Chapter Text
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Hongjoong felt the steady shift of muscle of his horse beneath his legs as they moved through the forest, the night air cool against his face. Hunting was new to him. He had grown up with platters brought to his table, meals prepared without effort on his part. But tonight he had wanted to take part in the chase, to catch something with his own hands.
Two rabbits hung from the saddle by their tied legs, swinging with each step of the horse along the narrow path. Around them, the forest was alive with the familiar chorus of owls and crickets. Now and then the sharp screech of a bat cut through the air, it was nothing unusual for this hour.
Behind him rode three of his father’s guards. Their presence, he knew, was more for ceremony than necessity. The king called it protection. Hongjoong called it babysitting. For once, he wanted to step beyond the palace walls without shadows dogging his every move.
A sudden jolt broke his thoughts. One of the guards’ horses shied violently to the side, hooves scraping against the earth as it stumbled forward. Hongjoong slowed his own mount, twisting back in the saddle.
''Is all well?'' he asked, leaning to catch a glimpse of whatever had startled the horse.
''Yes, your majesty,'' the guard answered, though his voice carried more unease than confidence. The other two had drawn up as well, scanning the dark treeline.
''Likely just a critter,'' the first guard added quickly. ''We should return to the castle, sire. It’s late.''
Hongjoong made a small sound of agreement, lips pulling into a faint pout. He squinted into the trees but saw nothing beyond thick shadows. Perhaps it truly had been nothing, a hedgehog, a snake. Still, he clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward again. This time, the others quickened their pace as well. None of them wished to linger long enough to learn what else might have been waiting in the dark.
They rode on in silence, but the unease lingered. Before long, the same guard’s horse let out a piercing neigh, jerking violently away from the treeline. Its fear was contagious, this time, the guards reacted at once, steel rasping free as they drew their swords and scanned the shadows.
Hongjoong's pulse quickened. He had only a crossbow slung at his side, a handful of arrows, and the bowie knife he’d insisted on bringing. Hardly enough against whatever predator prowled the forest tonight.
''Lead his Majesty back to the castle. We’ll cover the rear,'' one guard barked, his tone clipped and urgent. Another guard moved his horse closer, ready to flank Hongjoong.
He urged his mare forward, the animal’s ears pinned back, hooves striking the dirt faster and faster. Every jolt of the saddle rattled through him as the horse surged into a canter, then a gallop at the lightest press of his heel. The rhythm of her stride was almost enough to steady him, and when he recognized a curve in the road, relief flickered. They were close to the kingdom’s border, although not yet within sight.
Then the scream shattered the night. A man’s voice, cut short, swallowed by the thud of something heavy crashing to the ground.
Hongjoong's head snapped back, reins tightening in his grip until his horse slowed, skidding to a halt. He twisted in the saddle, searching.
The guard’s horse stood alone, trembling on unsteady legs, its flank scraped but otherwise unharmed. The rider, though... gone.
''Sir Jong Suk?'' Hongjoong called, voice sharper now, eyes straining into the dark. No answer came. The forest swallowed his words whole, as if it had never heard them.
Then- hoofbeats. Distant at first, building steadily. Relief swept through him, at least the other two knights were still close. He straightened in the saddle, scanning the bend in the road.
But when the shapes broke from the shadows, his stomach dropped. The horses thundered past him riderless, reins whipping wildly as they tore down the path in blind panic. Not one of his men in sight.
Cold dread knotted his chest. Whatever prowled these woods had ripped three trained knights from their mounts without a cry loud enough to reach him. He was no soldier, if they had fallen so easily, he stood no chance.
He leaned forward, pressing his heels to his mare’s sides. She surged into a gallop, racing after the runaway steeds, hooves pounding the road toward the safety of the kingdom.
He was so close, so close to the kingdom, when something slammed into his side. The force ripped him from the saddle and sent him crashing to the ground with a sickening thump.
Agony flared along his ribs where he landed, and his skull rang from the impact. For a few stunned seconds, all he knew was pain. Then the weight above him registered. Someone, something, was on top of him.
When his blurred vision cleared, the first thing he saw was a pair of glowing red eyes.
His mouth opened to scream, but a hand clamped down hard, muffling the sound before it could escape. He thrashed, clawed, bucked against the grip, but the creature’s strength was absolute.
It hauled him upright by the front of his riding jacket, one hand still crushing his mouth shut, and dragged him back toward the path where his horse had fled.
The forest was completely black now. The lantern that had guided their way was gone, leaving only shadows. Out of that void, three more shapes emerged- figures standing unnaturally still, all marked by those same burning eyes.
Hongjoong's breath caught. He didn’t know what had taken him, but he had heard the stories whispered at court. Knights vanishing in the wilds. Merchants found torn apart. Men snatched from their beds. Monsters of the night, they said, old tales to frighten children. He had never believed them. Until now.
As his eyes adjusted, he realized with a lurch that they looked almost human. Their faces, their bodies, humanoids... but something was wrong. Twisted. And those eyes...
Then he saw the ground behind them. His guards.
Three armored bodies slumped lifeless in the dirt, necks bent at impossible angles.
His stomach dropped. He jerked violently, trying to tear free, but the hand on him only tightened.
''I can’t believe my own eyes,'' one of the creatures said, staring at him as though at treasure. ''The crown prince.''
Hongjoong's chest heaved, panic choking him. He prayed they wanted ransom- gold, jewels, anything but this. If they asked, his father would pay. Surely.
''The Lord shall be most gratified,'' another said, excitement bubbling in his tone. ''Such a prize will not go unrewarded.''
''Indeed,'' said the one restraining Hongjoong, pride curling through his words. ''It was my hand that brought him down.''
A third figure gave a low, amused laugh. ''Come now. Do not adorn yourself with laurels that are not yours alone. We each played our part.''
Hongjoong felt unbearably small. He had always been reminded of it, by whispers in the town, by sidelong glances at banquets, by the amused comments of taller nobles who thought him harmless. His lack of height had made him determined to prove himself in other ways—involve himself in politics, to take action in the affairs of the town, to show he was dedicated.
Hunting had been another opportunity, a chance to demonstrate that he was not soft or sheltered, but capable of the same harshness required of any leader. Now, however, with the forest closing in around him and shadows swallowing his resolve, he felt every inch of that smallness pressing in.
The beasts that surrounded him towered over his frame, their broad shoulders blotting out the little light that remained, their grip iron and unrelenting. The hand that clamped across his mouth swallowed his jaw entirely, even if they had not possessed unnatural strength, their sheer size alone would have been enough to render him powerless. He twisted, strained, his heart hammering, but his struggles seemed only to amuse them.
One of the figures slipped behind him, silent. The hand left his mouth for the briefest moment, and Hongjoong drew in a breath to cry out, but before the sound could form, a strip of rough cloth was forced between his teeth and pulled cruelly tight around his head. The knot bit into the back of his skull, and when he tried to shout again, all that came forth was a muffled, desperate sound, pitiful against the stillness of the wood. His humiliation sank deeper than the gag.
''Walk,'' one of the creatures ordered, his voice smooth, refined, as though he were issuing an invitation rather than a command. Then came the sharp prod of a boot against Hongjoong's calf.
Helpless, Hongjoong stumbled forward. His legs carried him against his will, the firm grip on his arm ensuring there was no room for disobedience. The forest around them had grown darker still, the lanterns that once lit their path were long gone, leaving only the faint, unnatural glow of red eyes. Here and there the bushes stirred, guttural growls rumbling low and close, but even those natural predators seemed reluctant to approach.
♰
They walked for what felt like hours. Hongjoong's feet burned with every step, his legs trembling beneath him. More than once he stumbled, forced to lean against the iron grip on his arm just to keep upright. Each falter earned him a tug, sharp and impatient.
At last, the creature gave a weary sigh and halted. Hongjoong barely had time to steady himself before he was hauled off the ground and thrown over a broad shoulder as if he weighed nothing.
A muffled sound escaped him, half protest, half shock. He kicked weakly, but the beast’s hand clamped around his legs and held him fast. Humiliating as it was, he was almost relieved at not having to drag his aching feet.
Then the world lurched. They were no longer walking, but moving with terrifying speed, faster than any horse Hongjoong had ever ridden. The forest rushed past in a blur, and he could do nothing but hang on and pray the journey would end soon.
He thought he might be sick from the unnatural pace, but then, as suddenly as it had begun, the sprint ceased. The ground beneath him steadied, and with a jolt he realized they had arrived.
Before him rose gates of wrought iron, taller than any man, their black surface twisted into patterns that looked less crafted than grown. They swung open with a long, groaning creak that echoed through the night, the sound carrying like a warning.
Once inside, the creatures slowed to a walk. Hongjoong was set back on his feet, their grip firm on his arm as they led him forward. His legs wobbled beneath him, but at least he could see now.
What he saw made his chest tighten. The path wound through a garden, though to call it such felt almost mocking. Wild roses tangled over broken stone arches, their petals blackened as though burned, their thorns longer than a man’s finger. Statues stood half-shrouded in ivy, their faces weathered and crumbling into expressions more monstrous than human. Pools of water reflected the moonlight, but their surfaces were dark, and still, like sheets of polished obsidian.
The castle itself loomed beyond, vast and cold, its windows aglow with pale light. Every line of it spoke of age and power, walls that had stood for centuries, built to withstand time itself. As Hongjoong was dragged closer, the weight of its shadow seemed to press down on him, and he wondered if this was the last sky he would ever see.
Hongjoong was marched up the stone steps and through vast doors banded with iron. The moment they entered, the air changed. It was warmer inside, but no less chilling, heavy with candle smoke and the faint copper tang of old blood.
