Work Text:
Jisung has never had it easy. Born into a poor family and then orphaned by the age of five, he’s only ever known the misfortune and misery life can bring. The orphanage he wound up in tried but they could barely afford to feed the many mouths filling their halls, so when Jisung reached the age of twelve, he began to help where he could and picked up odd jobs during the day so he could help provide for the younger kids. It secured his place there even after he reached adulthood, and though it was nowhere near glamorous, Jisung was content to have a purpose to serve and a place to call home.
Then, at age twenty-three, his health began to decline.
The town physician diagnosed him with a deteriorating immune system from years of malnutrition paired with overexertion from the many arduous jobs he took on. It was a miracle he had survived this long, he said. He gave Jisung mere months before his body would fail him completely.
In that moment, Jisung had resigned himself to a short life. He had been lucky to live almost as many years as his parents, and part of him had always suspected a sad ending of his own to match theirs. It was only fitting, and he was willing to accept his fate so long as he could spend his final months doing what he could to help the people who had been there for him for nearly two decades.
On his way home, he found Chan.
“You’re very ill.”
Jisung jumped when the man spoke, whipping his head around toward the dark alley where the voice had come from. He came eye to eye with a man of roughly the same height, but a much bulkier frame than Jisung’s gauntness, with a beauty that seemed to radiate. His clothes were that of a rich man, layers upon layers that were thick enough to actually shield him from the cold, unlike Jisung’s hole-filled hand-me-downs.
“That was rude,” he replied despite the clear differences in status. If he were to beat Jisung for his tone, so be it. He was a dead man anyway. “What gives you the right to make such assumptions about strangers?”
“I’m not assuming,” the man said steadily. “I can smell it. And you are no stranger to me, Jisung.”
That caused Jisung to step back. He completely disregarded the weird remark about his smell and zeroed in on the more disturbing part—“How do you know my name?”
“I’ve been very lonely for many years,” he responded instead of directly answering Jisung’s question. “I’ve decided the time has come for me to have a companion, so I began my search for the right person six months ago. I stopped looking once I found you.”
Jisung gasped, curling tighter into himself. “You’ve been stalking me?” he shouted.
“It’s not something I make a habit of, and I promise you’ll have the chance to understand after you come back with me.”
“Like I would go anywhere with you!” he scoffed, moving his shaky legs until there was even more space between them. “Are you mad? If you want an easy target, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”
Truthfully, the words were a lie. Jisung was quite literally the definition of an easy target, but his only hope was to bluff the man into leaving.
“You’ll come with me,” the man proclaimed calmly, boot-clad feet taking a pointed step in Jisung’s direction. “But I won’t use force. I don’t need to, because I can make an offer you won’t refuse.”
Jisung hated that his determination wavered for even a moment, but a life of poverty had made the appeal of money that much sweeter. Not for selfish reasons—material things didn’t really hold a spark for someone who never knew them to begin with. It was the idea of being able to provide for the orphanage, his people, his home, that made him consider striking a deal with the man.
Before the thought could linger, it was taken over by the image of the old women who had raised him and their faces when they watched him be sold, harrowed with fear and disappointment, and his resolve returned.
“Your money is nothing to me,” he declared with crossed arms and a confidence that shocked even himself. “I won’t be bought, especially not by the likes of you.”
The man shook his head, daring to take another step forward. His movements were so sure that his entire aura spread the distance between them, forcing Jisung’s feet to become frozen on the spot. “My offer is not monetary, Jisung.”
Through the fear riddling his bones, Jisung’s curiosity piqued. If not money, what could he possibly have that he’s so sure Jisung wants?
Another few steps, and the distance between them closed. The man was as close to Jisung as he had been yet, but Jisung could not find it in himself to move even as they stood face to face. Up close, the man was even more attractive, his beauty so distracting Jisung almost didn’t notice when his lips adapted a smile far too warm for an alleged criminal like himself to wear.
Then, the words that engraved themselves in his mind permanently:
“Don’t you want to live, Jisung?”
So—he supposed Chan found him, technically, but the semantics didn’t matter. Only that their paths crossed, and Jisung was given a glimmer of hope for the first time in his life.
Everything has changed since he met Chan. He no longer lives in the orphanage, but instead in Chan’s manor on the outskirts of town. Money is no longer an issue—Chan being a rich man was the one correct assumption Jisung had made about him that day—as the elder gladly shares his wealth. His clothes are all new and fit him perfectly instead of hanging loose and tattered from his figure. His body is in greater condition than ever, his frame filled out the way it always should have been but was never given the opportunity to be. Physically and mentally, Jisung has never been better.
Vampirism is a bit difficult to navigate, but Chan is a diligent sire who never leaves Jisung to fret for long. He’s the first fledgling Chan has ever created, after all, a fact that warms his heart to its core.
It’s only times like today that Jisung struggles.
It’s been half a year since his transformation, and though Chan says he’s taken to it like a fish to water, he’s not been allowed to leave their home since he first stepped foot inside.
The first few weeks were easy, when Jisung was bedridden by Chan’s venom coursing through his veins repairing all of the damage his body had taken thus far, and the next few months were filled with so much new knowledge that Jisung was never bored and thus never entertained the thought of outside world, not when his new life was so interesting.
That changed last month when Chan finally decided Jisung was stable enough to be left alone for a few hours at a time while he tended to things in the town. After so long of Chan’s constant company, he felt the loneliness tenfold when he was left to his own devices, and then the reality that he hadn’t seen anything but the walls of Chan’s manor in so many months came crashing down on him. He was going stir-crazy, and there was only one cure for such madness.
Thus, Jisung’s grand scheme to leave the manor was born.
The excitement he feels at such a bold act of defiance is new, but not unwelcome, which is strange altogether—Jisung has always been obedient since he was a child, not one word or movement out of line. He never wanted to make life harder than it already was, but with Chan, things have become so much easier, his worries dwindling and dwindling until there was nothing left. His comfortableness with his cushy new place in the world is the only explanation he can come up with for his newfound desire for misbehavior. Perhaps he’s finally living out the rebellious childhood he never got the chance to experience.
Though he’s acting directly against Chan’s wishes, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t taken them to heart. Not everyone takes well to my kind, he warned in one of their first conversations about vampirism, making sure Jisung knew the risks should he choose to become like him. Most are blissfully unaware we exist, but there are some who know how to identify us and will actively try to bring us harm no matter how peacefully we try to live. They can be cunning, and exceptionally dangerous if their hatred runs deep enough.
Jisung will be careful. He was a human once, after all, and he never even entertained the idea of a different kind walking among them. Going to the town square to peruse the shop tents would be the perfect first outing for him. He could blend in easily with the crowd, so much so that even if there were an ill-intentioned hunter somewhere in the mix, they wouldn’t be able to differentiate him from the rest of the townspeople.
He planned it out meticulously; Chan’s outings always lasted a minimum of four hours, and Jisung would only be gone for a couple. Just long enough that he could experience the outdoors again and have a few interactions with new faces. He stayed in his normal day clothes for a half hour after Chan left just to be sure he wouldn’t return, then ran to his expansive closet and pulled on a new outfit he had yet to have the opportunity to wear.
He hasn’t had a chance to put his new wardrobe to use, which is a pity—and, he notes gleefully, another perfect reason why he should leave the manor.
It’s not yet warm enough outside that Jisung would look out of place wearing items that thoroughly cover his skin, and the hat on his head will mask his face from the sun should it decide to come out (“no, sun-exposure does not kill vampires like the myths say, but our skin is sensitive to the light.”). The pitter-patter of rain on the rooftop is the final cherry on top. With everything lining up so perfectly, Jisung takes it as another sign to continue with his plan, grabs his essentials, and heads out the door.
As soon as his shoes touch the earth, he feels a twisted thrill. Part of him is immediately eaten up with guilt for so blatantly disrespecting Chan’s wishes, but a larger part of him becomes exhilarated at the notion of doing something he isn’t supposed to. That paired with his desire to see the town is enough to keep him from turning back, continuing his trek with a skip in his step.
