#mxm fanfic

Jeongin smells the cigarette before he sees it.

He shifts on the bed, wiggling on his stomach awkwardly like some kind of seal until he’s looking in Minho’s direction. The window is propped open a couple of inches, despite it being freezing cold outside, and there’s an empty coke can resting on the sill—a makeshift ashtray that the older boy taps his cigarette against.

Jeongin gulps and frowns. His mouth feels dry, his cheeks hot; his toes are cold too, but that’s for an entirely different reason.

“Ah, hyung,” he says. It’s whinier than he wants it to be. “Do you have to smoke in here?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, bringing the cigarette to his soft pink lips and taking a drag, as if he’s trying to make a point. “It’s my room,” he puts it simply, smoke escaping his nostrils a second later. And he’s not wrong, and Jeongin supposes it really isn’t his place to even ask, but he’s trying to protect his self-preservation here.

“Okay, yeah,” Jeongin squeaks. It’s obvious and he’s pathetic. Minho will see right through him—he already has, if the mischievous smile he feels burning into his temple is anything to go by.

The younger boy goes back to his homework, absently chewing on the end of his pen like a dog with a stick. He isn’t reading though; isn’t even pretending to study for his midterm. Minho is too distracting. He can’t help but steal glances at him whenever he gets the chance, and each time it’s the same thing: he’s watching Jeongin as he smokes, this shit-eating, infuriating look on his face the entire time.

“Wanna come sit with me, jagiya?” Minho asks as he ashes the quarter-spent cigarette. The edges of his mouth curl into a little cat-like smile. Jeongin thinks his eyes could turn into slits.

Here’s the thing: Jeongin doesn’t like that Minho smokes, but he’s also developed an embarrassing interest. It isn’t his fault the boy he’s liked forever looks so hot puffing away on that stupid, deadly stick. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, depending on the moment—Minho has caught on. And Minho is stubborn, doesn’t let things go.

“Like…?” Jeongin trails off, eyeing where Minho is sitting on the only chair in the room—his desk chair that he’s rolled closer to the window.

“There’s a nice spot for you right here,” Minho hums and taps the floor in front of him with his foot. He’s wearing purple fuzzy socks, which are ridiculously silly but also so him that it almost makes Jeongin laugh.

The younger is too caught up in a slew of emotions to actually laugh though, instead clambering off the bed and kneeling clumsily in front of Minho. The elder spreads his legs to accommodate him, sitting lazily in the chair, slouched posture. It’s too casual for the way Jeongin feels, like a live wire that’s been buzzing since the moment Minho’s lighter clicked. He reaches out with his free hand and pushes Jeongin’s hair out of his face, smiling down at him in a way that makes the younger’s tummy flip.

“You’re so cute. Listen so well,” Minho grins, taking a long drag from his cigarette while looking Jeongin in the eye.

The younger gulps, his pants get suspiciously tighter. Minho tightens his grip on his hair, using the leverage to tilt Jeongin’s head back just enough that he’s looking at him. And then he exhales right into his face, the acrid smoke making Jeongin blink repeatedly as his eyes water, momentarily engulfed in the grey plume. It would take him by surprise if they hadn’t done this before, if he hadn’t already told Minho that he likes this. Not that he even has to say anything: the obvious bulge in his pants gives him away, the fact that he’s gone from soft to completely hard in a matter of two minutes.

Jeongin whimpers, feeling dirty bathing in Minho’s secondhand smoke, like an object—something the elder can use at his disposal. And he will, because Jeongin likes that and Minho likes giving his boyfriend whatever he likes. “Please, hyung,” he whines quietly, not bothering to be specific. Minho already knows what he wants.

“Okay, angel boy,” Minho smiles, so soft and sweet and adoring for someone who’s so good at degrading his boyfriend. Jeongin can't even pretend to snicker at the nickname when Minho is sitting up a little straighter in his chair, shimmying closer to the edge until the younger is right between his thighs. Minho pets his cheek, drawing a familiar shape into his skin with his thumb—a heart, he’d said dumbly in the past whenever Jeongin has asked. The younger boy had called him lame but only because he was blushing like an idiot.

Jeongin blinks up at his boyfriend, a shudder crawling up his spine as he watches him drag on his cigarette again. He inhales through his teeth, and his gaze never leaves his as he exhales towards him again. He whimpers, hands coming to rest on the elder’s thighs to ground himself, to keep stable. From above him, he can hear Minho’s tongue swishing around slightly in his closed mouth, gathering saliva. Jeongin feels like he could faint from the anticipation. His heart is racing and his fingers are pressing into Minho’s jeans.

Despite already knowing what to do, he waits for Minho to gently grip his jaw, to use his fingers to spread Jeongin’s lips. He taps on the younger boy’s bottom teeth, now straight and free from braces. Jeongin opens up, sticks his tongue out slightly to catch anything that potentially slips out, already planning ahead. And then Minho is leaning his head over his, face-to-face but still not close enough to touch. When he spits, a decent ball of saliva falls from his lips and right onto Jeongin’s awaiting tongue.

