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When Hyeongjun presents Jooyeon with a small box pushed towards him across the kitchen counter, his eyes immediately light up.
It’s nothing particularly glamorous, just a simple black box made of thin cardboard, half the size of a shoebox. Seungmin had delivered it to Hyeongjun just this morning, early enough to avoid a conscious Jooyeon stumbling across them. He had hidden the box towards the back of the closet and waited for Jooyeon to finish his classes for the day before finally digging it out and giving it to his boyfriend.
“Is this for me?” Jooyeon picks up the box and rotates it around, inspecting it with a grin on his face.
“Uh, not really,” Hyeongjun responds blankly. It’s not a present, per se. Not for Jooyeon, at least.
Jooyeon pouts, blonde locks of hair falling in his face. Although he knows Jooyeon is being petulant for the fun of it, the jut of his pink lower lip makes Hyeongjun want to swipe through their shared Amazon account and buy all the Pokémon merchandise Jooyeon has saved in the cart. He’ll get Jooyeon a real gift later.
“Aww. What is it, then?”
Hyeongjun gives a vague wave of his hand. “Just open it.”
Upon receiving the command, Jooyeon lifts the lid off the box and peers inside. The contents are wrapped in red tissue paper, which is a surprise to even Hyeongjun, considering he hasn’t actually opened the box himself since Seungmin gave it to him. Although he knows the contents of the box, he figured it would be unwise to touch them himself. All day, every time he stepped into the bedroom, a strange sensation came over him—it felt as if he had strings tied to his wrists, his legs, his head, and he was being tugged to the ground, weakened. Hyeongjun couldn’t tell if it was just in his head, if the mere knowledge of what the box held was enough to affect him physically, or if the items truly had that much of an effect on his body.
He stands across the kitchen island and observes with tense shoulders and a twitch of his lip as Jooyeon unwraps the items with eager hands. He pulls the tissue paper apart like he’s tearing into a gift on Christmas day, but his antsy hands suddenly falter when he finally uncovers what he was digging for.
Quiet and perplexed, he asks, “What is this?”
There’s no mistaking what the items are. In his left hand, Jooyeon holds a decently sized glass vial, filled to the top with liquid and sealed with a cork. Unsubtly, the words Holy Water are scrawled across the glass in permanent marker. His other hand clutches a long silver chain adorned with a cross that dangles heavily between his fingers.
Hyeongjun taps his nails nervously on the counter. Even the sight of the objects has his gut stirring. He feels weak again.
Jooyeon speaks again, turning the items over in his hands. “Why do you have this?”
He has to force the words out of his mouth, and they come out more timid than he had practiced. “I want you to use them on me.”
“Use them on you?” Jooyeon says incredulously. “Jun, won’t these things hurt you?”
“That’s… that’s kinda the point.” He doesn’t meet Jooyeon’s eyes. Instead, he watches transfixed as he absentmindedly twirls the cross in his hand. “I want to use them when we have sex.”
“Oh!” Jooyeon squeaks. Hyeongjun doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s feeling shy.
It’s not a secret to Jooyeon that Hyeongjun likes when things hurt. He likes his hair pulled, he likes scratches left down his body, he likes the rare times when Jooyeon truly indulges him and will hurt him good. It takes some coaxing for his silly, sweet lover to properly hurt him, but once they’re deep enough in, brains clouded with sex, can Jooyeon let go of his inhibitions and give Hyeongjun what he wants—pain.
Hyeongjun doesn’t know why he likes it so much. Maybe it reminds him of being human, being able to be hurt and suffer the consequences of pain, not being an undead monster that heals within an hour of injury. Jooyeon doesn’t like when Hyeongjun talks about himself like that—cold, unfeeling, inhuman. He’s capable of emotion, capable of love, he knows because he feels it when he’s with Jooyeon, but Hyeongjun wishes he could feel his heart beat faster when they touch, when they kiss. Being hurt to feel human is far from the most healthy coping mechanism, but it works, even if only for a brief while. Deliberately targeting his vampirism might be counterintuitive, but Hyeongjun doesn’t care. He just wants to feel.
