him that he's going to be okay, this is how it works, Jongin. But he knows, Baekhyun knows the pain Jongin is feeling. The nausea and the webbing pain in the chest as the heart learns to slow down and how the blood runs cold, racking the body with shudders. And Baekhyun's so fucking sorry, because really this is his own fault, this is his venom. And this isn't the part Jongin wanted, he's sure.
But Jongin has him. And Baekhyun may not be much-he may not have centuries of wisdom and experience behind him, and there's not much more he can offer Jongin than a place in his bed. But at least he is something. He is something and he is willing. Because Baekhyun likes Jongin-shamelessly, dangerously.
"Bite, Jongin," Baekhyun says, voice colored with concern as he bares his throat, soothes pale fingers through dark hair. And when Jongin bites, it hurts, fangs still dull in comparison to Baekhyun's own, marring the skin. Nothing like he remembers Minseok's bite-precise, nearly painless. But there's a certain rawness in this, a certain poetry. And Baekhyun takes it with a sigh, with coaxing fingers, urging fingers at the back of Jongin's neck. Tells him he's doing so well, taking it so well. Lets Jongin drink until his trembling subsides. Even though it's almost, almost too much for Baekhyun. Has glinting specks of silver dancing across his line of sight.
Jongin kisses him with a whisper of thank you when he's through, and the taste of blood coloring his lips and his tongue is that of Baekhyun's. But it is also Jongin's-will be Jongin's, in time. And Baekhyun is drunk on it, on the fact that the strung-out boy he stole from under the pulsing red lights and bone-rattling bass of the club in the worst part of the city, from under the leering eyes of the most depraved souls, is his alone in the most binding and intimate of ways.
"Okay?" Baekhyun asks, feeling at the pulse in Jongin's throat before his fingers creep down to the healing bite wound of the day before. And Jongin's eyes-his eyes like the blood moon-flutter shut as he nods. "It happens at first when you're still-too human. You'll-when it happens again-you'll need to keep drinking from me to offset it. Until your body adjusts to everything."
Jongin looks at him through strands of inky hair, and Baekhyun's breath catches in his throat at the softness of his eyes. "But won't that-isn't-"
And Baekhyun nods, lips pressed into a hard line. Because turning a human is risky business. Often they need too much from their keeper. Nearly bleed them dry by the end of the rebirth, leave them clinging to Life by its threads.
But, "I can take it, Jongin," Baekhyun tells him. "Anyway, you-there's not much else we can do about it now." You're worth it. "And you need it more than I do. It'll be okay." I trust you.
Jongin's mouth falls open for him with ease, with a breath of a moan when Baekhyun leans forward to kiss him. And at first it's a slow, sober sort of kiss-a hair-stroking, skin-caressing intimacy that Baekhyun isn't used to with Jongin. Not like this, at least. Because Jongin has only ever touched him like this when he couldn't see him-when they lay shrouded in darkness and Baekhyun didn't have to be Baekhyun if Jongin didn't want him to be; where it was a strained, decaying comfort and most certainly not a display of affection.
Baekhyun is used to bruising, biting, breath-stealing urgency. Because the point has always been just getting off; never has it been an expression. At least not openly. Because Baekhyun has carved secret fondness across Jongin's shoulder blades, left it blooming along his inner thighs, his hips, his chest in shades of black and red. Please like me, too-shamelessly, dangerously.
But with the way Jongin sighs into his mouth, hands edging beneath the pooling material of Baekhyun's oversized nightshirt to settle tenderly at his waist, Baekhyun thinks maybe, maybe-
Maybe he can.
Maybe he does.
Maybe he has.
Jongin trails kisses down his neck, licks away the trickling blood of his wound, and then he's lifting Baekhyun's nightshirt over his head, tossing it aside. Hands graze down his chest, and Baekhyun notes with a muted smile that Jongin's skin is colder-though not yet quite as cold as Baekhyun's own-than it was the night before.
Because there are countless tomorrows in the temperature of Jongin's skin, in his eyes like the blood moon, in the edges of his forming fangs, and the taste of iron lingering in the curve of his lips.
And this is how Byun Baekhyun falls in love with Kim Jongin-remorselessly, vastly; a tempest of affection whirring within his ribcage. Though they are far from perfect-though they are creatures scorned by Hell itself. Because they are under each other's skin; they are the blood in each other's veins. And like this-just like this-they are eternal.
#1 Title taken from Brand New's 'Degausser'.
#2 I am sorry.
