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1. 承
Some people say that cats tend to torment and play with their preys because fear makes the food’s taste better. Yoongi knows that his preys don’t work that way – what makes human blood sweeter is not fear but euphoria.
The pearly white of his sharp teeth is a great contrast against Jimin’s smooth, darker skin, but Yoongi has always liked it this way. Jimin is tan where he is pallid, Jimin is supple and warm where he is edged and freezing. Jimin is all soft curves and flexible crooks where Yoongi can nuzzle into whenever they cuddle; his shrill edges somehow fit against Jimin’s body like puzzle pieces shaped for each other. Yoongi likes to think that this is art – that they are art, together. Tan and pale, black and white; contrasts of the piano keys and together they can emit the most beautiful sounds in the world.
Yoongi likes to think that Jimin’s thundering heartbeat and small moans are the most beautiful music, and what’s even more beautiful is the way his breath hitches and voice gets squeaky when Yoongi’s teeth sink into the warm flesh of his shoulder, not deep enough to draw blood. Never deep enough.
”H-hyung—” Jimin’s pleading voice is tender and saccharine, and Yoongi knows his blood is even sweeter. He’s never tasted it yet, but he still knows that Jimin is the most delicious little thing he’s ever held in his arms. Jimin is half-sitting and half-laying in between his legs, back leaning against Yoongi’s clothed chest, head resting on Yoongi’s shoulder, his lively racing heart is drumming the rhythm of eternal trust, trust, trust. With a bitter ghost of a smile lurking in the corner of his lips, Yoongi lifts his bony hand and runs cold fingers down Jimin’s scorching, flushed chest, feeling the hammering of the human heart beneath bone and tissue. His own heart had stopped thumping a long, long time ago, but Jimin’s is beating with the speed of two.
”Yes, baby?” His smile widens a little when a gasp slips out Jimin’s parted, plump lips at the petname. The human’s scent is intoxicating, an airy and flowery fragrance what makes Yoongi’s head spin, his nails scratch lightly. Goosebumps rise wherever he’s mapping the boy’s milky skin, and Yoongi is mesmerized by the way the silver beams of the moon reflect off the beads of sweat littered across Jimin's toned body, like tiny, sparkly gemstones. Even though he doesn’t need oxygen he inhales sharply – old habits die hard, even harder than vampires –, and tilts his head toward Jimin’s neck to lick off some of the salty drops of perspiration.
It tastes weird, feels wrong on his tongue. It’s not the sugary flavor and metallic tang of blood, and Yoongi misses it, misses it so bad his whole immortal body is aching and shaking with want and need. Hunger rolls in his stomach, dark and powerful and ever-expanding, his fingers itch to grab and grip tight, his muscles stiffen as the bestial ravenousness burrows a pit inside of him, deeper and fouler even than the pain of death had done. He can clearly hear the buzzing of blood in Jimin’s veins, only a few layers of skin separate the wonderous liquid and his slowly growing, pointy fangs; he could easily rip it off to drink—
Jimin turns his head, panting, his hot puffs of breath are ticklish on Yoongi’s chiseled jaw. He is too far gone to notice the long canines; presses his pillowy lips against Yoongi’s skin mildly, and the warm rumble of a fond giggle is forming in his chest – Yoongi can already hear it, even before it escapes from the boy’s mouth. The bare walls are echoing the giggling sound, it reminds Yoongi of the Spring full of joy and vivid colors and sunbeams of hope and rebirth, and the roaring emptiness calms down inside him a bit.
Maybe he is a masochist or a fool. Probably he is, both. A resigned sigh leaves Yoongi’s chapped, colorless lips as he peppers feathery kisses on Jimin’s unharmed neck, swallowing down with stupendous effort his raging hunger and desire. The sharp end of his teeth are roaming on Jimin’s shoulder, barely touching skin, and the boy bodily shudders whenever Yoongi lets them dig into the flesh a little deeper (but never deep enough, never drawing blood, never, never). It’s teasing, a torture for both of them, and Jimin’s head lolls back onto Yoongi’s shoulder as he moans shamelessly at a particularly strong bite.
”Hyung, please, hy-ngahh—” Jimin mewls when Yoongi pinches his nipple, squeezing it and feeling as it gets erected, full of thrumming blood under his ice-cold fingertips.