Despite the dreary weather, the strip is abuzz with local vendors and customers alike by the time Jisung arrives. There’s loud chatter and laughter and even live music coming from a shed on the corner; the noise is a bit overwhelming at first with his heightened hearing, but nothing he can’t handle. The smells, however, are a little more daunting to deal with; aside from the heavenly scent of baked goods, he can detect the scent of each person’s blood. Some more alluring than others, but none so inviting that he can’t resist.
He starts making his way closer and closer, slowly, one step at a time, just in case a new smell hits his nostrils and makes him feel ravenous. Singers, Chan called the ones whose scents can drive a vampire mad with the need to drink. It’s not very likely to find one, Chan said, he’s only heard stories and never had an encounter of his own in his century alive, but it never hurts to be cautious. Jisung isn’t sure he could ever forgive himself if he ended up hurting someone, nor is he keen on figuring out what sort of punishment would await him if he went outside without permission and ended up attacking someone in broad daylight.
As he edges the outskirts of the busiest area, he takes one final deep breath, just to be sure, and finds that he’s no more attracted to the smell of the humans around him than he is to the foods lining the street. Manageable, he thinks to himself, then finally allows himself to integrate into the swarm of people.
He’s never come to town just to come to town, he realizes. It was always with a purpose, whether it be for a job or to locate an item one of the caretakers sent him for. The last time he went out was to see the physician who told him he would be dead by now. It’s ironic that Jisung’s never felt more alive.
He shakes the memory from his head, tries to bring his focus to his mission—get some fresh air, make some polite conversation, and get home to shower off any evidence before Chan has the chance to realize anything has happened.
He takes the time to admire each shop as he walks by, noting the different things each one sells. Crocheted animals for children to play with, quilts so intricately designed they must’ve taken hours to make, fresh jams and jellies, pottery so perfectly shaped it seemed impossible someone could’ve made it by hand. A few merchants grab his attention and attempt to sell him on their products, which never used to happen when he walked through town before. He supposes it makes sense; he didn’t have money to spare then and it must’ve shown, but now he looks wealthy enough to make a good customer.
It’s too bad for them that he didn’t come here with intentions of buying anything, not even bothering to grab pocket change on his way out, but he enjoys window-shopping nonetheless.
An hour passes like that, with Jisung waltzing from place to place and making meaningless conversations that he won’t have to worry about tomorrow. It’s nice, comforting, and he can feel his sanity returning by the minute. Staying cooped up had done more to his head than he realized, and it seems his impromptu outing was just the remedy he needed.
When he realizes how much better he already feels, he considers heading home early, but he approaches a familiar corner and decides one last spontaneous decision can’t hurt.
He keeps his distance from the orphanage, not daring to step close enough for anyone inside to see him. Part of his deal with Chan was that he had to move in with him, which had been the biggest issue Jisung had with the situation. It was what originally held him back from making his decision, but after stewing on it for days on end, he eventually came to the conclusion that even if he returned home, his sickness would only make him a burden. He despised the idea of letting the ones who raised him watch him wither away into nothing, and more than that, he hated to think of his illness taking attention away from the children who needed it.
Chan never offered to let Jisung say goodbye to them, nor did Jisung ask permission to do so, which has been his biggest regret. He just up and disappeared on them, and he doesn’t have an inkling as to what they think happened. The eldest of the caregivers had been the one to demand he go see the physician that morning, so perhaps they checked there when they realized he never came home. If the physician told them of his diagnosis, they probably presumed him dead by this point. He wonders if they ever went looking for him, or if they figured that not coming home had been a deliberate decision.
He steps out from around the corner and takes a look at the place he grew up.
Only—it doesn’t look like the place Jisung remembers.
It’s undeniably the same building, the same address, but it looks miles better than the last time he had seen it. The cracks in the bricks he remembers working hard to cover have been recemented, and the drafty windows look to be brand new. The rotted wooden door has been replaced with a sturdier one with a shiny brass knob. Printed on the door are the words, Helping Hands Home for the Children.
He feels his eyes widening as he takes in all the upgrades, completely shocked at the state of the place. It has him in awe, the sight nothing short of wonderful, but he can’t help but grow curious—by what miracle had all of this been made possible in six short months?
“Mr. Bang!”
The exclamation has him turning around in a second flat, shock and fear filling his body—is Chan here? Has he been discovered?—but before he can begin his search of his surroundings, a pair of arms wrap around his thighs.
He looks down to meet eyes with a small child, probably no more than six or seven, and grows wholly confused.
The child seems to realize he’s a stranger a moment too late, her eyes widening comically as she releases her hold and takes a step back. “Oh, I’m sorry, mister. I thought you were someone else. You guys have the same coat.”
Jisung looks from the child to his coat, the one Chan gifted him when he first brought him to his manor. Since you keep staring at mine, he had said with amusement, I have a few like it, anyway.
“It’s alright,” he promises, offering the girl what he hopes is a comforting smile. “Did you run away from your parents to come say hello? Let me walk you back.”
But the girl shakes her head, a sheepish look on her face. “I’ll get in trouble. I’m not supposed to be over here right now,” she admits quietly.
Jisung can’t help but laugh at that. “You wanna know a secret?” he asks, waiting for her to nod before crouching down to her level. “Neither am I.”
The words, however truthful, must sound funny coming out of an adult’s mouth to a child. The girl giggles, losing her shyness at the presumed joke. It’s been a while since Jisung has been able to hear a child’s laughter, and he finds he’s missed it more than he thought. He used to spend hours trying to lighten the kids’ moods, but he’s not had a reason to be anyone’s entertainment in months—though he seems to amuse Chan just as well without trying.
“How about we both go back where we belong, okay?” he nudges gently. “We wouldn’t want your family to worry about you. Now, where did you see them last?”
The girl pauses, looking past Jisung. She points past his shoulder, and when Jisung follows her finger, he finds she’s gesturing toward the orphanage.
Jisung feels his mouth go dry. “You live there?”
The girl nods to confirm.
He blinks slowly, carefully stringing together his next words. “When you called me Mr. Bang, did you think I was a man about my height with blonde hair?”
Her eyes widen as do her lips, an ear-to-ear grin spreading across her face. “Whoa, cool—how did you know that?”
Jisung smiles, continuing, “Can you tell me about the Mr. Bang you know?”
“Mhmm,” she says, immediately rattling off, “he’s your height with blonde hair, like you said, and he wears the same coat as you. He comes to our place sometimes, and he always brings us stuff! He brought me this dress last time, and a new doll the time before that. He acts embarrassed when we tell him thank you, but it’s polite to say thank you, isn’t it? I think that’s a little strange, but he’s the nicest person in the whole world, so I would never tell him he’s strange.”
He lets her continue to talk, half-listening while his brain allows the puzzle pieces to click together. The miracle that provided the orphanage with the money it needed to become a proper home and the miracle that allowed him to stand and witness it today seem to be connected.
It would be unbelievable if Jisung hadn’t spent months observing Chan’s selfless nature firsthand.
“Thank you for telling me,” he says, then with a grimace, “I won’t be able to walk you back like I wanted, but I’ll watch you go, okay?”
The girl seems to accept it without any issue, nodding her head. “Okay, sir.”
“Okay,” he nods back. “And make sure that you tell Mr. Bang thank you a million more times next time you see him. I would bet it means a lot to him.”
“Yes, sir!”
The girl takes off running past him, and Jisung stands up so he can watch her head toward the door of the orphanage. She turns back to wave goodbye to him, Jisung returning the gesture just before the door opens and the eldest caregiver appears.
Jisung tunes his ears into the commotion, itching to hear the woman’s voice.
“How many times do you have to be told there is no running outside without an adult!”
“I’m sorry, auntie, but the rain finally stopped and I got so excited!”
“If you had only waited—”
She ushers the girl in and the door closes, the conversation cut off, but Jisung’s heart has already been warmed. He’s seen enough to hold him over, he thinks. It’s time to go home.
He begins to retrace his steps, going back the way he came without making any extra stops. His encounter with the young girl added a few extra minutes to his time, but if he doesn’t dilly-dally, he should still make it back before Chan.
Only lying to him doesn’t sound as exciting as it had before, guilt sinking into his veins as he realizes this was likely one of the stops Chan has been making when he went to town. The very thing that had driven Jisung to act out, and it was for something so meaningful all along.
