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“Okay, so from the top: no mauling, no draining, and—”
“And stop when you say the safeword, I know,” Yangyang whines. “Now can we get going already? I’m starving.”
Dejun scowls. “You just fed two days ago, brat.”
“So? I’m a growing boy, gege,” Yangyang bats his eyelashes and juts his bottom lip out in a pout. Dejun gives him a look of disgust.
“Don’t act cute,” Dejun pushes Yangyang’s cute face away, even as he allows himself to be backed onto the mattress. “And don’t call me gege, you’re literally what, fifty-five this year? You’re basically just a perverted old man with a babyface.”
“You like this perverted old man,” Yangyang plants a kiss on Dejun’s cheekbone with an obnoxious smack, “otherwise you wouldn’t let me do this.”
“This” being feeding on Dejun’s blood during sexual intercourse, or sucking and fucking for short. Yangyang might be the only vampire in existence who’s taken this long to get to fourth base. Usually this would be a first-date scenario for most vampire and human interactions, but the circumstances of Yangyang and Dejun’s first meeting were, admittedly, unideal: Dejun had nicked his finger on a kitchen knife in his apartment, Yangyang had been in the neighborhood looking for fast food, not knowing Dejun kept his glass sliding door very clean and very closed—but it was technically Dejun’s fault they kept meeting after that, because he knew Yangyang was a vampire but invited him inside anyway, and what was Yangyang supposed to do? Not accept a free meal?
So now they have this informal arrangement where once or twice a week Yangyang will come over to drink a cup of Dejun’s blood, and in exchange Yangyang will treat him to takeout and beer. Usually afterward they’ll play video games or watch a movie until Dejun goes to sleep. Sometimes they fuck, too, because men across all species will pop boners at inconvenient times, and they’re trading body fluids already, right? Might as well. It helps that for a human, Dejun is hot as hell.
Yangyang had brought up sucking and fucking at the onset of their relationship, and for some reason that was what Dejun had put his foot down on. Yangyang had very reasonably pointed out that feeding during sex was common practice for most, if not all vampires with human companions. To which Dejun had very unreasonably replied, “If you want to suck and fuck so bad right now, go find some other human, asshole.”
Yangyang had pouted and complained and thrown a tantrum, but in the end he went along with Dejun’s demands. He likes it when Dejun is bossy, anyway. After thirty-some years of relative lawlessness, if there’s anything Yangyang’s learned, it’s that one: games are more fun when there are rules, and two: others are more likely to play if you follow the rules. Dejun in particular falls into the latter category; he’s the type who thinks that as long as you make rules and follow them, things will work out the way you want them to. That’s been his general approach toward Yangyang too, breadcrumbing Yangyang to him through an obstacle course of conditions, like training a stray dog. Don’t come when the neighbors can see you. Don’t wear your shoes inside the apartment. Don’t touch me unless I say so.
Now, after six months, Yangyang’s finally made enough progress.
They’re in Dejun’s dingy little studio, which has a scattering of half-dead plants and a balcony that Dejun insists fills the apartment with light during the day. Yangyang wouldn’t know, either way; he hardly ever comes here in the daytime because Dejun refuses to accommodate his sun allergy and replace his cheap flimsy curtains with blackout ones.
The curtains, the rules—Yangyang’s not stupid. He knows they’re Dejun’s flimsy means of self-protection. It’s cute, but sometimes Yangyang wishes Dejun would give it up already. If Yangyang had really wanted to hurt Dejun, he would’ve by now.
“Alright, let’s get on with it, then,” Dejun flops down, turning his head away so his neck is bared.
“Damn, don’t get too excited,” Yangyang licks experimentally at the crook of Dejun’s neck. Dejun squirms a little, ticklish, but Yangyang can feel his arousal when he reaches down. “You good? Ready?”
“Yeah.”
Yangyang lines himself up, tracing a spot with his sharp canines. Then he bites down as he pushes into Dejun in one rough thrust. Dejun jolts, arching his back at the twin points of penetration, mouth open in a soundless moan. The heat gripping his dick and filling his throat has Yangyang gasping too, spilling a mouthful of blood onto Dejun’s pillow. Fortunately, Dejun’s feeling too good at the moment to notice.
Yangyang pulls out slowly as he takes his first gulp. Dejun tastes good—he always does—warm and savory and tangy, with a faint earthiness that might be the remnants of whatever herbal diet he’s on right now.
“So good,” Yangyang croons. Dejun’s heartbeat quickens under Yangyang’s teeth. Yangyang plunges back in, taking another sip, and Dejun moans again, loudly.
“Oh my God,” Dejun opens his eyes, pupils blown, “oh, that feels—just like that, don’t stop—”
“Told you,” Yangyang smirks, but he does as he’s told, setting a savage rhythm, Dejun almost convulsing as he meets Yangyang’s feral thrusts.
“Yangyang, ” Dejun gasps after an age, clawing up Yangyang’s back, “too much, I’m gonna—”
“Do it.” Yangyang bites him again and Dejun comes with a gasp, the sound as sweet as the juice popping in Yangyang’s mouth. Yangyang sucks Dejun’s bruised-fruit skin between his lips, then swallows around a kiss.