They were met almost instantly. Servants in dark attire hurried forward, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. When they saw Hongjoong, saw his bound hands, his gag, the fine but torn garments of a prince, they froze. A collective hush fell over the hall.
One, braver than the rest, let out a breath. ''Oh my... it is the crown prince.'' His voice was hushed, but the words carried, and others began to murmur in disbelief.
Another stepped forward, eyes wide. ''His blood will be unmatched. The Lord shall rejoice beyond measure.''
A third, older and more severe, turned his gaze on the hunters. ''You would do well not to keep him waiting. Bring the boy to be made presentable.''
Hongjoong stiffened as hands descended on him, far lighter than the hunters’ but no less firm. They untied the gag, though only to replace it with another cloth draped neatly at his shoulders. His hair was smoothed back, the dirt brushed from his face, though his bonds remained. One tugged at his ruined jacket with a frown of distaste.
''He must be cleansed,'' the elder servant said. ''The sacrifice must be offered in dignity, not in filth.''
Without another word, Hongjoong was pulled away from the hall. His boots scraped on polished stone as he was dragged down a side passage. The servants did not look at him with pity, nor with cruelty, but with a kind of solemn purpose, as though he were less a man and more an offering to be prepared.
They led him down narrow corridors lit only by candelabras, their flames bending in the draft that followed him. The air grew warmer, thick with herbs and soap, until the hunters released him into the hands of a cluster of servants waiting before a tall wooden door.
''Here,'' one of them said softly, voice steady but touched with awe. ''He shall be made ready.''
The door opened, and Hongjoong was pulled inside. The chamber was bright compared to the halls, its walls lined with polished copper basins and steaming buckets of water. The scent of lavender clung in the air, deceptively soothing.
Before he could resist, his jacket was stripped from his shoulders. Gloves tugged at his boots, leaving his feet bare against the cold floor. He twisted, humiliated, but the gag and bonds made resistance laughable. The servants did not jeer or sneer- they regarded him instead with professional detachment, as though he were an object, a vessel to be polished before being set on display.
One pressed a damp cloth to his cheek, scrubbing away dirt. Another dragged a comb through his tangled hair, pulling until his scalp stung. Buckets of warm water were poured, sluicing the mud from his arms and legs, leaving his skin tingling.
''He must be presented in dignity,'' murmured the elder servant. ''The Lord shall not look kindly upon neglect.''
They dried him briskly, their movements efficient, almost ritualistic. A fresh linen shirt was forced over his head, tied neatly at the throat. Hongjoong’s breath quickened, his chest heaving against the clean fabric. He felt less like a man than a lamb dressed for slaughter.
Then, as he thought the humiliation was at last complete, one of the servants knelt with a small, glinting contraption of iron in his hands. Hongjoong froze.
The older servant’s voice was calm, unyielding. ''It is tradition. He must be rendered... inviolate.''
Hongjoong's muffled cry rose in his throat as cold metal closed around him. His body jerked in protest, but firm hands pinned his hips, finishing the task with quiet precision. The device locked around his cock with a final snap, merciless and absolute.
Laughter would have been kinder. Instead, the servants’ silence made it worse. To them, this was no cruelty, merely ritual, expected, ordinary. But to Hongjoong, it was an unbearable shame, his face hot with humiliation as he lowered his head, unable to meet their eyes.
When they were done, the elder gave a small nod of approval. ''He is prepared. Take him to the hall.''
Hands gripped his arms once more, and Hongjoong was pulled toward the door, his knees unsteady beneath him. He was clean, dressed, and bound in iron, ready to be led like an offering to the altar.
The corridors stretched on endlessly, lined with tall windows that let in pale shafts of moonlight. Hongjoong's bare feet padded softly on the stone, every step echoing louder in his ears than the servants’ measured footsteps beside him. He kept his head bowed, partly from exhaustion, partly because he could not bear to meet their gazes.
The clean linen clung uncomfortably to his damp skin, a reminder of their hands scrubbing away his filth as though he had been livestock. Worse still was the iron locked tight around him, cold and suffocating, pressing into him with every step. He could not forget it, not for a second. It marked him, not as a prince, not even as a man, but as an offering.
This can't be real, he thought, swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat. This is a dream, a nightmare... I will wake, and I will be in my chambers. The hunt, the ambush, all of it will vanish.
But the ache in his feet was real. The sting where his hair had been pulled was real. The weight of the device on his cock, the humiliation burning in his chest, that was all too real.
He glanced up once, just once, at the walls towering on either side. Old portraits stared down at him, the paint cracked and faded, eyes glinting in the candlelight as though alive. Statues lined the corners, their marble faces solemn, their stone hands clutching swords and scepters. Everything in this place spoke of age, of power, of lives and empires devoured long before his birth.
The servants said nothing as they led him deeper inside. Their silence pressed on him heavier than chains. Each step toward whatever awaited in the great hall felt like another step closer to a fate he could not escape.
Hongjoong clenched his teeth on the cloth gag, his jaw tight. He had dreamed of proving his strength, of being seen as more than a boy too small for his crown. Yet here he was, bound, washed, humiliated, marched like a lamb through corridors that smelled of candle smoke and old blood. There would be no politics to save him, no words sharp enough to change what was coming.
And still, the worst part was not the fear of death. It was the thought that he might already be forgotten, that beyond these walls, no one would even know how he had been taken.
They came at last to a set of towering doors, carved from black oak and inlaid with iron that glinted in the candlelight. Whatever lay beyond, it was not meant for mortals like him.
The servants halted, their hands tightening on his arms. For a moment there was only silence, and Hongjoong dared to hope, foolishly, that perhaps they would turn aside, that his fate was not sealed after all. But then he heard it: the rustle of fabric, the quiet draw of a ribbon sliding free.
One of them stepped closer, his voice low and refined. ''He must not behold the Lord’s presence unbidden.''
Before Hongjoong could react, a length of black cloth pressed over his eyes. He jerked his head in protest, but the knot was pulled tight behind him, plunging him into darkness. His breath caught as the world vanished, no candlelight, no painted faces staring down at him, only the weight of the fabric and the suffocating dread it brought.
The doors groaned as they were pushed open, the sound echoing like a warning bell through the vast hall beyond. A rush of colder air spilled out, carrying with it the scent of wax, stone, and something richer, metallic, blood, faint but unmistakable.
''Proceed,'' another servant murmured. Hands pulled him forward.
Blind, Hongjoong stumbled into the throne room. His ears filled with the sound of their footsteps against marble, the slow, reverent pace at which they moved. Somewhere ahead, far above, he sensed a presence waiting, heavy, patient, and impossibly still.
Every instinct screamed at him to run, but the blindfold bound him as surely as chains. All he could do was walk, helpless, into the court of the Lord of monsters.
The air grew colder as they led him forward, the vastness of the chamber pressing down on him like invisible weight. The echo of each footstep spread wide and long, as though the ceiling arched far above him and the walls stretched away into shadow. His heart hammered in his chest, too loud, and he knew they could hear it.
A faint scrape of metal reached his ears, the shifting of armored guards, perhaps, or the subtle stir of weapons being readied. Somewhere higher up, beyond his reach, came the low crackle of torches, the dripping of melted wax onto stone. Every sound seemed to stretch unnaturally long in the silence, until he thought he would go mad from listening.
Then came another sound, softer but sharper, like silk sliding across marble. A figure moving. The air shifted with it, colder still, carrying the faintest scent of iron and something sweeter, richer, blood, but not the stale copper he had smelled before. This was fresher, intoxicating, so thick in the air he nearly gagged on it.
His captors stopped. Hands pressed hard against his shoulders, forcing him down until his knees struck the cold stone. The impact jolted through him, sharp and bruising, and the blindfold only deepened the disorientation. His breath came fast against the cloth tied at his mouth, hot and uneven, while unseen figures loomed around him.
Then it came, a voice. Deep, smooth, and elegant, its resonance filling the hall without the need to be raised.
''What treasure is this,'' it said, ''that you lay before me?''
''My Lord,'' one of the hunters began, his voice low but resonant, carrying an almost reverent pride. ''We bring before you no common quarry, but a prize beyond imagining.''
Another stepped forward, Hongjoong heard the brush of boots against marble, the faint swish of a cloak. ''By fortune, or perhaps providence, we seized him in the forest. The crown prince of men himself, bound and made ready.''
A third voice joined, smoother, tinged with satisfaction. ''His blood shall be as no other, rich with lineage, thick with youth. Surely no offering could honor Your Lordship more.''
The hall remained still for a long moment, their words hanging heavy in the silence. Hongjoong's heart thundered in his chest, louder than ever, until he was certain the whole court must hear it. He tried to lift his head, but a hand pressed firmly at the back of his neck, keeping him bowed. The stone beneath his knees was hard, and every nerve in his body screamed to flee, but he was pinned, blind, and completely at their mercy.
''The crown prince...'' A pause that felt heavy. ''You have done well.''
The words were not shouted, not cruel, but they sank into Hongjoong's bones all the same. He could not see the speaker, but he could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and unrelenting, stripping him bare beneath the blindfold.
''Raise him,'' the Lord commanded, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of command that allowed no hesitation. ''Let him kneel properly before me.''
Hands gripped Hongjoong beneath his arms and hauled him upright, dragging him from where he had been pressed low to the ground. His knees slid across the cold marble until he was fixed in place again, but this time he was forced higher, spine straightened, head tilted forward. The shift was subtle, yet the humiliation cut deeper. He was no longer crumpled like prey, but posed, arranged, made to look upon the throne he could not see.