Had he done it for Jisung, or was it simply his kind nature encouraging him to go where he was needed? The why doesn’t matter, he knows. What’s important is that it was done, but Jisung couldn’t deny a selfish part of him hoped that Chan did it with him in mind. Just the idea had his heart fluttering and his stomach doing somersaults, a foreign feeling crawling up his throat.
He thinks of the little girl confidently marching her way back toward the scolding she knew would be awaiting her at Jisung’s insistence and decides he owes her the same in return. He’s going to tell Chan what he did and accept whatever punishment he’s earned without a fuss.
He starts walking purposefully, strategically weaving and bobbing through the crowd. He’s nearly broken through the final wall of people when he feels fingers curl around his shoulder, halting him in his tracks.
“Could I interest you in some handmade jewelry, sir? I have a piece that would match your ensemble perfectly!”
It’s a woman Jisung estimates to be in her fifties, wearing a loud two-piece outfit with an even louder frilled hat. His attention still ends up diverted to the jewels adorning her wrists, her neck, and her ears. Statement pieces, he thinks they’re called. Whatever the statement is. The scent of her blood is a bit repulsive, he notices with a frown, but it’s not something he can hold against her. It’s not her fault she smells unpleasant, but it does prod Jisung to make a mental note to ask Chan if there was an opposite to a singer. If there isn’t, Jisung has found the first one.
“No thank you,” Jisung says politely, wanting to brush her hand from his shoulder but not wanting to seem rude. Hopefully she takes the hint and removes it herself. “I’m actually in quite the hurry, so—”
“Have I seen you here before?” she interrupts, furrowing her brows as she seems to study Jisung’s face.
Jisung pauses, unsure of how to respond. It’s not likely she knows him from his trips before his transformation with how little he interacted with anyone, and even if she had, his appearance has changed enough now that she shouldn’t be able to recognize him. The possibility that she somehow still had was enough to have Jisung balking and sputtering, words stuck in his throat.
Her gaze turns scrutinizing while he scrambles and it feels like she’s piercing through his body into his very soul with just her eyes. An inexplicable wave of panic fills his lungs, his entire being shaken to the core while she continues to examine him like—like—
“Perhaps not,” she says, breaking her gaze and the spell she seemed to put Jisung under all in one go. “You must be new to town.”
Jisung lets out a breath of relief, his body slowly relaxing. “Yes,” he confirms, if only to appease her.“I should really be going—”
The grip on his shoulder pulls him closer before finally loosening, her hand falling to his wrist where she latches on tight once again. “Welcome to our town, sir! Here, please, try this one on—it’s perfect for you, I swear!”
“I don’t have any money,” he deadpans, a last resort to be left alone. Surely she won’t be so interested in him once she realizes he has nothing to offer her.
But not even the awareness of his empty pockets seems to deter her. She still doesn’t release her hold, continuing to dig through her inventory before she unveils a chain necklace with some sort of silk woven between the links, presenting it to Jisung with a smile. “This one is free of charge,” she promises. “Consider it a welcome gift.”
Jisung grows uneasy, shifting his gaze in every direction he can to plan his escape route. He’s never known such a persistent merchant, nor such a peculiar one, but he also reminds himself this is his first time viewing everything as a passerby rather than an errand boy. Shopkeepers rely on business, so he’s sure they all have interesting ways of luring in customers. “I couldn’t,” he says.
“I insist,” she says, undoing the clasp and reaching for Jisung’s neck. “Here, see, the silk matches your shirt perfectly! You simply must take it, and if you decide you like it enough, you can always return to buy another!”
So that’s her ploy. He sighs, allowing her to clasp it around his neck, and when she pulls away, there’s a wide grin spread across her lips. She seems so genuinely happy to see Jisung wearing the piece that he sort of feels bad for the thoughts he’s been having. Sure, she’s a bit unusual, but this must be her tactic. Jisung is probably not the first to fall victim to her pestering, nor is it likely he will be the last. He doesn’t want to make her feel bad by rejecting her gift, and maybe accepting it will be enough for her to finally let him go. It’s the polite thing to do.
“Thank you,” he says, laying the words on thick just to make sure she’s satisfied. “It’s very lovely. I’ll be sure to come back.”
She claps her hands as her smile widens, looking so pleased that Jisung feels even worse for trying to avoid her. It’s a kind gesture, after all. Jisung should’ve treated it as such from the beginning and maybe he could’ve saved himself some time.
“Do enjoy your gift,” she says. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
Jisung gives her a polite smile, and his efforts are rewarded by the woman finally waving him off so he can continue his trek back home, tucking the necklace underneath his collar to hide the evidence of his outing.
Even with his resolution to come clean, he would still prefer to make it home before Chan so he can explain himself. The last thing he wants is to cause his sire to worry, which he’s sure is what will happen if he opens the door to an empty manor. He glances at his pocket watch, his heart sinking when he sees the time. The stint with the shopkeeper really set him back, and there’s a high probability he won’t be the first to arrive.
Still, he makes haste on his walk on the off chance Chan has taken a little longer than usual. Everything else had gone so smoothly this morning when he planned his escape and he only hopes his luck hasn’t run out.
He moves so quickly that he starts to feel warm, his body overheating underneath all of his layers. He knows he’s not as susceptible to the cold now as a vampire, but he doesn’t remember Chan mentioning excessive warmth as the reason behind that. It must be the running causing him to heat up. He hasn’t done much of anything physical at the manor since there was no need, so this is the first time he’s exerted himself after the change. It’s probably normal. He’ll verify it with Chan after their… talk.
He takes a deep breath once he makes it to the door and quietly pushes it open.
As luck would have it, Chan is already standing in the main room, staring at Jisung with his arms crossed. Jisung halts his movements like being still would make him invisible, lingering in the threshold for a beat too long because the next thing he knows, Chan is demanding, “Come here. Make sure you shut the door behind you.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, because it’s important he gets that out before anything else. He obediently steps forward and closes the door, eager to do what’s asked of him, to make one less thing for Chan to scold him for. “I already regret doing it, and I—”
“What did I tell you, Jisung?” Chan interjects, voice uncharacteristically cold, so much so that Jisung can’t help but flinch. “The first day you came here, when I made you my offer, what did I promise in return if you accepted?”
Jisung swallows, shifting nervously. He still remembers every little detail about the day they met, the memory so vivid he could recreate it to a tee. Of course he knows what Chan is talking about. “That you would protect me.”
Chan clicks his tongue. “Have I not made good on that promise so far? Did I do something to make you doubt my words?”
“What? No, no, you haven’t done anything—”
“Are you sick of this life already? Do you wish to leave?”
“Of course not!” Jisung shouts. “Why would you even say such a thing?!”
“Because I’m trying to figure out what possessed you to break the one and only rule I placed!” Chan fires back, volume rising and eyes widening in anger. “The one that only exists to keep you safe. What could’ve been so important that you felt compelled to disrespect me like this?”
But Jisung doesn’t have an answer—or, rather, he can’t think of one. He doesn’t know if it’s the yelling or the guilt or leftover weariness from his tiring run here that he still hasn’t quite fully recovered from, but he suddenly can’t think of anything, his mind going fuzzy, every thought he tries to formulate bleeding into the next to the point that nothing seems to make sense.
“Just,” he says, creasing his brows as he tries to string the words together. He would be concerned with how quickly his cognizance was dissipating if he was in the right mind to do so, but as it is, all he can focus on is the blood pumping through his veins so loudly that everything else feels quiet in comparison.
“Jisung?” he hears, undeniably Chan’s voice, but it’s not the same tone he had just a few moments ago. Gone is the chastising edge, replaced with what he can only describe as… soft. It’s the last thing he registers before he begins to sway on his feet, toppling over a second after.
He expects to hit the ground, but he’s stopped right before he makes contact by a pair of arms wrapping around him. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to expel the blurriness from his vision. When he reopens them, the only thing he can see is Chan.