“Still up for more?” He rasps against Dejun’s throat.
“Stupid freak vampire with stupid freak stamina,” Dejun pants, but tilts his head back and spreads his legs, letting Yangyang gorge himself on his flesh. He’s quieter now, only letting out a few rattling exhales each time Yangyang moves against him.
Needing to be deeper still, Yangyang pulls Dejun’s thighs up without dislodging his mouth from Dejun’s neck. Dejun folds easily at the waist; he’s always more relaxed, more pliant when he’s been fed from. Yangyang fucks him like this, hard and deep and sloppy, until there’s another burst of wetness between their chafing bodies. Yangyang reaches between them, rubs Dejun to oversensitivity; Dejun usually hates when he does that, but sometimes Yangyang can coax another orgasm from him this way. Dejun moans faintly and shivers a little, spent. Yangyang leaves him alone and chases his own release, faster now, rutting against Dejun like a wild animal until orgasm tears through him like a first kill.
Blood-drunk, sex-high, Yangyang laughs as he comes down.
“Fuck, that was so good.” Yangyang presses his forehead to Dejun’s cool, sweaty one.
That’s what tells Yangyang something’s off; Dejun’s always warm compared to him.
“Dejun?” Yangyang sits up. At first, Dejun looks as though he might have fallen asleep, the way he does sometimes after a good fuck. But then Yangyang sees the purple shadows under Dejun’s eyes, the blue tinge to his lips, the mess of bruises against the unnatural pallor of his skin. He looks—
“Dejun,” Yangyang’s voice comes out hushed, shaky. He slaps Dejun’s face lightly. “Hey, Dejun, wake up.”
Dejun doesn’t stir. A bead of blood trickles down the column of his neck, and something in Yangyang’s brain finally clicks.
Yangyang grabs a pillow and staunches the puncture, mind racing. Hospital wards are basically impenetrable against vampires, and like hell is Yangyang letting Dejun out of his sight. No blood-packs in the apartment. Yangyang’s estate isn’t far, but it’s in the vampire district, and with the state Dejun’s in, not worth the risk. Yangyang knows a guy, a ten-minute flight into the sketchy part of town. He can make it five.
He wads up a pillowcase, pressing it against Dejun’s wound, and ties it as tight as he can around Dejun’s neck without strangling him. Then he swaddles Dejun’s naked body up in his comforter and pulls the whole bundle up in his arms. Dejun’s head lolls limply as he’s lifted, blood seeping through the towel. Feeling sick, Yangyang shifts so Dejun’s head is lying securely against his chest.
Then he throws open the sliding glass door and jumps off Dejun’s balcony.
The damp night air lashes against him as Yangyang jumps from building to building. He can still feel Dejun’s heart beating faintly against his own jackhammering one.
Worst case scenario, if Dejun’s heart stopped, Yangyang could just turn him. Then Yangyang could finally get Dejun to leave that shitty apartment and move in with him. Problem is, they hadn’t talked about that yet—the turning, the moving. They should have. What if Dejun missed being human and living in his shitty apartment with his dead plants and sunlight? He might hate Yangyang then, and this will have all been for nothing.
Still, a Dejun who was alive to hate him would be better than a Dejun who wasn’t.
Yangyang finally spots the alley clinic and descends, landing as gently as he can before banging on the metal door. An eye-height slot slides open.
“Password?” Security grunts.
“I need to see Kun,” Yangyang pants. “It’s urgent.”
“No password, no entry.”
“Fuck, I don’t know, it’s been months— nectar, miracle, Kun-ge is an old geezer —”
To his amazement, Yangyang hears a series of unbolting sounds before the door creaks open. The guard shrugs. “Ten set the password for this month.”
Yangyang sprints down the hall, skidding into the semi-lit hospital room. He sets Dejun down on the nearest cot and bites a nail. A svelte, dark-haired vampire dressed incongruously in nurse’s scrubs emerges from a side door.
“Oh, Yangyang,” He looks down his nose at Dejun’s messy body. “You know I don’t like having leftovers for lunch.”
“He’s not for you, Ten-ge,” Yangyang huffs. “Where’s Kun?”
“Hey, Yangyang, long time no see,” Kun shuffles harriedly into the room, hair cowlicked and glasses speckled with blood. He glances at Dejun’s pale, sheet-wrapped body lying on the cot, and grimaces apologetically. “Morgue’s on the next block over.”
Yangyang feels the blood in his face—Dejun’s blood—drain. “You mean he’s—”
“Nope,” Ten peers over Kun’s shoulder. “Still alive, just part-drained. Like twenty-thirty percent? Smells like a type O.”
“Oh good,” Kun perks up. “I just got some type O restocked, that should do nicely. I’ll hook him up now. Ten, if you could just check if the patient’s payment method is up-to-date—”
“Yeah, yeah, just get on with it,” Yangyang practically shoves Kun into the blood cooler. “You know I’m good for it.”
“Here,” Ten tosses Yangyang a light bundle.
