Work Text:
After fifteen years of uninterrupted slumber, Jongin wakes to the gentle scraping noise of fingernails on steel. Someone's trying to open the coffin. They prise open the top corner and heave it aside with some difficulty to stand silhouetted by the room's dim candle light. He waits a moment and is rewarded with for his patience with a kiss on his forehead from a familiar mouth: his maker, Joonmyun.
Joonmyun caresses his face, hands so cold. "Jongin. It's time to wake up."
—
He rises eventually, unable to tolerate the burning in his throat any longer. So thirsty. He skulks into Joonmyun's living room with its high cathedral ceilings and sits down in the middle of the floor, a petulant whine lodged in the back of his throat. He's never been much of a morning person. It takes him a while to shake the cobwebs from his brain and become Jongin again, especially after going so long without feeding. Joonmyun offers him a plastic bag still damp from the ice chest. It tastes old, but he drinks it, and then another.
"Thank you," Jongin says when his voice returns. He feels a little more like himself, although he'll need to hunt properly—he'll need to drink live soon.
"You slept like the dead," Joonmyun says. Jongin stifles a chuckling yawn between his palms. For one of the Ancients, Joonmyun's sense of humor hasn't evolved past embarrassing dad jokes. Still, it's something Jongin can count on.
"What time is it? Can I go out?"
"About that," Joonmyun says, and his gaze sharpens. "It's gotten worse."
—
New Seoul, South Quadrant, has been under the purview of the Kim clan since the reunification, back at the turn of the 22nd century. No longer restricted by the arbitrary delineation between the bustling, modern metropolis and the once-hostile territory to the north, Seoul rapidly expanded past the tidal flats at the mouth of the Han River and up along the coast of the Yellow Sea, hundreds of kilometers of urban sprawl rivaling Shanghai or New York. The patriarch of the family, Kim Joonmyun, fought hard to stake their claim and, through negotiations with several key families—the Parks, the Byuns, among others—had enjoyed an easy hold on the territory south of the Han ever since.
"It's all changed," Joonmyun tells Jongin now, hand wrapped around the nape of his own neck the way he always does when he's anxious about something. Jongin scowls through puffy eyes, unaccustomed to even the dim flickering glow of candlelight after all this time in the dark.
"A territory dispute? You let me sleep through—"
"Not quite. The humans know we're here," Joonmyun tells him. "We've had to go into hiding."
A spate of high-profile deaths, prominent city figureheads thoughtlessly snatched in the night by some of the infant vampires from the other side of the river with no concern for propriety or the way things are done, flying in the face of hundreds of years of protocol. Vampires haven't killed anyone for centuries. Instead of woozy but alive, the victims were left drained—pale husks, carelessly tossed aside. The city went into crisis mode: curfews enforced, foot patrols increased. AN EVIL AMONG US, the headlines read. And Jongin understands, really; the instinct to withdraw and protect themselves against a threat is not an unusual one.
Their only mistake was not recognizing that evil's been quietly living alongside humankind all along.
Jongin can't shake the feeling that he's the cause of all of this. After what had happened with Jinho and the very violent, public way he'd been eliminated—Jongin had disappeared, left Joonmyun to pick up the pieces.
"Is this because—"
"No," Joonmyun says sharply. "The incident with Jinho had nothing to do with it."
Jongin bows his head. The incident. Joonmyun puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Jongin. I've forgiven you. You've got to forgive yourself."
—
Wonshik's club operates in the basement of a human bar at the heart of old Gangnam. Real old money-types here, too coked out of their own minds to notice the black-clad figures slinking through the back entrance. They don't see what they don't want to see, Joonmyun'd explained once—says that their wealth makes them feel invincible. And Wonshik's got a strict no-biting-anyone-within-a-four-block-radius rule, so it works out.
Usually, anyway. Tonight there's a line wrapped around the block, and even after the crowd recognizes him and parts to let him through, he's still treated with suspicion until he gets past the velvet rope and inside.
"Jongin!" Wonshik booms, throwing his rag down. "You're back with us. Joonmyun didn't say you were due to wake up. I would've come by." Wonshik's a relatively new addition to Joonmyun's family, and seems to be making up for lost time by being aggressively friendly. Honestly, it's overkill—Jongin already thinks of him as one of his brothers.