“How badly can this hurt you?” Jooyeon places the bottle and the pendant back in the box and shuts the lid. He curls his fingers into a fist and keeps his hands planted to the counter as if his skin is tainted by the objects, as if he could hurt Hyeongjun with just a touch.
In truth, Hyeongjun doesn’t know. He hasn’t ever tested out the effects of holy symbols on himself. Long ago, when he was first turned, his sire warned him of his power being suppressed if this was used against him. Hyeongjun has been lucky enough to never come across someone who wanted to harm him for what he is. People who hate his kind use these things to hurt them. And wanting to be hurt, he willingly hands it over to someone he loves.
When he had consulted Seungmin, the other had dusted off old texts and studied them before actually seeking to procure the things Hyeongjun had requested. He assured Hyeongjun the holy water and cross necklace wouldn’t damage him permanently, but would hurt him well enough in the moment. He had to keep his mouth shut and his eyes pointed at the scuffed leather of his boots to avoid Seungmin seeing his heady expression. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know Hyeongjun’s plan, he had shared his fantasies to a sly Seungmin after one too many beers, and his witchy enabler of a friend had graciously offered to help him out.
“It won’t hurt me too badly. I can handle it.” A pause. “I want it.”
Wetting his lips, Jooyeon hums to himself, lost in thought. Hyeongjun is tempted to beg him—he has been thinking about this far too long. Ultimately, it’s Jooyeon’s call if he feels comfortable enough to use Hyeongjun’s nature against him.
Hand slinking across the counter, he threads his fingers between Jooyeon’s. A hot and dirty feeling spreads through his core at the knowledge that the hand he cradles had held a tool to wound him. He craves for Jooyeon to hurt him.
“You’re the only person I’d ever trust to do this.” Hyeongjun’s voice is quiet but resolute.
It’s true. Hyeongjun would put his life in Jooyeon’s hands without a second thought. It scares him sometimes, just how deeply he has snuck into his still heart. Like weeds burying themselves through concrete, Jooyeon crawled his way in, consuming him and cracking him apart, and Hyeongjun is keen to let him destroy his defenses further.
Squeezing his hand in return, Jooyeon stares into him before cracking a smile. He tilts his head mischievously before speaking.
“Should I eat garlic bread before kissing you, too?”
Hyeongjun shoves him away with an attempt at a scoff, but he inevitably breaks into a grin of his own. “You’re so annoying. I told you that one is just a myth.”
Scrambling to round the island, Jooyeon wraps Hyeongjun into a backhug and pecks his cheek.
“C’mon, you gotta admit that was a pretty good one!”
-
Hyeongjun sits on their shared bed, knees up to his chest, transfixed on the contents of their bedside table. His glasses, a tube of lip balm, a snack wrapper Jooyeon hasn’t thrown away yet—plus the vial of holy water, the cross necklace, and a bottle of lube.
Hyeongjun can’t take his eyes off of it. Even when he hears Jooyeon enter the room and feels the dip of the bed next to him, he stares at the glint of the silver cross in the lamplight.
“If you want to back out at any point, you can,” Jooyeon reassures him.
Hyeongjun snaps his head around. Far too severe, he says, “I won’t.”
Jooyeon just laughs at him. He leans forward and captures Hyeongjun’s lips in a sweet, chaste kiss. “How do you want me to do this, then?”
Hyeongjun swallows heavily. He never expected to get this far. There are plenty of fantasies he has thought about but he hasn’t practiced saying them out loud quite yet. Hundreds of years old, and he still gets shy sometimes.
“You can… you can put the necklace on me.”
He moves to sit cross-legged, back against the headboard, and waits with his hands in his lap. Jooyeon leans over to grab the necklace. His oversized band tee hangs off his thin, hunched shoulders, and the blonde locks of his hair fall in his face as he leans forward. Hyeongjun can see the pink in his cheeks in the lamplight, and he envies it.
