Heart Burn
Title: Heart Burn
Pairing: Yunho/Changmin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Blood play
Summary: The time was coming; it wouldn’t be long now. Though it would be close, he knew that much. Knew it in the way his eyes had become more drawn to exposed columns of slender throats rather than the usual full bosoms, as was his custom. Knew it in the way he could hear an erratic pulse, hear it and have it sound like sweet, sweet music to his ears.
A/N: This is an extended version of an entry I submitted for Challenge #2 at familiar_melody. When I say extended, I mean EXTENDED. It’s 8,000+ words instead of the original 3,000+ D: as always, super mega thanks to the awesome vaguelynormal for beta-ing
The time was coming; it wouldn’t be long now. Though it would be close, he knew that much. Knew it in the way his eyes had become more drawn to exposed columns of slender throats rather than the usual full bosoms, as was his custom. Knew it in the way he could hear an erratic pulse, hear it and have it sound like sweet, sweet music to his ears.
He sighed, reluctant to leave the land of the vibrant and living to return to his world of dull grays and the undead. But he would because it was necessary and he looked forward to forever, and didn’t care much for thoughts of being six feet under. Besides, age had never been a prerequisite for practicality; he was young but he had yet to be stupid. He didn’t think now was a good opportunity to try. However, regret was something he and his kind had gladly learned to do without, and so he would leave none behind.
Fire runs through his veins, a deep, scorching flame that boils his blood and burns him from within. He hasn’t had food in what seems like days, but knows it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. Everything turns to ash in his mouth and water does nothing to relieve him of his agony. The silk he knows he lays on, as well as the soft down mattress, scratches at his skin, stoking the burning inside.
A sliver of light slices through the floor and wall, its meager brightness like a flame to his sensitive retinas. It makes him push and pull at the chains that bind him to his bed, the metal rubbing at wrists already bloody and raw. A lithe figure pads its way to his bed, soft footsteps like claps of thunder to his heightened hearing. The moment he walks through the wide metal doors, he knows the other has fed.
Life pumps through him, coursing warm and red, the smell almost unbearable to his deprived senses. He smells good, so good…
“You’re awake,” the pale figure notes as he stops beside the bed, seemingly unworried about the man chained and thrashing before him.
“You know very well I can no longer sleep,” he snarls in the midst of his internal burning. The fire intensifies as the pale one inches closer, the sound of a healthy pulse rushing in his ears.
“Don’t worry my little half-ling, just a while longer and you’ll complete the Turn.” Soft, slender hands hover to stroke the matted hair from his face, but there’s nothing but searing heat raging inside him, a fire that makes him snap elongating teeth at hands that were only trying to help. “I promise you, it’s not always like this,” he responds to an accusing look shot darkly in his direction. “There is some joy in our way of life.” He makes no further movement to touch the chained man, knowing any gesture is painful. “It’s not always darkness.”
The comment only warrants him a dubious look, even through the pain and he knows the younger would survive, simply because he’s too stubborn to die. Jaejoong smiles and it unnerves the other man enough to quiet the fire eating him from the inside out. He leans over to steal a kiss across a furrowed brow.
“Be good Changminnie and the next time you see me, I’ll let you taste life.”
“Kneel.”
And he does because years and a lifetime of punishment have taught him that obedience hurt a lot less than rebellion. Rebellion earns him hours of mental torture, pictures of the family he once had but is no longer sure of, ravaged and left to die in some desolate place swirling in his head with one look from glowing red eyes.
Physical scarring is forbidden against his kind, because it would demean their worth. But he can’t help the reminders of a clumsy childhood: the scar on his cheek and forehead, not prominent but visible nonetheless; raised tissue on his knees and elbows from one too many scrapes. All are reminiscent of a life happier but harder than this one.
By all means he should be dead, turned out into the constant cold that is their world the minute he’d turned twenty and still no one had claimed him. It’s been a few years now, and he’s still here. He’s still on the shelf, still made clean and dressed up to be ogled by the terrifying beauties that rule their world. He knows that time is ticking for him; he isn’t as young as he used to be.
But if there’s one thing he’s thankful for, it’s that he’s been given a comely face and an athletic build. They’re the only things keeping him alive.
Water pours over him as the attendant lathers sweet smelling soap over his body. The touch is efficient and swift, even along his most intimate parts. He’s been through this particular ritual hundreds of times in the past. It’s always with a different attendant, or at least one that doesn’t stay very long. Attachments of any kind or to anyone are also forbidden. That hasn’t stopped him though. He isn’t as obedient as he should be, and maybe that’s why he’s never chosen. He has a reputation that precedes him.
The door to the bathing room opens, bringing a slight draft that makes him shiver in his nakedness. He hasn’t bothered to look up, not even when the passive fingers scrubbing gently at his skin have stopped their ministrations. It’s out of the ordinary, yes, since this is a private bath instead of the larger communal ones. He’s begun to notice in the recent weeks that he’s slowly being isolated from the others-not that he’s surprised. But no one ever comes for him, and those who have in the past are quick to leave after seeing his imperfections. Whoever is at the door, it won’t be for him.
Words are whispered, words he ignores because they aren’t meant for him. He keeps his chin tucked into his chest, mesmerized as droplets of water fall from the tips of his hair and onto the floor. More whispers, padded footsteps, another draft. Then, delicate fingers and a caressing touch he’d know anywhere feather across his moist skin.
“Yoochun.”
The hands still for a moment in their trek across broad shoulders before picking up a less gentle rhythm. It’s still soft, for the said man could never be rough, but they lost that exploring edge. The way you’d explore skin you’ve known before but haven’t had within reach for so long. They’re less reminiscent, more efficient, and for that he was grateful. The other man does things to his senses that no other being but his Master should be able to-except he doesn’t have a Master.
“It’s Mickey now,” Yoochun answers when the silence stretches and the water’s no longer steaming hot. “My Master says that only he can call me by my given name.”
There’s a rebuke in those words, a tiny hint of rejection that he’s seen coming but couldn’t help but try anyway. Just in case there’s still hope, even if there hasn’t been any to begin with. He isn’t sure how to reply, or even if he should, so he doesn’t at all.
“As we speak, a half-ling makes the Turn,” Yoochun says conversationally, all the while rinsing the other’s hair. “A friend of my Master’s. He’s very young, even by human years, but very handsome.”
Strong hands come to grasp thin wrists, firm but never enough to leave a mark. A steady gaze peers at uncertain eyes and asks unkindly, “Why are you here? Has your Master grown tired of you already?”
Indignation fills those dark orbs and if the other man had known anything of violence, he has no doubt he’d be sprawled over the tiles already. Anger and bitterness have been his constant companions for far too long with desperation sleeping in his bed and sharing nightmares. Neither his friend nor his Master deserves the insult, but he can’t stop himself. Loneliness chips at his once good disposition and through time, his sense of self-worth diminished in a slow, downward spiral.
“Yunho.” The word holds a trace of pain and he immediately lets go.
“Thank you for helping me bathe,” Yunho says with a bow, ever so polite. Mickey isn’t like him anymore. He’s a Servant with a Master, someone with a home and a purpose. Unlike himself, a prettied Slave-but a Slave nonetheless-who can only dream in vain for a tiny glimpse of what Mickey has now.
Yunho turns away to towel himself, expecting to hear footsteps out the door-certainly not faint words.
“I wanted to tell you the good news,” Mickey says quietly with downcast eyes. “My Master is looking for a present, and I spoke of you.”
“Not this one Junsu,” Jaejoong says as he eyes the delicate Slave in distaste. “Looks too fragile. Changmin-ah would break him in a heartbeat.”
Junsu nods to an attendant who leads the Slave out the door. He sighs when the pair leaves the room, the Slave back to the House and the attendant to bring another. “You don’t like any of them. They’re either too young or too short. Too fat, too skinny, too boring.” Junsu shakes his head remembering the near dozen of the best Slaves they’ve gone through. Even with Yoochun as his Servant, a few had piqued his interest. But none of them seem good enough for his older companion. “What exactly are you looking for, Jaejoong?”
“I don’t know,” the elder replies. “But none who have come through the door were it. Are there any more?”
“ A few,” Junsu answers, but he hesitates to say the next part. “Yoochun’s suggested one.”
Jaejoong arched a delicate brow. “You take suggestions from your Servant?”
“Of course,” Junsu replies after a moment’s pause. “It’s perfectly acceptable, encouraged even.”
“It would be if suggestions were all you were taking.” Jaejoong says with a heavy gaze full of unspeakable knowing. But Junsu knows how to play this game too, has spent years and years perfecting his technique.
“I take blood too.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what are you implying?”
“I imply nothing,” Jaejoong shrugs. “Only that I think you value your Servant a little too much.”
Junsu doesn’t deign to reply, knowing that it’s a losing argument. Jaejoong will never understand the joys of having a Servant, will never know the boundless fulfillment Junsu felt-still felt-the moment he laid eyes on his other half. It’s as if he’d become complete.
But Jaejoong will never know because despite having a big heart, he had a fickle nature. He simply won’t settle for one Servant, so he settles for none at all. A sad circumstance in Junsu’s eyes, but the elder doesn’t seem to care so Junsu could do nothing about it.
Thankfully an attendant comes and announces the awaited Servant had arrived. At Yoochun’s name Junsu immediately becomes alert, an inward breath and he’s feeling for the other man past the stone walls. His sharpened senses are delighted at finding his Servant and curious with the taller man he has in tow.
Junsu exhales and pulls back into the room, hurriedly bidding the attendant to let the pair in. They enter together, Yoochun leading the way, the other right behind him. The younger man kneels in a show of submission, and his companion follows suit.
“Yoochun,” Junsu calls; he comes. Yoochun offers his wrist in greeting, and Junsu lays a soft kiss, feeling the call of blood running just beneath the skin and resists the urge to poke out his tongue for a taste. Now is not the time for such things; something more fulfilling would happen later. Junsu would make sure of it.
“Who’ve you brought, Yoochun?” Junsu asks, both for himself and for Jaejoong.
“His name is Yunho, Master,” Yoochun answers with head bowed and eyes downcast timidly. “We were fellow Slaves.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes Junsu watchful. Through their intimate bond of blood and body, he can taste the bitterness of an almost-lie, an omission, on his tongue. He fought not to look sharply at the other man and make his sudden ire known, instead choosing to turn his attention to Jaejoong.