"Surprise to me too," Jongin admits, still feeling a little foggy. Wonshik rummages in the ice bucket at his prep station and pushes a silvery pouch across the bar. Synth. Jongin vaguely recognizes it—one of those things in vogue for a brief time after the war when everyone was avoiding the radiation poisoning contracted by humans living near the bomb sites.
"You heard," Wonshik says, noting Jongin's lack of surprise with a nod. "We're stuck with this for now. Until they can figure out what's going on."
"What is going on?"
"A rogue clan. Orphans, seems like. Nobody's come forward to claim them—although, with the trouble they've caused, I wouldn't claim them either. We're not even sure if they're locals. Eradicating them has been a nightmare. They're so fast. You remember what infants are like. And so many—"
"Is someone doing it on purpose?" Jongin's taken aback. The creation of new vampires was never taken lightly. It was done with intent: someone useful, their worth proven. And never more than a handful for any clan. Human cities simply couldn't support a population that large. The careless way these young vampires were working their way through the city—they must be very new, and hungry. Left to fend for themselves, what else could they do?
"Not sure yet."
Jongin takes a reluctant drink from the Synth pouch and winces immediately, the taste sour and spoiled on his tongue. "It never tastes right," he says sadly.
"It's better than it used to be."
"Maybe I'm not remembering right," Jongin sighs, pushing it away. He puts his cheek down on the stainless steel bar. His throat still burns, terrible and dry like it's been worked over with sandpaper. He can't remember a time his thirst was this urgent, ever.
"You look like hell," Wonshik says.
"Feel like it." Jongin contemplates his own wrist for a moment, and then decides against it. Not in public, anyway—it'd be improper for Kim Joonmyun's second-in-command to start chewing on himself in public.
Wonshik glances around to check if anyone's listening. First over his left shoulder, then his right. He seems satisfied and pushes a black business card under Jongin's nose.
"Go here. Mention me," he says. "Taemin will take care of you." He smiles nervously at Jongin. "Keep this just between us, yeah? No reason hyung needs to know."
—
Jongin finds himself in a deserted part of the city to the north a few hours before daybreak, fingers running around the edge of the business card.The silver lettering catches the light. It's abandoned here. It's got to be a scam—
Except he can smell it. His senses are keenly attuned to his surroundings, so much so that he can hear the pulse of someone out late a kilometer away, slightly elevated with terror. The scent of blood is sharp in his nostrils. A wounded human is nearby.
Jongin's fangs protract reflexively just thinking about the last time he tapped a fresh jugular. He runs his tongue along them. They've been woefully useless.
It's probably some dungeon in one of these condemned buildings, humans shackled to the walls. He'd seen these brothels before, and the police are always on the lookout for them. Or maybe it's a scam, maybe it's someone handing out illicit, bathtub Synth disguised in blood bags. Not uncommon. An easy way to make some quick cash off a desperate junkie.
The tiny, nondescript door directly to his left bursts open and a cluster of vampires pour out of it, blood-drunk and laughing like hyenas. The ringleader, a silver-haired creature in the middle of the group, is so fucked up that another one's holding him upright by the waist to keep him from falling onto his face.
"Taemin, Taemin," one of the other ones is saying, and the silver-haired one tosses his head back.
"What! I'm right here!" he laughs. Stumbles. There's a smear of blood down his cheek. Real blood, and fresh. Live. Jongin can smell it, stronger than anything. He locks eyes with the one they're calling Taemin. So this is Wonshik's friend, the one that's supposed to take care of Jongin. Fat chance of that happening tonight, not when he can barely stand.
A sly, feline grin spreads across Taemin's face. He inclines his chin at Jongin in some sort of half-assed acknowledgement, and then he's gone.
—
Against his better judgment, Jongin's back again the next night. Earlier this time, in the hopes of catching Taemin. He knocks with two knuckles, a little hesitantly at first. A small window opens.
"No solicitors," the voice says. It sounds like gravel and smoke.
"I'm looking for Taemin."
"Isn't everyone?"
"Wonshik sent me." Jongin tugs his hood up over his face a little more, not wanting to be recognized out here. He's the Patriarch's favored son. Doesn't look good to be slinking around in the shadows at some shady blood den.
The door snaps shut, and after the longest pause of Jongin's life, the door swings inward. He shoulders in, eyes cast down, and follows the pair of shuffling feet down a long, winding hallway that follows the outer wall of the building past the foundation and underground. They must walk for half a block before the bouncer stops at another door.
"Enjoy," he rasps, and pushes Jongin through it.