It’s objectively gross, maybe, but that’s part of what Jeongin likes about it. He likes feeling used by Minho, likes the intimacy that comes with having his boyfriend spit in his mouth, especially when he’s already using that mouth to partake in another bad habit. He can tell that Minho likes it too, likes the feeling of ownership along with Jeongin’s unwavering devotion. Likes that Jeongin will leave later smelling like his cigarettes and tasting like his mouth. It’s obvious in the way he’s looking down at the younger boy with wonder and adoration in his eyes, like his entire world revolves around Jeongin—the earth and the sun. It’s so loving for something so nasty.

Jeongin moans, not swallowing yet and instead letting the saliva pool at the back of his mouth, mixing with his own. He doesn’t think Minho is done with him yet, and his suspicion proves to be correct when the older boy tightens his grip on his jaw, keeping it propped open like a paper clip. He takes a final drag off what’s left of the cigarette and opens his mouth, sucks back a small grey ball in an instant. Jeongin presses his fingers harder into Minho’s thighs, whimpering and leaning closer, not wanting anything to be wasted. Minho smiles with amusement in his eyes before shifting even closer, a mere few inches away before breathing out a plume of smoke. It’s strong, pungent in Jeongin’s face, making him cough awkwardly in his throat without moving his tongue, savouring his boyfriend’s saliva in his mouth like it’s his favourite candy. Minho stubs out the cigarette on the top of the coke can next to him, dropping it inside.

Minho hasn’t spoken, but Jeongin can tell by the gentle swell of his cheeks that his mouth is probably pooling with drool, the kind he’d spit out on a dirty sidewalk whenever he’s out for a smoke break. Jeongin had whined about it being gross, but maybe it was just his way of grappling with the fact that it wasn’t going in his mouth. Fucking nasty. What a naughty, naughty boy he is.

Minho digs his fingers hard into Jeongin’s jaw, a rod wedged into a crank. This time, he leans in impossibly close, lips a mere few centimetres away from Jeongin’s. The younger boy feels his breath catch in his throat when Minho spits another wad of saliva onto his tongue, this one so much bigger than the last. It’s warm as it slips to the back of his throat to pool with the remainder that he has yet to swallow. Jeongin preens. He wants to jerk himself off desperately to the taste of Minho, to the smell of smoke radiating off of him. But he doesn’t, because his boyfriend didn’t say that he could.

“Swallow, my angel,” Minho says sweetly, and Jeongin whimpers before doing what he’s told. He gulps down the spit, whimpering at the feeling of it going down his throat. His hips jerk forward, humping against nothing but the air, rubbing his cockhead against the front of his pants.

“Taste good?” Minho asks, inching his socked-foot closer and closer, until it’s pressed right up against the bulge in Jeongin’s pants.

Jeongin moans, loud and unashamed. He jerks his hips forward, rutting against Minho’s foot with desperation. “Hyung, hyung,” he pants, eyes fluttering shut as he drops his head to rest his cheek against his boyfriend’s thigh. “Touch me, please.”

Minho coos, stroking Jeongin’s hair as he rubs his foot against his boner. “Does my baby’s cock hurt?”

Jeongin whines at that, ridiculously baby and pathetic. “Hyung!”

“What, angel? Haven’t I done enough for you? You’re so needy,” Minho teases in that voice he always uses, like he’s unaffected by everything happening despite the fact that his dick is hard too.

Jeongin can’t answer, just lets out a dramatic little sob as he ruts his hips forward. He grips Minho’s foot and holds it close to his crotch, firm enough to hurt, before humping it like a dog in heat. If his friends could see him now they’d never let him hear the end of it.

“Aish, Innie. You’re gonna rub your dick raw doing that,” Minho tsks, referring to the rough fabric of the younger’s pants. “Stand up.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly Jeongin jumps to his feet, nearly throwing himself off balance with the head rush it gives him. Minho steadies him with two firm hands on his hips—cat-like reflexes—and a pointed look that silently tells him to be more careful. Jeongin doesn’t have time to be careful though, or the patience. He thinks he might faint if he doesn’t get his dick touched soon, and he’s not exaggerating. He could jump up and down and beg and cry but Minho has glued him to his spot with his pretty brown eyes.

“My mouth feels empty, Innie,” Minho whines dramatically. His acting is never great, especially when they’re doing a scene. Jeongin doesn’t care though, the pathetic twitch of his dick is evidence enough.

Minho unbuttons Jeongin’s jeans before yanking them down along with his boxers, freeing the younger boy’s red, angry boner. It’s such a relief Jeongin is worried he’ll cum right then and there. “I think that’s why I like smoking so much,” Minho hums, and Jeongin just furrows his eyebrows in confusion before the older boy elaborates. “Keeps my mouth busy. It holds me over until I can blow you again.”

Jeongin whines again, face burning red and eyes brimming with desperate tears as he looks down at his boyfriend. He can’t. It’s too hot. The idea of Minho liking to suck his dick so much that he has to keep his mouth busy when he can’t is absolutely ridiculous and probably one of the hottest thoughts he’s ever had.