Hongjoong felt the vastness of the room all around him, but the space before him carried a different weight. Though his eyes were veiled, he knew there was someone above him now, seated and watching, patient, composed, assured of his dominance. The throne might as well have been carved from the darkness itself.
The hunters released him at last, and the silence stretched. He felt only the cold stone beneath his knees, the linen clinging to his skin, the iron biting at his cock, and that presence before him.
Then the Lord spoke again, every syllable unvarying.
''Better,'' he murmured. ''Now, let me look upon the gift you have brought.''
For a moment, nothing. Then Hongjoong heard it, the shift of fabric, slow and elegant, the creak of weight lifting from the throne.
Slow footsteps followed, echoing with a measured authority that filled the hall. Each step seemed to draw the air tighter in Hongjoong's lungs, until breathing felt like a task. The nearer they came, the more suffocating the presence grew, as if the very ground bent beneath it.
A hush had fallen over the chamber. No servant dared whisper, no hunter dared boast now. Only the sound of that steady approach, and the thunder of Hongjoong's own heart, existed.
The footsteps stopped before him. He felt it then, not touch at first, but nearness, a coldness brushing over his skin as though the air itself recoiled from the figure standing above him.
Then a hand.
Fingers, cool and precise, slipped beneath his chin and tilted his head upward. The touch was not harsh, but there was no mistaking the command in it, his body obeyed before his mind caught up. Blindfolded, bound, Hongjoong could do nothing but kneel there, forced to present himself.
The Lord’s voice came again, lower now, intimate in its weight.
''So this is the prince they whisper of...''
The words sent a shiver down Hongjoong's spine, as though the voice itself had teeth.
The hand slipped from beneath Hongjoong's chin, leaving his head bowed once more. For a moment, there was only the echo of footsteps as the Lord began to move, circling him with slow, measured strides. Hongjoong strained to follow the sound, but blindfolded as he was, the world had shrunk to a blur of sensation, the brush of air shifting with each pass, the faint whisper of fabric trailing behind.
A hand skimmed across his shoulder, the touch light yet decisive, as though appraising the set of his frame. Fingers lingered on the line of his collarbone before drifting away. Another touch came at his back, the faintest pressure guiding him straighter on his knees, correcting his posture like a tutor with a wayward pupil.
He swallowed hard, the knot of the gag biting against his lips as he fought the urge to cry out. The touches were not cruel, but neither were they gentle. They were clinical, the hands of one who examined possession, not person.
The footsteps circled again. Hongjoong felt fingers pass through his hair, smoothing the strands that had come loose during the struggle, combing them back with a precision almost tender. Then a slow glide traced down his jaw, firm enough that he could not mistake it for an accident.
All the while, the silence of the hall endured. Every other presence held still as the Lord inspected his prize.
At last the voice returned, closer than ever, murmuring above his ear.
''Yes,'' he said softly, as though to himself. ''This shall do.''
Hongjoong's heart thudded wildly against his chest, he could feel the collective anticipation thick in the silence, as though every creature present leaned forward, waiting for the inevitable.
At last, the Lord’s voice rose, calm yet commanding.
''You have brought me a worthy gift.''
A ripple of approval moved through the chamber, soft murmurs, the scrape of boots as heads bowed. Hongjoong's stomach twisted. He knew what came next; he would be killed here and now, his body left lifeless on the cold stone, his name never heard again.
The footsteps stopped once more before him. A hand brushed over his shoulder, slow, almost reassuring, though Hongjoong could not take comfort in it.
The Lord’s tone deepened, quiet but absolute. ''Leave us.''
There was a beat of silence. Then the shuffle of feet began, steady and obedient. Cloaks whispered as the hunters withdrew, boots striking the marble in a retreat that seemed endless. One by one, the presences faded from the room, until only two remained.
Hongjoong's breath came quick through his gag, his skin prickling with awareness. He had no sight, but he could feel the Lord still standing above him, closer now, heavier in the air, like the gathering weight of a storm.
The voice came again, lower, intimate, a private resonance meant only for him.
''Now,'' The Lord murmured, ''let us see what shall become of you.''
The chamber had fallen into silence. Hongjoong knelt alone, every muscle taut, every nerve straining beneath the weight of that unseen gaze. His throat burned from holding back useless sounds against the gag, his jaw aching from the cloth knotted too tightly behind his head.
Then fingers returned, brushing against his cheek before slipping behind his head. For an instant Hongjoong tensed, expecting another cruel restraint, but instead he felt the knot loosen. The gag slackened and slid away, leaving his mouth bare for the first time since he had been taken.
Air rushed in too quickly. Hongjoong coughed hard, his throat raw from dryness, the sound ragged in the echoing hall. Spit gathered bitter on his tongue, though it did nothing to ease the parched scrape inside his mouth.
The hand did not withdraw at once. A thumb grazed the edge of his jaw, a steadying touch that was neither rough nor tender, only precise, as though the Lord were testing the weight of his silence.
Hongjoong swallowed, lips parting on a hoarse breath. He dared not to speak. Even freed of the gag, he could feel how little freedom that meant.
Above him, the Lord’s voice came soft this time, a murmur rolling close enough that Hongjoong felt it against his skin.
''There. Better.''
The word hung in the air, and Hongjoong shivered, uncertain if he had been granted mercy or only readied for the end.
Hongjoong stayed still, breath ragged from the gag’s removal, when fingers returned to his face. They traced slowly along his cheekbone, cool against his overheated skin. He flinched despite himself, expecting a blow, but the hand only continued its exploration.
The Lord tilted his head back, guiding his chin upward with the ease of a man handling something fragile. Hongjoong's lips parted slightly as his throat tightened, the gesture pulling him into a posture that felt at once humiliating and strangely careful.
A fingertip brushed across his mouth, ghosting over his lower lip. Hongjoong drew in a sharp breath, his heart stumbling, but the touch was fleeting, more a test than a caress.
''So soft,'' the Lord murmured, voice smooth. ''Not yet marred by time or hardship.''
The hand shifted, slipping higher to press gently at the corner of his jaw, tilting his face from one side to the other as though examining a sculpture under different light.
''Such symmetry,'' he continued, his tone thoughtful, almost scholarly. ''A face made to be remembered.''
Hongjoong's stomach knotted at the words. He had steeled himself for violence, for blood, but not for this strange appraisal. It was worse somehow, to be seen so closely, to be studied like an object rather than torn apart. He bit back a protest, uncertain if his voice would betray him, uncertain if silence might preserve him a moment longer.
The thumb lingered at the edge of his mouth again, pressing lightly until he opened it involuntarily. The lord let out a quiet hum, as though satisfied with the obedience, then released him, leaving Hongjoong trembling in the dark behind the blindfold.
The hand drifted from Hongjoong's jawline, trailing lower with a patience that made his skin crawl. Fingers glided along the curve of his neck, pausing just beneath his ear. The touch was feather-light yet inescapable, a reminder that he was utterly exposed.
He swallowed hard, the motion betraying him. He felt the glide of cool skin brush with the movement, pressing gently against the thrum of his pulse. His heartbeat thundered against that touch, quick and frantic, as though it could give him away.
A quiet chuckle rumbled above him, soft but sharp enough to cut through the silence.
''How eager the heart is to confess,'' the Lord murmured, voice velvety, cruel in its composure. ''Every secret laid bare in its rhythm.''
The fingers lingered, brushing across his throat, tracing the hollow where neck met collarbone. They did not squeeze, did not pierce, only hovered with a measured slowness that made Hongjoong's breath falter.
Another hum, contemplative, as though he were a scholar appraising some rare artifact. ''A delicate vessel,'' the voice mused, low and deliberate. ''Frail... yet most exquisite.''
Hongjoong clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to recoil. He had steeled himself to be slit open, for the searing pain of a knife, but none came. Only that cool hand, mapping the fragile line of his throat, every stroke a reminder of how easily it could all be ended.
Hongjoong’s breath hitched, shallow and uneven. The silence pressed down until it was unbearable, his chest tight, his mouth dry.
At last, the words slipped out,cracked, hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
''Please...''
It was pitiful, muffled by the dryness of his throat, but it carried. The sound of it seemed to echo in the vast chamber, fragile against the marble and stone.
The hand at his neck stilled. For a long moment, nothing moved. Then the Lord’s chuckle came again, low and indulgent, curling close to Hongjoong's ear.
''Ah,'' he murmured, savoring the sound. ''Even a prince remembers how to beg.''
The fingers pressed lightly at his pulse, as though testing its quickened rhythm, then drifted away, not in mercy, but in control, reminding him that every plea only deepened his powerlessness.
The hand withdrew from his throat, and for a moment Hongjoong thought the inspection had ended. But then firm fingers gripped his arm. There was no violence in it, but no room for resistance either.
''Rise,'' the Lord commanded.
Hongjoong's knees protested as he was pulled to his feet. His legs trembled from kneeling too long, but the hand at his arm guided him upward without hesitation, holding him steady even as his balance faltered beneath the blindfold.
He was led forward, each step echoing against the marble floor. The vastness of the chamber pressed differently now, the presence ahead was no longer distant, but drawing closer, heavier with each pace.
At last, they stopped. Hongjoong heard the shift of fabric, the creak of weight as the throne received its master once more. Then, to his shock, the guiding hand tugged gently at him, pulling him down.
He gasped, stumbling, until he felt himself lowered into a seated position. Not upon the cold stone, but across a lap broad and still. His back brushed against the cool firmness of embroidered cloth, his body angled like an object carefully placed.
The Lord’s arm settled around him with casual certainty, holding him there, not crushing, not cruel, but with the authority of someone who knew he would not, could not, escape.