”Please what, Jiminie? Use your words,” Yoongi growls, his burning stare never leaves the sight of Jimin’s cute cock bouncing with every pathetic thrust in the air.
”To-touch me, ple-ase,” he whimpers as Yoongi starts drawing quick circles on his areola, occasionally poking and flicking the perked-up, tiny buds.
”I’m touching you.” Yoongi hides his smirk in the crook of Jimin’s neck, watching as gleaming strands of pre-come are dribbling down the boy’s standing, angry red cock, flowing in a thin stream toward his protruding hipbone. Yoongi’s fingertips don’t leave the boy’s nipples, they are caressing the sensitive buds fast but gently without stop, his fangs are hovering over the human’s throbbing artery, lightly biting up and down the length of the slender neck with no real force or pressure. Yoongi tries to be so careful to not lose self-restraint, that he is not even sure if his bites will leave a lasting mark or not.
”Yoo— Yoongi h— Hyung, I need you, I c-can’t—”
Yoongi’s response comes within an instant. ”Yes, you can. You’re so good, I know you’ll come just like good boys do. And you’re my hard-working, perfect baby boy, aren’t you? Huh, Jiminie?” He’s observing the boy with so much emotion swirling in his dark eyes, he watches as the veins are bulging in Jimin’s neck, he watches as the boy’s nose gets scrunched up and eyes screwed shut, crinkled with effort, his fists clenching and unclenching as his wet cock is twitching at the praise in the open air repeatedly, pitifully.
Jimin throws his head back when Yoongi’s teeth get buried in his golden skin right where his pulse point is, Adam’s apple bobbing as his small, pudgy hands start moving toward his cock, a desperate attempt to urge his climax, but when Yoongi’s commanding tone reaches his ear, he immediately stills.
”Don’t you dare to move your hands. Aren’t you a good baby boy?” Yoongi’s teeth are grazing the shell of Jimin’s ear then biting into the pliant flesh of his neck, this time quite hard, and the boy shivers at the electrifying sensation, silent sobs racking his body as his fists grip the sheets, the fabric getting soaked in a patch under his dripping wet cock.
His expression is wrecked; his pretty, hooded eyes are full of glistening tears, rolling down his pink cheeks and hanging from his thick lashes. ”Yes, I’m a g-good boy, ahh, so good for you— I want you, hyung, please, I— I’m c-close—” Jimin’s voice is already melodic to begin with, but when he is on the edge, it becomes even softer while breaking, heartbeat turning erratic, breathing getting labored, hips bucking up without control. These are Yoongi’s favorite moments, when Jimin’s whole body is singing in pleasure; heat is pooling and coiling in his lower stomach, his abdomen muscles are flexing spasmodically, then the knots loosen, back arches like the prettiest bow. Flakes of sweat are shining in the moonlight, and sweet, sweet blood is pulsating madly in his twitching cock as Jimin comes untouched with the most adorable jolts of hips, shy and chaste little thrusts, and the quiet strings of ah, ah, ahs followed by Yoongi’s name. He’s spurting come all over himself, and drawn-out moans and whines are spilling out of his throat simultaneously. It’s mindblowing, hypnotizing, and Yoongi has been ’living’ for hundreds of years but thinks he’s never seen and heard something this gorgeous.
These glorious seconds, minutes are Yoongi’s everything, but also the seconds and minutes when he needs to gather all his willpower to hold himself back. The euphoria of orgasm is bursting inside Jimin’s body like firework, it sends bolting happiness through his veins, the tasty blood starts boiling beneath the shields of paper-thin skin and fragile bones, and the pit of hunger inside Yoongi becomes an endless, aching black hole ready to consume the entire world blindly. It becomes a storm in Yoongi’s chest, ready to tear him apart from the inside, a starvation what cannot be completely fixed and satisfied until it eats Jimin up and drains the last drop of blood out of his lifeless body. Yoongi has had hundreds of years to learn how to regulate it, his crazy longing for human blood, but when it comes to Jimin, sometimes it feels like control is sand in his palms, always a hair’s breadth away from slipping through his pale fingers.