“Can suck me all the time, hyung. All the time. I always want your mouth,” Jeongin groans and humps the goddamn air. Later he ought to be embarrassed about how worked up he’s getting, but probably not.

“All the time, baby? I don’t know how appropriate that would be,” Minho deadpans dumbly, reaching out to wrap his hand around Jeongin’s cock.

Jeongin gasps, hips lurching forward and deeper into the loose fist Minho is making around his dick. “What would your friends think? Probably that you’re a slut who just can’t wait, hm? Wouldn’t even realize that it’s me who wants to choke on your dick twenty-four-seven,” Minho is just talking now while he squeezes his boyfriend’s dick, and it’s working for Jeongin. The younger is about to whine all over again that he wants more, that he’s the slut his friends would probably think he is, but Minho doesn’t make him wait any longer.

“So pretty, Innie. How can I ever stop touching you?” Minho coos, jerking him off properly now. Jeongin can’t even speak, too overwhelmed and turned on by the boy who checks off all of his most depraved, horny boxes. He looks at his lips, his mouth, his cute little crooked bottom teeth. How was his mouth not the first thing he was attracted to?

“Please, please, please—“ he’s begging incoherently now, rabbiting his hips forward like he does to his own hand when he’s alone in bed. Minho cuts him off though by giving him exactly what he wants, wrapping those sweet, filthy lips around the head of his dick. He suckles at him like a lollipop, presses the tip of his tongue into his slit in a way that makes his knees buckle.

Jeongin whimpers as he looks down to watch his boyfriend, bunching the hem of his shirt up into his hands so that it doesn’t get in his way. That’s swiftly not enough though and he yanks it off as smoothly as he can without jostling Minho around. It looks a bit awkward for the older boy, who is still sitting in his desk chair and now leaning forward, finding an angle that isn’t killer on his back, probably.

“Feels so good, hyung,” he whines, watching more and more of his cock disappear into his boyfriend’s mouth until his nose is nestled up against his pubic bone, the short hair he has there brushing against it

Minho gives good head—like, the best Jeongin has ever received, not that he has a ton of experience. He really is good with his mouth though, keeping his cheeks suctioned around the younger’s length while he bobs his head, sputtering only slightly when he knocks against the back of his throat. Minho looks at him the entire time too, eyes extra dark and sweet through his lashes, like he’s a lot kinder than he really is—a look only reserved for Jeongin.

The older boy is holding Jeongin’s hips so tightly, bruising the pale flesh there. Minho is the one sliding down onto his knees but Jeongin is the one who feels helpless, lacking any of the control his boyfriend would have if their current positions were reversed. Maybe Minho realizes this, because he’s pulling off with a string of saliva and red, red lips, pumping his cock with his hand instead, as he asks: “wanna fuck my mouth?”

Jeongin almost sobs. His hands find Minho’s cheeks, needing something to hold onto. “Don’t know if I can, hyung,” he admits, voice breathy and wrecked and embarrassing.

Minho laughs, laughs in that silly way he does when he thinks something is genuinely funny. It makes Jeongin pout and squeeze his cheeks harder in retaliation, forcing his lips to squish together and form an ‘o.’ “Come on, jagiya,” Minho coos, gently taking his boyfriend’s hands away from his face so that he has the freedom to lean in again, to mouth at the underside of Jeongin’s cock, to suck on his balls. The noises are obscene; wet and sloppy, sucking noises mixed with Jeongin’s quiet moans.

“Please, baby. Do this for me?” Minho asks so sweetly, like this is a treat for him rather than Jeongin, which is just—the younger doesn’t get it, but he’s happy to oblige even if he thinks he’ll last a total of another two minutes.

Minho grins and takes the head of Jeongin’s cock into his mouth again, sucking on it tenderly before sinking down further, further. He stops when he’s nearly at the base, which Jeongin knows he can usually reach no problem, before easing the pressure of his tongue against the veiny underside of his dick. Minho grabs the younger boy’s hand, bringing it to the back of his head and resting it there firmly, and Jeongin gets it. He tightens his grip, threads his fingers through his boyfriend’s soft strands of hair.

Usually, Jeongin is the one on his knees taking cock down his throat, but sometimes Minho acts like he needs this, like he’ll die if the younger boy doesn’t use his mouth as a wet hole to fuck. It makes Jeongin whimper, thighs shaking under Minho’s touch as the younger rolls his hips forward, into the tight heat of his mouth. His boyfriend groans, so pretty and turned on, so Jeongin does it again, and again, until he’s steadily fucking Minho’s mouth.

Around him, the older boy groans desperately between small choking noises that he makes—wet spit and precome jostling at the back of his mouth, little trickles escaping the corners of his stretched red lips. Jeongin likes this part, the mess of it. Usually he’s the one who’s being such a mess, but when Minho wants to suck cock it’s always like this. It’s all or nothing with him, with everything he does. Minho is black and white while Jeongin lives in the grey space.