The Servant feels his Master’s sudden change in disposition and knew he knew.
“You may assess him closer if you like,” Junsu says to the older man, the other already so engrossed in the Yunho that he doesn’t notice the anger tingeing those words.
Jaejoong glides across the stone flooring, steps soundless as he approaches the Slave. He still kneels but loose cloth molds strong thighs, corded muscle pulling tightly against snow-white fabric. Tapered hips balance out broad shoulders, dark hair long and curling slightly at the nape of his neck. Long wisps frame a small face with masculine planes.
This Yunho is an altogether pleasing sight and just what he had in mind. Standing, he would be the perfect height. His posture, though slightly bowed in a show of submission, exuded an independence and strength that all the dewy-eyed young Slaves had lacked. Jaejoong guesses that this one’s been on the shelf too long. He can smell it, the sadness and melancholy like a bittersweet candy hanging on the tip of his tongue. Desperation left an interesting after taste he has the sudden urge to explore.
“Junsu…” he murmurs more to himself than anyone. He bends over to inhale the exotic scent of the Slave kneeling before him and comes to an irrefutable conclusion:
“He’s perfect.”
His footsteps are heavy and there’s a tremor in his hands as he climbs the many stairs to the tower above. He walks, the spiraling staircase dizzying as the torch lights throw shadows in his wake. It’s absurd he thinks, his mind a bit detached-he’s waited for this moment for what almost seems like forever, and now fear sits heavily on his chest.
He can’t help it, a lifetime filled with stories meant to terrify and caution; stories about half-lings, their violent turns, and the feeding frenzy that comes afterward. It could easily become a bloodbath. Vaguely, he wonders if this is their way of getting rid of him, letting a half-ling crazed with hunger suck him dry. They wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore then.
It’s a depressing, plausible thought, and its cuts deeper because Yoochun suggested him for this.
He turns the corner and a large door looms a dozen steps away. It’s wooden, dark and huge, plain except for an intricate lock and a large metal ring used for pulling it closed, not open. The last few steps to the door and Yunho can’t hide how his hand visibly shakes when he reaches out to touch the wood. Everything is silent. No sounds, no enraged screams; nothing seems to move behind it either. He’s expecting this though; Jaejoong had warned him he was different.
Changmin. His name was Changmin.
Maybe it’s because he’s desperate for someone-anyone-to belong to, but Yunho likes that name. He likes everything about Changmin already, without knowing anything about him at all. Will Changmin like him? Claiming and bonding seems to be a more complicated process or so Xiah-Yoochun’s Master-had explained.
All Slaves are attracted to potential Masters, but a Master had to want a Slave to make them a Servant. Deciding on the perfect Slave took much deliberation, but since Changmin wasn’t in the right mind to make such decisions…Jaejoong had said Yunho was perfect.
Yunho desperately hopes he’s right.
He can’t go back to living on the shelf. He knows he’ll die inside, little by little till there’s nothing left. He serves no purpose without a Master, and as a Slave he’s out of his prime. If they had any mercy, they’d kill him first.
Yunho unearths a key from beneath the folds of the voluminous robe that covers him from head to toe with a wide hood that partially obscures his face. He’s not wearing much under it, just cotton pants and the rest bare skin-for easy access. The robe is but a formality, a small token of comfort before the end of his life or the start of a new one.
The silence is deafening.
His hands shake so badly when he aims the key towards the keyhole that he has to try more than once. There’s an ominous echoing when the locks tumble and he pushes the door open. It’s lighter than it looks, the hinges smooth and silent, as he barely has to push at all.
Yunho peeks in slowly, heart catching in his throat as his pulse beats erratically through every nerve and artery. The room, like its door, is huge, cavernous even, dimly lit by a single chandelier blazing with hundreds of candles. His eyes flit once around the room but catch and stay on the massive bed.
It has only one occupant.
The burning fire of glowing red eyes pierces through him, freezing him in place. Fear runs down his spine, scattering through every nerve and raising goose bumps along the surface of his skin. The initial reaction is to run-to flee as far as he can and hide. Those are the eyes of a predator: dizzying, captivating…hungry.
It’s the last one that squeezes Yunho’s heart and jerks him into stepping inside. There’s a different kind of hunger in those eyes, one that Yunho fancies he can relate to. It isn’t just a lust for blood in that gaze-although that’s there too. No, it’s a need so deep it goes beyond the physical manifestations of hunger.
There’s a void in the man lying on that bed staring at him from across the room. It’s a void that Yunho instinctively wants to fill. Their gazes seize and lock and Yunho’s gone-tangled in a web of blood red eyes spun by a man who’s barely moved a muscle from where he lies. It’s like there’s some kind of magnetic pull from the bed, Yunho unable to resist as he closes the door behind him and goes towards it.
It’s tunnel vision when he walks; he sees nothing else, lost in the haze of red swirls from glowing eyes. Yunho feels like he should say something to relieve the smothering quiet but he’s been warned about that too. Even if he has yet to move, there are reasons Changmin’s chained to the bed. There’s an explanation as to why iron manacles encircle his wrists and ankles, binding him, rubbing him raw. He’s dangerous and Yunho has to keep that in mind.
His heart races as he nears the bed, pumping on over drive to keep up with the adrenaline in his veins. From this distance it’s easy to see nostrils flare, a breath catch, the ripple of shudders as it courses through a taut body. Yunho knows the chains are there, can see them clearly from where he’s standing, but he only becomes fully aware of them when they rattle, disturbing the soundlessness.
It’s now or never.
Yunho disrobes, flinging back the hood and letting the thick material slide off his shoulders to reveal the perfect tan of his upper body. His every muscle is lean and sculpted, made to entice and lure. But in a world where appearing weak and being just another pretty face is a lifestyle, Yunho’s potency has the opposite effect.
Not here it seems.
Changmin comes up hissing, fangs bared and eyes bright with liquid fire. He strains against his bonds, pulling on the heavy chains but unable to come up to more than barely sitting. Yunho rears back for a moment, blown away by such ferocity, the urge to flee racking up his spine-but he fights against it.
Gathering courage he climbs onto the bed. It’s a big bed and he has to crawl some ways before he’s within touching distance of the man he should-by all means, it was as good as done-call ‘Master’. Right now though, this was no man. This was a beast in its raw form, angry, spitting, the bloodlust clouding any semblance of humanity. He needed blood-Yunho’s blood-to return to a calmer state, to separate from the animal and be able to think, to converse, to be.
It’s a heady thought to be needed like that, the only thing better is being wanted but Yunho thinks they’ll have time for that later. For now though, he has to get within reach of Changmin without getting himself completely mauled. Yunho doesn’t want to die. Not yet, not when the chance to really live is all a matter of latching Changmin’s mouth onto his neck.
He does what he can, racking up what courage he’s lost and flinging himself across Changmin’s prone, thrashing form. Surprisingly, the moment skin touches skin Changmin stills, just long enough for Yunho to straddle his waist. Their gazes clash and for a moment Yunho is privy to the mind behind the bloodlust. There’s curiosity and intelligence, as well as an arrogant flash before Yunho’s struggling to keep himself seated, Changmin’s unnatural strength threatening to throw him off or eat him up.
Yunho decides for the latter. Fueled by an underlying fear along with a rush of adrenaline, Yunho shows off his own strength. It’s meager compared to Changmin’s, but he uses the vampire’s momentum to grab him by the shoulders and haul them chest-to-chest. Then it’s all a matter of turning his head, arching his neck and Changmin does the rest.
That first bite will always take him by surprise. He planned it, expected it, initiated it even-but seeing it in his head is a far cry from the reality he’s now experiencing. There’s the sharp prick of an elongating fang before Changmin fits his mouth to Yunho’s neck, instinctively sinking teeth right over the jugular.
There’s a sound as Changmin breaks skin, like the sound of slapping something wet. Yunho cries out when he digs pointed canines deeper, the blood gushing fast and warm from the pierced vein. The pain is immediate and sharp, resonating through his body like a flood seeping through all the holes.
It’s a truly raw feeding; lacking the finesse Yunho knows their kind is capable of. The lust for blood is simply too much for Changmin to think about lessening the pain. Yunho could care less about how much it hurts.
To him this feels right, offering this man his blood, letting him take freely. It gives him a purpose, a place in their world. Yunho wraps weakening arms around Changmin’s shoulders and curls a hand against Changmin’s nape, holding him in place. As he continues to feed greedily, Yunho’s world starts to blur.
As darkness pulls him under, Yunho’s last thought is that this is right where he belongs.
Changmin knows the moment he wakes. It’s not sudden, more like a slow process that Changmin’s acutely aware of. His shift to consciousness, everything from the way his breathing changes, how his heart skips a beat. He stirs, tries to lift his head from where it lays on Changmin’s chest but tenses just as quickly. Changmin can almost feel the ripple of pain that radiates from twin holes on the man’s neck, and he’s assailed by the unfamiliar feeling of guilt for causing it. The man tries again, succeeds this time, expression a grimace when he lifts his head.
There’s a gasp-Changmin’s sure it’s his but the man atop him has a racing heart that drowns out almost every other sound. Their eyes meet and Changmin knows that if his heart still beat involuntarily, it would have stopped right then. Changmin can’t remember if he’s ever seen anyone quite as beautiful.
He’s pulled into dark brown eyes, drowning, drowning, and Changmin’s just thankful he doesn’t really need to breathe anymore. He doesn’t think he could, not while trapped in this man’s gaze. “Breathe,” he finds himself saying when he realizes the man isn’t.
“You’re eyes…” the words are expelled with the breath he’d been holding. Changmin has to think for a moment, what about them? Then he remembers and jerks his gaze away.
Rattling the manacles that bind his wrists he says, “If you could unchain me…?”
“Ah, of course!” the man scrambles to get up, nearly toppling right back down. Changmin sits up abruptly to catch him, only to be assailed by the sweetest, most irresistible scent he’s ever had the chance to inhale.