“Christ, you’re burning up,” he mumbles, pulling Jisung backward before he lowers him gently onto the couch. His voice is much easier to decipher now that he’s closer, his hands moving frantically over every part of Jisung’s body in his reach. The touch is soothing and not at the same time, Jisung’s blood pumping that much faster with every graze of skin on skin. “Can you hear me, Jisung? I need you to talk to me, please.”
Jisung lets out a groan of discontent, aware it isn’t what Chan asked for, but it’s all he can muster at the moment. His mouth has gone dry and the heat seems to be growing by the second despite Jisung having remained still for the past few minutes or so, but the thought of moving at all, even just his lips, seems taxing.
“I know it’s hard,” Chan soothes, “but you have to try, okay? I want to know where you went, who you spoke to, every detail you can remember. It’s important, Jisung. I need to know so I can fix this.” Then, a little more desperately, he adds, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t.”
Jisung lets out a whine, frowning. Those questions require more effort to answer than he’s sure he’s capable of at the moment, but the urgency in Chan’s words gets through to Jisung’s muddied brain. He uses all of his mental fortitude to think back carefully, pursing his lips.
“Just went to town,” he mutters, taking a deep breath before continuing. “The shops… came home.”
“The shops?” Chan repeats. “Any in particular? What did you buy?”
More talking, which Jisung really doesn’t have an interest in doing right now. He would rather be doing… something else. He just isn’t sure what. “Nothing. Just wanted to look,” he mumbles.
Chan swears under his breath, cradling Jisung closer. “What about the people, Jisung? Did you bump into anyone, or them into you? Did any of them strike you as odd, even just in passing?”
Odd. Jisung’s mind is immediately drawn to the shopkeeper who held him up on his way out. Everything about her was odd, but that hardly seemed reason enough to throw her under Chan’s suspicions. Chan asked for every detail, however, and Jisung has caused him enough grief as it is to even consider skimping out now.
“There was a lady…” he begins, fumbling under his collar for the necklace he had so carefully hidden away before coming home—a pointless feat now. “Gave me this. A gift,” he tacks on, hoping the extra clarification helps the poor woman’s case.
Chan hones in on the necklace, picking it up to observe. His fingers brush over Jisung’s collarbones in the process, sending a shiver down his spine. He leans in until his nose is close enough that Jisung can feel puffs of air leaving his nostrils as he takes a deep, curious sniff. Truthfully, Jisung’s not sure he cares to find out what’s going on when something about Chan’s touch alone already seems to be making it better. He’s prepared to tell him as much, to beg and plead for his hands on him, but he doesn’t get the chance.
Chan holds the necklace between clenched fists and rips the chain clean in two, throwing it across the room. His own eyes go wide in terror, an expression he sees mirrored on Chan’s face.
“It was laced,” he informs him.
Jisung gulps, a little awareness returning to him as fear rattles his bones. He’s almost too afraid to ask but too curious to hold it in, “With what?”
Chan doesn’t answer immediately which makes Jisung’s worries deepen that much more, his heart beginning to race and his skin growing clammy. Chan’s lack of willingness to answer only leads him to one conclusion. He swallows hard, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of Chan that he can reach. Another question sits on the tip of his tongue, anxiety flooding his system as he chokes out, “Am I going to die?”
Something in his tone finally seems to snap Chan out of his rumination, his sire’s attention returning to Jisung’s face as he so confidently declares, “No. No, sweetheart, you’re not going to die. Not while I’m here.”
Sweetheart. Jisung would swoon if the situation would allow it. “It’s okay, if I am,” he replies, eyes going shiny. He forces a weak smile, clutching tighter to Chan’s overcoat. “I’ve already been told as much once before. I can take it.”
“You’re not going to die,” Chan repeats venomously. “I’m not going to let you, so get that thought out of your head now.”
Jisung nods pitifully, not possessing the will to argue, and tries to hold back the tears stinging at his eyes. His stomach twists in knots, one particularly bad cramp causing him to cry out.
Chan reaches for him, places his open palm on Jisung’s taut stomach and sighs. His expression turns so distraught that it gives Jisung the urge to return the favor, to try and comfort Chan the way he’s currently comforting Jisung, but it suddenly feels like his entire body is aching. The pain is so intense he’s forced into complete stillness, his ears beginning to ring.
Despite it all, he still perfectly understands the moment he hears Chan ask, “Do you trust me?”
Jisung laughs, empty humor coloring his tone. What a silly, obvious question. “With my life.”
Chan nods shortly, staring at Jisung’s face. “I’m going to fix this,” he says with determination. “I promise. I’m sorry, Jisung.”
His words seem to be conflicting. Jisung wants to ask what he’s apologizing for but the fever rears up again, threatening to swallow him whole, and his mind quickly slips back under the rubble it was buried in before he knew the threat of death was once again looming over him.
He feels his coat being slipped from his shoulders, but shedding the layer barely seems to have an effect on his overheating body. He reaches for the button of his collar in hopes that forgoing his shirt will alleviate some of the warmth, but his fingers are hard to keep control of and the pearl buttons keep evading his grasp. He whines in annoyance, close to tearing the fabric from his skin forcefully just for the chance at relief, but then, like his thoughts willed it into existence, his torso is exposed to the frigid air.
Jisung blinks, glancing down at his newly-bared skin only to see Chan’s hands removing the silk from his body. Something pools low in his stomach at the sight of Chan undressing him, the feeling one he can’t quite identify but enjoys nonetheless.
“Ah,” he cries out, hands drawn to the patch of skin just above his groin where the feeling seems to be strongest. His own touch doesn’t seem to be having the same effect as Chan’s, his frustration growing as does the blooming in the pit of his stomach. Another cramp washes over his body, this one making it feel like his organs are trying to squeeze the life out of each other, and it’s insistent and excruciating and wholly unbearable.
“H-hurts,” he breathes out, desperate for something to be done, anything that can make the pain go away.
Before he knows it, there are fingers dipping below the band of his pants, the touch like ice to the fire consuming him. The cramping lessens instantly, the discomfort fleeing with it, and Jisung is so distracted by the sudden relief that he barely registers when his bottoms are slipped down his legs until he’s left completely bare.
Chan’s fingers wrapping tentatively around the base of his cock is the only thing to successfully steal his attention.
Unfiltered pleasure lights up every nerve-ending he has to offer. A pathetic sound escapes his lips while his thighs clench, the tension that had ruled his body moments ago let loose like an arrow from a bow. The feeling is indescribable, but Jisung’s lips don’t get the memo, words tumbling gracelessly from his mouth. “Feels good,” he babbles mindlessly. “So—ahhhhhh, mm, uh…”
“Fuck,” Chan curses, faltering for only a split second, but it’s long enough that he loses his balance, his palm landing on Jisung’s bare stomach to steady himself. Jisung lets out an unbridled moan at the contact, back arching up into it on instinct. He hears Chan hiss right before he feels his touch begin to recede, and Jisung can’t allow that—he grips Chan’s wrist and forces his hand back on him, only loosening his hold when his sire seems to relent. He throws his head back in relief, everything feeling like too much and too little all at once.
“Feels good,” he reiterates, panting, vibrating with need. “Your hands feel so good on me. You have to touch me more.”
His waist gets grabbed, strong hands circling his slender frame so securely he could melt. “Jisung,” Chan breathes, gritting his teeth as he squeezes Jisung’s flesh between his fingers. “Fuck, Jisung. I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
Jisung hears him but the meaning of his words don’t compute, his body and his brain in agreement that anything that doesn’t directly pertain to Chan touching him isn’t important right now. “Please, Chan,” he begs, tone whiny, “It feels better when you touch me, more, please, please, more, now—”
Chan’s fingers skimmer down Jisung’s sides, leaving a trail of pleasant tingles in his wake. The feeling he doesn’t know the name for grows with every second he spends being fondled, so overpowering that Jisung can’t focus on anything else. He feels the need to chase it down until it’s swallowed him up, to let it consume him whole.
“I’ll make it stop,” he says, the sentence sounding like a promise and a plea all wrapped in one. “I’m going to make it all better, I swear. Just try to relax. It will be over soon.”
The only response Jisung can offer is an elongated hum. Chan’s going to make it better, and that means he’s going to keep his hands on him, which is all Jisung is really concerned with at the moment.