“Ah, hyung, hyung,” Jeongin chants, hips rabbiting into his boyfriend’s greedy mouth. He’s holding onto his hair, keeping his head in place while he fucks his face with an intensity he’s usually too afraid to give. But Minho wants it so badly, and that’s what’s spurring him on—along with his own desperate pursuit of an orgasm. His boyfriend works him up so much, like an edging session without even being touched. Then, when they find themselves like this, it’s filthy and messy and wet.

The older boy looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He’s holding onto Jeongin’s hips, helping him keep up this relentless pace, even when he chokes and the younger boy wants to give him a break. This isn’t as natural for him, but he certainly doesn’t mind. He thinks his eyes could roll back into his skull with how good he feels, and before he knows it they just might.

That familiar knot builds in his groin. His muscles feel extra stiff, his grip extra hard, his fucking extra rough. He watches his boyfriend; his beautiful, sweet hyung, choking on his dick and rubbing himself through thin grey sweatpants. Jeongin is overwhelmed. When he comes, he can barely give Minho a warning. He cries like there are real tears falling from his eyes, and comes right into the older boy’s mouth.

Minho, to his credit, still catches it all without choking or sputtering up the way Jeongin would. It’s why he’s the best at giving head—or, partly. He drags warm fingers up and down Jeongin’s thighs, suckling at his cock like he can milk out a few more drops of his spend. It’s hot to watch, which is why the younger boy lets him tip him over the edge of overstimulation.

When it’s too much, he retightens his softened grasp in his boyfriend’s hair. “I can’t,” he whimpers, all pathetic and without forming a proper sentence.

Minho blinks up at him before giving him mercy, pulling his mouth slowly off of his softening cock. It hangs between his thighs now, glistening with the older boy’s saliva, the same Jeongin had been begging for earlier. He shudders just thinking about it, still smelling the smoke from Minho’s cigarette on them both.

“You really are so pretty, jagiya,” Minho hums, lips red and shiny and sore. He drags his hands down his thighs, his knees, all the way until his ankles. Then he grabs the boxers that are still pooled there, tugging them up but leaving his jeans. He’s so gentle when he tucks his cock back into the cotton fabric, Jeongin just whimpers from feeling so cared for. “There you go. Better, hm?”

Jeongin nods dumbly, feeling tired and spent. The buzzing under his skin has dulled down into a quiet hum, making his ears feel fuzzy, his brain hazy. It’s nice. Minho is the only person who can make him feel this way, the only person he ever wants to make him feel this way.

Minho stands up and closes the window. Jeongin hadn’t even noticed how cold it was getting in here, but when he looks down at his naked torso, his nipples are hard and his stomach has goosebumps. His boyfriend’s long fingers find his hips, giving them a squeeze. When Jeongin looks up at him, Minho is giving him this faux-serious look, silly and theatrical.

“I’m hard, jagiya. Are you gonna let me jerk off on your face?”

“Ah, hyung. Why do you have to ask like that?”

“Are you saying yes?”

He was the best shot in his squadron and soon was promoted to a sniper. Just as they were about to be deployed abroad for a routine tour, chaos broke out at the border and their team was chosen to be sent in as reinforcements. That meant Hongjoong spent most of his time in a guard tower, his rifle aimed at a wired fence and forested terrain that separated his own nation from their neighbours.

His superiors hadn’t told them much about what exactly was going on, the news channels not offering any more information than they already knew. A few soldiers had been found dead near the border while out on their night duty. The bordering nation had good relations with Hongjoong’s own so the attacks made no sense. The neighbouring army had taken no responsibility for the action, pinning it on non-state actors.

Tension was high at the historically peaceful site and it had put the two allied nations at odds with each other. Hongjoong should have cared about it all, but he just resented the fact that the time he could have been spending abroad was wasted away in isolation. The person nearest to him was a guard tower over, who he could only talk to through a walkie-talkie and even that was restricted given the high alert status they were in.

And so days turned into weeks, every evening he’d swap in for his squadron mate for his shift, sitting alone for hours with a small pack of rations till mid morning, when he’d get to retire to his tent for some sleep.

There was no movement once the reinforcements came, so they thought that either the enemy had been scared away or was waiting. An offensive operation was being discussed with the armed forces of the neighbouring nation to try to root out the people behind the attacks. Hongjoong continued to not care, and wished for the crisis to come to some sort of end so that he could be doing anything else but this.

It all changed one night, though. About a month into their mission, Hongjoong had been trying to pick something to eat when he heard the fence rattle. He quickly sat up, using his binoculars to figure out where the sound was coming from, but everything had fallen silent once again.

He tried to look for the guards that were out on patrol and saw one of them fallen on the ground and the other seemingly floating in the air. Throwing his binoculars down, Hongjoong aimed his rifle at the man, the scope focusing on the soldier whose feet were off the ground, head tilted to one side and no one around him.

Hongjoong tried to think of something to do. His instinct was to signal to the guard in the other post but he didn’t have the time, so he imagined what a man would look like if he were holding the soldier up and took his shot. Immediately the man fell to the ground and the fence rattled, then there was silence.