“I’m sorry,” he exhales, the words almost a moan. “It seems I was unable to control myself.” The man makes to pull himself up. “Move slowly, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” No thanks to him of course. Changmin tries to ignore the heat that comes off the man in waves. The man nods, ducking his head almost shyly and it aims sharp pangs of something indescribable straight to Changmin’s un-beating heart.
He moves carefully this time, climbing slowly off the bed towards a pool of cloth a few yards away. Changmin follows every move with his eyes, mesmerized by each ripple of muscle and taut stretch of skin. He has to lick his lips, mouth dry, when the man bends over to pick up what Changmin now recognizes as a robe. His eyes drink in the rest of the man’s unclothed flesh, nostrils flaring with the sight of his own work on the other wise unblemished skin.
Dried blood crusts in dark rivulets down one side of his back. It leads up to and starts at two jagged holes that mar the perfect column of his neck. They are Changmin’s mark and a painful reminder if nothing else. The man ruffles through the folds of the robe, producing a key and walking back towards the bed. Changmin’s greeted with more of the same: perfection marred by a dark smattering of blood-his doing-on one side.
Changmin’s suddenly over come with the urge to restore that perfection.
The man releases his ankles first, then kneels beside Changmin on the bed to unlock the ones at his wrists. The proximity reminds Changmin of his sharp awareness, but it’s different now. He’s slightly tense, a strain to his shoulders that has hard muscles bunching up. His breathing’s labored, sweat beading along an upper lip as his brows furrow.
Taking note of a sluggish beating of a heart, Changmin realizes belatedly the man is trying very hard not to pass out.
“Thank you,” Changmin says when he’s free, concern lacing his tone even as he rubs at the rawness of his wrists. The man’s cheeks warm, sitting back on his heels and resting his hands on his thighs in a submissive pose. “What’s your name?”
“I-it’s Yunho, Master.” Master?
“Yunho.” Changmin tests his mouth around the word, liking the way it rolls off his tongue. “Why do you call me ‘Master’?” Yunho’s eyes are restless, darting from Changmin’s only to skitter away.
“I’m a Slave,” he says, “but if you’d have me…I’d like to be your Servant.” Slave?
Any further thoughts on the issue are cut short when Yunho sways on his knees, caught in a dizzy spell. “Lay back down,” Changmin says, pulling Yunho forward to land on a pillow beside him. He doesn’t like the way Yunho complies too easily, body almost like a dead weight. “Go back to sleep.”
“What? B-but-”
“Go back to sleep,” Changmin enunciates slowly, his voice filled with a power he’s rarely employed but has only gotten stronger with his Turn. Yunho’s eyes go blank for a moment, pupils blown, then his eyelids are fluttering down and his breathing deepens almost instantly. As if he’d been asleep all along.
Changmin allows himself a moment of awe at his own power, staring at Yunho’s peacefully sleeping form. Then he gets up off the bed, careful not to disturb the resting Slave. Or is it Servant now? He isn’t sure about the particulars-he’s kept himself away from this side of himself for so long.
Changmin dons the discarded robe and heads for the door. He’s got questions and knows just the people to answer them. Changmin takes one last look at the motionless man on the bed and has to force himself to leave. Even as he crosses the threshold, he’s already making silent promises to come back.
Yunho sleeps for a long time. Changmin knows this not because he’s kept vigil by the man’s bedside but because he can feel him even from so far away. It’s as if stone walls, distance, and time have no effect on Changmin’s awareness. He’s kept away, not comfortable with all the answers to his questions. It pains him to do so, the bloodlust too new and always just at the edge of his sanity.
“You need to feed,” Junsu urges, concern coloring his words. “It’s important that you take blood often in the next few days. The hunger is always greatest right after the Turn.”
“I can’t,” Changmin shakes his head stubbornly. “I’ve already taken too much.” He remembers the way Yunho trembled, the way he struggled not to faint. It drives a hole painfully into Changmin’s chest, such dread and anxiety at harming someone he barely knew. “Is it always like this?” he asks to the room in general. His eyes flicker to Jaejoong, the older man’s been uncharacteristically silent. “I don’t know if I want to eat him or keep him with me always. Even now, I feel him, you know?”
Jaejoong shrugs, dark eyes unreadable. “No, it’s not,” Junsu answers for them both. “You’ve taken his blood, which means you’ve laid claim on him. The reason you feel anxious is because your claim hasn’t been reciprocated. You’ll feel better after you’ve bonded.”
“Bonded?” Changmin states in slight confusion. “Do you mean after we’ve shared blood?”
“Yes…and no.”Junsu answered slowly.
“I don’t understand.”
“He means all bodily fluid, Changmin-ah,” Jaejoong interjects, tone belying his impatience. “As in sex.”
“What?”
“Don’t you want to?” Junsu asks curiously. “You must be attracted to him at least. With the bloodlust comes other hungers, mainly sexual. Deny one and the other becomes stronger. Deny both and it’s suicide.”
“You don’t like him then?” Jaejoong asks suddenly, an odd glint in his eyes, making them even deeper and even more unreadable. “Because you should know Changmin-ah, Yunho’s been on the shelf too long. He won’t go back.”
“Are you saying that I don’t have a choice? I have to take him?”
“I’m saying that if you don’t take him, then someone else will.” He pauses for a moment and then, “I will.”
“You’re not serious, are you Jaejoong?” Junsu exclaims, mouth agape at his revelation. “Why?”
“And why not?” “Jaejoong asks, eyes narrowed and dangerous. “My taking a Slave is inevitable. If no one takes Yunho, he will die.”
“You of all people!” Junsu tries not to splutter. “When did you start to care?”
“Contrary to popular to belief,” Jaejoong glares, “I’m not a heartless bastard.”
“Huh. I never would have guessed,” Changmin butts in, joining the conversation once more.
“I like you, Changmin-ah, so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Changmin grins, flashes a bit of fang, then quickly sobers. His eyes darken to pools of black, the look in them suddenly far away.
“He’s awake.”
“You’ll have him then?” Jaejoong asks when Changmin gets up.
“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you sound disappointed.”
“Quiet, Junsu,” says Jaejoong harshly. “You may not know me at all.”
“It can’t be helped,” Changmin murmurs softly, oblivious to the rest of their conversation. Yunho’s awake and that’s all that matters. “I can’t seem to keep away.”
“That’s normal and will never go away,” Junsu calls out, but Changmin’s already left.
Slave. Servant. Master. They are all terms relatively unfamiliar to him, at least in the vampiric sense, and Changmin knows he must get used to it quickly. This is his world now, a world in almost perpetual twilight, where his kind rule and roam free. He was reluctant at first, to embrace his birthright and accept what he really was. He’d had a life: an education to continue, a job, friends. He hadn’t wanted to leave it all behind. But nature called, and when it did, there was no denying it.
He’d been angry of course, in denial, unwilling to leave the world of the living. It was all he knew, his occasional aversion to the sun and fixation on an elegant neck the only reminders of what he really was. He’d put off leaving as long as he could, until he’d been barely able to control the hunger and-loathe to hurt anyone-finally gave in.
As Changmin enters the tower and meets with Yunho’s open, brown-eyed stare, he realizes that there are worse things that could befall him.
He doesn’t think he’s been gone too long, but already Changmin’s noticed little changes. The chains that had bound him are gone, and the bed’s linen changed and fixed neat. Yunho is clean his skin once again a gleaming tan and free of blood. He is also-much to Changmin’s horror and delight-completely naked.
His senses reel at the veritable feast he’s confronted with, stirring him in every physical sense. Borrowed blood runs hot and thick through his veins, all of it heading south. His cock twitches the same time his fangs lengthen and Changmin has to be careful not to prick himself when his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
Yunho follows the movement with his eyes, equal parts terror and desire coursing through his body. It’s cheating to lay himself like this, naked and in offering. Changmin has to decide on his own but Yunho’s more than a little desperate and it’s not like he’s ugly. Imperfect, yes, but far from hideous.
“You smell…very good,” Changmin says, inhaling deeply. Yunho has an intoxicating scent, wrapping around him like a second skin. Changmin finds himself inching towards the bed of his own accord.
“I would hope so…Master.” Yunho pauses before the last word, head bowed and eyes averted, unsure if he’s allowed to say it.
“Master. Hm.”Changmin repeats. He sits at the edge of the bed, just within Yunho’s reach, doing his best to keep his eyes on Yunho’s face and not on other things like Yunho’s firming cock. “Would you like that?” he says, voice nearly a whisper. Changmin reaches out to touch Yunho’s face, fascinated by the plumpness of his lower lip. Enthralled, he swipes a thumb across and revels in the dimple he makes there. “Would you like being able to call me ‘Master’?”
“Yes,” is what Yunho answers breathlessly but even then it’s only a vocal confirmation of something already decided.
Yunho sits stock-still when their lips first touch. The instinct to press closer is there but he’s untried and doesn’t know what to do. Changmin enjoys the thought being able to teach him. When Changmin slants his mouth against his, Yunho does the same, the friction it causes eliciting a gasp.
Changmin takes the opportunity to slip his tongue through, darting out to lick across the loosened seam. It’s just a lick but that tiny bit of Yunho he gets at the tip of his tongue is enough to let him know that Yunho tastes right. Capping a lid on his growing desire, Changmin focuses on keeping his fangs out of the way. He wants to kiss Yunho more deeply but won’t be able to do it without getting nicked. Later, when the hunger abates, they’ll learn to do it right.
For now though, he’ll settle for engaging Yunho’s mouth, delighting when Yunho tentatively flicks his own tongue out to play. Changmin chases it back into his mouth, unable to resist the urge to wrap a hand at the nape of his neck. He’s careful, fingers gentle, mindful of the wounds he’s inflicted.
Soon enough they find an easy rhythm of give and take, every press of lips and swipe of tongue exploratory. Changmin’s hands start to wander and instinctively, Yunho arches into the touch. His skin runs hot, so warm and eager, a healthy pulse hammering just beneath his skin. Yunho’s cock comes to full attention, pitching forward to brush against Changmin’s side. He surrenders to the natural inclination, taking it in hand and giving it a tentative stroke.
From Yunho comes a sharp intake of breath, followed by a shuddering whine. He’s gripping the sheets, body almost rigid as Changmin continues to slowly pump his cock. Restless energy thrums trapped beneath corded muscles, Yunho shaking as he struggles to keep still. It awakens a different kind of hunger and Changmin remembers Junsu’s words.