The whole pace is gaudy, shades of a low-budget Hollywood vampire film—red lightbulbs in the light fixtures, thick velvet tapestries hung on the walls to muffle the sound of the heavy industrial music blaring from the speakers. There are a few cubicles nestled towards the back of the room, for more privacy. So this is a real live blood den. Jongin's heard stories about these types of places—but he's royalty, or as near as vampires ever get to notoriety. He's not supposed to be seen in a place like this, openly defying his Maker's orders to lie low and remain inconspicuous.
He can't see Taemin amongst the half-dozen other vampires milling around, socializing. And in the middle—a cluster of women in short dresses flitting around, placid and unconcerned and unmistakably human.
"Jesus," Jongin says out loud before he can stop himself. He watches one of the humans laugh and put her hand on the crook of a vampire's elbow. The vampire leans in like he's kissing her neck, but her eyes roll back in her head at the moment of impact. He steadies her with his fingertips on her hips, the shimmery fabric of her dress gathering in wrinkles, then softening again. When he pulls away, his mouth is bright red and glistening. She kisses it off him and smiles.
This was a mistake. He imagines the rumors—Kim Joonmyun's first son spotted at a brothel. Caught in a raid. An embarrassment, undermining his Maker like that—behaving badly—and starts to back away. He wheels around and ends up smashing right into someone.
Taemin. He's sober this time, in tight, painted-on jeans and a leather jacket slung over his shoulders, unzipped enough to reveal a low, v-cut t-shirt. He looks—fuck—incredible. The fire in Jongin's parched throat burns anew.
"Sorry," Jongin says, still trying to hide his face even though Taemin's so close that Jongin can make out the ornate detailing on the glittering silver spikes adorning his earlobes. "I'm sorry."
"I remember you," Taemin says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He's silver all over—hair, jewelry. Even his eyes have a hard metallic sheen to them. "Sort of. Last night. You're new."
"Yeah," he says. "I'm leaving, sorry."
"No, no, stay," Taemin insists. "It's safe here."
"I don't know about that."
"Stay," Taemin repeats. "You're Wonshik's friend, right? He said you were coming by. Sorry, I wasn't really myself last night. I figured that was you, though." He grins and lowers his voice, leaning over to speak right in Jongin's ear. "It's not often we get someone from Joonmyun's house in our fine establishment."
Jongin seizes with panic. Of course he's been recognized, he's an idiot for even thinking—
"It's okay," Taemin murmurs, thumb anchored to Jongin's wrist where his pulse should be. "You're safe here."
He doesn't drag Jongin over to the group of vampires for a round of introductions; instead, he pulls aside the curtain on the largest booth at the back of the club and waves his hand, ushering Jongin inside. Jongin hesitates.
"We're no-kill, if that's what you're worried about," Taemin says, letting the curtain drop. "It's all word of mouth. Wonshik wouldn't have brought you in if he didn't think you were cool."
"These humans. This is illegal—you're compelling them."
"Mmm. Illegal, yes. Compelled... no. You'll see." Taemin laughs at the puzzled expression on Jongin's face and yanks the curtain aside once more, revealing a large, plush chaise lounge and a human reclining on it, shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. "Hey, Kibum."
Kibum sits up. "You're late."
"Showing our new friend around. You forgive me, right?"
Kibum squints to see over Taemin's shoulder. "He's cute," he decides. "Bring him in."
Jongin can see the telltale shiny scar from a vampire's fangs on Kibum's neck, maybe a day or so old. He's been bitten recently. And he's—back for more?
"It's okay," Taemin says. "He's here three times a week."
"I've taken two at a time before," Kibum confirms, freeing his last shirt button through its buttonhole and shrugging it away. It falls down one shoulder, revealing a pristine stretch of pale skin on his other side.
"I—I'm not thirsty," Jongin lies, even though he can feel Kibum's pulse in his tongue from all the way across the cubicle, that's how badly he wants to drink.
"You just want to watch?" Taemin asks. "That's fine."
He settles in next to Kibum, pulling his thigh up so Kibum's half in his lap, and bites without further pretense. Kibum moans loudly enough to be heard over the music, but his hand stays relaxed, stroking the track of spine in between Taemin's shoulder blades. The noises Kibum makes go straight to Jongin's groin and Jongin squirms uncomfortably in his seat, hoping not to draw attention to himself. Arousal is a normal reaction to having a front row seat for this—he can feel his pupils dilate, jet black and blown—but after abstaining for so long, everything's amplified and harder to control. Taemin keeps his eyes wide open, staring up at Jongin from underneath his eyebrows like he knows what's going through Jongin's mind, anyway. Each loud sucking noise Taemin makes when his lips break the seal on Kibum's neck brings a fresh ache to Jongin's body.