Scrambling for his walkie-talkie, he called to the other guard but there was no response from him. He couldn’t just sit there, so he rushed down from his post, looking for someone to report to, but everyone had fallen into a deep slumber that he couldn’t wake them up from. The camp looked dead except for him.

Reaching for the handgun on his side, Hongjoong slowly made his way to the fence. The first soldier he saw seemed untouched, but clearly dead. His body lay limp with no pulse or breath. He crawled his way over to the other guard, whose limbs were twisted from the fall. His head lay turned to one side, neck covered in blood pouring out of two big punctures in the skin.

He was so shocked by the sight that he barely had the time to react to the sound of the fence rattling again, and everything went black.

When he came to his senses, he found himself sitting in a seemingly endless room. The decor looked nothing like what was local to either his nation or the one neighbouring it, as if he’d been teleported halfway across the world. Large windows decorated the room but they painted pitch black, the only light coming from large crystal chandeliers that nursed candles that shed flickering light onto impeccably polished marble floors.

Hongjoong’s head hurt and he could barely move, his hands and feet bound to the chair he was seated on. He was still in his fatigues, seemingly unharmed. “You’re awake?” A deep voice called out from behind him. He jerked in his chair as he tried to turn behind to see who it was but the high backed chair meant he had a limited range of view.

Footsteps echoed through the space as the person crept up to him, growing louder as they grew closer. And then he saw him, and Hongjoong felt his breath stop.

The man in front of him was almost paper white with how pale his skin was. He was dressed in the most extravagant suit Hongjoong had ever seen, covered in gems that glittered with every movement. He looked like royalty, with a face to match. Sharp eyes paired with soft lips and the gentlest of smiles.

“I’m Yeosang,” he said, and that’s when Hongjoong noticed the two sharp canines in the man’s mouth. He racked his brain for an explanation. This had to be a joke. Maybe he had fallen asleep at his post and he was dreaming.

But the ice cold touch of the man’s hands on his skin couldn’t have been a dream, that much Hongjoong knew. “What’s your name?”

“Hongjoong,” he managed while flexing his ankles carefully, trying to find a way to escape his binds.

“You saw me there, didn’t you?”

“Not really,” he said, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard the fence rattle and I saw one of our men floating above the ground so I tried to shoot whatever was behind it. But I saw nothing there.”

“Interesting,” the man muttered. “You should have been asleep. Why weren’t you?”

“How would I know? And who are you? Where am I?”

“Oh, naive humans. You’re endlessly fascinated by us but you don’t know who we are?”

“That’s not possible.”

“But it is.” The man clapped his hands and a man walked into the room, smiling at Hongjoong before standing still and tilting his head. The man in the suit stood behind him, shot Hongjoong a wink and sunk his teeth into the man’s neck.

Hongjoong didn’t know if he felt horrified or fascinated at the sight, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. For minutes the three of them stood there quietly as blood pooled around the man’s teeth and his eyes glowed.

Finally, the pulled his teeth out and wiped them clean with his tongue. The man who came in gave a little bow and walked away the way he’d come in.

“I’m Prince Yeosang. I rule a world very different from your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry your little head about it,” he said. Hongjoong should have felt patronised but the tone was so polite he couldn’t feel angry at all.

“What we need to figure out is what to do with you.”

“Do I have to ask or will you just explain it anyways?”

“Oh shush. Your world and mine live in the same place, and the same time, just one can’t see the other. We didn’t even know the other existed for millennia but a few centuries ago, my kind figured out how to get to yours. It didn’t go well. We became addicted to feeding on you and it threatened to destroy the barriers between our worlds, and with it, your entire kind. There were a lot of fights amongst us on what we should do, and the side that wished for a peaceful coexistence won, but we had changed too much in that time.

We needed your kind to survive, so in a way we’d found our own destruction in finding you. So we started picking up a person here or there, just enough to sustain us. We kept them here, so that we wouldn’t have to keep going there. But that wasn’t enough. We realised that your kind wasn’t enough to keep us alive, but that each of us needed a specific one, one that had been changed by us all that time ago, the way you had changed us.”

“And what if you didn’t find that person?”

“We’d keep feeding on others, but we’d need more and more, and eventually it wouldn’t be enough and we’d fade. But if we found the right one, they’d change us as much as we changed them so we’d both stay alive as long as we were together.”

“So you were out there looking for your one?”

“Pretty much. I’ve looked far and wide and I’m fading fast. If I don’t find someone, then this world will go without an heir, and that could destroy the peace that’s held my world from ravaging yours.”

“Okay, so you need to find your blood soulmate or whatever. But what does that have to do with me?”

“Finding the one isn’t easy for us. There are billions of your kind out there. The only way to find out is by marking someone. If they’re the one, they’ll live.”

“So you go around killing people till you find this one?”

“No, not like that. We can catch a sense of them, but we can’t know exactly who it is. So it sometimes takes a few casualties. Fortunately your kind kills enough of your own that you hardly notice it.