The hunger is always greatest after the Turn.
He takes note of Yunho’s slight pallor and decides that it is not an option. Thankfully he isn’t so far gone that he can’t remember Junsu saying other things.
Deny one hunger and the other becomes stronger.
Changmin kisses now with new intent, pushing Yunho onto his back. Yunho goes willingly, even if a little slow, reluctant to part from his addictive mouth. Every kiss is like a drug; Yunho can’t get enough. It’s a downward spiral of need, all of it headed for his cock. There’s no room for embarrassment because this is what he’s meant to do. Yunho can deny him nothing, his sole purpose, his driving force is to give himself to Changmin’s every whim and fancy.
“I’m sorry for this,” Changmin mouths against Yunho’s jaw moving lower to leave kisses around the bite he’s made. The skin is tender, a bit swollen where Changmin broke skin. “I wasn’t in control of myself.” His fingers brush against them softly and Yunho visibly tenses at the light touch.
“I-it’s fine, master,” Yunho replies with a quiver in his voice. Changmin licks at his clavicle to hide a frown. He doesn’t want to be in any way associated with fear, not with Yunho. He considers going to where it starts, to the root of all that fear.
“Is it?” he asks, pushing up on one hand while the other rubs slowly at Yunho’s chest. Changmin wants him to relax, to start enjoying this again. He strokes down the muscles of Yunho’s arm, pausing to kiss the pulse at the bend of his elbow. Yunho’s breathing becomes erratic as Changmin traces a line with his tongue to the throb of blood at his wrist, then traps Yunho’s gaze as he presses a kiss to Yunho’s palm.
Changmin takes that cool, calculating power always hovering at his fingertips and rolls Yunho’s mind. Even as it comes from the grave-a legion of cold, unfeeling dead-it runs hot over Yunho’s skin, making him instantly restless and pliant. Yunho’s already eager; Changmin doesn’t have to do much to show him how good it can be.
Yunho writhes on the bed, silk sheets a torture to the heat of his skin. It’s nothing compared to fire Changmin treks across his shoulder back to his throat, distracting him from Changmin’s intent. The first brush of tongue has Yunho jerking in surprise, reflexes making him pull away. “Shh…” Changmin quiets with a hand stroking his jaw to keep him still. He flicks his tongue across the punctured skin, dark liquid slowly welling up as the natural anticoagulant in his saliva seeps into the wound. Just the coppery scent is enough to make Changmin shudder. “It won’t hurt anymore.”
He sucks lightly at the bleeding bite, reveling in the metallic taste bursting like fireworks in his mouth. He suppresses a moan as he swallows liquid life, taking care not to take too much just yet. His hands skim in wide strokes down Yunho’s side, spanning the small distance from hip to hip. The muscles jump beneath his torturous caress, always coming so close yet so far from Yunho’s straining erection.
“Yield to me,” Changmin says, lapping up a few drops of blood. Yunho shudders and Changmin grins, rewards him with a hand coming to grip loosely at the base of his cock. “And I will give you what you’ve only dreamed of.”
He swallows the sound as Yunho gasps his name, liking the way ‘Changmin’ comes out better than ‘Master’ might. Yunho kisses eagerly, without technique, thrusting up into Changmin’s hand. His movements are raw, instinctive and genuine, wholly without skill. Changmin isn’t unaffected.
The lust he’s instilled on Yunho’s body is a double-edged sword. The power has no master, and Changmin is only its guide. It gives and takes in equal measure, leaving Changmin with as much of a straining erection as Yunho has, the only difference being Changmin’s ironclad control. He resists the urge to take another bite, ignoring the pounding of Yunho’s heart as it thrums in his ears. Changmin decides to pay more attention to Yunho’s cock.
He likes the weight of it in his hand, the length, the width, the heat of it as it burns into his palm. Stroking leisurely, the tip wets, and Changmin’s own cock twitches at a wicked thought. All bodily fluid. He raises his hand, leaving the sweet metallic flavor in Yunho’s mouth to see Yunho’s come glistening on his fingers. He holds them against his lips, already knowing it would be as potent as Yunho’s blood.
Licking his hand clean one digit at a time, Changmin groans, Yunho’s cock poking against his thigh an ample distraction. Changmin maneuvers his body so that he straddles Yunho’s thighs; their cocks brush and Yunho keens at the friction. Changmin is still clothed from the waist down, but won’t risk taking anything off till they have this bonding business settled.
Sticky fingers find Yunho’s nipples, abusing them with a forefinger and thumb. “Shall I make you mine?” Changmin teases, tone as playful as his fingers, but the meaning behind his words are serious. Yunho whimpers, head pushing into the mattress as he simultaneously tries to nod and arch into Changmin’s body.
Seemingly elated with Yunho’s answer, Changmin sucks a bruise on Yunho’s chest, mere centimeters from his nipple. Yunho cries out, overtaken with need as Changmin opens his mouth wide enough to graze teeth against the sensitive peak. Changmin sucks hard, nipping at the surrounding skin. He’s marking me, Yunho realizes, body wracked with spasms when Changmin nibbles hard enough to ride the line between burning pleasure and sweet, sweet pain.
It’s an echo of an earlier memory, and the bite on his neck throbs when remembered. Yunho contains his initial reaction to seize up again; he’s wanted this so badly, craved so much to be owned, to belong, to be something other than a prettied, useless decoration. It’s within his reach now, and Yunho doesn’t hesitate to beg. “Changmin-Master. Please.” He undulates his hips, vision flashing white as their cocks rub together, caught between their bodies.
The slippery silk that still covers Changmin’s lower half is another kind of pain, a maddening friction that will never be enough. The front is damp, the fabric darker where Changmin is unable to hide his excitement. Yunho’s cock spears against his belly, leaving a glittering trail of come on Changmin’s stomach.
Changmin is unable to resist, shifting lower to take it into his mouth. The head is thick, leaking hot as Changmin swirls it with his tongue. Yunho thrusts into the wet warmth, and Changmin has to grab his hips to temper his enthusiasm. He sucks half of it lazily into his mouth, stroking the base with his hand, eyes dark as he watches Yunho’s face twist in a silent cry.
Yunho looks on through a wild gaze as Changmin’s teeth lengthen into sharp points. His eyes take on an unnatural red glow and Yunho has to suppress a frisson of fear that breaks through his sensual haze. Changmin lets Yunho’s cock slip dangerously between spiked teeth and out his mouth to kiss up a line to just beneath Yunho’s bellybutton. The skin there is soft, smooth, flawless; Changmin can’t help what happens next.
He nips at the skin, quick and sharp, barely deep enough to draw blood. Changmin licks at it while his fingers ring the head of Yunho’s cock, squeezing and pulling just beneath the crown. Yunho comes off the bed with a yelp, just in time to see twin drops of ruby red disappear past Changmin’s lips. Their eyes lock and Changmin makes his pleasure known, moaning as he swallows. Yunho wavers at the sight, collapsing back onto the mattress when Changmin sucks hickeys around his work.
“Master-ngh.”
Yunho is so very, very close and Changmin can’t find it in him to hold them back any longer. Changmin sits up, rolling his hips just a little because Yunho feels that good under him. He focuses quickly, setting the distraction-for the moment-aside.
“Blood of my blood,” Changmin says, voice soft yet firm, raising his fingers to his mouth. Deliberately, he pricks his own thumb against a pointed fang.
Bringing the pierced finger against Yunho’s mouth, he smears it across the lower lip. A streak of blood red color and Changmin works the finger into his mouth. It’s salty, bittersweet, a mix of his come and Changmin’s blood. The taste of them both sits heavily on Yunho’s tongue and he sucks eagerly at the finger to harbor more of the heady stuff.
Changmin’s nostrils flare at Yunho’s fervor, eyes growing impossibly wide and very red. He lowers his head to the bruise blossoming on Yunho’s chest, taking care to abuse the nipple with his tongue. “I take thee, and make thee mine.”
Yunho inhales sharply as he pierces skin, crying out when Changmin digs deep. Changmin’s throat convulses as blood pours, alive and hot. His cock swells, engorged with new blood, the feeling better than any orgasm. His senses come to life as he drinks Yunho down, every nerve-ending shot through. Changmin takes only what he needs; stops himself even when Yunho writhes beneath him, offering more.
Changmin can read his every thought, a jumble of incoherent pleas rushing through his unguarded mind. He sucks a rigid nipple sharply, heavy drags accompanied by maddening swirls of his tongue. He shoves a hand between their bodies, hastily pulling off bothersome silk, then tugs roughly at Yunho’s cock. Changmin watches Yunho scream his release, face contorted in a mask of unspeakable pleasure. Yunho surges in a long stream and Changmin can’t hold back anymore. He groans loudly, thumping his head against Yunho’s chest as he comes hard.
It’s a long while before Changmin can lift his head, and even when he does its only because there’s a heavy pull on his thumb. He takes a look and can’t quite believe the sharp spike of lust that shoots for his cock at the sight. Yunho watches him with a heavy lidded gaze, sinful tongue tracing the cut Changmin has on his finger.
His eyes glow with an echo of red.
He’s not a vampire, far from it, but it’s a bit of Changmin’s blood that flows through him now, blood that was originally Yunho’s anyway. They’ve come full circle and Changmin is filled with an overwhelming possessiveness. He brings his hand out from between them, palm filled with sticky come.
His, Yunho’s-it doesn’t matter anymore; they’re one and the same. He smears it against Yunho’s chest, aiming for the still bleeding wound right above Yunho’s nipple. In a matter of seconds the blood slows before coming to a stop altogether. Changmin grins at Yunho’s amazed stare, quickly turning into one of pure adoration. Changmin hopes his eyes convey the same because it’s exactly what he’s feeling.
He leans over, kissing Yunho languidly, lets Yunho taste himself in Changmin’s mouth. Quickly, before things turn too heated for promises of forever, Changmin looks deeps into Yunho’s eyes, holding Yunho’s face with his come-filled, blood-spattered hand and says, “Mine.”
They burn moonlight making sure Yunho understands.
-- Fangs + HoMin = obvious Sexy Time :DDDDD hopefully more from this verse soon.