Hongjoong's chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. He had been prepared for death, for humiliation in front of a watching court. He had not been prepared for this quiet, terrifying intimacy.
He sat stiffly, every muscle taut, the linen tunic stretched awkwardly over his bent knees. The throne was vast and cold, yet the lap beneath him was as inescapable as the hands that held him there.
Then another touch came, not on his face, not on his throat, but lower. A hand rested against his knee, light at first, almost idle. Hongjoong's breath hitched, his body instinctively trying to retreat, but there was nowhere to go.
The hand moved. Slowly, it traced the line of his leg, brushing fabric tighter against his skin as it slid upward. His thigh tensed beneath the touch, the muscles coiled, but the fingers only pressed firmer, gliding higher, higher still.
The linen shifted with the motion, hitching upward until cool air brushed where it should not. The hem caught against his hip, lifting further as the hand neared the place no servant should dare touch, no captor should so boldly claim.
Hongjoong made a sound, not a word, just a sharp intake of breath, half protest, half fear. He clenched his hands into fists against his lap, trying to will his body still.
The Lord’s voice followed, low and measured, curling against his ear.
''Even here,'' he murmured, fingers pausing high on his thigh, close to the curve of his ass, ''you tremble.''
The hand didn't stop. It glided higher still, past the hem of the linen, pressing into the warm flesh of Hongjoong’s upper thigh. His breath stuttered, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as the touch crept dangerously close to the curve of his backside. Every inch felt like a boundary crossed, and yet the fingers moved with calm assurance, as though each trespass was inevitable.
Hongjoong's fists tightened in his lap, nails biting into his palms. His body betrayed him, trembling against the firm seat of the throne. The humiliation burned through him. He, the crown prince, held like this, touched as though he were nothing more than property to be appraised and claimed.
Then came another sensation, one that made his blood run cold. Lips. They were full, soft... and warmer than he expected, softer than any courtly kiss he had ever had. They brushed against the side of his throat with an indulgent slowness, sinking into the curve of his skin like velvet pressed to silk. Hongjoong flinched, but the arm around him held him steady, guiding him closer as though his body belonged nowhere else.
The kisses wandered upward, lingering at the hollow just beneath his ear. Each one was slow, almost tender, but every gentle press was shadowed by something more dangerous. Between the softness, the sharp graze of fangs traced across his skin, a predator toying with the edge of his fear.
Hongjoong swallowed, his throat moving against those lips, and felt them press deeper for it. The softest sigh left the Lord, a pleased sound muffled against his neck.
''Ah...'' The lord murmured, his voice rich, velvet-dark. ''How sweetly you quiver.''
Hongjoong's breath came shallow and uneven, every brush of those full lips stealing what little composure he had left. The gentleness was unbearable, more frightening than violence, he could not brace himself for softness when death hovered so close.
At last the words slipped free, cracked and trembling from his dry throat.
''W-who... who are you? What are you?''
The kisses stilled. For a moment there was only the silence of the hall, vast and oppressive, and the thunder of his own heartbeat. Then the lips curved faintly against his skin, and the low hum of amusement stirred the air at his throat.
At last, the voice came, smooth and certain, every syllable draped in velvet.
''I am called Mingi,'' he said, his tone rich with quiet pride. ''And I am Lord of this court... master of the night, a vampire.'' The fangs grazed him again, lightly.
Hongjoong's chest seized as the word sank in. His father’s court had laughed at the old stories, dismissed them as superstition, but here, with those lips still pressing soft against his throat, with those teeth grazing his flesh, there was no denying it. The tales were true, and he was kneeling in their grasp.
The words still rang in Hongjoong's head, he was a vampire, not just any vampire, but their Lord. He could hardly breathe beneath the weight of it. His father had dismissed such things as tales for peasants, yet here he was, blindfolded, bound, trembling beneath the lips of one who named himself the very monster of merely a legend.
Those lips moved again, resuming their slow, deliberate path along his throat. Full, soft, almost reverent in the way they pressed to his skin. Hongjoong shuddered, unable to reconcile the gentleness of the kisses with the horror of what he had just heard. Fingers traced his thigh once more, climbing toward the edge of the tunic, teasing at his body as though he were already claimed.
Is this how it ends? The thought spiraled through him. Not with a blade in battle, not with a sickness in bed, but here, dressed in linen like a lamb, kissed and toyed with before I am bled dry...
The kisses deepened, trailing lower, lips molding perfectly to the hollow where his pulse thundered beneath the skin. He felt his throat tighten as Mingi lingered, fangs brushing in idle threat, as though savoring the anticipation more than the act.
Hongjoong's hands trembled against his lap. His mind screamed to beg, to fight, but no sound left his lips. He was caught between terror and a strange, disorienting pull, that softness, that slow patience, holding him spellbound.
And then the teeth sank in.
A sharp pierce, sudden and absolute, tore through his flesh. Hongjoong gasped, the sound breaking raw from his throat as fire spread outward from the bite. Pain and shock mingled with a rush so fierce it stole the air from his lungs. His pulse leapt against the fangs, feeding the predator at his throat, and all he could do was shudder in Mingi's lap, trembling beneath the embrace of lips that had turned to hunger.
The first sensation was fire. White-hot pain shot through his neck where the fangs pierced deep, sharp enough to drag a cry from his throat. His whole body tensed, every muscle locked as though bracing for death.
But the pain changed. It dulled, softened, bleeding into something heavier. His limbs began to weaken, his fists unclenching in his lap as though his strength were slipping out with every pull of blood. His heart hammered fast, too fast, the beat rattling through him until it felt as though the sound alone would shatter him.
Then came the strangest shift of all. The weight pressing him down, the fear, the humiliation, the raw ache in his chest, seemed to unravel. A dizzy lightness swept through him, stealing the tension from his body, leaving him floating in Mingi's hold. His head tipped to the side without meaning to, baring his throat further, as though surrender had ceased to be a choice.
Warmth followed. It spread from the bite, flooding his veins, numbing the pain and filling him with a heat that was at once foreign and irresistible. The soft lap beneath him, the embroidered coat pressing into his side, the iron around his cock, the world itself, all of it receded beneath that spreading glow.
His lips parted on a shuddering breath. He no longer knew if the sound was pain, relief, or something dangerously close to pleasure.
Hongjoong drifted. The pull of his blood leaving him should have terrified him, but instead it lulled him, drowning his fear in that strange, golden haze. His body felt weightless, gone, as though he were floating above himself, suspended in the warmth that spread with every pull at his throat. His breaths came shallow and slow, his chest rising only because the body remembered to do so, not because he commanded it.
The arm around him tightened, steady, anchoring him against the large figure on the throne. He hardly noticed the hand still resting high on his thigh, fingers possessive even as his strength drained away. He had become an object in that hold, sustained only by the predator who fed from him.
And then, suddenly, the fangs were gone. The sudden ache returned sharp at his throat. But before fear could surge back, the warmth of lips pressed to the wound, followed by the slow drag of a tongue. Licking the punctures with patient strokes, each one soothing, silencing the blood that had spilled. The sting faded beneath the strange balm of the touch, leaving only heat in its wake.
When at last the mouth lifted from his skin, the room seemed to sway around him. His head grew heavy, too heavy, and it fell sideways before he could stop it. It came to rest against a shoulder broad and still, the fabric beneath his cheek cool with embroidery and power.
He couldn’t lift it again. He couldn't speak, nor think beyond the haze. He only lay there, breath unsteady, blood humming through what felt like too few veins, while the Lord of the night held him firmly in place.
Mingi lingered in the silence for a moment, letting Hongjoong's head rest against his shoulder, his body limp and pliant in his lap. Then a low hum slipped from his throat, dark and indulgent.
''Exquisite,'' he murmured. ''Your blood is unlike any I have tasted- richer, finer. The best.''
The words sank into Hongjoong's haze, half dreamt yet undeniable. The hand that had gripped his thigh did not withdraw. Instead, it crept higher, gathering the linen until the hem slid further up. Fingers spread over the curve of him, massaging with indulgent weight, kneading his flesh as though even this, too, was part of the appraisal. Hongjoong shuddered faintly, unable to resist, the humiliation twisting through what little awareness he had left.
For a long time he remained silent, his thoughts muddled, drifting in the warmth Mingi had left behind. But eventually, with lips dry and voice barely above a whisper, he forced the question past them.
''What... what is the sacrifice?''
The hand at his backside stilled for a moment, then pressed firmer, grounding him. The answer came without flourish, sharp and blunt, the velvet stripped bare.
''To be drained,'' Mingi said.
Hongjoong's stomach dropped, the weightless haze shattering in an instant. His breath hitched, a faint sound of protest rising in his throat. Hot tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them, only to vanish into the cloth of the blindfold, soaking it dark where it pressed against his skin.
But before the sob could escape, Mingi's lips brushed his temple, the softest of contacts, his voice curling low and deliberate into his ear.
''And yet,'' he continued, ''I find I have other plans for you.''
As he spoke, his free hand left its idle place and rose, gliding into Hongjoong's hair. Fingers combed slowly through the strands, caressing the back of his head with a patience that felt almost like comfort. Almost. The touch soothed nothing, it only reminded Hongjoong of how firmly he was held, how completely his fate was no longer his own.
His hand remained in Hongjoong's hair, combing idly through the strands, the motion deceptively gentle. The other hand still pressed at his thigh, a reminder of the grip that had never loosened.
''You are far too... precious to be wasted,'' Mingi murmured, his lips brushing close to Hongjoong's ear, every word calculated, each one sending a tremor through him. ''A prince’s blood such as yours... it lingers on the tongue. Refined. Irreplaceable.''