Taemin only drinks for a brief moment, four swallows, maybe, and then he's sitting back, breathing heavily. His eyes haven't strayed from Jongin's face once. Kibum laughs and rakes his fingers through Taemin's hair.
"Was that enough?"
"Clearly not for you," Taemin says, patting his thigh. "Don't want to be rude, though," he says, jerking his head at Jongin, who's sitting in the corner with his hands folded over the fly of his jeans, trying to play it cool even though he feels so raw and exposed right now he'd probably agree to anything if Taemin snapped his fingers.
He wants to drink more than anything else in the world, but he knows he's one step away from making a serious mistake in front of a complete stranger. After all this time, he's too eager and this... is dangerous, especially when he's got a reputation to uphold.
"I've got to go, anyway," Jongin practically squeaks. "Uh. Thank you for letting me watch?"
"Sure," Taemin says, licking his lips. There's still blood at the corner of his mouth. "Let me walk you out to the exit." He sways a little when he stands, already a little intoxicated. The wall steadies him.
"You don't have to," Jongin says, noticing the slow way Taemin's blinking, the satisfied smile creeping across his face. The same expression he’d worn last night. He's got to get out of here.
"I want to," Taemin insists anyway, pulling Jongin to his feet. If he notices the awkward way Jongin's angling his hips away from him, he doesn't say anything about it. "It's not a big deal. You'll get lost."
—
Taemin's having trouble walking in a straight line by the time they get up to the surface. Jongin remembers it all too well: the heavy, floating feeling after a feed. Things have changed, though. Being blood drunk in public is cause for concern. If Taemin's spotted out by himself in this state, they'll take him in—if he's lucky. They'll stake him on the spot if he's not. With humanity's paranoia, Jongin doesn't want to take any chances.
"Let me walk you home," Jongin says.
"Why didn't you drink?" Taemin asks. "Are you a snitch?"
"I'm not a snitch. Are you?"
"Am I? That's funny." Taemin laughs. "No. No, I'm not." Taemin slides his hand around Jongin's waist as comfortably as though he's been doing it for millennia and smiles, eyelids sinking. "I'm not Kim Joonmyun's favorite son, though."
Jongin feels panicked again. Taemin coaxes him up against the cold brick wall, his eyes dark and searching.
“Jongin, I don't care who you are or why you're here," he says. "People know your face. You can't come back here."
"I know," Jongin says, and starts to peel away. Taemin's hand on his wrist stops him.
"Can I show you something?"
"What?"
"Do you trust me?" Taemin asks, his expression sobering.
Jongin tries to look him square in the eyes, meet Taemin's steely gaze and match it with one of his own, but he's distracted by the blood on Taemin's face. He's too close for this. Taemin catches his distraction and closes the distance between their faces until all Jongin can smell is fresh, sweet blood.
"You're hungry," Taemin observes.
Jongin shakes his head, even though his hands are trembling and his legs feel numb and he's got a throbbing headache. Taemin's fingertips map out Jongin's throat, which makes Jongin burn even hotter.
"I haven't fed today," Jongin says hoarsely. "I just need to go get Synth—"
"It's the bagged shit," Taemin breaks in. "When we feed, it's more than just means to an end, Jongin, you can't survive on that. You'll drink the Synth supply dry and still feel unsatisfied. We feed on life."
Jongin's eyes zero in on the gleaming flash of Taemin's fangs.
"Come on," Taemin whispers, and Jongin kisses him, lapping at the soft skin of Taemin's lower lip, leaving his mouth clean and wet when he pulls away. It tastes incredible. Salty and sweet all at once, full of life, like he can still taste the heartbeat. Everything he's been missing these long years.
When Jongin opens his eyes again Taemin's grinning up at him. "I thought so," he says, and takes Jongin's hand. "Come on. He'll be happy to meet you."
—
They cross the arbitrary line dividing Kim territory from the northern territory controlled by the Choi family. Taemin swaggers through the streets just as comfortably as he'd done below, like he belongs everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. He clutches at Jongin's hand, fingers twined together to keep Jongin from wandering in the wrong direction.