Comments are ♥ care to leave one if you liked…? :D
Pairing: Yunho/Changmin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Blood play
Summary: The time was coming; it wouldn’t be long now. Though it would be close, he knew that much. Knew it in the way his eyes had become more drawn to exposed columns of slender throats rather than the usual full bosoms, as was his custom. Knew it in the way he could hear an erratic pulse, hear it and have it sound like sweet, sweet music to his ears.
A/N: This is an extended version of an entry I submitted for Challenge #2 at familiar_melody. When I say extended, I mean EXTENDED. It’s 8,000+ words instead of the original 3,000+ D: as always, super mega thanks to the awesome vaguelynormal for beta-ing
The time was coming; it wouldn’t be long now. Though it would be close, he knew that much. Knew it in the way his eyes had become more drawn to exposed columns of slender throats rather than the usual full bosoms, as was his custom. Knew it in the way he could hear an erratic pulse, hear it and have it sound like sweet, sweet music to his ears.
He sighed, reluctant to leave the land of the vibrant and living to return to his world of dull grays and the undead. But he would because it was necessary and he looked forward to forever, and didn’t care much for thoughts of being six feet under. Besides, age had never been a prerequisite for practicality; he was young but he had yet to be stupid. He didn’t think now was a good opportunity to try. However, regret was something he and his kind had gladly learned to do without, and so he would leave none behind.
Fire runs through his veins, a deep, scorching flame that boils his blood and burns him from within. He hasn’t had food in what seems like days, but knows it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. Everything turns to ash in his mouth and water does nothing to relieve him of his agony. The silk he knows he lays on, as well as the soft down mattress, scratches at his skin, stoking the burning inside.
A sliver of light slices through the floor and wall, its meager brightness like a flame to his sensitive retinas. It makes him push and pull at the chains that bind him to his bed, the metal rubbing at wrists already bloody and raw. A lithe figure pads its way to his bed, soft footsteps like claps of thunder to his heightened hearing. The moment he walks through the wide metal doors, he knows the other has fed.
Life pumps through him, coursing warm and red, the smell almost unbearable to his deprived senses. He smells good, so good…
“You’re awake,” the pale figure notes as he stops beside the bed, seemingly unworried about the man chained and thrashing before him.
“You know very well I can no longer sleep,” he snarls in the midst of his internal burning. The fire intensifies as the pale one inches closer, the sound of a healthy pulse rushing in his ears.
“Don’t worry my little half-ling, just a while longer and you’ll complete the Turn.” Soft, slender hands hover to stroke the matted hair from his face, but there’s nothing but searing heat raging inside him, a fire that makes him snap elongating teeth at hands that were only trying to help. “I promise you, it’s not always like this,” he responds to an accusing look shot darkly in his direction. “There is some joy in our way of life.” He makes no further movement to touch the chained man, knowing any gesture is painful. “It’s not always darkness.”
The comment only warrants him a dubious look, even through the pain and he knows the younger would survive, simply because he’s too stubborn to die. Jaejoong smiles and it unnerves the other man enough to quiet the fire eating him from the inside out. He leans over to steal a kiss across a furrowed brow.
“Be good Changminnie and the next time you see me, I’ll let you taste life.”
“Kneel.”
And he does because years and a lifetime of punishment have taught him that obedience hurt a lot less than rebellion. Rebellion earns him hours of mental torture, pictures of the family he once had but is no longer sure of, ravaged and left to die in some desolate place swirling in his head with one look from glowing red eyes.
Physical scarring is forbidden against his kind, because it would demean their worth. But he can’t help the reminders of a clumsy childhood: the scar on his cheek and forehead, not prominent but visible nonetheless; raised tissue on his knees and elbows from one too many scrapes. All are reminiscent of a life happier but harder than this one.
By all means he should be dead, turned out into the constant cold that is their world the minute he’d turned twenty and still no one had claimed him. It’s been a few years now, and he’s still here. He’s still on the shelf, still made clean and dressed up to be ogled by the terrifying beauties that rule their world. He knows that time is ticking for him; he isn’t as young as he used to be.
But if there’s one thing he’s thankful for, it’s that he’s been given a comely face and an athletic build. They’re the only things keeping him alive.
Water pours over him as the attendant lathers sweet smelling soap over his body. The touch is efficient and swift, even along his most intimate parts. He’s been through this particular ritual hundreds of times in the past. It’s always with a different attendant, or at least one that doesn’t stay very long. Attachments of any kind or to anyone are also forbidden. That hasn’t stopped him though. He isn’t as obedient as he should be, and maybe that’s why he’s never chosen. He has a reputation that precedes him.
The door to the bathing room opens, bringing a slight draft that makes him shiver in his nakedness. He hasn’t bothered to look up, not even when the passive fingers scrubbing gently at his skin have stopped their ministrations. It’s out of the ordinary, yes, since this is a private bath instead of the larger communal ones. He’s begun to notice in the recent weeks that he’s slowly being isolated from the others-not that he’s surprised. But no one ever comes for him, and those who have in the past are quick to leave after seeing his imperfections. Whoever is at the door, it won’t be for him.
Words are whispered, words he ignores because they aren’t meant for him. He keeps his chin tucked into his chest, mesmerized as droplets of water fall from the tips of his hair and onto the floor. More whispers, padded footsteps, another draft. Then, delicate fingers and a caressing touch he’d know anywhere feather across his moist skin.
“Yoochun.”
The hands still for a moment in their trek across broad shoulders before picking up a less gentle rhythm. It’s still soft, for the said man could never be rough, but they lost that exploring edge. The way you’d explore skin you’ve known before but haven’t had within reach for so long. They’re less reminiscent, more efficient, and for that he was grateful. The other man does things to his senses that no other being but his Master should be able to-except he doesn’t have a Master.
“It’s Mickey now,” Yoochun answers when the silence stretches and the water’s no longer steaming hot. “My Master says that only he can call me by my given name.”
There’s a rebuke in those words, a tiny hint of rejection that he’s seen coming but couldn’t help but try anyway. Just in case there’s still hope, even if there hasn’t been any to begin with. He isn’t sure how to reply, or even if he should, so he doesn’t at all.
“As we speak, a half-ling makes the Turn,” Yoochun says conversationally, all the while rinsing the other’s hair. “A friend of my Master’s. He’s very young, even by human years, but very handsome.”
Strong hands come to grasp thin wrists, firm but never enough to leave a mark. A steady gaze peers at uncertain eyes and asks unkindly, “Why are you here? Has your Master grown tired of you already?”
Indignation fills those dark orbs and if the other man had known anything of violence, he has no doubt he’d be sprawled over the tiles already. Anger and bitterness have been his constant companions for far too long with desperation sleeping in his bed and sharing nightmares. Neither his friend nor his Master deserves the insult, but he can’t stop himself. Loneliness chips at his once good disposition and through time, his sense of self-worth diminished in a slow, downward spiral.
“Yunho.” The word holds a trace of pain and he immediately lets go.
“Thank you for helping me bathe,” Yunho says with a bow, ever so polite. Mickey isn’t like him anymore. He’s a Servant with a Master, someone with a home and a purpose. Unlike himself, a prettied Slave-but a Slave nonetheless-who can only dream in vain for a tiny glimpse of what Mickey has now.
Yunho turns away to towel himself, expecting to hear footsteps out the door-certainly not faint words.
“I wanted to tell you the good news,” Mickey says quietly with downcast eyes. “My Master is looking for a present, and I spoke of you.”
“Not this one Junsu,” Jaejoong says as he eyes the delicate Slave in distaste. “Looks too fragile. Changmin-ah would break him in a heartbeat.”
Junsu nods to an attendant who leads the Slave out the door. He sighs when the pair leaves the room, the Slave back to the House and the attendant to bring another. “You don’t like any of them. They’re either too young or too short. Too fat, too skinny, too boring.” Junsu shakes his head remembering the near dozen of the best Slaves they’ve gone through. Even with Yoochun as his Servant, a few had piqued his interest. But none of them seem good enough for his older companion. “What exactly are you looking for, Jaejoong?”
“I don’t know,” the elder replies. “But none who have come through the door were it. Are there any more?”
“ A few,” Junsu answers, but he hesitates to say the next part. “Yoochun’s suggested one.”
Jaejoong arched a delicate brow. “You take suggestions from your Servant?”
“Of course,” Junsu replies after a moment’s pause. “It’s perfectly acceptable, encouraged even.”
“It would be if suggestions were all you were taking.” Jaejoong says with a heavy gaze full of unspeakable knowing. But Junsu knows how to play this game too, has spent years and years perfecting his technique.
“I take blood too.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what are you implying?”
“I imply nothing,” Jaejoong shrugs. “Only that I think you value your Servant a little too much.”
Junsu doesn’t deign to reply, knowing that it’s a losing argument. Jaejoong will never understand the joys of having a Servant, will never know the boundless fulfillment Junsu felt-still felt-the moment he laid eyes on his other half. It’s as if he’d become complete.
But Jaejoong will never know because despite having a big heart, he had a fickle nature. He simply won’t settle for one Servant, so he settles for none at all. A sad circumstance in Junsu’s eyes, but the elder doesn’t seem to care so Junsu could do nothing about it.
Thankfully an attendant comes and announces the awaited Servant had arrived. At Yoochun’s name Junsu immediately becomes alert, an inward breath and he’s feeling for the other man past the stone walls. His sharpened senses are delighted at finding his Servant and curious with the taller man he has in tow.
Junsu exhales and pulls back into the room, hurriedly bidding the attendant to let the pair in. They enter together, Yoochun leading the way, the other right behind him. The younger man kneels in a show of submission, and his companion follows suit.
“Yoochun,” Junsu calls; he comes. Yoochun offers his wrist in greeting, and Junsu lays a soft kiss, feeling the call of blood running just beneath the skin and resists the urge to poke out his tongue for a taste. Now is not the time for such things; something more fulfilling would happen later. Junsu would make sure of it.
“Who’ve you brought, Yoochun?” Junsu asks, both for himself and for Jaejoong.
“His name is Yunho, Master,” Yoochun answers with head bowed and eyes downcast timidly. “We were fellow Slaves.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes Junsu watchful. Through their intimate bond of blood and body, he can taste the bitterness of an almost-lie, an omission, on his tongue. He fought not to look sharply at the other man and make his sudden ire known, instead choosing to turn his attention to Jaejoong.