Rating: R/vaguely NC-17
Side pairing/s: past!unrequited!Baekhyun/Minseok, mentions of Lu Han/Minseok
Length: 2530 words
Summary: They are the blood in each other's veins.
Warning/s: barely edited, swearing, brief allusion to breathplay, brief mention of prostitution, brief mentions of drug use, vampirism
Notes: To my recipient, first of all, thank you for your lovely prompts. I had initially started writing for one of your other prompts but I ended up hitting a wall with it and had to churn this out at the last minute. I really wish I could have written something more for you, but I hope this is somewhere along the lines of what you were looking for and I hope you enjoy it/I will make it up to you in the future. And to Z and E and A, thank you for your help and/or for putting up with all of my crying.
They meet beneath pulsing red lights, bone-rattling bass. With black and tears and sweat smeared across eyelids, clinging to eyelashes, curving along the sharp contours of cheekbones.
And he is beautiful, Baekhyun decides. All sultry expressions and sinful sway, thrust, swivel of hips. Baekhyun's had his eye on him for weeks now. Has watched from afar, night after night, the show he puts on to draw them in.
But no one ever gives him what he wants. ("He's looking for someone to turn him.") No one wants the responsibility, the risk, the commitment. It's what keeps him coming back. Because he may be fucked up like the rest of them-surely he must be; he's here after all-but he is not a creature scorned by Hell itself.
It's Baekhyun's turn now, though.
And this is how it starts. This is where they begin. Back flush to chest, hands guiding Baekhyun’s hips, breath hot on the nape of his neck. This is how Baekhyun falls in love with falling in love. And it’s a bit asinine maybe, but this stranger's blood sings to him-calls him like a siren. He can feel the flow of it, every last thrum of his pulse and everything in between. And the scent is sweet and heady and fucking devastating.
"Your name," Baekhyun prompts, more or less a demand than a request.
"Kim Jongin," the other breathes.
And this is how Baekhyun takes Jongin home. Where the rooms are cold and nearly bare and the windows are boarded to keep out sunlight and prying eyes. Where Baekhyun finds himself trapped between Jongin and the wall, unforgiving against the swells of his spine. And just the scent of him alone has Baekhyun aching for it-in his chest, yawning against his ribs and toward his navel.
There's no question that he's hungry, dense darkness bleeding deeper into the edges of his vision, coiling pain in his gut. And on any other night he would take the kill and leave it at that because fuck sentiment and you only have yourself, Baekhyun. But there's something about this one. Something about Kim Jongin that evokes a certain caution within him. Has him minding the sharp edges of his fangs when he kisses Jongin hard and unrelenting. Has him thinking maybe he really wouldn't mind keeping this one.
Because when Baekhyun fucks him into the mattress on the floor, he swears there's a whisper of potential feeling in Jongin's fingertips on his skin, in his hushed moans, in the way his breaths carry Baekhyun's name when he tips over the edge.
And when he leaves he tells Baekhyun he wants to see him again.
Please.
You know where to find me.
And Baekhyun wonders if this what Jongin tells all of the ones like him who take him home. But something in him doesn't fucking care if it is. And so Baekhyun smiles at him-quiet and intimating. Draws him into one last lingering kiss that leaves him buzzing with want all over again by the end of it. And, "of course."
Because this is where they begin.
-
Baekhyun seeks Jongin out night after night after night. Always finds him in a throng of bodies, eyes glazed over and half-lidded with a cross of lust and intoxication and something sad as he grinds up against whoever will have him. And Baekhyun sees flashes of himself in those eyes-they're the same eyes he catches in the mirror from time to time. Longing eyes, telling of something hollow, of something lost or maybe something that never quite was.
But when Baekhyun makes his way through writhing bodies, makes his way to Jongin, Jongin falls into place with him so easily. Like he's been waiting. And the thought ignites something under Baekhyun's skin-something vaguely possessive. Has his fingers curling so sure at the crook of Jongin's neck. Has him pressing impossibly close and unapologetic against Jongin like he belongs there.
And it's like this that he grows accustomed to the stutter of anticipation in Jongin's pulse beneath his touch, the slight incline of its speed, the interval of stillness between rushes of blood each time he takes Jongin by the wrist to lead him away from all of this.
Because they fall into a routine. Certainly nothing exclusive. ("Fuck no," Jongin had laughed on their third night together. And Baekhyun had focused then on the brilliance of Jongin's smile rather than his own shattering hope.) Though with each passing night, Baekhyun feels something slithering tighter and tighter around his neck. Something that manifests in his dreams as Jongin's hands-branded with phantom affection.