Anyways, there’s a legend, that for sometimes, the connection between one of your kind and one of my kind is so close, that the barrier between starts to falter. My power can knock your people out because you have no immunity to it.”

“But I was awake,” Hongjoong mumbled. “Wait, so am I your blood soulmate?”

“If the legend is right, then you are.”

“What do you mean if it’s right?”

Yeosang shrugged. “It’s only happened a handful of times.”

“And?”

“They’re all gone because of unrelated reasons.”

“Unrelated reasons?”

“That’s not the concern here. If you’re my one, you can save your realm and my own.”

“And if I’m not, I die.”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot. But what other choice do I have?”

“If I agree to this, and I am your blood soulmate, then will I have to stay here for the rest of eternity?”

“You don’t have to, we just keep you here for your own safety. You can go back, I can come visit you for feeding when I need it, if you’d like. Our bond doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

“Okay…” Hongjoong trailed off. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to call the man in front of him a lunatic and run off, but somewhere deep down he knew he wasn’t lying. That this was the truth and he had to decide what to do.

At the end of the day, Hongjoong was a military man, and if there’s one thing he’d accepted when he’d joined the army, was that there would come a time when he’d have to lay his life down for his people. He never actually thought that day would come, but it had, and he wasn’t going to hesitate.

“You can do it.” Hongjoong said.

“What?” Yeosang asked, surprised.

“You can mark me. I can’t allow my people to get hurt.”

“You’re a very brave man, Hongjoong.”

“Or foolish, the line between the two is quite thin. Now can you please untie me?”

“Oh of course, my apologies.” Yeosang waved a hand and the restraints around Hongjoong fell on their own. He looked at them with wonder for a moment. He knew he was in for something weird but it was still odd to actually see it.

“How do we do this?”

“You just tilt your head to the side, I’ll do the rest.”

Hongjoong stood up and stretched a bit, trying to get some feeling back into his limbs. Looking Yeosang properly in the eye felt odd. Just moments before he’d towered over him, but now he felt like just a guy, a really pretty one at that. He’s about to either kill you or make you immortal, Hongjoong thought as he turned around to face away from Yeosang.

“Try to relax, this might hurt.”

“I might not last long enough to feel it,” Hongjoong couldn’t help but quip.

“Quiet, you’ll be alright.” He waited for the pain, but it never came. “I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean?”

Yeosang stepped away, looking away. “I don’t know. No one’s ever willingly offered themselves to me before, knowing that it could take their life. Every time I’ve done it, it’s been against your kind’s will, and I let myself believe it was for a good reason. But now I don’t know if I can think of it like that.”

Hongjoong was taken aback, “But it’s for both of our safety, isn’t it?”

“Part of it, yes, but I can’t lie and say that I didn’t do it selfishly even once. I don’t want to fade, not for my kind, but for myself.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, all of us want to live.”

“But you don’t.”

“Oh I do, but sometimes you have to accept that there’s more important things than that,” Hongjoong said. A part of him was sad that they’d met under such circumstances. There was a part of him that wanted to know Yeosang better, maybe find what’s hidden inside him.

“Your kind is fascinating.”

“We’re just human. Now get it on with, hopefully it’ll save more than the both of us.”

Cold fingers grazed his neck gently as his head was pushed to the side so that his cheek touched his shoulder. Soft lips brushed against his neck and Hongjoong felt a shiver run down his spine. A sharp pinch made him flinch but then it was all gone. He felt himself relax, his limbs go loose, and his fear drain away. He didn’t know how long he felt like that before he blacked out again.

When he woke up, he was back in his post, curled on the floor with his rations next to him and his rifle aimed out as usual. Hongjoong sat up quickly, checking his surroundings. Everything seemed to be fine. Maybe he did just fall asleep the night before and dreamt it all.

But he remembered firing his rifle. He looked at the bolt of the gun and placed his hand on the lever, taking a deep breath as he pulled it back.

Every weekend, another party, another hangover, and close to no recollection of the night before. They were so frequent that you didn’t even bother dressing up over the top for them most of the time, but tonight you did, and soon you will be glad that you went all out.

Your friendship group was a mix of all sorts, people from all different walks of life, with each fitting together like a puzzle. You take pride - pun not intended - in being the flamboyant gay guy in the group, living for all things camp, fashion, dance, you name it, that is you.

Tonight you look ready for a runway, high waisted black skin tight jeans, torn to shreds to show off the tattoos on your legs. A loose fitting, but still tiny white crop top. Curated accessories, belt, jewellery, a stunning handbag, but the outfit is held together by the most standout piece. 6 inch stiletto heels, metal silver, they are to die for, a prized possession, something that you have not got enough wear out of, so you are getting their money’s worth now.

You love the attention from the girls, every one of them at the party loses their mind when they see you dolled up. A full face of makeup completed your look, dark eyeliner and light everything else, you know that you look good. Your best friend hangs off your arm while you two begin to drink, you had a couple earlier while getting ready but that buzz had died off, and now you are at the host’s house, it is time for you to really start.