The Servant feels his Master’s sudden change in disposition and knew he knew.
“You may assess him closer if you like,” Junsu says to the older man, the other already so engrossed in the Yunho that he doesn’t notice the anger tingeing those words.
Jaejoong glides across the stone flooring, steps soundless as he approaches the Slave. He still kneels but loose cloth molds strong thighs, corded muscle pulling tightly against snow-white fabric. Tapered hips balance out broad shoulders, dark hair long and curling slightly at the nape of his neck. Long wisps frame a small face with masculine planes.
This Yunho is an altogether pleasing sight and just what he had in mind. Standing, he would be the perfect height. His posture, though slightly bowed in a show of submission, exuded an independence and strength that all the dewy-eyed young Slaves had lacked. Jaejoong guesses that this one’s been on the shelf too long. He can smell it, the sadness and melancholy like a bittersweet candy hanging on the tip of his tongue. Desperation left an interesting after taste he has the sudden urge to explore.
“Junsu…” he murmurs more to himself than anyone. He bends over to inhale the exotic scent of the Slave kneeling before him and comes to an irrefutable conclusion:
“He’s perfect.”
His footsteps are heavy and there’s a tremor in his hands as he climbs the many stairs to the tower above. He walks, the spiraling staircase dizzying as the torch lights throw shadows in his wake. It’s absurd he thinks, his mind a bit detached-he’s waited for this moment for what almost seems like forever, and now fear sits heavily on his chest.
He can’t help it, a lifetime filled with stories meant to terrify and caution; stories about half-lings, their violent turns, and the feeding frenzy that comes afterward. It could easily become a bloodbath. Vaguely, he wonders if this is their way of getting rid of him, letting a half-ling crazed with hunger suck him dry. They wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore then.
It’s a depressing, plausible thought, and its cuts deeper because Yoochun suggested him for this.
He turns the corner and a large door looms a dozen steps away. It’s wooden, dark and huge, plain except for an intricate lock and a large metal ring used for pulling it closed, not open. The last few steps to the door and Yunho can’t hide how his hand visibly shakes when he reaches out to touch the wood. Everything is silent. No sounds, no enraged screams; nothing seems to move behind it either. He’s expecting this though; Jaejoong had warned him he was different.
Changmin. His name was Changmin.
Maybe it’s because he’s desperate for someone-anyone-to belong to, but Yunho likes that name. He likes everything about Changmin already, without knowing anything about him at all. Will Changmin like him? Claiming and bonding seems to be a more complicated process or so Xiah-Yoochun’s Master-had explained.
All Slaves are attracted to potential Masters, but a Master had to want a Slave to make them a Servant. Deciding on the perfect Slave took much deliberation, but since Changmin wasn’t in the right mind to make such decisions…Jaejoong had said Yunho was perfect.
Yunho desperately hopes he’s right.
He can’t go back to living on the shelf. He knows he’ll die inside, little by little till there’s nothing left. He serves no purpose without a Master, and as a Slave he’s out of his prime. If they had any mercy, they’d kill him first.
Yunho unearths a key from beneath the folds of the voluminous robe that covers him from head to toe with a wide hood that partially obscures his face. He’s not wearing much under it, just cotton pants and the rest bare skin-for easy access. The robe is but a formality, a small token of comfort before the end of his life or the start of a new one.
The silence is deafening.
His hands shake so badly when he aims the key towards the keyhole that he has to try more than once. There’s an ominous echoing when the locks tumble and he pushes the door open. It’s lighter than it looks, the hinges smooth and silent, as he barely has to push at all.
Yunho peeks in slowly, heart catching in his throat as his pulse beats erratically through every nerve and artery. The room, like its door, is huge, cavernous even, dimly lit by a single chandelier blazing with hundreds of candles. His eyes flit once around the room but catch and stay on the massive bed.
It has only one occupant.
The burning fire of glowing red eyes pierces through him, freezing him in place. Fear runs down his spine, scattering through every nerve and raising goose bumps along the surface of his skin. The initial reaction is to run-to flee as far as he can and hide. Those are the eyes of a predator: dizzying, captivating…hungry.
It’s the last one that squeezes Yunho’s heart and jerks him into stepping inside. There’s a different kind of hunger in those eyes, one that Yunho fancies he can relate to. It isn’t just a lust for blood in that gaze-although that’s there too. No, it’s a need so deep it goes beyond the physical manifestations of hunger.
There’s a void in the man lying on that bed staring at him from across the room. It’s a void that Yunho instinctively wants to fill. Their gazes seize and lock and Yunho’s gone-tangled in a web of blood red eyes spun by a man who’s barely moved a muscle from where he lies. It’s like there’s some kind of magnetic pull from the bed, Yunho unable to resist as he closes the door behind him and goes towards it.
It’s tunnel vision when he walks; he sees nothing else, lost in the haze of red swirls from glowing eyes. Yunho feels like he should say something to relieve the smothering quiet but he’s been warned about that too. Even if he has yet to move, there are reasons Changmin’s chained to the bed. There’s an explanation as to why iron manacles encircle his wrists and ankles, binding him, rubbing him raw. He’s dangerous and Yunho has to keep that in mind.
His heart races as he nears the bed, pumping on over drive to keep up with the adrenaline in his veins. From this distance it’s easy to see nostrils flare, a breath catch, the ripple of shudders as it courses through a taut body. Yunho knows the chains are there, can see them clearly from where he’s standing, but he only becomes fully aware of them when they rattle, disturbing the soundlessness.
It’s now or never.
Yunho disrobes, flinging back the hood and letting the thick material slide off his shoulders to reveal the perfect tan of his upper body. His every muscle is lean and sculpted, made to entice and lure. But in a world where appearing weak and being just another pretty face is a lifestyle, Yunho’s potency has the opposite effect.
Not here it seems.
Changmin comes up hissing, fangs bared and eyes bright with liquid fire. He strains against his bonds, pulling on the heavy chains but unable to come up to more than barely sitting. Yunho rears back for a moment, blown away by such ferocity, the urge to flee racking up his spine-but he fights against it.
Gathering courage he climbs onto the bed. It’s a big bed and he has to crawl some ways before he’s within touching distance of the man he should-by all means, it was as good as done-call ‘Master’. Right now though, this was no man. This was a beast in its raw form, angry, spitting, the bloodlust clouding any semblance of humanity. He needed blood-Yunho’s blood-to return to a calmer state, to separate from the animal and be able to think, to converse, to be.
It’s a heady thought to be needed like that, the only thing better is being wanted but Yunho thinks they’ll have time for that later. For now though, he has to get within reach of Changmin without getting himself completely mauled. Yunho doesn’t want to die. Not yet, not when the chance to really live is all a matter of latching Changmin’s mouth onto his neck.
He does what he can, racking up what courage he’s lost and flinging himself across Changmin’s prone, thrashing form. Surprisingly, the moment skin touches skin Changmin stills, just long enough for Yunho to straddle his waist. Their gazes clash and for a moment Yunho is privy to the mind behind the bloodlust. There’s curiosity and intelligence, as well as an arrogant flash before Yunho’s struggling to keep himself seated, Changmin’s unnatural strength threatening to throw him off or eat him up.
Yunho decides for the latter. Fueled by an underlying fear along with a rush of adrenaline, Yunho shows off his own strength. It’s meager compared to Changmin’s, but he uses the vampire’s momentum to grab him by the shoulders and haul them chest-to-chest. Then it’s all a matter of turning his head, arching his neck and Changmin does the rest.
That first bite will always take him by surprise. He planned it, expected it, initiated it even-but seeing it in his head is a far cry from the reality he’s now experiencing. There’s the sharp prick of an elongating fang before Changmin fits his mouth to Yunho’s neck, instinctively sinking teeth right over the jugular.
There’s a sound as Changmin breaks skin, like the sound of slapping something wet. Yunho cries out when he digs pointed canines deeper, the blood gushing fast and warm from the pierced vein. The pain is immediate and sharp, resonating through his body like a flood seeping through all the holes.
It’s a truly raw feeding; lacking the finesse Yunho knows their kind is capable of. The lust for blood is simply too much for Changmin to think about lessening the pain. Yunho could care less about how much it hurts.
To him this feels right, offering this man his blood, letting him take freely. It gives him a purpose, a place in their world. Yunho wraps weakening arms around Changmin’s shoulders and curls a hand against Changmin’s nape, holding him in place. As he continues to feed greedily, Yunho’s world starts to blur.
As darkness pulls him under, Yunho’s last thought is that this is right where he belongs.
Changmin knows the moment he wakes. It’s not sudden, more like a slow process that Changmin’s acutely aware of. His shift to consciousness, everything from the way his breathing changes, how his heart skips a beat. He stirs, tries to lift his head from where it lays on Changmin’s chest but tenses just as quickly. Changmin can almost feel the ripple of pain that radiates from twin holes on the man’s neck, and he’s assailed by the unfamiliar feeling of guilt for causing it. The man tries again, succeeds this time, expression a grimace when he lifts his head.
There’s a gasp-Changmin’s sure it’s his but the man atop him has a racing heart that drowns out almost every other sound. Their eyes meet and Changmin knows that if his heart still beat involuntarily, it would have stopped right then. Changmin can’t remember if he’s ever seen anyone quite as beautiful.
He’s pulled into dark brown eyes, drowning, drowning, and Changmin’s just thankful he doesn’t really need to breathe anymore. He doesn’t think he could, not while trapped in this man’s gaze. “Breathe,” he finds himself saying when he realizes the man isn’t.
“You’re eyes…” the words are expelled with the breath he’d been holding. Changmin has to think for a moment, what about them? Then he remembers and jerks his gaze away.
Rattling the manacles that bind his wrists he says, “If you could unchain me…?”
“Ah, of course!” the man scrambles to get up, nearly toppling right back down. Changmin sits up abruptly to catch him, only to be assailed by the sweetest, most irresistible scent he’s ever had the chance to inhale.
“I’m sorry,” he exhales, the words almost a moan. “It seems I was unable to control myself.” The man makes to pull himself up. “Move slowly, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” No thanks to him of course. Changmin tries to ignore the heat that comes off the man in waves. The man nods, ducking his head almost shyly and it aims sharp pangs of something indescribable straight to Changmin’s un-beating heart.