What they have is something shallow and yet something that pierces so, so deep. Too detached to be anything and yet too personal, too intimate to be nothing. Because Jongin is always gone by the time Baekhyun wakes. Leaves nothing behind but his scent on Baekhyun's skin and the promise of you know where to find me.
But some nights they don't fuck. Some nights they lie in the dark on Baekhyun's substandard mattress in Baekhyun's shitty, rundown haunt. Bask in silence; touch just for the sake of touching. And some nights they talk. And Baekhyun learns about Jongin-why he seeks solace in substance and the noncommittal graze of strangers' skin. ("I'm not fucking broken, if that's what you think.") But he also learns about himself-things buried beneath too many years passed, too many narcotics, too much repression.
They fall into a routine until one night. Thirty nights after Baekhyun takes him home for the first time. When Jongin, in their post-sex daze, fingers exploring the shallow dips between Baekhyun's ribs, tells him in a whisper, "I want to be what you are."
And Baekhyun has known from the outset. Had heard from others like him back in the club, whispers of the boy who wants so desperately what no one will give him.
But Baekhyun likes Jongin. Far more than he should, really.
It's enough to have him considering giving him what he wants, enough to have him considering spending at least a fragment of damnation with him. Wanting to, even.
"It's permanent, you know," Baekhyun says. Circles sharp nails at the jut of Jongin's hipbone.
"I know."
"It's not all it's made out to be."
"I know."
"You'll need me."
"Yes."
-
And it's all rather unceremonious when it happens. A night like any other night of debauchery.
Baekhyun can feel him shudder, doesn't miss the hitch of his breath as he drags his tongue along a vein in Jongin's neck. Breathes a laugh because the action is so deliberate and Jongin is so fucking transparent-feverish with just the implication.
"Now, Baekhyun. Do it now. Please. Please," Jongin urges, his voice breathy and pitchy and insistent.
"You sure?"
"Yes-fuck."
Jongin comes somewhere between a gasp and a choked-off moan, just as Baekhyun's teeth sink beneath his skin.
-
And it all leads up to now.
When he wakes to Jongin shaking beneath him, whimpering. With cold sweat settling into the dips of his collarbones and thick crimson crawling from the corners of his mouth. And maybe it should send Baekhyun into a fit of panic, maybe. But he only frowns. Because Baekhyun remembers this well-the body's rejection of the venom. No matter how many goddamned decades have passed-fifteen, he thinks numbly-since he was turned.
(And Baekhyun remembers Kim Minseok well-centuries-old, pretty, fucking fatal. With eyes like the blood moon-caustic eyes, and a crooked smile. Probably couldn't forget him if he tried.
He remembers a cold hand held out to him, pallid skin saturated in the light of the moon. Remembers the hushed, "come; you must be cold." Remembers sobbing out his name when Minseok had asked for it, fingers running through Baekhyun's hair as he'd helped him wash it clean of God knows what.
But Baekhyun was more or less a servant. Lowly human-lured from the streets with the promise of immortality, of beauty, of something better; waiting for his turn to be bitten-waiting for it to be decided that he'd earned it. And through his fawning, his catering to every need-even those unspoken-he had.
Because Baekhyun had fallen in love with Kim Minseok-somber, cunning, seductive Kim Minseok. Dreamt of harboring the elder's blood in his veins. They probably all had at one point or another-the others like him. Because Minseok was powerful; Minseok was security.
But he was never meant to be Baekhyun's, nor any of theirs for that matter. Already had centuries-old, pretty, fucking fatal Lu Han on his arm. It would have been enough, though-to spend his new life in the shadow of Lu Han, doing what he could to please Minseok. It would have been enough-his delusional, broken forever. Because to have him just out of reach was still close enough.
Though in the end Baekhyun was nothing more than a meal. Uprooted from the household for the safety of those still human. Left to suffer the rebirth on his own. Because he was fucking unhinged, insatiable. Condemned to stalking the streets in the dead of night-having to fight, beg, sell himself, anything for a drink. Anything to hinder the pain.
And yet all the blood in the world could not dull the pain in his heart.)