His fingers curled faintly at the back of Hongjoong's head, tilting it just enough that his temple rested more fully against Mingi's shoulder.
''Tell me,'' he went on softly, almost idly, though the weight of his words pressed deep, ''what sovereign discards a jewel after the first gleam? No, such things are... treasured. Protected. Kept close.''
The words slid into Hongjoong’s chest like ice, blurring the line between threat and promise. He trembled, uncertain if the Lord spoke of sparing his life, or of chaining it forever.
Hongjoong's body sagged where he sat, the last threads of strength slipping away. His head grew heavier against Mingi's shoulder, the blindfold damp with his tears. The warmth spreading through him was no longer from the bite but from exhaustion, pulling him down like a tide.
Mingi's hand in his hair never ceased its slow movement, stroking back loose strands, steady as a lullaby. The other hand remained firm at his side, fingers splayed against his thigh, a quiet reminder of the power that bound him in place.
The hall was silent but for Hongjoong's uneven breaths. His lashes fluttered beneath the blindfold, fighting to stay open, but the haze claimed him. The last thing he knew was the press of cool lips brushing once more at his temple, not a kiss, not truly, but close enough to confuse his weakening mind.
And then he drifted, sinking into sleep against the monster who held him, lulled by a touch that promised comfort even as it carried the weight of his captivity.
· · ─ ·♰· ─ · ·
''I hope I did not mishear... my Lord has decided to... keep him?''
The world swam back to him slowly, heavy and blurred. His head still rested against something solid, the shoulder he had drifted into, the voice reached through the haze. It was not Mingi's, but someone else, low and cautious.
Mingi's reply came calm, certain, velvet-smooth. ''You heard correctly. His blood is too fine to be wasted on a single night. He is accepted as an offering, but not as one to be devoured.''
Hongjoong's stomach tightened, the meaning sinking cold into his bones.
Mingi continued, voice measured and thought out. ''The hunters shall have their reward. See that they are granted treasure for their service. Let no man say they brought me an offering and gone unhonored.''
There was the faint sound of fabric shifting as the servant bowed low. ''Yes, my Lord.''
A pause, then Mingi spoke again, softer, though his tone left no room for reply. ''You may leave us.''
Footsteps retreated, echoing into silence until only Mingi's presence remained, steady, unshakable, and far too close.
Hongjoong held his breath, willing his body to stay limp against Mingi's shoulder, praying the slow rise and fall of his chest might still pass for sleep. The blindfold was still damp against his lashes, his mind racing with the words he had overheard. He wasn't going to be killed, but rather kept, like an animal.
Then Mingi's hand moved again, stroking idly through his hair, a motion that was far too deliberate to be mistaken for absent. The voice followed, deep and smooth, curling close to his ear.
''Do not trouble yourself with pretense, little prince. I know you wake.''
Hongjoong's throat tightened, but no words came. He could only lie there, tense and trembling, as the Lord continued, his tone almost indulgent.
''Your breathing gives you away. The quickening of your heart. You cannot hide such things from me.''
The fingers combed once more through his hair, but more slow, before settling at the back of his neck, holding him steady.
''You hear me, then. Good. It is better you know your fate from my lips than from rumor.''
The words hung heavy between them, pressing down on Hongjoong's chest until at last he found his voice. It came raw, hushed, as though dragged from the deepest part of him.
''...Why?''
Mingi's fingers combed once more through his hair, then stilled at the nape of his neck, holding him steady as he answered. His voice was calm, each syllable spoken like a truth carved in stone.
''Because your blood is unlike any other. Rich. Refined. Too rare to be squandered in a single feast.''
As he spoke, the hand that had rested so brazenly on Hongjoong's ass shifted, sliding down with maddening patience. It drifted along the curve, slipping lower until his fingertips pressed into the tender place where thigh met seat. Hongjoong flinched, breath catching in his chest, but the movement continued, as if Mingi had every right to explore him at his leisure.
''To kill you outright would be foolish,'' Mingi went on smoothly, lips brushing close to Hongjoong's ear. ''A delicacy is not consumed all at once. It is savored. Preserved.''
His thumb traced the edge of fabric, dangerously near his inner thigh, pressing lightly as though measuring Hongjoong’s trembling response.
''You ask why, little prince. The answer is simple. You are too delicious to be wasted.''
Mingi's fingers pressed into the tender flesh of his inner thigh. The massage was gentle, almost careful, but the intimacy of it made Hongjoong's stomach knot. His breaths grew short, shallow, each one catching as the hand traced closer to where no one had touched before.
The longer it continued, the more his nerves frayed. He shifted faintly, thighs trembling against the hold, but Mingi's grip was patient, inescapable.
At last the words broke free, weak and hesitant, little more than a whisper.
''...It hurts.''
The motion slowed, though the hand did not withdraw. Mingi's voice came low, close against his ear.
''What does?''
faintly into the blindfold, as though hiding might soften the confession. The word came out hoarse, fragile, as though it cost him everything to speak it.
''... The cage.''
The silence that followed pressed heavy on him, as though the entire hall itself leaned in to listen. Mingi's hand remained at his thigh, now warmer, while the weight of his presence lingered over the trembling prince who had just given voice to his humiliation.
Mingi hummed low at the whispered confession, the sound deep and thoughtful, vibrating against Hongjoong's ear like something between approval and amusement. His hand shifted on Hongjoong's thigh, sliding higher until his fingertips brushed the cruel iron of the cage.
Hongjoong gasped, the sound torn from his chest before he could stop it, and the gasp melted into a moan that shamed him the moment it escaped. He bit down hard on his lip, but it was too late, the sound echoed faintly in the vast hall, baring his weakness.
''Ah...'' he murmured, voice velvet-rich as his lips curved faintly against Hongjoong's temple. ''So the cage torments you still. Yet listen how sweetly you respond to its touch.''
His thumb pressed lightly over the cage, as though testing its restraint. The pressure made Hongjoong's hips twitch involuntarily, heat flaring where pain had been. The ache was sharper now, not just from the cruel iron but from the blood still running through his veins, his body betraying him with every pulse.
''I...'' Hongjoong’s voice broke, hoarse with shame. ''It- it hurts.''
''Hurts,'' Mingi echoed, his tone a purr. ''And yet you tremble, you lean closer, you craving more.''
Hongjoong's breath shuddered, uneven, as warmth stirred low in his belly. He tried to close his legs, to contain it, but Mingi's knee pressed between his own, parting them with quiet insistence.
''You are untouched, are you not?'' Mingi asked softly, his lips brushing the shell of Hongjoong's ear, his words wrapping around the shivering truth.
Hongjoong's breath caught; his body froze. He could not answer, not truly, but the silence was its own confession.
Mingi chuckled low, indulgent. His thumb dragged over the cage again, making Hongjoong whimper this time, the sound softer but no less damning.
''Untouched,'' Mingi repeated. ''And yet so quick to yield. A prince’s blood may be rare, but it seems his innocence is rarer still.''
The words sank deep, humiliation and heat twisting until Hongjoong could not tell where one ended and the other began. His body betrayed him, straining against the iron restraint, craving the very touches he thought he should fear.
Mingi's hand lingered, thumb circling idly over the cruel iron of the cage, each motion sending a pulse of heat and ache through Hongjoong's body. The sensation was unbearable, yet his hips betrayed him, twitching upward against the touch as though his body begged for more.
''Ah,'' Mingi murmured, his voice darkly amused, ''you cannot help it, can you? Even caged, you strain toward me.''
Hongjoong's breath came fast, his lips parting on soft whimpers he could no longer stifle. His thighs trembled under Mingi's grip, his body too weak to resist, too eager despite the shame.
The vampire’s hand slid from the device, drifting lower to stroke along the inside of Hongjoong's thigh with slow patience. Each sweep drew closer to where he ached, only to retreat again, keeping him trembling in want. His tunic rode higher still, until the fabric barely covered him, leaving his skin bared to the cool air and Mingi's searching touch.
Hongjoong shuddered. He had never been touched like this, never known what it was to crave another’s hand, yet now every nerve in his body burned with it.
''Please...'' he whispered, the word torn from him before he could stop it.
Mingi chuckled low, lips grazing his ear. ''Please, what?''
Hongjoong's face burned hot beneath the blindfold. His mouth worked, but the words refused him, shame choking them back. Still, his body answered for him, hips shifting, thighs parting in desperate invitation.
''Mmm,'' Mingi hummed in satisfaction. His hand moved higher, cupping him fully over the cage. The pressure made Hongjoong cry out, the sound caught between a moan and a sob.
''Such lovely sounds,'' Mingi murmured, kneading slowly, savoring every twitch beneath his palm. ''Your blood may be my feast, little prince, but this...'' his fingers pressed firmer, making Hongjoong gasp, ''this is mine to savor as well.''
Hongjoong's body arched helplessly, shame and want colliding until he could no longer tell which was stronger. The cage bit into his arousal cruelly, heightening the ache, turning every touch into torment he could not resist.
He whimpered, breath breaking, hips pressing needily into Mingi's hand despite the humiliation of it. He had never wanted, never burned, like this before, and now he could no longer deny it.
Mingi's hand stroked slowly over the cage, savoring each twitch of Hongjoong's hips as though he were playing an instrument. His other arm still held him firm, keeping him pinned against his lap. Then his lips brushed at Hongjoong's throat again, those full, soft lips that made Hongjoong shudder with each kiss.
The graze of fangs followed, sharper this time, teasing the skin stretched tight over his pulse. Hongjoong tensed, trembling, waiting for the strike. When it came, he gasped, the sharp puncture sending a flare of pain through his body, quickly drowned by the dizzy warmth that followed.