Jongin's surprised to find that vampires are apparently allowed move more freely up here. Taemin doesn't even shrink into the shadows. Jongin's reminded of someone else from the old days, one of Joonmyun's companions last century who preferred to keep the company of humans (without revealing his true nature, of course—that would've been suicide, and besides, Minho's the cheeriest vampire Jongin's ever known. He integrated seamlessly into human society without raising any suspicions).
Taemin's sobering up and his footsteps are more sure when they hang a sharp right and come to a stop in the middle of the road. Jongin's expecting another alley, another illicit blood den—not a neat row of duplexes down a well-lit street. A human neighborhood.
"Why are we here?" Jongin asks, suddenly nervous. He drops Taemin's hand, struck with the realization that he doesn't know a damn thing about Taemin other than Wonshik's a mutual friend of theirs, and what does that really mean, anyway? He could be anyone. He could be the ringleader of the vampire infants leading the attack on Seoul's human residents. He shuffles back a few feet and nearly trips over his own feet in a decidedly un-vampire-like display of clumsiness. Taemin laughs as Jongin nearly goes sprawling, then regains his balance before he tumbles down the stairs and wakes the whole neighborhood.
"A friend of mine lives here."
"Who is this guy?" Jongin asks, his senses sharpening. He can hear the slow, even heartbeat behind the door. A human being, asleep. "He's not a vampire?"
"Nope." Taemin pushes the doorbell and doesn't wait for a response before he starts knocking with both fists.
The heartbeat accelerates. He's awake. Too late now.
"His name's Moonkyu," Taemin says, and knocks again, more impatiently this time. "We met back at the den. He used to be one of the donors. He's cool." He doesn't have time to explain anything else. The porch light flicks on and from the other side of the door, they can hear the rattle of a door chain disengaging.
Moonkyu's face appears through the narrow gap. "Jesus. Taemin?" he croaks, rubbing at his eyes. "You usually call first."
"It's not for me," Taemin says. "He's desperate, but he can't drink at the den. It's a privacy concern." Moonkyu peers past him and sees Jongin. His expression shifts and suddenly his eyes are more awake. He steps back and holds the door wide.
"Come in, then."
—
Moonkyu's apartment is a scattered mess, typical of most bachelor pads—one similarity between humans and vampires, Jongin supposes, given their tendencies to live alone and utilize every square inch of the limited space they rent as a way of exerting ownership. He's wanted something like this for himself but hasn't gotten around to it, especially given his recent withdrawal from the world.
Maybe now, though.
Jongin doesn't miss the bandage on the crook of Moonkyu's arm. He's donated recently. It is absolutely insane to Jongin that he has spent centuries of doing his best to avoid human beings in social settings (or, at the very least, remain anonymous) and now here he is. Mingling. With a human being.
A handful of humans over the years have inadvertently stumbled across vampires—the few hunters that crop up and then disappear after the vampires retreat, or even the donors back at the den, for instance. But that's neutral territory. They're not inviting vampires into their houses. They're not letting vampires sit on their furniture and raid their fridges. This—friendship—is unheard of. Joonmyun'd be furious if he ever found out. He’d have Taemin and his Maker by the throat and staked into dust before they’d ever have a chance to explain themselves.
Best he doesn’t find out, then.
Moonkyu leads them into a cramped living room with a futon with blankets pulled aside, confirming that they had indeed woken him up. "Sorry about the mess," he says, smothering a yawn with the back of his hand. "I was working on a new proposal and sort of fell asleep."
"Believe it or not, Moonkyu's working on his Ph.D in interspecies anthropology," Taemin explains, flipping through a book left lying open on the side table. He adopts a funny, posh voice when he says ‘interspecies anthropology’. “He spent a lot of time last winter studying the weirdo Orthodox community in Romania. You should hear his stories. The shit they get up to in the name of tradition—“
Moonkyu slaps his hand away. "Don't lose my page, asshole. There's a really great chapter on the community pre-Unification."
"I was there. So was Jongin. What do you want to know? I'm a primary source. You don't need the book."
"I need both," Moonkyu says, rescuing it from Taemin's curiosity. He saves his place with a sticky note and sets it aside on a shelf. "If you're bored, stop fucking up my system. Go home and masturbate in a coffin."
"I don't have a coffin," Taemin says.
"Anymore."