Chan’s fingers wrap around his cock again, more purposeful this time as they begin to stroke up and down his shaft in short, quick flicks that have Jisung going insane. “Oh,” he moans, knees knocking together as he tries to make sense of what his body is telling him. “Oh, again, again—”
And Chan doesn’t stop, thank goodness, but it still isn’t quite enough. On instinct, Jisung thrusts his hips up into Chan’s hold, then again when the first doesn’t cut it. They fall into a rhythm, the two of them moving together like dancers while Chan rubs his cock and Jisung impatiently seeks out more, more, more.
Another pitiful noise hits his ears, but it isn’t from his own lips this time. When he looks to Chan, he finds the man with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth in a tight line. He continues stroking Jisung’s length, keeping up a steady rhythm that seems to thrum throughout his whole body, even as Chan’s own breathing starts to run ragged and his forehead beads sweat.
Already, it feels like Jisung’s mounting up to—something, some sort of precipice, with an intensity that makes him fear he’ll explode if he doesn’t tip over. “Chan,” he mumbles, trying to keep his words from slurring, “S’mething’s—ah, happening…”
“Lean into it,” Chan demands, stroking faster. “That’s how you should feel. It means it’s working, so let it happen.”
But the terror of the unknown has him shaken, and Jisung panics the closer he feels to this imaginary edge. “But—ahhhh—nngh, feels weird…”
“It’s okay,” Chan reassures him. “You trust me, right?”
Jisung blinks owlishly, eyes glistening. He clutches tighter to Chan’s coat and nods pitifully.
“That’s right,” his sire says, the first genuine smile he’s had since Jisung arrived home gracing his lips. “So trust me now and let go for me, baby.”
Baby.
The pet name does something to his brain, something deeper than whatever is already going on, and Jisung finds himself hurdling toward the brink at lightning speed, worries effectively shut down as he stares into Chan’s eyes. His hips don’t cease their movements and his chest tightens, toes curling as he gets closer and closer and closer—
Insurmountable pleasure wracks his body as the feeling washes over him, centering in his groin before it explodes and Jisung feels himself—he feels something coming out of his cock, wet and warm and—did he—?
“S’rry,” he cries, covering his eyes, embarrassment weaseling its way in despite it all. “I made a mess.”
But Chan doesn’t cower away, doesn’t try to clean himself up where Jisung has… leaked onto him. “It’s okay,” he says, encourages, even, “that’s perfect, Jisung.”
Jisung sucks in a breath when Chan keeps rubbing him, undeterred by the fluid covering his hand. Jisung should stop, he knows he should but his body can’t seem to agree. Shame floods his system as he can’t help but to continue pushing up into Chan’s fist, feeling too good to quit on his own.
“I’m sorry.” He manages to get the words out more clearly this time, desperately hoping his apology is enough considering how he hasn’t stopped. “I don’t know what’s happening…”
Something about that gives Chan pause, the elder suddenly frowning and slowing his movements. He purses his lips, tilting his head inquisitively. “Jisung, have you never…?”
Jisung groans, upset both at Chan’s lack of speed and his unfinished question. Is he asking if Jisung has ever wet himself in front of someone, or just if he’s ever done it at all? The answers to those two questions may be different, but he’s still not sure if either is the one Chan is looking for. Still, he attempts to appease him with a hesitant, “No?”
Jisung watches as Chan struggles with his response, clenching his eyes shut and shaking his head. “Christ,” he heaves, “I knew you were sheltered, but that’s—fuck.”
His tone leaves Jisung to be hit with the very sudden feeling that he’s done something wrong. His chest tightens and his throat closes up, his own skin feeling more stifling than it was even a few moments ago. His despair is only worsened when the tingling decides to make itself known again, moving to his lower belly, somewhere so deep inside of him that he fears the itch will never get scratched. There’s too much for him to worry about and he’s left with too little brain power to process it all with, and it feels like he’s going to be crushed alive the longer he lets it linger.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, unable to hold back the tears this time. Everything is wrong and bad and he wants it to stop but he can’t find his way out, and it’s overwhelming and scary and Chan is upset with him—
Fingers come to brush his wet cheeks, interrupting the tear streaks that have started to form. “No, baby, don’t start that. You’re okay, remember? I’m taking care of you right now. That’s all that matters.”
Usually, such a strong sentiment would reassure Jisung, but instead he shakes his head, vibrating with the force of everything that seems to be happening inside of him. “But,” he hiccups, “but you’re upset, and—”
“I’m upset at the scum that forced you into this situation,” Chan interjects vehemently, spitting the words with anger, “but not at you, Jisung. Never at you.”
His determination grabs Jisung by the collar and holds him in place, not allowing him to remove his eyes from Chan’s face. He searches for a trace of something, anything to prove that Chan is lying but the elder’s demeanor doesn’t waver for even a second and Jisung has no choice but to resign himself to what he should’ve expected—that Chan is telling the truth.
Jisung nods, short and small but enough for Chan to get the message.
Chan’s lips quirk up into a comforting smile, effectively quelling the rest of Jisung’s concerns. The relief he feels is short-lived, the itch burning somewhere deep inside of him only becoming more prominent as his focus wanes. Chan isn’t upset with him, he thinks resolutely. Chan isn’t upset with him so there’s no reason he can’t keep touching him until this stops, until Jisung is sated, and maybe even more after that, if he’s willing.
Chan reads him like Jisung is one of the countless books in his personal library, touch returning before Jisung has the opportunity to go any crazier. “We’ll talk about everything else later,” Chan decides for them, nodding to himself but not quite meeting Jisung’s eye. He doesn’t leave it open for discussion—not that Jisung would argue with him even if he had the wherewithal—and strengthens his grip around Jisung’s cock, tight fist pumping up and down at a dizzying speed. Attention successfully diverted, Jisung clenches his eyes shut and lets out a garbled noise.
He feels his body wind tight, like a band about to snap. The hand on his cock still feels good like it did before, but there’s a part of Jisung’s brain screaming that it’s no longer enough. He knows he wants Chan’s hands on him. That much hasn’t changed, but he feels like he needs them somewhere else. Lower, where the pain is concentrated deep beneath his belly.
Like he could sense the need building, Chan’s hands find their way between Jisung’s legs. Jisung can only whimper in response, writhing in place as the burning sensation grows stronger. Chan’s fingers draw closer to the insides of his thighs, brushing at the sensitive patch of skin just under his balls. Jisung gasps and tenses at the foreign feeling while his nethers pulse in anticipation.
Chan leans in, lying on top of Jisung like a heavy blanket. “Relax,” he commands with a tone as sweet as honey. “Focus on me.”
Jisung doesn’t think he’s capable of doing anything else right now. He nods, keeping his eyes locked with Chan’s as he feels his fingers trail lower until they’re pressing right against his most sensitive spot.
“Chan,” he hisses on reflex, but Chan goes ahead and slips the tip of his finger inside of him without pausing to hear Jisung out. He’s so shocked by the action that his own complaints die on his tongue, the act of something entering him not alarming him in the slightest like he had expected, but somehow soothing him instead despite being such a foreign feeling. He’s so overwhelmed that he can’t keep the words from tumbling from his mouth. “You—ahh, your fingers—hnngh, inside—?”
“I have to,” Chan says through gritted teeth. “I have to, Jisung, to make this stop.”
But Jisung isn’t protesting, and he needs Chan to understand that. “You’re inside me,” he repeats, still trying to get used to the idea himself, “Feels good, why does it feel good?”
But this time, Chan says nothing with his lips pressed together tight, and Jisung can feel himself getting more and more worked up by the second. He reaches out with shaky fingers, latches onto the arm holding him up and squeezes as hard as he can. “Talk to me,” he tries to demand, but it comes out more as a plea, his lip trembling. “I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t—Chan, please talk to me, say anything, just—”
“Shh,” Chan quiets him, fingers combing through his hair, “it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You have to keep talking,” Jisung insists, fearful that Chan isn’t understanding just how serious this is for him. “Your voice—need to hear your voice, ‘s the only thing I can focus on.”
“Okay,” Chan agrees with a weak smile. “I’ll keep talking, alright?”