But Mingi didn't drink. His fangs withdrew almost as soon as they pierced, leaving the blood to run hot and thick down Hongjoong's neck, tracing over his collarbone to soak the linen.
Hongjoong's breath came in ragged gasps, his body reeling from the sting and the spreading heat. The vampire’s hand pressed more firmly over the cage, fingers kneading, massaging the straining flesh trapped within. The ache was unbearable, every movement of the cruel iron magnified by the strength of his arousal.
Then Mingi's hand left him. Hongjoong whimpered at the loss, only to feel the fingers return seconds later, slick now, wet with his own blood.
The touch slid lower, trailing past his ass until it reached the tight ring of his rim. A single finger circled there, smearing the warmth, coating him with crimson before pressing lightly against the entrance.
Hongjoong shivered, his breath catching, every nerve alive with terror and need. The pressure grew firmer, coaxing him open. The humiliation of it seared through him, blindfolded, gagged with his own moans, body trembling, and yet yielding to a touch slick not with oil but with his own blood.
Mingi’s voice purred low against his ear, velvet and absolute.
''Yes,'' he murmured. ''Your body obeys beautifully.''
The first press of Mingi's finger at his rim made Hongjoong flinch, his thighs tightening instinctively. He had never been touched there, never even thought of being touched there, and the intrusion, however slight, made his stomach twist with nerves.
But Mingi did not rush. His fingertip lingered, circling slowly, smearing more of the blood across the tender skin until it was slick, pliant. Each stroke felt unbearably intimate, far more so than the caresses over the cage. Hongjoong tried to hold still, but he couldn’t. Every time the finger dragged over the tight ring, his hips twitched, his breath stuttered, and a quiet, shameful sound escaped his throat.
''Such tension,'' Mingi murmured against his ear, lips brushing his skin between words. ''But your body wants to yield. It is written in every tremble.''
The pressure increased, and before Hongjoong could stop it, the fingertip slipped just inside. His breath hitched sharply, a gasp torn from his lips. The sensation was strange, stretching, burning faintly, and yet it wasn’t pain alone. It was new. His whole body lit with awareness of it, his cock straining helplessly against the cage, throbbing in sync with his quickened pulse.
He whimpered, half in protest, half in something he couldn’t name.
Mingi hushed him softly, the sound more like a lullaby than command, his hand steady as he pressed deeper. The first knuckle slipped in, then slowly withdrew, only to push forward again, easing him open by degrees.
Hongjoong's thoughts spun. He had heard whispered things among courtiers and guards, crude talk of bedding, of pleasure, but never this. He had never known what it was to feel another’s hand so deep inside him, to feel his body pulled open, filled, coaxed into surrender.
He was 25 years old, a prince with responsibilities and power. He had thought his future was fixed- marry a woman of noble blood, to sire heirs, to continue his family’s legacy as duty demanded.
But here he was instead, blindfolded and trembling in the lap of another man, not just a man, but a monster, who touched him in ways he had never imagined, who knew his body better than he did. In that moment he felt small, fragile, stripped of every title, reduced to nothing but shivers and gasps under the hand that explored him.
The finger curled slightly, brushing places inside him that made his back arch despite himself. His mouth fell open, a soft moan breaking free, and heat rushed to his cheeks at the sound.
''Ah,'' Mingi murmured, satisfaction curling in his tone. ''There it is. The truth of you.''
The finger withdrew almost entirely, leaving Hongjoong clenching around nothing, only to slide back in more smoothly, deeper this time. Soon a second finger joined, pressing alongside the first. The stretch was sharper, pulling a pained whimper from him, but the blood slick made it possible, and Mingi's patience made it inescapable.
He scissored his fingers slowly, spreading Hongjoong open, massaging him from the inside until the pain dulled into pressure, and the pressure blurred into something that made Hongjoong tremble with confused want.
His thighs shook. His hands curled uselessly in his lap. Every squeeze against the cage made him ache harder, every drag of those fingers inside him made him shudder between humiliation and unbearable heat.
''Untouched, so innocent, and yet your body welcomes me,'' Mingi whispered, his lips grazing the shell of Hongjoong's ear. ''You're meant to be mine.''
Hongjoong squeezed his eyes shut beneath the blindfold. He wanted to deny it, to shake his head, but the moan that slipped past his lips betrayed him first. His hips rocked helplessly, guided by instincts he didn’t know he had, by desire he had never admitted until now.
Mingi's fingers worked him open with care, stretching him little by little. The second slid deeper, twisting and scissoring until Hongjoong's body clenched helplessly around the intrusion. Every motion made him whimper, made him tremble, and yet made him crave more without knowing why.
His hips shifted unconsciously, chasing the pressure, the strange new heat sparking low inside him. Each curl of those fingers brushed places that made his breath falter, that drew sounds from his throat he didn’t recognize as his own.
But the cage around him was torture.
The more his body responded, the more his cock strained against the cruel iron, desperate to swell, to harden, but trapped. The tightness bit into him, unforgiving, turning the flush of arousal into sharp, aching pain.
A broken sob caught in his throat. His hips bucked helplessly, torn between the pleasure inside him and the agony pressing at his groin.
''Hurts...'' he gasped, voice ragged.
Mingi's hand never faltered. His fingers thrust deeper, curling just so, coaxing Hongjoong's body to quiver and clench around him even as the cage punished every twitch. His other hand stroked slowly across Hongjoong's thigh, calm and patient, as though soothing a horse being broken.
''Yes,'' he murmured, voice smooth against Hongjoong's ear. ''That is the beauty of it. Your body cries for release... Every sound you make, every shiver, is sweeter for it.''
Hongjoong shook his head weakly, blindfold damp against his cheeks, but the denial was hollow. His body betrayed him with every moan, every twitch of his hips against the monster’s lap. His cock throbbed uselessly in its prison, leaking against the iron as if begging for mercy.
The fingers inside him pressed deeper still, spreading him wider, filling him until he could no longer distinguish pain from need. His thighs shook violently, caught between the torment of the cage and the unbearable sweetness of the touches he had never known could exist.
Mingi chuckled low, indulgent. ''You feel it, do you not? The pain, the hunger, the way your body begs even as it breaks.''
Hongjoong let out a cry, muffled by his own bitten lip, trembling so hard he thought he might collapse if not for the arm that still held him steady.
Mingi did not relent. The two fingers working him open slid out slowly, only to return with a third pressing alongside them. The stretch burned, sharp and invasive, and Hongjoong cried out, his body seizing as the intrusion forced him wider than he thought possible. His hands curled into fists in his lap, nails biting into his palms, every muscle in his thighs trembling under the effort to hold still.
''Shhh...'' Mingi soothed, though the word was silk rather than comfort. ''Your body was made to be broken. You see how well it takes me.''
The three fingers pushed deeper, scissoring, spreading him open until the ache gave way to a shocking heat. Then they curled, slow, and struck something inside him that made the world split apart.
Hongjoong's back arched, a ragged cry bursting from his throat. His hips jerked wildly, though the cage bound his cock cruelly tight, holding it down even as it swelled and throbbed in futile need. The pain and pleasure collided, overwhelming, each brush against that secret spot sending another wave of fire through him.
Another curl, another press, and Hongjoong broke. His voice cracked on a scream, raw and desperate.
''Please!''
The word tore from him unbidden, ripped from deep in his chest. His cock strained furiously against the cage, the pressure unbearable, every throb punished by the iron that refused to let him rise. He panted, moaned, cried out again, his body writhing helplessly in Mingi's lap as the fingers inside him kept stroking his most vulnerable place.
Mingi's lips brushed his ear as he continued, each thrust of his fingers purposeful, relentless. ''Ah, yes... there it is. The heart of you. How beautifully it sings for me.''
''Please...'' he gasped again, the word dissolving into a sob, his blindfold soaked with tears.
Mingi chuckled low, savoring the sound, his hand never slowing. ''Please, indeed. How sweetly you beg.''
His fingers never withdrew. They kept their slow, steady rhythm, pressing deep, curling just enough to make Hongjoong's body jolt and shudder with every stroke. His cock strained pitifully against the cage, leaking, aching, denied.
Hongjoong sobbed against the blindfold, every breath ragged, until Mingi's voice cut through- low, rich, curling close to his ear.
''You feel it now, don’t you?'' he murmured, lips brushing his temple. ''The cage, the ache, the helplessness. For all your years of denying this part of yourself, of pretending desire did not live in you, your body was only waiting. Waiting to be touched, to be woken.''
His fingers pressed a little deeper, curling deliberately until Hongjoong gasped.
''All that discipline, all that duty,'' Mingi continued, his voice low and rich, ''and yet beneath it, the same hunger as any man. You tremble and beg because your body has craved this feeling for far longer than you dare admit.''
The words sank into Hongjoong’s haze, heavy and absolute. He moaned, unable to deny it.
Mingi's hand at his thigh pressed firmer, anchoring him in place as his fingers kept him open, pliant. He curled his fingers once more, pulling a strangled cry from Hongjoong's throat before letting the motion slow to a deliberate grind.
''You were given as a sacrifice,'' Mingi said, his tone shifting sharper, decisive. ''But I do not accept you as one to be killed. You are accepted as mine, to bleed for me, to tremble for me, to be opened as you are now.''
Hongjoong shivered violently, caught between fear and the unbearable pleasure that still coursed through him.
Mingi hummed low, satisfied, his lips grazing Hongjoong's neck without biting. ''Yes... you understand. You are not here to die, little prince. You are here to endure.''