Tears tinged with traces of blood slip down Jongin's cheeks when Baekhyun eases him upright, settles in his lap. And as his fingers skim over Jongin's wet skin, wiping away the blood and the tears, Baekhyun tells him that he's going to be okay, this is how it works, Jongin. But he knows, Baekhyun knows the pain Jongin is feeling. The nausea and the webbing pain in the chest as the heart learns to slow down and how the blood runs cold, racking the body with shudders. And Baekhyun's so fucking sorry, because really this is his own fault, this is his venom. And this isn't the part Jongin wanted, he's sure.
But Jongin has him. And Baekhyun may not be much-he may not have centuries of wisdom and experience behind him, and there's not much more he can offer Jongin than a place in his bed. But at least he is something. He is something and he is willing. Because Baekhyun likes Jongin-shamelessly, dangerously.
"Bite, Jongin," Baekhyun says, voice colored with concern as he bares his throat, soothes pale fingers through dark hair. And when Jongin bites, it hurts, fangs still dull in comparison to Baekhyun's own, marring the skin. Nothing like he remembers Minseok's bite-precise, nearly painless. But there's a certain rawness in this, a certain poetry. And Baekhyun takes it with a sigh, with coaxing fingers, urging fingers at the back of Jongin's neck. Tells him he's doing so well, taking it so well. Lets Jongin drink until his trembling subsides. Even though it's almost, almost too much for Baekhyun. Has glinting specks of silver dancing across his line of sight.
Jongin kisses him with a whisper of thank you when he's through, and the taste of blood coloring his lips and his tongue is that of Baekhyun's. But it is also Jongin's-will be Jongin's, in time. And Baekhyun is drunk on it, on the fact that the strung-out boy he stole from under the pulsing red lights and bone-rattling bass of the club in the worst part of the city, from under the leering eyes of the most depraved souls, is his alone in the most binding and intimate of ways.
"Okay?" Baekhyun asks, feeling at the pulse in Jongin's throat before his fingers creep down to the healing bite wound of the day before. And Jongin's eyes-his eyes like the blood moon-flutter shut as he nods. "It happens at first when you're still-too human. You'll-when it happens again-you'll need to keep drinking from me to offset it. Until your body adjusts to everything."
Jongin looks at him through strands of inky hair, and Baekhyun's breath catches in his throat at the softness of his eyes. "But won't that-isn't-"
And Baekhyun nods, lips pressed into a hard line. Because turning a human is risky business. Often they need too much from their keeper. Nearly bleed them dry by the end of the rebirth, leave them clinging to Life by its threads.
But, "I can take it, Jongin," Baekhyun tells him. "Anyway, you-there's not much else we can do about it now." You're worth it. "And you need it more than I do. It'll be okay." I trust you.
Jongin's mouth falls open for him with ease, with a breath of a moan when Baekhyun leans forward to kiss him. And at first it's a slow, sober sort of kiss-a hair-stroking, skin-caressing intimacy that Baekhyun isn't used to with Jongin. Not like this, at least. Because Jongin has only ever touched him like this when he couldn't see him-when they lay shrouded in darkness and Baekhyun didn't have to be Baekhyun if Jongin didn't want him to be; where it was a strained, decaying comfort and most certainly not a display of affection.
Baekhyun is used to bruising, biting, breath-stealing urgency. Because the point has always been just getting off; never has it been an expression. At least not openly. Because Baekhyun has carved secret fondness across Jongin's shoulder blades, left it blooming along his inner thighs, his hips, his chest in shades of black and red. Please like me, too-shamelessly, dangerously.
But with the way Jongin sighs into his mouth, hands edging beneath the pooling material of Baekhyun's oversized nightshirt to settle tenderly at his waist, Baekhyun thinks maybe, maybe-
Maybe he can.
Maybe he does.
Maybe he has.
Jongin trails kisses down his neck, licks away the trickling blood of his wound, and then he's lifting Baekhyun's nightshirt over his head, tossing it aside. Hands graze down his chest, and Baekhyun notes with a muted smile that Jongin's skin is colder-though not yet quite as cold as Baekhyun's own-than it was the night before.
Because there are countless tomorrows in the temperature of Jongin's skin, in his eyes like the blood moon, in the edges of his forming fangs, and the taste of iron lingering in the curve of his lips.
And this is how Byun Baekhyun falls in love with Kim Jongin-remorselessly, vastly; a tempest of affection whirring within his ribcage. Though they are far from perfect-though they are creatures scorned by Hell itself. Because they are under each other's skin; they are the blood in each other's veins. And like this-just like this-they are eternal.
#1 Title taken from Brand New's 'Degausser'.
#2 I am sorry.