He moves carefully this time, climbing slowly off the bed towards a pool of cloth a few yards away. Changmin follows every move with his eyes, mesmerized by each ripple of muscle and taut stretch of skin. He has to lick his lips, mouth dry, when the man bends over to pick up what Changmin now recognizes as a robe. His eyes drink in the rest of the man’s unclothed flesh, nostrils flaring with the sight of his own work on the other wise unblemished skin.
Dried blood crusts in dark rivulets down one side of his back. It leads up to and starts at two jagged holes that mar the perfect column of his neck. They are Changmin’s mark and a painful reminder if nothing else. The man ruffles through the folds of the robe, producing a key and walking back towards the bed. Changmin’s greeted with more of the same: perfection marred by a dark smattering of blood-his doing-on one side.
Changmin’s suddenly over come with the urge to restore that perfection.
The man releases his ankles first, then kneels beside Changmin on the bed to unlock the ones at his wrists. The proximity reminds Changmin of his sharp awareness, but it’s different now. He’s slightly tense, a strain to his shoulders that has hard muscles bunching up. His breathing’s labored, sweat beading along an upper lip as his brows furrow.
Taking note of a sluggish beating of a heart, Changmin realizes belatedly the man is trying very hard not to pass out.
“Thank you,” Changmin says when he’s free, concern lacing his tone even as he rubs at the rawness of his wrists. The man’s cheeks warm, sitting back on his heels and resting his hands on his thighs in a submissive pose. “What’s your name?”
“I-it’s Yunho, Master.” Master?
“Yunho.” Changmin tests his mouth around the word, liking the way it rolls off his tongue. “Why do you call me ‘Master’?” Yunho’s eyes are restless, darting from Changmin’s only to skitter away.
“I’m a Slave,” he says, “but if you’d have me…I’d like to be your Servant.” Slave?
Any further thoughts on the issue are cut short when Yunho sways on his knees, caught in a dizzy spell. “Lay back down,” Changmin says, pulling Yunho forward to land on a pillow beside him. He doesn’t like the way Yunho complies too easily, body almost like a dead weight. “Go back to sleep.”
“What? B-but-”
“Go back to sleep,” Changmin enunciates slowly, his voice filled with a power he’s rarely employed but has only gotten stronger with his Turn. Yunho’s eyes go blank for a moment, pupils blown, then his eyelids are fluttering down and his breathing deepens almost instantly. As if he’d been asleep all along.
Changmin allows himself a moment of awe at his own power, staring at Yunho’s peacefully sleeping form. Then he gets up off the bed, careful not to disturb the resting Slave. Or is it Servant now? He isn’t sure about the particulars-he’s kept himself away from this side of himself for so long.
Changmin dons the discarded robe and heads for the door. He’s got questions and knows just the people to answer them. Changmin takes one last look at the motionless man on the bed and has to force himself to leave. Even as he crosses the threshold, he’s already making silent promises to come back.
Yunho sleeps for a long time. Changmin knows this not because he’s kept vigil by the man’s bedside but because he can feel him even from so far away. It’s as if stone walls, distance, and time have no effect on Changmin’s awareness. He’s kept away, not comfortable with all the answers to his questions. It pains him to do so, the bloodlust too new and always just at the edge of his sanity.
“You need to feed,” Junsu urges, concern coloring his words. “It’s important that you take blood often in the next few days. The hunger is always greatest right after the Turn.”
“I can’t,” Changmin shakes his head stubbornly. “I’ve already taken too much.” He remembers the way Yunho trembled, the way he struggled not to faint. It drives a hole painfully into Changmin’s chest, such dread and anxiety at harming someone he barely knew. “Is it always like this?” he asks to the room in general. His eyes flicker to Jaejoong, the older man’s been uncharacteristically silent. “I don’t know if I want to eat him or keep him with me always. Even now, I feel him, you know?”
Jaejoong shrugs, dark eyes unreadable. “No, it’s not,” Junsu answers for them both. “You’ve taken his blood, which means you’ve laid claim on him. The reason you feel anxious is because your claim hasn’t been reciprocated. You’ll feel better after you’ve bonded.”
“Bonded?” Changmin states in slight confusion. “Do you mean after we’ve shared blood?”
“Yes…and no.”Junsu answered slowly.
“I don’t understand.”
“He means all bodily fluid, Changmin-ah,” Jaejoong interjects, tone belying his impatience. “As in sex.”
“What?”
“Don’t you want to?” Junsu asks curiously. “You must be attracted to him at least. With the bloodlust comes other hungers, mainly sexual. Deny one and the other becomes stronger. Deny both and it’s suicide.”
“You don’t like him then?” Jaejoong asks suddenly, an odd glint in his eyes, making them even deeper and even more unreadable. “Because you should know Changmin-ah, Yunho’s been on the shelf too long. He won’t go back.”
“Are you saying that I don’t have a choice? I have to take him?”
“I’m saying that if you don’t take him, then someone else will.” He pauses for a moment and then, “I will.”
“You’re not serious, are you Jaejoong?” Junsu exclaims, mouth agape at his revelation. “Why?”
“And why not?” “Jaejoong asks, eyes narrowed and dangerous. “My taking a Slave is inevitable. If no one takes Yunho, he will die.”
“You of all people!” Junsu tries not to splutter. “When did you start to care?”
“Contrary to popular to belief,” Jaejoong glares, “I’m not a heartless bastard.”
“Huh. I never would have guessed,” Changmin butts in, joining the conversation once more.
“I like you, Changmin-ah, so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Changmin grins, flashes a bit of fang, then quickly sobers. His eyes darken to pools of black, the look in them suddenly far away.
“He’s awake.”
“You’ll have him then?” Jaejoong asks when Changmin gets up.
“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you sound disappointed.”
“Quiet, Junsu,” says Jaejoong harshly. “You may not know me at all.”
“It can’t be helped,” Changmin murmurs softly, oblivious to the rest of their conversation. Yunho’s awake and that’s all that matters. “I can’t seem to keep away.”
“That’s normal and will never go away,” Junsu calls out, but Changmin’s already left.
Slave. Servant. Master. They are all terms relatively unfamiliar to him, at least in the vampiric sense, and Changmin knows he must get used to it quickly. This is his world now, a world in almost perpetual twilight, where his kind rule and roam free. He was reluctant at first, to embrace his birthright and accept what he really was. He’d had a life: an education to continue, a job, friends. He hadn’t wanted to leave it all behind. But nature called, and when it did, there was no denying it.
He’d been angry of course, in denial, unwilling to leave the world of the living. It was all he knew, his occasional aversion to the sun and fixation on an elegant neck the only reminders of what he really was. He’d put off leaving as long as he could, until he’d been barely able to control the hunger and-loathe to hurt anyone-finally gave in.
As Changmin enters the tower and meets with Yunho’s open, brown-eyed stare, he realizes that there are worse things that could befall him.
He doesn’t think he’s been gone too long, but already Changmin’s noticed little changes. The chains that had bound him are gone, and the bed’s linen changed and fixed neat. Yunho is clean his skin once again a gleaming tan and free of blood. He is also-much to Changmin’s horror and delight-completely naked.
His senses reel at the veritable feast he’s confronted with, stirring him in every physical sense. Borrowed blood runs hot and thick through his veins, all of it heading south. His cock twitches the same time his fangs lengthen and Changmin has to be careful not to prick himself when his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
Yunho follows the movement with his eyes, equal parts terror and desire coursing through his body. It’s cheating to lay himself like this, naked and in offering. Changmin has to decide on his own but Yunho’s more than a little desperate and it’s not like he’s ugly. Imperfect, yes, but far from hideous.
“You smell…very good,” Changmin says, inhaling deeply. Yunho has an intoxicating scent, wrapping around him like a second skin. Changmin finds himself inching towards the bed of his own accord.
“I would hope so…Master.” Yunho pauses before the last word, head bowed and eyes averted, unsure if he’s allowed to say it.
“Master. Hm.”Changmin repeats. He sits at the edge of the bed, just within Yunho’s reach, doing his best to keep his eyes on Yunho’s face and not on other things like Yunho’s firming cock. “Would you like that?” he says, voice nearly a whisper. Changmin reaches out to touch Yunho’s face, fascinated by the plumpness of his lower lip. Enthralled, he swipes a thumb across and revels in the dimple he makes there. “Would you like being able to call me ‘Master’?”
“Yes,” is what Yunho answers breathlessly but even then it’s only a vocal confirmation of something already decided.
Yunho sits stock-still when their lips first touch. The instinct to press closer is there but he’s untried and doesn’t know what to do. Changmin enjoys the thought being able to teach him. When Changmin slants his mouth against his, Yunho does the same, the friction it causes eliciting a gasp.
Changmin takes the opportunity to slip his tongue through, darting out to lick across the loosened seam. It’s just a lick but that tiny bit of Yunho he gets at the tip of his tongue is enough to let him know that Yunho tastes right. Capping a lid on his growing desire, Changmin focuses on keeping his fangs out of the way. He wants to kiss Yunho more deeply but won’t be able to do it without getting nicked. Later, when the hunger abates, they’ll learn to do it right.
For now though, he’ll settle for engaging Yunho’s mouth, delighting when Yunho tentatively flicks his own tongue out to play. Changmin chases it back into his mouth, unable to resist the urge to wrap a hand at the nape of his neck. He’s careful, fingers gentle, mindful of the wounds he’s inflicted.
Soon enough they find an easy rhythm of give and take, every press of lips and swipe of tongue exploratory. Changmin’s hands start to wander and instinctively, Yunho arches into the touch. His skin runs hot, so warm and eager, a healthy pulse hammering just beneath his skin. Yunho’s cock comes to full attention, pitching forward to brush against Changmin’s side. He surrenders to the natural inclination, taking it in hand and giving it a tentative stroke.
From Yunho comes a sharp intake of breath, followed by a shuddering whine. He’s gripping the sheets, body almost rigid as Changmin continues to slowly pump his cock. Restless energy thrums trapped beneath corded muscles, Yunho shaking as he struggles to keep still. It awakens a different kind of hunger and Changmin remembers Junsu’s words.