Jisung swallows, forcing himself to meet Chan’s eyes. One thing sorted, but—“And keep going with your fingers, please.”
“Of course,” he says. “You’re so sweet, Jisung. Asking for everything so nicely.”
Jisung nods, pouting his lips. He is sweet, and Chan verbalizing the compliment aloud has him feeling a different sort of warmth, less invasive than the fire burning through him but affecting him all the same.
“Such good manners,” he continues, and Jisung has to blink a few times to right himself because Chan wasn’t this close a second ago, was he? But here he is now, maybe inches from Jisung’s face, offering up praises from his perfectly plush lips. Lips that were on Jisung’s neck once to deliver the bite that turned him then never again, and that’s always bothered Jisung on some level in the back of his mind, but it’s never been more infuriating than it is right now. Chan has listened to all of his other requests so far. Maybe another won’t hurt.
“Mouth,” he says, craning his neck to the side to offer up a wider expanse of skin for Chan’s taking. “Please?”
He sees the way Chan’s lips drop open, whether on reflex to do as Jisung as asked or his own instinct to take a bite of something baring itself for the taking, he doesn’t know, but he quickly decides either can work to his advantage. He rolls his head onto its side and lets out a shaky exhale, chewing his lip in anticipation as he waits.
But Chan’s lips don’t latch onto his neck, instead parting to deliver exactly what Jisung doesn’t want to hear right now. “That’s not a good idea.”
Jisung frowns, stubbornly keeping his neck exposed as if it might entice Chan closer. “I want you to,” he reasons.
“There are a lot of things you think you want right now,” Chan bites back, quick and uncharacteristically hostile, enough that it makes Jisung flinch. “You hadn’t even had an orgasm before until a few minutes ago.”
Jisung’s eyes shine with curiosity, twisting his head back to its original position so he can meet Chan’s gaze. “That’s what that was?”
“See,” Chan spits, pumping his fingers rhythmically as he speaks. “You don’t even know what an orgasm is, but you’re still spreading your legs and letting me finger-fuck you into one.”
Jisung cowers, clenching his hands into fists. “It feels good,” he offers weakly.
“Of course it does,” Chan says, like it’s obvious. “My point is that you don’t know what you want.”
And Jisung—well, his knowledge about this subject may not be very vast and his vocabulary much more limited than Chan’s, but he still knows what he’s craving right now. “I wouldn’t want it if it wasn’t you,” he argues, knowing it to be true deep in the pit of his stomach, one thing he’s sure about in the middle of all these uncertainties. “I don’t trust anyone else to take care of me.”
Chan pauses for a moment just to stare at Jisung, and he thinks he’s managed to convince him when he catches a hopeful look crossing his face, but it’s gone as quick as it came, replaced with a deep frown. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But I always feel that way,” he pushes, the fog in his brain lifting in the face of the threat of Chan misunderstanding. “I don’t know this, but I know you.”
“Jisung,” he interjects, sounding genuinely pained. “Stop.”
Jisung pouts his lips, petulant. “Why?”
“Because I’m already struggling enough as it is,” he warns, speaking through his teeth. “You’re just making it harder to hold back.”
Jisung frowns, wiggling on Chan’s fingers impatiently. He can feel his body’s demands growing more insistent by the second, unsure of how much longer he has until he becomes a slave to its desire once again. “Then don’t,” he demands. “Do whatever you want with me. I trust you.”
Chan spreads his fingers inside of him, stretching him even wider than before. Jisung can’t help but cry out, hips canting up into nothing as the pleasure wracks through him. His breathing grows harsh, desperate pants leaving his lips while Chan continues to move his fingers methodically.
He begins to shift in a feeble attempt at calming himself long enough to see their conversation through—or, he attempts to, until Chan’s free hand reaches for his waist and forces him still. “You shouldn’t say that without knowing what you’re asking for.”
Jisung feels himself careening toward the now-familiar edge with a frightening speed. He pauses, thinking his next words over carefully, knowing they may be the last he’s able to conjure up with any sense of coherency. Without hesitation, he baits, “Show me.”
Chan sucks in air through his teeth, letting out a pitiful noise. “Fuck,” he breathes. His fingers pick up their pace, angle shifting until he manages to brush a spot he hadn’t quite hit before, one that has Jisung’s eyes rolling back into his head, his mouth dropping open in pure ecstasy.
Chan’s words are demanding, but his tone comes out defeated: “Come for me.”
Jisung doesn’t have a choice but to allow his body to fall victim to his desire, so overwhelmed by the sensation that he starts twitching while his cock pulses, the heat in his body calming to a tolerable warmth for a fleeting moment as his need is sated. Fleeting because the moment is over almost as soon as it began, leaving Jisung clutching his abdomen as the itch in his lower stomach turns into a full-blown ache clawing its way through him.
It’s a hunger like he’s never experienced before, something carnal and raw. He spreads his legs wider like an invitation, operating like an animal obeying their base instincts as he fights to get Chan where he wants him. He shimmies down the couch, driving Chan’s fingers further inside of him and crying when he realizes that nothing is working, it’s still not enough.
“Chan,” he attempts, but his voice cracks. He swallows nervously, pleading, “Help me.”
Chan doesn’t open his mouth, but he doesn’t have to, not when his actions speak for him. He slips his fingers out, not leaving Jisung enough time to even form a complaint at the emptiness before he replaces them with his cock.
“Ahh!” Jisung screams, unable to hold it in even if he wanted to. “Oh, fu—”
It’s so much. So much that he feels like he can’t possibly contain it all inside of him, but he already is, Chan is making sure of it, and Jisung is taking it, he’s letting Chan make him take it.
Something about it feels terribly intimate, a type of closeness he’s never known he could crave, and Jisung is somewhere otherworldly, his own personal paradise, somewhere untouchable to everyone else.
“Is it okay?” Chan asks, but Jisung is far away. He doesn’t register the tears running down his cheeks until Chan begins to wipe them away, first with his thumbs then with his lips when Jisung doesn’t respond right away. He adjusts his question and tries again, “Are you okay?”
Jisung nods vigorously, squeezing his eyes shut like it can stop the tears. “Okay,” he reassures him.
“Okay,” Chan repeats, nodding. “This will fix it. I promise, so bear with me—”
And then, the impossible happens—Chan presses further inside.
Jisung makes a string of unintelligible noises, hiccuping between each one. He tries to breathe through it but it feels like he can’t get enough oxygen no matter how many attempts he makes. He feels full in a way he’s never felt before and it’s instantly overwhelming but also somehow exactly what he needs, electrifying pleasure coursing through his veins.
He’s full but Chan somehow keeps finding more room, bullying his way inside of Jisung like he isn’t already filling him to the brim. He can’t keep himself still, starts squirming with every inch that makes its way in. “So much,” he cries, legs kicking, opening and closing like they can’t decide whether they want Chan to keep going or pull out, “You’re giving me so much—”
Both of Chan’s hands come to grab his thighs, holding them in place. “Be still. I promise this will be it,” he says softly, “just a little more…”
Jisung’s eyes widen, scandalized. “More?” he asks in disbelief.
Then, like an answer to his prayers, he feels it—Chan’s hips flush against his backside.
“There we go,” Chan croons, sugary sweet in Jisung’s ear. “It’s all in, Jisung. You took it all.”
Jisung has been rendered speechless, unable to do more than make faint noises of approval. He can’t feel anything besides Chan, every corner of his brain centered on the man in front of him, between his legs, inside of him, filling him up. Despite how overloaded he is both mentally and physically, the heat in his abdomen seems to calm down when he’s finally engulfed the entirety of Chan’s cock, like this is what it had been after all along.
Chan pats Jisung’s cheek gently to get his attention. “Still good?” he asks, earning a quick bob of Jisung’s head. “Alright. I’m going to move.”
He slips his cock out the same way he had done with his fingers before he began pumping them, but he’s not so hasty this time. He pulls away slowly, drawing himself out inch by inch. “Now I’m going to push in again.”
Again, he does exactly what he did with his fingers but at a much slower pace. The feeling of Chan pressing into him is much better the second time, like he’s already made a place for himself in Jisung’s body, molded him to the shape of his cock in an instant. The same relief from before hits him the second Chan’s hips meet his skin again.