Mingi's words sank into him like a spell, and Hongjoong could no longer tell where shame ended and craving began. Every curl of those fingers inside him sent sparks through his body, and every ache of the cage made the wanting sharper, crueler. He had tried to deny it for years, burying that part of himself beneath duty and expectation, but here, undone in another man’s lap, he could not deny how his body answered.
The fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving him empty, clenching, gasping at the loss. He barely had time to catch his breath before Mingi shifted his grip, lifting Hongjoong as though he weighed nothing and turning him in his lap until he straddled him. Hongjoong's knees pressed into the silken cushions of the throne, his chest heaving as he sat upright against the cool hardness of the vampire’s body.
With one hand, Mingi tugged the linen tunic upward. The fabric slid over Hongjoong's trembling frame, brushing past his ribs, his chest, his arms raised weakly to allow it. In an instant the garment was gone, discarded somewhere behind, leaving Hongjoong utterly bare but for the cloth covering his eyes and the iron cage locked cruelly in place.
Heat rushed to his face beneath the blindfold. He wanted to cover himself, to hide, but Mingi's arm around his back kept him upright, exposed.
The lips then pressed against his chest. Hongjoong gasped, his body jolting at the first brush over his nipple. Mingi's lips were full, soft, far gentler than he deserved, and when they closed around the sensitive peak and suckled lightly, Hongjoong cried out, clutching at the broad shoulders beneath his hands. The sharp graze of teeth followed, not biting, just teasing, before more kisses traced to the other side, claiming that nipple too.
Hongjoong arched back helplessly, blindfolded and trembling, the unfamiliar pleasure sending shocks through him. He barely noticed the shuffle of Mingi's hands until the lips left his chest.
Strong fingers captured his wrists, lowering them slowly, insistently. Hongjoong resisted weakly, shame flooding him, but the guidance was steady, patient. His hands slid down Mingi's chest, feeling every detail of his embroidered jacket, lower still.
His hands touched something he had never felt other than on himself. Thick, hot and alive. His breath caught in his throat as his palms brushed the heavy cock straining upward, bare and pulsing with heat. He froze, trembling, his whole body going rigid at the realization.
''Now you understand,'' he murmured. ''What awaits you. What you were always meant to take.'' Mingi's voice followed, smooth and low, curling like velvet into his ear.
Mingi's grip on Hongjoong's wrists tightened, slowly he guided them along his cock, curling Hongjoong's fingers around it. The heat seared against his palm, and Hongjoong shuddered, his whole body stiffening at the contact.
''That's it.'' Mingi murmured, this time with a slight edge- arousal.
He moved Hongjoong's wrists with steady patience, setting the rhythm, helping the prince stroke him in slow, careful pulls. Each pass made Hongjoong's stomach knot tighter, his breath coming shallow and uneven. The cage bit cruelly into his own aching cock, every twitch punished as he was forced to touch what he himself was denied.
He felt a pair of lips brush against his bare shoulder. arching slightly, as Mingi's mouth lingered, soft, deceptively tender. Another kiss followed, lower, slower, almost reverent. And then the sharp pierce of fangs.
Hongjoong gasped, his hands faltering, but Mingi's grip on his wrists kept them moving, stroking his thick shaft in a steady rhythm as his teeth sank into fresh flesh. Pain flared, hot and sharp, but it was quickly followed by the warmth of blood welling up, spilling, dripping in rivulets down his chest and arm.
Mingi didn’t drink. He only bit, puncturing shallow, letting the red liquid trail over Hongjoong's skin.
Hongjoong whimpered, his body trembling in confusion, caught between the sting of the bites, the shame of what his hands were doing, and the unbearable ache in his caged cock.
Mingi's bites lingered until the blood welled and ran freely down Hongjoong's chest. It slid over his skin in warm rivulets, dripping steadily, painting him in crimson. Hongjoong gasped with every sting, every drop, but his hands never stopped their forced rhythm around Mingi's cock, guided by that steady grip at his wrists.
Then Mingi released one hand, bringing his own fingers up to the wound. He dragged them slowly across Hongjoong's shoulder, collecting the blood that flowed. Hongjoong shuddered as he felt those slick fingers trail down his chest.
The fingers closed over his hand, still wrapped around Mingi. Together they stroked downward, spreading the wetness along the thick cock. The heat of Mingi's cock and the slickness of his own blood made Hongjoong's stomach knot with shame, his blindfold damp again with tears.
''Feel it,'' Mingi murmured against his ear, velvet and low. ''Your own blood making you ready for me.''
He guided Hongjoong's trembling hand up and down, smearing the red slick until it coated fully, dripping from the swollen head down the length of the shaft. Each time the blood slowed, Mingi returned to the wounds, drawing more from Hongjoong's skin, adding it to the growing mess between them.
Hongjoong's breathing grew ragged. The smell of iron clung heavy in the air, the sound of their stroking wet and obscene. His own cock throbbed miserably against the cage, every pulse aching for freedom, but it was denied, he was forced to prepare the monster who held him, to use his own blood as offering and as oil.
By the time Mingi was satisfied, his cock gleamed wet and red, slick with the sheen of Hongjoong's lifeblood. Drops still fell from the wounds above, trailing down to join the rest, a steady offering of his body to the act that was about to follow.
Mingi hummed, pleased, his lips brushing Hongjoong's temple as his hands stilled over his. ''There. Perfect. You’ve made us ready.''
Mingi shifted beneath him, one arm strong around Hongjoong's back, the other steadying him at the hip. His blood-slick cock pressed against Hongjoong's rim, hot and thick, nudging insistently at the opening already tender from fingers. Hongjoong froze, every muscle tensed, his breath caught tight in his throat.
''Breathe,'' Mingi murmured, lips brushing his ear, calm and patient. ''Lean into me.''
Hongjoong clutched at his shoulders, pressing his forehead into the vampire’s neck, blindfold damp against his skin. His body trembled, the cage biting into his cock as it swelled painfully.
The blunt head stretched him wide, far wider than fingers ever had. Hongjoong gasped, his nails digging into Mingi's shoulders, every nerve alight with burning pain. His rim fought it, clenching helplessly, but Mingi's grip held him firm, guiding him down slowly, unrelentingly.
Hongjoong whimpered, the sound muffled against Mingi's chest. His thighs shook violently, torn between wanting to pull back and being unable to move at all. The fullness was unbearable.... a splitting, invasive ache that swallowed every thought.
''There,'' Mingi whispered, steady, assured. ''You were always meant to take me. Feel how you shape around me.''
Bit by bit, Hongjoong sank lower. The thickness pushed deeper, stretching him until he thought he might tear, until his body gave way with a shudder and allowed more. His cries spilled ragged into the night, but Mingi's arm around him never loosened, his strength both anchor and prison.
When at last he was fully seated, Hongjoong's whole body shook with the effort of holding himself together. His rim throbbed, stretched wide, every nerve raw. He felt impossibly full, stuffed in a way that left no room to breathe. His caged cock leaked miserably, every twitch punished by the iron, every throb denied.
Mingi's thrusts grew harder, faster, the rhythm brutal in its precision. Each snap of his hips punched a ragged cry from Hongjoong's throat, each deep plunge splitting him wider, rocking him mercilessly in his lap. The sound of their bodies striking echoed in the hall, wet, obscene, relentless.
Hongjoong's voice broke into sobs, his pleas lost to gasps and screams.
''Stop— no, don’t stop— gods, I— I can’t...!'' His words blurred into whimpers as his head lolled against Mingi's shoulder, blindfold soaked, body trembling with exhaustion.
The cage bit cruelly with every twitch of his cock, the ache unbearable, his arousal trapped and punished. He was leaking, desperate, ruined, but denied the one release his body begged for. The torment made him shake harder.
But Mingi showed him no mercy. His cock drove into him again, and again, stretching him wider with every merciless thrust. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the hall, mixed with the sharp squelch of blood-slick friction.
Hongjoong clung desperately to his shoulders, nails raking down the fabric of his coat. His body rocked helplessly in time with the brutal rhythm, his thighs quivering around Mingi's hips. The cage bit down on his cock with each jolt, sharp enough to make him sob, the denial unbearable as his body begged for release he could not have.
Through it all, Mingi's hands were tender. One brushed sweat-matted strands of hair from Hongjoong's brow, tucking them back as though caring for a fevered lover. The other stroked along his cheek, thumb smearing away the tears that rolled from beneath the blindfold.
''Shhh,'' Mingi murmured between thrusts, his voice smooth, steady. ''You can endure. You were made to endure me.''
''Please-!'' Hongjoong gasped, his voice raw, cracking under the force of another deep thrust that punched a cry out of him. ''Please, I can’t- it’s too much-!''
Mingi's hips snapped upward hard, burying himself to the hilt. Hongjoong screamed, his whole body jolting, his nails digging bloody crescents into Mingi's shoulders.
''You can,'' Mingi countered as his cock pistoned ruthlessly into him. ''Listen to your own voice, little prince. Every cry is proof of it. You break, and still you take me.''
The rhythm quickened, pounding, the sounds of their bodies obscene in the vast chamber. Hongjoong's moans rose higher, more desperate, his words dissolving into pleas.
His cock throbbed furiously in its cage, dripping against the cold iron, every denied pulse magnified by the ruthless pounding inside him. His body shivered violently, caught between pain, humiliation, and a pleasure so sharp it felt like madness.
Mingi pressed his lips to Hongjoong's damp cheek, kissing him softly even as his hips drove upward with unrelenting force.
''Yes,'' he whispered, the words brushing hot against his ear. ''Give me every sound. Every tear. I will have them all.''
Hongjoong cried out again, his voice breaking high, his body writhing in Mingi's lap as the thrusts continued, brutal and endless. He was lost to it now, trembling, pleading, every word a confession of his surrender.