When he was younger and properly ’alive’, Yoongi had always imagined with a slight of envy that immortals have nothing to be afraid of. But never, ever during the past hundred and hundred years of his life has he been so scared of anything as he is right now – of the possibility that his instinctive, animalistic side once gets unleashed in a momentary weakness.
”Hyung?” Jimin nuzzles his nose against Yoongi’s jawline, bare thighs closing in on themselves, his body radiating warmth and blissfulness. The afterglow of euphoria makes his expression relaxed and gaze triumphant, he sheepishly interlaces his chubby fingers with Yoongi’s elegant, skinny ones, and they fill the hollow places in between each other’s knuckles perfectly. Yoongi always wonders how can Jimin blush so bashfully and flustered, with such purity and innocence gracing his full lips in a smile when not even five minutes ago he was practically begging for his cock to be touched.
”Hmm?” Yoongi hums lazily with eyes unfocused, automatically stroking Jimin’s hair – what’s usually silky and fluffy but now damp and matted to his forehead –, and internally still trying to fight down the unbearable urge to suck on Jimin’s neck until his fangs break skin. ”Feelin’ good, baby? Are you okay?” He asks it just like he always does, with the slightest lilt of worry.
”Yeah,” Jimin mumbles with a satisfied smile, curling up in Yoongi’s lap like a kitten. Minutes pass by as silence blankets them, comfortable and somniferous. Then Jimin speaks out timidly, ”Next time you can bite me harder if you want, though. I—” Tomato red blooms abruptly on his cheeks and he averts his gaze, hiding his face in the curve of Yoongi’s cold neck. ”I’d like it,” he finishes on a small voice laced with a mix of embarrassment and anticipation. ”You know that— That I like when you b-bite me—”
He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging above them in the air – heavy and kind of mocking. Yoongi would like to bite him harder, too. He gulps, trying to ignore the flames of hunger licking his insides once again at Jimin’s tempting proposal.
”Why are you talking nonsense?” He finally asks on a forced, flat tone, swelling thirst making his throat narrow and tongue dry. He’s eyeing the ceiling stubbornly, avoiding to look at Jimin. ”If I bite you harder it’ll hurt you, brat.”
The red tinting Jimin’s cheeks is becoming a few shades darker as he clears his throat. ”I— I won’t really mind, y’know,” he whispers, sounding both ashamed and excited at the same time. Yoongi rolls his eyes and shoves him away with force but not too harshly, even though his skin is already missing Jimin’s heat and softness.
”You’ll catch a cold if you stay laying on me completely naked,” he grumbles, climbing out of the bed and standing up with crackling joints. Jimin used to laugh at him, saying that he’s totally different from the ’graceful and cool and dangerous’ vampires portrayed in TV-shows and books. Yoongi used to scold him these times with fake-resentment, but deep down he agreed: he is uncool and tame compared to others of his kind – and it is right like this. He doesn’t want to be dangerous, not for Jimin.
However, lately he can’t stop thinking about Jimin’s effervescent, hot red blood, can’t stop imagining its tingling taste in his mouth, and nightmares of sand slipping past between the cracks of his fingers are haunting him day after day. He knows that he should create some distance in case he once becomes his true, monstrous self and mindlessly wants to cause pain to those who are close to him.
”Hyung’ll make you a cup of steaming tea, alright, Jimin-ah?” Against his better judgement, he glances back at Jimin’s pouty face, the boy is still laying sprawled on the mattress, seemingly being offended and sulking because of the rude treatment a few seconds ago. The sentence exits Yoongi’s mouth without thinking, his husky voice softens when Jimin’s eyes start glowing enthusiastically, gratefully at the promise of hot tea. There’s fondness in the curve of Jimin’s smile, affection and forgiveness as he crawls to the edge of the bed then grasps and pulls Yoongi down by his collar. Icy lips meet warm and plush ones, Yoongi feels the honey blood rushing in capillaries beneath his touch, his growing canines are poking Jimin’s skin and they are both shivering at the contact. The blazing hunger is purring in Yoongi’s stomach at the smell of blood so close, so sugary, and a tiny, alarmed voice in the back of his head reminds him that he needs to stop kissing Jimin, or else it’ll be over. Everything will be over.