“I’m going to keep doing it just like this until the heat goes away,” Chan warns him, squeezing his thighs in an attempt at comfort. “Until you’re better, alright?”
Jisung balls his hands into fists, bringing them up to cover his mouth. He looks Chan in the eyes and nods.
The elder goes through the motions once more, this time a little bit faster. Jisung is thankful for the change in speed—the quicker Chan moves, the better it seems to feel. He feels every drag deep in his core, each one like water on the scorching blaze coursing through him—soothing, but not quite enough to fully extinguish it. Jisung would normally hate to ask for more, but his mind is otherwise occupied at the moment, so he feels no shame as he pointedly requests, “More, please.”
Chan acquiesces without rebuttal, driving into him harder on his next thrust in, and it becomes apparent the change in pace didn’t only affect Jisung when he stutters out a pleading, “Fuck, Jisung,” and does it again. He leaves one hand on Jisung’s hip and moves the other to his waist, the grip bruising in both places with how hard he’s latched on. A strangled sound comes out of his sire’s throat, and Jisung looks up in reflex only to find Chan appearing completely disheveled. Sweat is beading his forehead, and the usual steadiness Jisung finds in his eyes has been replaced with something far more sinful.
A loud squelching sound permeates the room, claiming Jisung’s focus. He’s not sure where it came from, but it sounded—
“You’re so wet,” Chan breathes, “fuck, it’s making you so wet.”
Then he thrusts again, and the same noise follows, and Jisung’s curiosity has him reaching between his own thighs, down to the place where Chan rests inside of him. His fingertips land in something slick that he’s never produced before and certainly not from there, but it solidifies what he expected—the wetness is from him, and he’s fucking soaked.
It’s strange, but everything about this so far has been. As long as Chan is here, he’s fine. It’s not like he can find it in himself to be upset about it, not when it’s undoubtedly what’s keeping the foreign stretch of his hole from causing him pain, and not when his sire seems to enjoy it so thoroughly.
He can’t resist prodding at the area a little longer, feeling how his own body has opened up to allow Chan entrance in quiet amazement.
Chan chuckles breathlessly, amused. “So curious, huh? Can’t help yourself, even when you’re barely in your right mind.” He pauses, circling Jisung’s wrist with his fingers and guiding it back up toward his head. “We don’t have time for that right now, so just lay back and take it. I’ll make this quick.”
“Chan,” he whines, sniffling pitifully. “Chan, I want—”
But Chan evidently doesn’t care to listen to his pleas right now, instead shifting his hips so his next thrust hits the spot that had Jisung seeing stars when he grazed it with his fingers. Jisung’s words cut off into a shriek, his eyes crossing in pure bliss while Chan nails the same spot again and again and again.
“Ch-Chan,” he cries, crossing his arms over his chest until he’s got both hands resting on his own biceps then digs his blunt fingernails into his own skin. “There, there, there.”
“Yeah? Feels good?”
Jisung bobs his head in short, fast movements, hugging himself tighter.
“And here?” Chan presses his cool hand into his lower stomach. “Does it feel better here?”
Jisung continues to nod. “Feels good everywhere,” he confirms. His stomach contracts, Chan’s cock drills into him again, and his hand is still there on his quivering belly, still pressing down—
“Ahh!”
“Fuck.”
It’s like a button has been pressed, and the reaction is immediate. Jisung experiences his second ever orgasm the same way he did his first—right underneath Chan’s careful, skilled touch. This one seems to drag on forever, his vision blurring with the force of it as pleasure seeps deep into his veins. His cock spills once again, leaving his stomach sticky but his insides warm, and his eyes begin to slip closed in pure ecstasy.
“...sung, Jisung…”
Jisung groans, pinching his face up in discontent. “Mmm,” he grunts, lacking the energy or brain power for much more.
“Baby,” he hears, followed by his head being gently shaken from side to side. “Come on, stay up. You’re still not in the clear yet. I’ve got to…”
He struggles to find reason to worry; how can he when he feels the best he ever has? It’s only the fact that this is Chan speaking that Jisung even finds the will to listen, begrudgingly blinking his eyes open only to find Chan’s gaze already locked on his face.
“There you are,” he says, and it sounds like praise to Jisung’s ears. “We’re almost done, sweetheart, then you can rest as much as you want.”
“Mm,” he hums in acknowledgement, smacking his lips. “Okay…”
That must’ve been all Chan was waiting for, because his hips start moving again only seconds later. He picks up right where he left off, pace harsh and unforgiving from the get-go. It has Jisung hiccuping out little whimpers, the feeling finally verging on too much, but he can tell Chan is moving with purpose, like there’s an end in sight that he’s chasing single-mindedly and that’s enough to strengthen Jisung’s resolve. If Chan is giving it to him, that must mean he can handle it.
It isn’t long until all of Chan’s jostling has the now-familiar heat curling low in his belly once again, but this version is milder, more pleasant than intimidating. He looks up to Chan, the question on the tip of his tongue—is this it?—but he’s stopped by the expression he finds on his face. Chan has always appeared put-together, his features carefully composed at any given time despite whatever circumstances are thrown his way, and a small, jealous part of Jisung has been infuriated by his control over his emotions since Jisung himself couldn’t help but react when anything new was put in front of him. He’s always wondered what it would take to make Chan lose even a fraction of that control, or if he’d ever even get to witness it at all.
The Chan in front of him now has finally let the mask slip.
He looks like a wild animal, and sounds like one, too, muted grunts and growls leaving his lips with or without his consent. For the first time since Jisung has known him, he looks every bit the predator he’s supposed to be, and the shock of it has a hint of fear seeping into his veins.
Has Jisung caused this? Is it his body offered up to Chan that has his sire losing his mind?
Their gazes lock, and Jisung nearly loses his own. “Close,” Chan says without specifying what he means, but maybe he doesn’t need to. He’s speaking through other means: the thirsty way his eyes are drinking up every bit of Jisung in his field of vision, the pretty pink flush of his skin, the determination with which he moves. He’s feeling good, too. Jisung knows it in his bones.
He wants to see it, wants to see Chan experience the same pleasure he did. Chan gave it to him just like he’s given Jisung everything else, selflessly and without expectation, and Jisung—he wants to give back, even if it’s something small like this. He had accepted it months ago that he would never be able to repay him for everything he’s done for him, but he wants to try. He needs Chan to understand that he’s grateful, that he recognizes the greatness of the gift he’s been given, that he’s so appreciative he’s not sure how he could ever fully express himself, that he admires him, loves him, even—
Jisung makes a wounded noise at the realization, the weight of his emotions crashing down on his poor, abused brain all at once, and he suddenly can’t keep the words from tumbling out. “I love you,” he says, quiet in his delivery but resolute in his meaning.
Chan chokes, pace faltering. “Jisung—”
Then his hips stutter twice before Jisung feels it—Chan’s hands rushing to his waist as if in reflex and a telling warmth flooding his insides.
Jisung flops back onto the couch, a crazed smile finding its way onto his features. He did it after all.
Despite feeling on edge only seconds ago, his desire to continue has quickly dwindled. It feels as though Chan’s release has given him a release of his own, the fire that tried to consume his body quieting in the aftermath. It feels like he’s coming down from an insane high, and his energy is swiftly depleting the longer he lays there.
He wants to rest, but he wasn’t allowed last time. His nakedness is leaving him cold now that he’s no longer burning up from the inside, but not even that is enough to keep him awake. His eyes are heavy enough now that he’s not sure he can make himself stay up any longer even if Chan denies him.
“Tired,” he slurs in an effort to make Chan aware.
“That’s okay,” he replies gently. “You can rest. It’s over now.”
Jisung hums, letting his head roll to the side. He curls his arms back to his chest to keep himself warm.
It’s over now.
♡
Jisung wakes up in his own bed.
He smacks his lips together a few times, mouth dry and uncomfortable. He shucks the blanket off of himself with full intentions of heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, but when he turns over, he finds one already filled to the brim resting on his nightstand. He reaches for it, flinching when he realizes how cold it is. Chan must’ve brought it recently.
“You’re up.”