The thrusts turned sharper, deeper, driving into the tender spot inside him again and again until Hongjoong's cries dissolved into broken, wordless sounds. His body arched helplessly, hands gripping Mingi's shoulders.
And then Mingi groaned low, the first true crack in his composure. His thrusts faltered, then slammed in deep, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulsed inside Hongjoong. Heat spilled into him in thick, heavy waves, flooding his body with every spurt.
Hongjoong gasped, shuddered, and then went limp. The world blurred, the haze overtaking him at last. His head dropped heavily onto Mingi's shoulder, his body trembling once more before going slack in his lap.
Mingi held him close, his hand still stroking through his hair, his lips brushing against his damp temple. ''Yes,'' he whispered, voice soft now, satisfied. ''You were perfect.''
Hongjoong heard nothing. He had already fallen into darkness, fucked past the limits of his untried body, carried into unconsciousness in the arms of the monster who had claimed him.
· · ─ ·♰· ─ · ·
The first thing he noticed was the warmth, not the cold bite of stone, nor the crushing weight of iron, but warmth. Softness cradled his body, thick blankets gathered around him, a mattress beneath him that dipped gently with his weight.
Hongjoong stirred, his long lashes fluttering as his eyes cracked open. The blindfold was gone. His vision blurred, painful at first, his pupils straining to remember how to see again after so long in darkness. Shapes swam, shadows stretched, until at last the world began to settle.
Candlelight, dozens of them, some tall in iron sconces, some squat on clustered tables. Their flames burned steadily, painting the chamber in amber glow. The windows were all shrouded in heavy drapes, thick velvet drawn shut to keep out the light. No moonlight, no sun, only the flicker of firelight.
He shifted weakly, and only then realized he was clothed. Clean linen brushed against his skin, soft and smooth, smelling faintly of lavender soap. His hair lay loose over his forehead, combed free of sweat and blood. Even the soreness between his thighs, though deep and undeniable, had been tended, the mess of earlier gone, replaced by fresh sheets beneath him.
Suddenly it struck him, his hand dropped instinctively to his groin, breath catching. The cage was gone. The absence of the cruel device freed from his body.
For a long moment, he froze, unable to breathe. His cock rested soft against his thigh, unbound, no cruel iron biting into him. Relief shuddered through him, sharp and dizzy.
A shaky breath left him, shoulders sagging with a relief he hadn’t dared to hope for. No more crushing ache each time his body betrayed him. For a moment, he almost felt human again.
He pushed back the blankets, his legs unsteady as he swung them over the side of the bed. The carpet beneath his bare feet was thick and soft, but it did little to ground him. His knees wobbled as he forced himself upright, the ache in his thighs and hips still raw from what had been done to him.
Step by step, he made his way to one of the windows. The heavy velvet drapes loomed above him, swallowing the wall in darkness. His hand reached out, brushing over the fabric, before he caught the edge and tugged it aside.
Light seared into him at once. He hissed and stumbled back, his hand flying to shield his eyes. After hours blindfolded, then trapped in candlelit gloom, the brightness was unbearable, stabbing, burning. He let the fabric fall quickly, the drape swinging shut, the brilliance cut off.
Blinking against the afterimage, he stood in the dim room once more, his chest heaving as his vision steadied.
Only then did he truly look around. It was a bedchamber, lavish but unfamiliar. High ceilings swallowed in shadow, walls lined with bookshelves and carved panels, all lit by the steady glow of candles. The bed he had risen from was vast, dressed in silks and linens finer than any he had known, though the drapes drawn tight over the windows made the chamber feel more like a tomb than a place of rest.
Hongjoong’s eyes swept the chamber one last time, and then stopped. A figure stood leaning against the doorway.
Tall. Broad shoulders carrying the weight of command, his waist tapering narrow in contrast. The candlelight caught the lines of him first, the fall of a long black coat with a tail that brushed the floor, the fitted waistcoat beneath in the same deep shade, both edged in intricate black lace. At his arms, the lace layered over red silk, glimpses of color glimmering faintly when he moved. Even the vest carried that blood-dark detail, a whisper of crimson beneath the black. Black trousers finished the silhouette, lean and precise, making the stark strength of his body impossible to mistake.
But it was his face that rooted Hongjoong to the floor.
Hair black as ink, slicked back, but not perfectly. Strands slipped free, falling forward across his brow and cheek. His nose was long, elegant, full in its line. Below it, lips that looked almost too soft, too plump for the severity of his frame. And then the eyes, narrow, gleaming red in the glow of the candles, their intensity cutting through Hongjoong as though they could see every thought, every tremor of his body.
He was... beautiful.
Hongjoong's chest rose and fell quickly, his breath loud in his ears, while the figure by the door simply watched, those red eyes steady, unblinking, as though waiting to see what the prince would do.
The silence pressed heavily, broken only by the hiss of candlewicks and the faint pound of Hongjoong's heart in his own ears. He swallowed hard, shifting on unsteady legs, his hand brushing the velvet drape at his side as though for balance.
The man didn't move from the doorway. He only stood, tall and composed, his red eyes tracing every inch of Hongjoong's form, the loose hair falling across his forehead, the clean linen shirt clinging lightly to his frame, the faint tremor still in his stance. The weight of that gaze made Hongjoong's skin prickle, as though stripped bare again.
At last, his lips parted. His voice was low, the same velvet voice.
''How do you feel?''
The question hung in the air, deep and velvet-smooth, and Hongjoong froze. That voice, he knew it. The same one that had whispered against his ear, that had pressed commands into his body in the throne room, that had made his blood burn and his mind reel. Hearing it now, in the stillness of candlelight, confirmed what he already feared.
This was him. The vampire lord.
Hongjoong's breath caught, his fingers tightening on the drape at his side. He didn’t feel threatened, not exactly, Mingi made no move, no gesture that promised harm. But the weight of those red eyes, the certainty in that voice, left him uneasy all the same. He didn’t know what would follow, what was expected of him, only that he was trapped inside this room with the one who had already claimed him.
He swallowed, his throat dry, and forced his voice to steady though it came out quieter than he intended.
''...Tired,'' he admitted. ''And sore.''
The words felt pitiful once they left his lips, too small in the vastness of the room. But Mingi’s gaze did not falter, nor did his posture shift. He only listened, his silence giving Hongjoong no hint of what those answers might mean.
Mingi inclined his head slightly, as though weighing the words. His gaze lingered on Hongjoong, steady, unreadable.
''Tired and sore,'' he echoed, the syllables precise on his tongue. ''As one would expect.''
His voice wasn’t sharp, nor mocking. It carried no threat, but neither did it offer comfort. It was simply fact, spoken as if Hongjoong's pain was nothing more than the natural consequence of what had been done, neither regrettable nor cruel.
Hongjoong shifted his weight, his palms damp at his sides. He had braced for anger, or perhaps for gentleness, but instead he was given nothing to hold onto. No clear sign of what the vampire lord thought of him, no warmth to soften the weight in his chest.
That calm, level tone left him more uneasy than if Mingi had bared his fangs. The silence stretched again, Mingi's red eyes fixed on him, watching, waiting.
Mingi's boots clicked softly against the stone as he stepped forward, each stride measured, closing the space between them with the inevitability of a tide. Hongjoong's chest tightened, his back straightening instinctively, bracing for what he already knew was coming.
The closer Mingi came, the more Hongjoong retreated, his feet shuffling back until the velvet drapes pressed cold against his shoulders. Behind them the tall window loomed. There was nowhere left to go.
Mingi stopped only when the space between them vanished. His hands slid down, strong and sure, seizing Hongjoong by the thighs. In a single motion he lifted him, as though he weighed nothing at all, holding him aloft with his body pinned against the glass, Hongjoong's legs instinctively wrapping around the vampire’s narrow waist. The grip was unyielding, Mingi's fingers digging into the tender flesh just beneath Hongjoong's ass, keeping him suspended with effortless strength.
The kiss crashed into him, taking Hongjoong by surprise. Lips plush and demanding, crushing against his own with a hunger that stole the air from his lungs. Hongjoong gasped, and Mingi seized the opening, his tongue pushing deep, tangling, exploring, leaving him no room to resist. It was messy, desperate, wet. Their mouths collided, parted, met again, every movement greedy, as though Mingi meant to consume him entirely.
Hongjoong moaned into it, the sound trembling, his hands scrambling up to grip the broad shoulders that held him fast. His blindfolded vision was gone, replaced by sensation, the press of those lips, the taste of copper and heat, the slick slide of tongues clashing until his head spun. Drool clung to his mouth, to Mingi's, smearing between them as they broke only to devour each other again.
At last the vampire’s lips left his, trailing down the sharp line of his jaw. Hot, open-mouthed kisses marked every inch of skin, wet and claiming, until they reached the vulnerable curve of his throat. There Mingi lingered, lips moving slowly over the flutter of his pulse, each kiss softer than the last, cruelly tender.
Hongjoong shuddered, his body trembling in Mingi's hold, his breath coming in shallow pants. Then fangs pierced.
The bite sank deep, and instead of pain, Hongjoong's lips parted in a moan. The sound spilled out rich and broken, echoing in the chamber as his head fell back against the window, offering more of his throat without thought. His fingers clenched tight in Mingi's coat, his hips twitching in the vampire’s grip as heat shot through him, flooding his veins, dizzying and sweet.
He had screamed the first time. But now, in Mingi’s arms, the weight of his crown and kingdom fell away, leaving only the kneading of strong hands at his thighs, the sting of fangs sunk deep in his throat, the ache of lips bruised from a hungry kiss. Though he was nothing more than a captive human with no way out, he had never felt more free.