“Who is that?” You whisper to your best friend Hyoyeon, tilting your head slightly towards the kitchen, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, though nobody else could hear over the thumping music, “I’ve never seen him before.”

Hyoyeon discreetly glances over your shoulder while she reaches for the bottle of vodka on the table, pouring out a shot for herself and for you. She hands the glass over, and you both throw your heads back, downing the liquor and fighting back that sting.

“That’s Taeyeon’s brother,” She replies, referring to the friend of yours whose house you are at now, “Kibum, and yes, he is gay.”

You are surprised you had never seen him before, with all the socialising that you do, and that his sister Taeyeon does too, she is at every party that you are, it is a little shocking.

“Is he single?” You ask, not wanting to get ahead of yourself, which would be so easy when the man you are looking at… looks like… that, “Why don’t I know him?”

Hyoyeon laughs at first, she is able to see right through you, it is not hard to tell when you are into someone, and wow, despite only seeing him from across the room, you are into him. He has this intense aura, a completely unique style, curated and perfect in every way. He has striking features like a fox, beautiful lips, jawline, and a scar through his eyebrow that catches your attention in the best way.

“He just got back from the US,” Hyoyeon tells you, “He was studying design, so has been away for a few years, and from what I know, he’s single.”

You glance down at your outfit, suddenly a little self conscious, worried if you will impress a fashion major, or if he will judge your style. You know that you carry yourself well, and that confidence can be the key to pulling a look together, and with a few drinks down, it is even easier to put on the charismatic charm that has made you as popular as you are.

Picking up another drink, you and Hyoyeon head out to where some of the party guests are dancing. You have a better view of Kibum here, and he can see you clearly too, but you try hard not to make it too obvious that you are staring, instead making infrequent glances in his direction, hoping that he meets your gaze every time.

The first time he catches you staring, it is as if the world around you disappears, nothing existing outside of you too. An instant attraction, but you want to play a little hard to get, so you look away, back to Hyoyeon dancing in front of you and motion to her that you need another drink. There is no way you could stay composed around that man without a couple more drinks, so you line up two shots for yourself, Hyoyeon following suit because she just loves to party, and you take them both consecutively, not stopping for air between them.

When you open your eyes again, you realise that someone is next to you who wasn’t there before. You pick up the mixed drink that you poured for yourself before you turn to see who it is.

It is him.

Fuck, he looks even better close up. His skin is flawless, what the fuck is his skincare routine? Does he even have pores? Despite being extroverted, and a little drunk, you still find yourself lost for words. He smiles at you, seemingly aware of his power, the smile more like a devilish smirk, it has your knees wobbling, confidence dissipating so quickly.

“Care to dance?” He asks, holding his hand out for you, “You look like you could use it.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, you are hypnotised, taking his hand without a second thought and following him back out to where you were dancing just before. You hear Hyoyeon laugh, calling out something about how she might find you later, before she walks away to find some other friends to hang out with. You feel privileged to be getting this attention, laughing as Kibum spins you around before bringing you in closer to him, throwing your head back as you let the music course through your veins along with the alcohol you are so recklessly consuming.

Kibum is touchy, and you so easily give in to him. He holds your wrist, and guides your hand holding your drink to your mouth. He watches you down the alcohol in one big gulp, and a fire lights behind his eyes as a few stray droplets fall down your chin and further down your neck. You lick your lips to try and catch anything that you missed, all while keeping your eyes trained on the man with one hand on your waist, the other wrapped around your wrist.

You introduced yourself at some point, but Kibum makes a point of only calling you honey rather than your name. No complaints from you though, the way that it rolls off his tongue has you forgetting that you even had a real name, happy to be only referred to this way by him forever. You place your glass down on the closest table, wanting to focus all of your attention on Kibum, both hands all over him, admiring his clothes, but mostly admiring his body. He is much the same way, seemingly unable to get enough of you, getting hot and heavy so fast.

He kisses you suddenly, hand finding purchase on the back of your neck to deepen it, tongue pressing past your lips to get a taste. You are addicted, more than you thought could be possible, needing him like oxygen, so fucking attracted. You gasp as he nips your bottom lip, only giving him access to kiss you deeper, tongue practically halfway down your throat to prove that he is just as addicted. You couldn’t care less about being at this party anymore, wanting privacy, needing to be alone with him, desire taking over your being.

“How about we take this upstairs?” Kibum murmurs in your ear, “I think I’d like you all to myself now, honey.”

As if he needed to ask, you nod between kisses, murmuring a yes please, hyung before allowing him to lead you away from the makeshift dance floor and down the hall to the staircase. You eagerly follow him, barely inches apart, both stumbling slightly both out of drunkenness and out of sheer desperation to get these fucking clothes off each other.

Once in his room, Kibum presses you up against the door at the same time that he locks it. His kisses are even deeper now, hands roaming under your crop top, the feeling is electrifying, you are moaning already and he has only grazed your skin. It doesn’t take long for him to begin working at undressing you, each item of clothing admired and removed with the utmost of care, and if he were not a fashion major you probably wouldn't have understood it, but it is intimate in a way that you can’t quite explain, and you love every second of it.