The hunger is always greatest after the Turn.
He takes note of Yunho’s slight pallor and decides that it is not an option. Thankfully he isn’t so far gone that he can’t remember Junsu saying other things.
Deny one hunger and the other becomes stronger.
Changmin kisses now with new intent, pushing Yunho onto his back. Yunho goes willingly, even if a little slow, reluctant to part from his addictive mouth. Every kiss is like a drug; Yunho can’t get enough. It’s a downward spiral of need, all of it headed for his cock. There’s no room for embarrassment because this is what he’s meant to do. Yunho can deny him nothing, his sole purpose, his driving force is to give himself to Changmin’s every whim and fancy.
“I’m sorry for this,” Changmin mouths against Yunho’s jaw moving lower to leave kisses around the bite he’s made. The skin is tender, a bit swollen where Changmin broke skin. “I wasn’t in control of myself.” His fingers brush against them softly and Yunho visibly tenses at the light touch.
“I-it’s fine, master,” Yunho replies with a quiver in his voice. Changmin licks at his clavicle to hide a frown. He doesn’t want to be in any way associated with fear, not with Yunho. He considers going to where it starts, to the root of all that fear.
“Is it?” he asks, pushing up on one hand while the other rubs slowly at Yunho’s chest. Changmin wants him to relax, to start enjoying this again. He strokes down the muscles of Yunho’s arm, pausing to kiss the pulse at the bend of his elbow. Yunho’s breathing becomes erratic as Changmin traces a line with his tongue to the throb of blood at his wrist, then traps Yunho’s gaze as he presses a kiss to Yunho’s palm.
Changmin takes that cool, calculating power always hovering at his fingertips and rolls Yunho’s mind. Even as it comes from the grave-a legion of cold, unfeeling dead-it runs hot over Yunho’s skin, making him instantly restless and pliant. Yunho’s already eager; Changmin doesn’t have to do much to show him how good it can be.
Yunho writhes on the bed, silk sheets a torture to the heat of his skin. It’s nothing compared to fire Changmin treks across his shoulder back to his throat, distracting him from Changmin’s intent. The first brush of tongue has Yunho jerking in surprise, reflexes making him pull away. “Shh…” Changmin quiets with a hand stroking his jaw to keep him still. He flicks his tongue across the punctured skin, dark liquid slowly welling up as the natural anticoagulant in his saliva seeps into the wound. Just the coppery scent is enough to make Changmin shudder. “It won’t hurt anymore.”
He sucks lightly at the bleeding bite, reveling in the metallic taste bursting like fireworks in his mouth. He suppresses a moan as he swallows liquid life, taking care not to take too much just yet. His hands skim in wide strokes down Yunho’s side, spanning the small distance from hip to hip. The muscles jump beneath his torturous caress, always coming so close yet so far from Yunho’s straining erection.
“Yield to me,” Changmin says, lapping up a few drops of blood. Yunho shudders and Changmin grins, rewards him with a hand coming to grip loosely at the base of his cock. “And I will give you what you’ve only dreamed of.”
He swallows the sound as Yunho gasps his name, liking the way ‘Changmin’ comes out better than ‘Master’ might. Yunho kisses eagerly, without technique, thrusting up into Changmin’s hand. His movements are raw, instinctive and genuine, wholly without skill. Changmin isn’t unaffected.
The lust he’s instilled on Yunho’s body is a double-edged sword. The power has no master, and Changmin is only its guide. It gives and takes in equal measure, leaving Changmin with as much of a straining erection as Yunho has, the only difference being Changmin’s ironclad control. He resists the urge to take another bite, ignoring the pounding of Yunho’s heart as it thrums in his ears. Changmin decides to pay more attention to Yunho’s cock.
He likes the weight of it in his hand, the length, the width, the heat of it as it burns into his palm. Stroking leisurely, the tip wets, and Changmin’s own cock twitches at a wicked thought. All bodily fluid. He raises his hand, leaving the sweet metallic flavor in Yunho’s mouth to see Yunho’s come glistening on his fingers. He holds them against his lips, already knowing it would be as potent as Yunho’s blood.
Licking his hand clean one digit at a time, Changmin groans, Yunho’s cock poking against his thigh an ample distraction. Changmin maneuvers his body so that he straddles Yunho’s thighs; their cocks brush and Yunho keens at the friction. Changmin is still clothed from the waist down, but won’t risk taking anything off till they have this bonding business settled.
Sticky fingers find Yunho’s nipples, abusing them with a forefinger and thumb. “Shall I make you mine?” Changmin teases, tone as playful as his fingers, but the meaning behind his words are serious. Yunho whimpers, head pushing into the mattress as he simultaneously tries to nod and arch into Changmin’s body.
Seemingly elated with Yunho’s answer, Changmin sucks a bruise on Yunho’s chest, mere centimeters from his nipple. Yunho cries out, overtaken with need as Changmin opens his mouth wide enough to graze teeth against the sensitive peak. Changmin sucks hard, nipping at the surrounding skin. He’s marking me, Yunho realizes, body wracked with spasms when Changmin nibbles hard enough to ride the line between burning pleasure and sweet, sweet pain.
It’s an echo of an earlier memory, and the bite on his neck throbs when remembered. Yunho contains his initial reaction to seize up again; he’s wanted this so badly, craved so much to be owned, to belong, to be something other than a prettied, useless decoration. It’s within his reach now, and Yunho doesn’t hesitate to beg. “Changmin-Master. Please.” He undulates his hips, vision flashing white as their cocks rub together, caught between their bodies.
The slippery silk that still covers Changmin’s lower half is another kind of pain, a maddening friction that will never be enough. The front is damp, the fabric darker where Changmin is unable to hide his excitement. Yunho’s cock spears against his belly, leaving a glittering trail of come on Changmin’s stomach.
Changmin is unable to resist, shifting lower to take it into his mouth. The head is thick, leaking hot as Changmin swirls it with his tongue. Yunho thrusts into the wet warmth, and Changmin has to grab his hips to temper his enthusiasm. He sucks half of it lazily into his mouth, stroking the base with his hand, eyes dark as he watches Yunho’s face twist in a silent cry.
Yunho looks on through a wild gaze as Changmin’s teeth lengthen into sharp points. His eyes take on an unnatural red glow and Yunho has to suppress a frisson of fear that breaks through his sensual haze. Changmin lets Yunho’s cock slip dangerously between spiked teeth and out his mouth to kiss up a line to just beneath Yunho’s bellybutton. The skin there is soft, smooth, flawless; Changmin can’t help what happens next.
He nips at the skin, quick and sharp, barely deep enough to draw blood. Changmin licks at it while his fingers ring the head of Yunho’s cock, squeezing and pulling just beneath the crown. Yunho comes off the bed with a yelp, just in time to see twin drops of ruby red disappear past Changmin’s lips. Their eyes lock and Changmin makes his pleasure known, moaning as he swallows. Yunho wavers at the sight, collapsing back onto the mattress when Changmin sucks hickeys around his work.
“Master-ngh.”
Yunho is so very, very close and Changmin can’t find it in him to hold them back any longer. Changmin sits up, rolling his hips just a little because Yunho feels that good under him. He focuses quickly, setting the distraction-for the moment-aside.
“Blood of my blood,” Changmin says, voice soft yet firm, raising his fingers to his mouth. Deliberately, he pricks his own thumb against a pointed fang.
Bringing the pierced finger against Yunho’s mouth, he smears it across the lower lip. A streak of blood red color and Changmin works the finger into his mouth. It’s salty, bittersweet, a mix of his come and Changmin’s blood. The taste of them both sits heavily on Yunho’s tongue and he sucks eagerly at the finger to harbor more of the heady stuff.
Changmin’s nostrils flare at Yunho’s fervor, eyes growing impossibly wide and very red. He lowers his head to the bruise blossoming on Yunho’s chest, taking care to abuse the nipple with his tongue. “I take thee, and make thee mine.”
Yunho inhales sharply as he pierces skin, crying out when Changmin digs deep. Changmin’s throat convulses as blood pours, alive and hot. His cock swells, engorged with new blood, the feeling better than any orgasm. His senses come to life as he drinks Yunho down, every nerve-ending shot through. Changmin takes only what he needs; stops himself even when Yunho writhes beneath him, offering more.
Changmin can read his every thought, a jumble of incoherent pleas rushing through his unguarded mind. He sucks a rigid nipple sharply, heavy drags accompanied by maddening swirls of his tongue. He shoves a hand between their bodies, hastily pulling off bothersome silk, then tugs roughly at Yunho’s cock. Changmin watches Yunho scream his release, face contorted in a mask of unspeakable pleasure. Yunho surges in a long stream and Changmin can’t hold back anymore. He groans loudly, thumping his head against Yunho’s chest as he comes hard.
It’s a long while before Changmin can lift his head, and even when he does its only because there’s a heavy pull on his thumb. He takes a look and can’t quite believe the sharp spike of lust that shoots for his cock at the sight. Yunho watches him with a heavy lidded gaze, sinful tongue tracing the cut Changmin has on his finger.
His eyes glow with an echo of red.
He’s not a vampire, far from it, but it’s a bit of Changmin’s blood that flows through him now, blood that was originally Yunho’s anyway. They’ve come full circle and Changmin is filled with an overwhelming possessiveness. He brings his hand out from between them, palm filled with sticky come.
His, Yunho’s-it doesn’t matter anymore; they’re one and the same. He smears it against Yunho’s chest, aiming for the still bleeding wound right above Yunho’s nipple. In a matter of seconds the blood slows before coming to a stop altogether. Changmin grins at Yunho’s amazed stare, quickly turning into one of pure adoration. Changmin hopes his eyes convey the same because it’s exactly what he’s feeling.
He leans over, kissing Yunho languidly, lets Yunho taste himself in Changmin’s mouth. Quickly, before things turn too heated for promises of forever, Changmin looks deeps into Yunho’s eyes, holding Yunho’s face with his come-filled, blood-spattered hand and says, “Mine.”
They burn moonlight making sure Yunho understands.
-- Fangs + HoMin = obvious Sexy Time :DDDDD hopefully more from this verse soon.
Comments are ♥ care to leave one if you liked…? :D