Jongin's taken aback by the casual banter between Taemin and Moonkyu. Here's a human who’s in on all of their secrets. He knows their history, their major cultural divisions. He's studying it. He’s been to see the Romanians—Jongin hasn’t even been to see the Romanians. He’d always found an excuse not to accompany Joonmyun on those particular visits. Jongin can't help poking through Moonkyu's bookshelves with unbridled curiosity, fascinated that there's enough literature on vampires for it to be an entire discipline.
"Why not?" Moonkyu asks when Jongin voices this thought aloud. "Anthropologists have been studying other cultures for centuries. This isn't much different." He smiles. "I'm sorry, you must be starving. When's the last time you drank from a human? Nearly twenty years?"
"I, uh. Yes, actually. How did you know?"
"I recognized you," Moonkyu confesses. "You're Kim Jongin."
"Moonkyu's been keeping a detailed family history of the clans in Seoul," Taemin says, sounding supremely amused. "He's been trying to track down the source of the infants. Nothing yet. Just this genealogy project that takes up too much space and tells him nothing."
"Shut up, Taemin." Moonkyu extracts a large tome from the bottom shelf and opens it across his lap. A few furious page flips later, he's turning it over to Jongin, a proud grin on his face. "Here we go, I knew I'd seen it somewhere. The Kim clan."
Jongin's fascinated by the painstaking detail of each entry—entire family trees, written descriptions, sketches. He sees Joonmyun's face in perfect miniature, staring up at him from underneath Moonkyu's thumb. Directly next to Joonmyun, Jongin's own likeness: KIM JONGIN. FIRST SON. Missing? And beneath that: JINO JINHO???? Second son? Missing, last seen in basement and then a few lines of incoherent scribbling.
"Wow. This is amazing," Jongin says, a lump sticking in his throat. Moonkyu snaps the book shut.
"Nobody's seen you for years. Figured you weren't dead, though—I’ve been asking around, and nobody knew. The community always knows when there's been a loss. They couldn't hide something like that." He smiles knowingly. "Plus, you guys are always dropping off the grid for decades at a time and then showing up somewhere else on the globe. It was only a matter of time before you came back."
Jongin's throat clenches for a moment, waiting for a comment or a question about Jinho that doesn't come. Joonmyun could, Joonmyun could hide it. What have they been saying about Jinho? About me? Taemin peers up at him from the couch, and Jongin shakes his head. He's so hungry his hands are trembling and he can hear the swishing lub-dub of Moonkyu's heart in his chest and wants, so badly, to drink.
He blinks and swallows hard, and then suddenly Taemin's nudging a blood bag into his hands he's produced out of nowhere, still cold from the fridge. "He keeps some on hand for me. On nights when I crash here," Taemin explains. "Drink it all. You're looking at Moonkyu like you're going to jump on him at any moment."
"I won't," Jongin says, feeling his pupils dilate as the thought flits across his mind uninvited anyway. It would be so easy to just—
"I've been doing this a long time. I know you won't," Moonkyu says, smiling encouragingly, although for the first time since Jongin arrived, there's a subtle fear in Moonkyu’s eyes. Not for the first time in his very long afterlife, Jongin feels ashamed.
"I'm sorry," he says, and takes it into the bathroom so he doesn't have to subject Moonkyu to the ravenous way he eschews any civility and tears through the plastic with his front teeth, taking great, desperate mouthfuls. It's real blood—stale, old castoffs from a blood bank, probably, the same way Joonmyun gets his supply—but it's infinitely better than Synth. With each swallow he feels the panic in his chest tamp down just a little bit until he doesn't feel like he's suffocating anymore.
Taemin raps on the door with a knuckle and pushes inside without waiting for a response, his lips pressed together. He sees Jongin sitting on the counter licking the last drops from the packaging, chin still dripping, and coaxes the spent bag out of his hands. Mouth still closed, he holds Jongin's face in his hands. Cups his cheek, bows over and kisses him. A scorching wash of blood crests over the back of Jongin's tongue, unexpected, still warm. He closes his eyes. Taemin's grinning at him, eyes twinkling, when he opens his eyes.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better," Jongin breathes, feeling the crawling sensation under his skin settle to a mild buzz. He can live with this much. And the fresh blood—holy shit. Jongin doesn't remember anything tasting so good in his life, not even when he was newly-turned and consumed by the blood lust.
"Good," Taemin says, and laps at the corner of Jongin's mouth. "You see what I mean? It's not enough."