He comes to sit in front of Hyeongjun, kneeling on the unmade bed. The silver chain is threaded between long, pretty fingers, and when he drops the cross and lets it dangle, Hyeongjun’s eyes follow it like he’s hypnotized. Weak, light-headed, he waits for Jooyeon to make the first move.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Jooyeon says as he curls both hands around either side of the chain, opening the necklace up and raising it above Hyeongjun’s head. The cross dangles in front of his face for a brief moment, swaying with the motion and almost knocking into Hyeongjun’s nose. His breath catches in his throat and he has to swallow down a whimper at the sight of it.
Finally, Jooyeon lowers the necklace fully and allows it to rest on his nape, his collarbones, his chest. The reaction is instantaneous.
Hyeongjun gasps and chokes on his own breath. The heavy feeling returns tenfold—he can’t move, he’s so weak, he can hardly even keep his head up. His eyes flutter shut and he’s so, so dizzy, like he’s on the verge of passing out. He hasn’t fainted since he was human and it—it feels good.
He’s still clothed, he hasn’t taken his shirt off just yet, so the only silver-to-skin contact is on the nape of his neck. A whine is drawn from his throat because it burns, it burns like the touch of a hot stove, but constant and inescapable. Through the fabric of his shirt, the cross feels hot, not even directly touching his skin. He wants to convulse, wants to writhe from the sensation, but he can hardly move. It takes everything in him to open his heavy eyes to look at Jooyeon.
He’s biting his lip, hands hovering in front of himself like he’s prepared to snatch the thing off Hyeongjun’s neck at any moment, but he doesn’t. He sits and he watches Hyeongjun go boneless, he listens to the little noises escaping his throat unbidden. It hurts and Hyeongjun feels his cock filling out in his shorts.
“Okay?” Jooyeon asks. There’s concern in his expression, because of course there is given what they’re doing, but even through his blurry vision Hyeongjun can see the heady look on his face. Seeing Hyeongjun like this is doing something to him.
Hyeongjun can barely talk, he just whimpers out a hoarse uh-huh.
“Let’s get your shirt off, then.”
Fire roils in his gut—soon enough, the cross will be touching his bare chest. He’s like a doll in the way that he gets pushed and pulled around by Jooyeon, unable to do anything for himself. Jooyeon pulls him forward to wrestle the shirt off his limp body, and as soon as the neck hole gets tugged over his head, the necklace falls straight onto Hyeongjun’s chest.
He moans loud, louder than he thought he would be capable of in this state, and then his moans break apart into pathetic whimpers. It stings so badly, hurts like nothing he has felt in the years since he was turned, red-hot like it could burn straight through his skin and into his undead heart. His eyes roll back in his head. There’s no doubt his cock is fully straining in his shorts now.
“Shit,” Jooyeon swears under his breath. He fully undresses Hyeongjun, pulling both his shorts and underwear down at the same time, and now Hyeongjun’s dick is visible to his boyfriend and leaking onto his stomach.
“You really do like it,” he says like he’s in awe. Hyeongjun hardly has the capacity to respond, but he still makes an effort.
“More,” he pleads, nearly inaudible. He needs more, he needs Jooyeon to touch him, he needs Jooyeon to hurt him.
He gets tugged down the bed until he’s lying flat, and then Jooyeon is reaching for the holy water. His breath stutters while he watches him pull the cork out and peer inside the bottle. A curious finger dips inside, wetting the pad of his index finger with the water. He rubs the water between his pointer and thumb, feeling it as if it’s something novel, but Hyeongjun knows it’s nothing more than normal water to him.
Wordlessly, he dips his finger in again, further, and when he pulls it out a bead of water is stuck to the tip and they both watch it fall to Hyeongjun’s stomach.
Immediately, the water fizzles out with a burst of steam as if he had dropped the bead onto a hot pan. It stings and makes Hyeongjun gasp and writhe. Everything burns. The silver around his neck, the cross resting on his sternum, the droplets of water that keep falling to his bare torso. It hurts, but it’s not enough. He needs proper stimulation.
“Please, please—Touch me,” he cries weakly.
Jooyeon obeys and wraps a hand around Hyeongjun’s precum-slick cock. He bucks his hips into Jooyeon’s touch uncontrollably, but his sharp hips get pushed right back down to the bed.