Your clothes are neatly piled up next to your shoes, leaving you completely naked while Kibum is still dressed, before he lets you take his clothes off too. You are just as gentle as he was, besotted and admiring every inch of him until you both are fully undressed. The tension is too much now, having held back for so long to sensually de-robe one another, Kibum is forceful in the way that he grabs you and drags you across the room to his bed.

“You’re such a beautiful boy,” He purrs as you lie flat on your back and he hovers over you, “I know you’re gonna feel real good to be inside of, aren’t you?”

You hadn’t discussed positions, though you know that your aura probably gives it away, you are relieved to hear that Kibum will be topping, and you thank past-you for deciding to give yourself a proper clean and prepare before coming to the party, despite the fact that you hadn’t really planned on getting laid tonight.

“Mhmm,” You nod, happily spreading your legs for him to fit in between, as he leans over to his bedside table to pull a bottle of lube out of the drawer, “I promise, you don’t need to hold back.”

Kibum opens the bottle and pours a healthy amount out onto his hand, before cheekily drizzling a little onto your hole, sending shivers up your spine and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He leans down to kiss you as his fingers swipe up and down, chuckling as you writhe under him, especially so as his index finger presses in up to the first knuckle. His fingers are long, slender, a little bulged at the knuckles, and fuck, it feels so good. You know that you need to take it slow, and he is extra gentle, but you already push back on his hand, motioning for him to add more, wanting the stretch, the burn that means you will have his cock inside you sooner rather than later.

One finger moves to two and you see stars when he curls his fingers, finding your prostate and repeatedly hitting it over and over. You can barely breathe, nails dragging down his flawless back, surely leaving red marks in their wake. You arch your back under him, wanting to feel his cock on yours, both fully hard, the friction of your skin is almost too much. Kibum moans as your dick twitches against his, grinding down on you to chase the feeling. You open your eyes mid-kiss to see him staring at you, watching intently as he stretches you out and prepares you for him.

“Fuck me,” You whine, “Please, hyung, I need it.”

Kibum chuckles as he slowly pulls his fingers from you, leaning over to his bedside drawer again, this time to grab a condom, tearing the packet with his teeth before rolling the latex down over his cock. He picks up the lube once more, pouring a healthy slathering over the condom before he moves down to kiss you again. Impatience is clear between the two of you, he wastes no more time guiding his cock to your now prepped hole, pushing in past the tip, keeping his eyes on you to make sure that you are not uncomfortable. You push back towards him, motioning with your action that you want more although you are lost for words. He does exactly that, one swift movement to thrust in the whole way, taking him in all the way.

“You feel so fucking good,” Kibum moans, “Are you doing okay?”

You nod repeatedly as he slowly pulls back to thrust into you again, this time harder, faster. Neither of you are quiet, and you are thankful that the party downstairs is so loud, as your chances of being overheard are so limited. You wrap your legs around his hips, giving him an angle to fuck you deeper, in return he moves one of your legs up so that your ankle rests on his shoulder, only taking him in deeper again. The pleasure is overwhelming, mind racing as you try to hold yourself together when Kibum takes your cock in his hand to stroke you. Your vision is blurry from both the alcohol and the orgasm building inside you with each movement of his hand, and each repetitive nudge on your prostate.

“Hyung~” You cry, “More, more, more! Wanna cum, gonna cum.”

You are babbling now, words slurred as your body threatens to give way, but with Kibum’s continued ministrations, you are sure that he is permissive. His hand grips tighter, thrusting faster, chasing his own high as much as yours. You are sure that walking will be a little difficult after this, his cock is long and girthy, stretching you out far past that of either yours or his fingers. You are close, and growing closer by the second, enamoured by the man kissing you, fucking you, stroking you, holy shit you can’t hold back any longer.

“Cum for me, honey,” He murmurs against your lips, “Show me how good I make you feel.”

With a strangled cry, you throw your head back just as you release, hot strings of cum spurt from your cock all up your stomach, so hard that you almost reach your neck. Kibum milks your cock to oversensitivity, until you are running dry and he finally lets go too. His moans escalate as he fucks into you with every ounce of effort that he can muster, reaching his orgasm in record time following yours, once he can focus on only that and not getting you there also. The repeated abuse of your prostate has your thighs shaking, whimpering and writhing under him as you take the thrusts with the submissive patience that you have learned so well.

As Kibum slows down, all that you can hear is your heavy breathing, and the bass from the music thumping downstairs. You are dizzy and overwhelmed, and you cry out breathlessly when Kibum pulls out and moves away to dispose of the filled condom. He returns to you from his ensuite bathroom with a wet towel, and he rejoins you on the bed to kiss you while he wipes your body clean, removing the drying seed all up your stomach, and the overflow of lube on your cock and your ass. He laughs as you twitch when he touches you but he is gentle and only playing around, he really is just as enamoured with you as you are with him.