"I know. I'm still hungry," Jongin murmurs, eyes cast down.
Playfully, Taemin offers his wrist.
Jongin kisses it instead.
—
Jongin drinks from Moonkyu after that, mouth pursed around the fang marks Taemin had left behind in the crook of Moonkyu's elbow. He nearly pulls off after the second swallow, feeling guilty and ravenous, but mostly guilty. Taemin cards his hands through Jongin's hair and Moonkyu squeezes his shoulder encouragingly and says it’s okay, keep going, so he stays attached for a full pint's worth until Taemin pulls him off. He licks at the wounds in Moonkyu's arm before he wraps them in a fresh bandage.
Jongin sits on the floor with the corner of the coffee table digging into his back, flooded with a fiery heat in the pit of his stomach that hasn't been there in ages. His head's floating. He'd forgotten how heady, how potent fresh blood was.
Taemin comes back from the kitchen with a 2-liter of cola and a wrapped pastry and coaxes Moonkyu into a sitting position. "Here. This was all I could find," he says, peeling the wrapper away from the sticky bun. "You need to eat better, Moonkyu, this is disgusting."
Moonkyu blinks drowsily, cracking a smile. “I can’t help it,” he says, accepting the mouthful of sticky bun Taemin rips off with his fingers. "I'm a blood donor three times a week, it's become a necessity."
—
They leave him to sleep after that. By then Jongin's in a state—jelly-legged as a newborn colt, leaning on Taemin, laughing. His whole body is flushed and warm with Moonkyu's blood. He'll never make it back across the river to Joonmyun's.
He doesn't quite remember asking, or if Taemin had invited him, or if it was just an unspoken mutual consensus, but he ends up at Taemin's a few blocks away with Taemin's hand down his pants, whimpering when Taemin ends up needing both hands to open the door. Taemin's kissing him before they're clear through, peeling out of his own jeans, guiding Jongin towards the bed—he hadn't lied to Moonkyu, Jongin notes somewhere in the blurry recesses of his mind—and clambers on top of him, his eyes inky black, his fangs exposed.
Jongin lies back against the plush comforter, going light-headed as Taemin nuzzles his way against his pulse and drops an encouraging kiss on the spot before he bites, hard. Jongin closes his eyes to keep out the jolt of pain, huffing, the edges of his vision fizzing nebulous red and black shapes behind his eyelids, and then tips his head aside to allow Taemin more comfortable access.
Taemin takes a few deep pulls, each suck sending a slow wave of dizziness through Jongin, who mewls and moans and scrabbles his blunt fingernails into Taemin's back, trying not to dislodge him even as he struggles to stay underneath him. Taemin redirects his mouth to Jongin's, fangs still protracted, and kisses him, feeding Jongin a mouthful of his own blood. It still tastes vaguely like Moonkyu, but duller, somehow, without the brightness of a beating heart.
"Now you," Taemin pants, his mouth still sanguine and damp. Woozily, Jongin pushes up on his elbows to meet him, and misses a few times before he lands his kiss, the honey sweetness of Taemin's mouth mingling with the salty tang of blood still ripe on his tongue. Jongin savors the stray drops collecting on Taemin's lips, nibbling down Taemin's jaw, running his teeth along the skin without breaking it, leaving wet smears of blood and spit painted down his face.
"Tease," Taemin says, working a hand between them to pinch Jongin's nipple so hard that Jongin bucks, pushing his hips into Taemin, fat erections caught between their bare bellies. He regains control, head still swimming, and latches onto Taemin's neck.
Taemin lets out an unholy noise of arousal loud enough to wake the whole city and comes, just from the bite. Jongin runs his fingers through the mess, leaving sticky trails down Taemin's chest. Taemin keeps coming a little more each time Jongin sucks, like it's wired right to his cock, warm spurts surging forth with each flick of Jongin's tongue, splattering across Jongin's skin.
Finally, Taemin goes limp underneath him, spent, his hand cradling the nape of Jongin's neck. Jongin's hand goes to his own cock and Taemin watches with half-lidded eyes and a wicked smirk as Jongin pulls himself to completion with a hurried fist, moaning into Taemin’s mouth like a wounded animal when his orgasm finally breaks free. He hasn't come this hard in a century or more. The skin of his cheek, his chin, his throat—all pulling as the remnants of Taemin's blood that had dribbled out of his mouth starts to dry. Consumed by his greed for Taemin, for more of everything, he hadn't even remembered to swallow properly.