“Easy,” he warns. “You wanted to take what I give you, right?”
He whimpers, thrashing on the bed, all of his limbs too heavy to control. He didn’t expect this to be so immediate—he thought he would have time to be taken apart, to slowly be broken down, but here he is, immortal and powerful and wholly at a human’s mercy.
Jooyeon jerks him off with one hand and grips the vial of water with the other, and when he gets distracted by Hyeongjun’s bucking hips, the water gets sloshed out of the bottle and right onto Hyeongjun’s stomach.
He screams. He can’t hold it back, he’s loud and pitchy, and if he wasn’t so out of his mind he would be worrying about what the neighbors might think. Before the water can evaporate entirely it cascades down Hyeongjun’s sides, soaking into the sheets beneath him, each rivulet stinging like a knife carving through his flesh. Belatedly, he realizes he’s crying.
Pitiful sobs bubble up in his throat. Jooyeon returns the bottle safely to the bedside table and cups Hyeongjun’s cheek, thumbing at the tears that well up and roll down his temples and into his hairline. Holy water still stains his hands and stings when he touches Hyeongjun’s face.
He expects Jooyeon to ask if he’s okay, to pull the necklace off and ask if he wants to stop, but he doesn’t. He continues to stroke Hyeongjun’s cock and keeps rubbing Hyeongjun’s tears into his cheek. Through his wet vision, Jooyeon is unmistakably turned on at seeing Hyeongjun like this.
“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispers, trailing his thumb down Hyeongjun’s face to the edge of his mouth, over his lower lip where he can taste the salt of his own tears.
Hyeongjun shudders. Jooyeon doesn’t ask permission, he just tells him he’s getting fucked. He could do anything he wants while Hyeongjun is in this state—limp, pliable, unresisting.
Jooyeon is quick to undress himself, pulling his shirt off over his head and kicking his sweatpants off haphazardly. He scrambles for the lube with a haste that would normally make Hyeongjun laugh, but it just gets him hotter right now—seeing him so desperate to fuck him. He had prepared himself in the shower beforehand to skip the extra step while they were in the thick of it, so Jooyeon goes straight into slicking himself up and crawling between Hyeongjun’s legs.
Jooyeon grabs his limp legs and tugs them around his waist, awkwardly shoving a pillow beneath Hyeongjun’s hips to get him at the right angle to fuck. Even though he’s stretched, Jooyeon doesn’t bother to do the careful thing and lube up his hole further, he just lines himself up and starts pushing in.
Back arching, Hyeongjun sobs from both pleasure and pain. When Jooyeon thrusts, the cross gets jostled and knocked around, searing the flesh all across his chest. He hasn’t felt pain like this in so long. Not even when he begs for Jooyeon to hit him, to whip him, to hurt him as much as he is willing. Nothing compares to this. The pleasure is almost an afterthought—all he can focus on is the pain. More and more tears track down his face, and then, Jooyeon is reaching for the holy water again.
He’s not so careful this time. He dribbles it on Hyeongjun’s chest while he fucks him, uncaring when the motion makes more water slosh out, splashing onto his skin instead of individual raindrops. Hyeongjun can’t think, can’t talk, he just keeps thrashing in pain and crying.
“Wow, wow,” Jooyeon whispers to himself. “You’re so pretty, Hyeongjun.”
He shrieks when the boiling hot water drips onto his cock. It’s nearly unbearable, he tries to lift his hands to cover himself but the effects of the necklace keep his arms and legs heavy like lead, and he can hardly raise his hands an inch off the bed before they come right back down. It’s like Jooyeon is having fun now, playing with him like he’s a toy to see what makes him scream loudest. Hyeongjun has never been more turned on in his long, unending life.
The water drips from his cock down, down, right to where Jooyeon fucks him relentlessly. The pain it leaves in its wake brings more tears to Hyeongjun’s eyes.