Jisung jumps at the sound of Chan’s voice, whipping his head toward where it came from to find his sire perched on the very edge of the opposite end of his bed. “Chan,” he whispers, but it comes out muted. First things first, he decides, before he sits up and reaches for the glass again, taking a long drink.
“I didn’t want to leave you alone after everything that happened,” Chan says, like he needs to explain why he’s in Jisung’s room. “It seems like the fever broke around the same time you fell asleep.”
Jisung returns the water to its original location and turns to face Chan. “So I’m in the clear now?”
“Mm.” Chan nods once, short and to the point, but Jisung can see that he has more on his mind. His face twists and turns like he can’t decide what to say first, but Jisung isn’t having the same issue. He’s had plenty to say since he first got home, and now that there’s no obstacles keeping him from being able to do so—
“I’m really sorry for leaving,” he blurts. “And I’m not just saying that because it had consequences. I was already planning to apologize to you before I walked through the door, but I couldn’t. Not until now, at least.”
Chan holds up a hand as a signal for Jisung to stop, and Jisung—he’s had his fill of not listening to Chan for the day. He seals his lips shut and waits patiently, heart racing in anticipation.
“You can never do something like this again,” he says, commanding with his tone. “Do you know the terror I felt when I got home and realized you were nowhere to be found?”
Jisung swallows. He didn’t, but he suspected. “I’m sorry. I thought…” But he can’t think of any way to finish the sentence that doesn’t sound like a poor excuse; instead, he settles for something more honest. “It was never my intention to make you worry.”
“All I do is worry about you, Jisung. Why do you think I placed that rule to begin with?” Chan pauses, reaching across the mattress to put his hand on Jisung’s knee. Gentle, but careful not to be invasive. “You are the only vampire I’ve ever created. You became my responsibility the moment you accepted my offer, and I don’t take that sort of thing lightly.”
“I know,” Jisung nods. “I didn’t try to leave because I doubted you. I wasn’t trying to leave at all, I just—”
He cuts himself off, the truth sounding childish in hindsight. Still, it’s something he knows that he owes to Chan, and that thought is enough to fuel him into continuing. “I wanted to get out, just for a little while. I had been cooped up for so long that I convinced myself it was a good idea. That it would be harmless…”
Chan frowns, a pained look crossing his features. “I told you there are people who hate what we are. The woman you encountered was just one of them,” he tells him. “The necklace she gave you was laced with a rare plant that’s extremely toxic to our kind. The particular strain she used causes heat sickness.”
Jisung is sure he knows the answer already, somewhere deep in his bones, but he still has to hear it aloud. “She intended to kill me.”
It’s quiet, still for a split second before Chan nods. “The fever it causes will burn a mature vampire from the inside out within a few hours, if left untreated,” he confirms with a grimace. “Your fledgling status made you even more susceptible.”
“But I’m alive,” he notes gratefully. “Because of you.”
Chan draws his lower lip between his teeth, sinking them in for a moment before releasing it. He draws his hands away from Jisung but juxtaposes the action by scooting closer, like he isn’t sure if he wants more distance between them or to be right by Jisung’s side. “There was only one way to rid your body of the toxin,” he begins gently. “I did what I had to keep you alive, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t wrong.”
“No,” Jisung shakes his head. “Don’t talk like that.”
“You don’t fully comprehend what happened,” Chan persists, blunt in his delivery. “That was made abundantly clear to me when everything transpired.”
“You saved me,” he counters fervently. “Again. End of story.”
Chan sighs, shaking his head. “It’s not black and white like that, Jisung. There are things you don’t understand—”
“I know that!” he shouts, the loudest he’s raised his voice in front of Chan, perhaps the loudest he’s ever raised it period. “The way I grew up didn’t lend me much knowledge or worldly experience. It’s frustrating enough to be aware of that fact, but having it thrown in my face as a means to—to disregard me and my feelings—”
“Jisung, no,” Chan interjects, reaching for Jisung’s flailing arms and directing them back to his lap. “I would never undermine you like that.”
“But you are,” he counters with a sad twinge to his tone. “I told you exactly how I felt while everything was happening but you’re still questioning me. Why don't you believe me?”
“Jisung,” Chan says his name again, a little more desperately this time. “You weren’t in any state to be making confessions like that. You were being influenced.”
“My body’s desires were,” he relents. “But those words never would have come to my mind if they weren’t true.”
The elder finally looks up at him, meeting his gaze dead on. Jisung doesn’t give him an opportunity for rebuttal. “Don’t tell me I don’t understand,” he warns with a flick of his wrist. “I already told you before. I may not know everything, but I know you.”
“You’re so young, Jisung.” Chan’s eyes turn glassy, pleading. “You have no idea—there’s so much left for you to explore. Your feelings may change once you’ve gained that experience, so you shouldn’t tie yourself down with such a thing right now.”
Jisung realizes he’s not getting through to him, so he resorts to his final hand. “I know that you’ve been going to the orphanage,” he reveals. “Not only did you fix every issue the building had, but you visit the kids, too.”
That seems to sober him up in a heartbeat, his back going ramrod straight and his eyes flashing wild. “You spoke with them?” he notes in a panic.
“A little girl,” he clarifies quickly just to assuage his worries. “She saw my coat and mistook me for Mr. Bang. She says he visits them often and always brings nice gifts, but he struggles to accept their gratitude.”
Chan swallows, averting his gaze toward the window. “I took you from them,” he says. “It’s the least I could do.”
“You’re kind,” Jisung states definitively, taking a chance and resting his palm on top of Chan’s hand, smiling when he doesn’t immediately retract it. “You’re selfless and patient and your heart must take up so much space in your body that your other organs don’t have room to breathe.”
“No.” Chan cuts him off, shaking his head. “I’m selfish, Jisung. You’re proof of that.”
Jisung’s heart flutters in his chest. The words sound like a confession to his ears, warming him to his core. “Maybe I want you to be selfish with me.”
Chan frowns, looking to his lap. “You’re doing it again,” he says.
“Doing what?”
“Making it harder for me to hold back.”
Jisung scoffs, a breathless little noise. “For whose benefit?”
A low growl sounds. “Jisung.”
“I told you that I trust you,” he reiterates. “I wouldn’t be comfortably sitting in the nude right now if I didn’t.”
Chan’s eyes flicker back to him for a quick second like he himself had just remembered Jisung’s nudity, before they go back to the window, staunchly staring forward like he’s become a statue. He keeps his lips locked together, a tight line that refuses to let any words spill out.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe me,” Jisung promises. “You can give me lessons on everything I haven’t had the chance to learn. I’ll spend the next century as your student if at the end of it you’ll finally listen to my feelings.”
He catches it, the moment Chan finally seems to break—the way his shoulders slump and his countenance goes from stone-cold serious to defeated. He finally turns his body back toward Jisung, giving the younger the opportunity to look him in the eyes once again. “What if you learn something that makes you view me differently?”
Jisung shrugs, nonchalant. “Then we’ll talk about it.”
“And if you become disgusted by me because of it?” Chan presses. “If it’s so bad that you can’t stand the sight of me?”
Jisung can’t imagine any such scenario ever happening, but just to humor him—“Then I would simply leave.”
Chan holds his gaze firm, eyes widening as his next question leaves his mouth. “What if I become selfish again?” he asks with an almost scary sort of determination. “What if I don’t let you?”
He can feel his heart rate pick up—not from fear, but something far more incriminating. Cheeks pink, he admits, “I can think of worse fates.”
“No, Jisung. You can’t give up that easily,” he scolds. “You have to try your hardest to leave anyway, and you can’t let me persuade you otherwise. If you want me to listen to your feelings now, then you have to promise me that you’ll listen to them yourself if they change in the future.”
It seems like a pointless ask considering how sure of himself Jisung is, but he can make an exception this once if it will appease the elder. It's not like he anticipates a day where he'll ever have to see it through, but for Chan's sake, there's not much he wouldn't do. “Okay,” he nods. “I promise.”
This surely can’t be classified as a win on his part, but it certainly feels like one. If this is as far as he can get today, he’ll accept it.
He has the rest of forever to prove his love to Chan, after all.