"Nice to meet you, Kim Jongin," Taemin laughs when he catches his breath. "Wonshik knew exactly what he was doing when he sent you to me."
—
The morning stretches on behind the heavy, light-blocking drapes in Taemin’s apartment. Jongin finds himself sober and sticky with drying blood, but still wrapped around Taemin in the big four-poster bed, trading slow kisses.
"I knew who you were immediately," Taemin confesses against Jongin's mouth, his voice low and soft. "Wonshik told me you weren't supposed to be back yet.” He pauses. "Why did you go underground? Why for that long? Moonkyu wasn’t exaggerating. And Wonshik wouldn’t say—he just said something had happened. Was it Joonmyun? Were you being punished?”
“Only by myself.” Jongin doesn’t know why he trusts Taemin; only that he does. The words come easily now: ”I killed someone. Another vampire.”
Taemin raises an eyebrow. It’s not unheard of. In territory disputes when two families clash, casualties are bound to happen. ”I’ve killed lots of someones.”
Jongin wants to turn away but he fights it and keeps his eyes trained on Taemin's face, searching for any sign of disgust when he says, "No, I mean. From my clan."
Taemin looks stunned. There's been half a dozen instances in recorded vampire history of a vampire killing another vampire from their own family. It's just not done. The bond is usually too strong—and of course no one would believe that Kim Jongin, Kim Joonmyun's first and favorite son could ever, ever do something so terrible to one of their own.
Taemin hesitates, a lopsided smile inching up his face like he thinks it's a joke. Jongin presses on.
"Someone—Moonkyu was asking about him. It was one of Joonmyun's other sons. Jinho. He wasn't—there was a little girl. He exposed us, and it put Joonmyun in danger, and I didn't even think, I just did it.“
A stake through the heart, the ultimate punishment. No redemption, no second-chances, just... nothing. Jongin remembers in vivid detail the way Jinho's body seized, shoulders hunched, skin cracked and splitting like a dried-out riverbed, and then suddenly he wasn't Jinho anymore. Jongin stared, open-mouthed with horror, as Jinho disintegrated into ash at his feet. Jongin showered until the water ran cold, trying to get the dust off his skin, out of his eyes and his nose and his mouth. Still, it lingered for weeks afterwards—the faint taste of decay, of failure, every time he tried to drink anything. A reminder of what he'd done to his own brother.
So he crawled into his coffin, and Joonmyun accepted it even though he'd told Jongin it needed to be done, that Jinho needed to be dealt with. That he would have done the same thing. Jinho would not have escaped his fate. It would have escalated. It would have turned into the same situation they're battling now with the infants. But Jongin hadn't known that at the time. All Jongin knew was overwhelming despair and guilt.
"Give me time," Jongin begged. And Joonmyun had.
—
"It wasn't your fault," Taemin says after Jongin finishes his story. And it wasn't, and Jongin knows this is true, but it's more complicated than that. It's a conversation for another time.
"I need to go," Jongin says, although he makes no effort to move. "Joonmyun's probably wondering why I didn't come back."
Taemin's face scrunches. "Not yet."
"I'll be back tonight," Jongin promises.
"I know," Taemin says, and tilts his face up to accept the kiss Jongin bestows on his eager, smiling mouth. Jongin's limbs feel like they're made of granite when Taemin puts his hands on him. He lies there next to Taemin instead of moving. Hours pass. Or maybe just a few of those very long minutes that last forever.
"You were underground for a long time," Taemin murmurs into the crown of Jongin's hair. He's still lazily stroking the healing puncture wounds on Jongin's neck, dropping affectionate kisses over them every now and then, plush lips soothing the raw skin, followed by the tips of his fingers, then his mouth again.
"Too long," Jongin agrees. Fifteen years—a blink of an eye, really—but he's ready to be wide awake now. There's work to be done—and there's Taemin, now—and it's a whole new world. "Won't do it again."
Another long, comfortable silence. "Don't you need to go back to Joonmyun?"
Yes. He’s probably looking for me. ”I can stay a little longer."
Taemin bares his teeth and smiles into the crook of Jongin's neck, the cold brush of his fangs setting Jongin's hair on end. Taemin bites him again, maddeningly slow, and takes almost nothing. Jongin feels the suction from his lips, as strong as if they were on his cock, and the conversation ceases.