“Is it worse here,” Jooyeon dribbles it over his cock and Hyeongjun screams, “or here?” The water is poured on his hole, mixing with the lube and precum and making the nastiest, wettest sounds, only heard between Hyeongjun’s sobbing. Jooyeon doesn’t even sound smug, just turned on and curious.
“No, no,” he cries hysterically. It’s so much. It hurts so bad.
Jooyeon takes pity on him and rights the bottle in his hand, no longer letting it pour onto the body beneath him. No more than a quarter of liquid is left in the bottle, and it relieves Hyeongjun almost as much as it disappoints him. It gets deposited on the bedside table again and Jooyeon’s hands are so clumsy it almost topples over entirely, but the ringing of the glass quickens until it stops wobbling, letting them know it’s steady on the table.
Leaning down, Jooyeon kisses him. Hyeongjun can’t kiss back—he’s too weak, too far gone, but it doesn’t seem to bother Jooyeon much. He keeps fucking him hard and rough, stroking Hyeongjun the whole time he kisses his unresponsive mouth. Judging from the quickening pace and the noisy whimpers, he figures Jooyeon is getting close.
“I think I like this too,” he speaks into Hyeongjun’s lax mouth, muffled and mumbling. “Pretty when you cry, Hyeongjun-ah.”
Soon enough, Jooyeon’s hips stutter, and he’s cumming inside Hyeongjun. He’s noisy when he cums, though not nearly as noisy as Hyeongjun’s crying and screaming from before. He moans and shudders against Hyeongjun’s mouth while he rides out his orgasm, fucking shallowly in and out of his worn out body.
Once he recovers and sits back, he doesn’t pull out just yet, leaving himself buried inside Hyeongjun. There’s an odd gleam in his eyes when he murmurs, “Just one more thing I want to try…”
Hyeongjun’s stomach clenches when the holy water comes back into view. Jooyeon brings the bottle up to his kiss-swollen, pink lips, and takes a sip of it. Hyeongjun watches his face—his cheeks are puffed out and there is no indication he swallows it.
He starts to stroke Hyeongjun’s neglected cock once again, and uses the other hand to tilt Hyeongjun’s head to face him, then grips his jaw and opens his mouth up. Hyeongjun can’t resist, can’t fight him off, he just waits while Jooyeon jerks him off holding a mouthful of holy water until he gets to the edge of his orgasm. Only then does he lean down and spit the water into Hyeongjun’s obedient, waiting mouth, right as his climax wrecks through him.
The water hurts, of course it hurts, especially somewhere as sensitive as his mouth. Like drinking coffee too hot, it sears his tongue and gums and palate and the walls of his mouth. He can’t swallow it, he doesn’t know what will happen to him if he does, so he turns his weak head and lets it rush out of his mouth, down his cheek and onto the sheets. It makes him cough until his throat is sore.
When Jooyeon hastily snatches the necklace and pulls it off of him, he expects to feel as normal as he did before it went on, but he still feels limp and tired and weak. Maybe from the orgasm, maybe from the duration it was kept on, or maybe from how much trauma his body went through in the past half-hour. He can move now, though—he can raise his head and lift himself up on his elbows to look down at himself.
His chest and abdomen are bright red like he’s been sunburned, and especially raw and sensitive on his sternum where the cross had been resting. His cock lies limp against his stomach as cum pools in the dip of his belly button. And when he drags his eyes up the body of the figure between his legs, he is met with Jooyeon’s wild but sheepish smile.
“Um… Do you wanna feed from me?”
He’s embarrassed, God, he’s embarrassed, even after all of that. Especially after all of that. Jooyeon hurries to switch their positions, flopping on the bed next to Hyeongjun and pulling him on top of himself. Now face-to-face, Hyeongjun can see the nervous, apologetic look written all over his boyfriend’s face. It’s probably a good idea to feed after something so taxing, but he can tell that Jooyeon is offering it because he’s afraid he took it too far and doesn’t know how to say it. Hyeongjun gives a wry smile and ducks his head into the crook of Jooyeon’s neck.
“When I’m back to normal, you’re in trouble for spitting that in my mouth,” he says into Jooyeon’s skin, then bites.