Yangyang unfolds a hospital gown. “Isn’t this your job?”
Ten wrinkles his nose. “Ew, no. I’m not touching someone else’s sloppy seconds.”
“My bad for not making him decent before rushing him to the black market hospital,” Yangyang grumbles, mopping Dejun down with his comforter.
Ten arches an eyebrow at him. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you? You should’ve known how much blood he had left.”
“I freaked out, okay?” Yangyang snaps. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Poor thing,” Ten coos. “This is a pet, then?”
Yangyang blushes even as he bristles. “No.”
“Ooh,” Ten’s eyes glint shrewdly, “Now that’ll be a fun conversation to have when Juliet here wakes up.”
Half an IV drip later, Kun announces brightly, “Vitals are looking good for your friend here. An overnight stay, and he should make a full recovery.”
“Will his face fill up when he gets all his blood back?” Ten pokes one of Dejun’s hollow cheeks with detached curiosity.
“No, he always looks like that,” Yangyang resists the urge to slap Ten’s hand away, more out of self-preservation than anything.
Ten snorts derisively. “Serves you right then, for almost draining him. Should’ve picked one with more meat on their bones.”
Yangyang’s spared from coming up with a retort when Dejun stirs feebly between them, breath hitching.
“Let’s give them some privacy,” Kun mutters, leading Ten by the arm, away from Dejun’s bedside.
“Why? I want to watch,” Ten demands loudly, but allows himself to be escorted out.
Dejun breathes out, eyelids fluttering like moths against the fluorescent light before fully opening. His pupils drift hazily until they latch onto Yangyang, bent over the hospital bed.
“Hey,” Yangyang peers into Dejun’s face warily. “How are you feeling?”
“Cold,” Dejun mumbles. His lips are chapped, and colorless against his skin. “My arm feels numb.”
“That’s probably because of the IV,” Yangyang takes Dejun’s wrist and runs a hand up and down his arm, trying to smooth away the goosebumps. It feels weird to touch Dejun so liberally, without resistance. Dejun usually bats him away if he gets too handsy. Now, he’s so vulnerable it makes Yangyang’s chest tight.
“IV?” Dejun sounds more awake, and more confused now.
“Yeah. We’re at the hospital. Well, underground clinic, technically,” Yangyang laughs unhappily. “What do you remember?”
“We were fucking,” Dejun says bluntly, “and then I…passed out?”
Yangyang winced. “Pretty much. I—You lost a lot of blood.”
“Oh,” Dejun seems to fully recognize his surroundings now. Probably something in Yangyang’s demeanor, too, because Dejun offers him a half-smile. “Well, at least I got to come?”
That actually makes Yangyang feel worse, because he had barely noticed, he’d been so engrossed in his own pleasure.
“Great,” he says stiffly. “At least your last memory would’ve been a good one.”
Dejun clicks his tongue. “You’re gonna be sarcastic with me at a time like this? On my sickbed?”
“You’re the one who didn’t use the safeword,” Yangyang argues, just for the sake of arguing.
“And whose fault is that?” Dejun retorts. “ I’m the one who almost died here.”
“Sorry,” Yangyang whispers. He means to elaborate, but he feels the corners of his mouth tugging down uncontrollably. He turns away, gritting his teeth.
“Hey,” Dejun says awkwardly, “I was just kidding. I wasn’t actually gonna die. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Sorry,” Yangyang says again, blinking furiously. “You know I didn’t mean to, right?”
“I know,” Dejun reaches up to touch Yangyang’s cheek with a cold hand. Yangyang grabs it and holds it there. “It’s okay. Next time, you’ll be more careful, right?”
Yangyang jerks away in surprise. “What do you mean ‘next time,’ you almost died this time.” Yangyang’s head feels hot. “Look, I learned my lesson, okay? It was a bad idea and all my fault and this is what happens when I mess up and don’t follow the rules—”
“Yeah, well, I liked it actually,” Dejun interrupts, loudly. A cough from the hallway reminds Yangyang, abruptly, that they’re technically still in public. Yangyang reddens with recycled blood. “So you were right about that. And it’s not like you broke the rules on purpose. I didn’t really expect you to follow them, anyway.” Dejun lies back, looking drained by his outburst.
“What,” Yangyang gapes at him, aghast, “So you just let me go nuts because you were sick of trying to make me behave?”
“No,” Dejun glares up at him, “I let you because I trust you, idiot. And look, we’re at a hospital, I’m not dead, so it’s fine.”
“Oh,” Yangyang’s voice comes out soft and vulnerable, and he cringes. Despite himself, he feels his cold cryptid heart expand with an unnamed feeling. It pushes out the tightness that’s been in his chest all night. Fear, Yangyang realizes with sudden clarity. He hasn’t felt that in a long time; he hasn’t had anything to lose, after all. Not until now.
“Dejun?”
“Hm?” Dejun’s drifting off again, eyelids drooping.
Yangyang squeezes his hand. “Let’s go home soon.”
He won’t give that other feeling a name, not yet. But that’s okay. Now, there’s a next time.