Reluctantly he is withdrawing; peeling Jimin’s fingers away from his shirt and taking steps backwards one by one, eyes fixated on the redness of Jimin’s swollen lips. His limbs feel weak as if the hunger were shattering his bones with every step, but he doesn’t falter; he’s putting distance between himself and Jimin, and manages to tear his gaze away from the wounded surface of those tantalizing lips.
”You’ll catch a cold,” he mutters, repeating himself on a voice what was intended to be gruff but comes out much more tender. He’s not weak just because of this hunger of his, but against Jimin, too.
However, Yoongi figures deep-deep down (he’ll never admit it aloud, especially not to Jimin) while pouring water into the kettle, that as long as him being weak doesn’t mean dangerous too, then he’s kind of okay with it. Jimin’s crescent-eyes and squishy cheeks when he smiles so widely, so happily at Yoongi above the brink of his teacup with Piske on it, make being weak totally worth it, after all.
2. 起
Min Yoongi doesn’t believe in many things, but as years and years pass, he slowly but surely starts accepting one certain thing: he is bounded to Park Jimin by fate.
The first time they met was on a rainy day, approximately 250 years after Yoongi had become immortal. Yoongi looked like a 24-years-old young man (just like he usually looked like, for centuries now), while Jimin was around five. Yoongi is sure that he will remember their meeting for the rest of his eternal life; the moment when he was sitting alone in the small Catholic chapel of the village’s silent cemetery – contrary to popular belief, only one thing is deathly to a vampire: direct sunlight –, pushing random keys of the huge organ out of boredom. He was bathing peacefully in the moonlight what fell through the stained glass windows all around him, and then—
—then suddenly Busan accent hit his sensitive ears from the outside, so different from the Daegu dialect Yoongi was used to, and the vampire’s long fingers froze in the air, hovering above the organ’s black and white keys. He sensed small, approaching noises, too, but his attention was more focused on the stranger humans from Busan who were standing in front of the cemetery’s entrance. They were discussing something about a relative they had had here, in this village – a relative who had died last year. Yoongi frowned; now he understood why people from Busan were here: they were visiting that relative’s grave. It was not late, only evening, and the humans were planning to sit in their car and go home after placing candles, incense, and some flowers on the tombstone. Yoongi listened to their conversation about their awaiting home with fuzzy blankets and warm showers, longing and pain squeezed his non-beating heart, and he got so lost in his thoughts that he forgot to concentrate on the small, approaching noises, teeny and hurried footsteps which came closer and closer by second.
Then the tiny chapel’s door opened with a creak, and a messy mop of black hair popped up. Yoongi turned so fast his neck cracked, and blinked at the human boy with unbelieving eyes. The boy blinked back at him curiously, his cheeks were chubby and rosy, his eyes held no fear. Relief washed over Yoongi, his tense muscles loosened: it's just a child.
”Hello,” the greeting sounded so out of place, Yoongi couldn’t react, just nodded. ”You were the one, playing the piano?” The boy asked, and the corner of Yoongi’s mouth twitched with distaste. Of course, the music… Sometimes he forgot that whilst because of his curse he can’t hear the sound of the instrument, others – including humans – can.
”This is not a piano,” he grumbled, trying to act as casually as possible. Interacting with humans, especially children, was something he was painfully unfamiliar with. ”This is an instrument called organ.”
”Organ?” The boy tilted his head and scrunched up his button nose while scooching closer, looking like a confused puppy. The sight was so alien, so uncomfortably endearing, it made Yoongi sick.
”Yeah,” he nodded, lips pressed together tightly. ”Organ.”
”Who are you?” The little boy asked with a friendly smile, waddling even closer in the aisle, inquiring gaze fixated on Yoongi’s pale features. His heart was beating allegretto; young and innocent and bubbly. Full of blood, of life. Yoongi felt the hunger stretch and yawn inside him, clouding his senses for a second. He had a very good reason to why he was so inexperienced when it came to interactions with humans, after all.
”Go away,” he coughed, voice croaky and unstable. When the boy didn’t move, Yoongi stood up and tried to leave the human behind, but his legs were wobbly from increasing hunger spreading through his veins. The boy opened his mouth to reply something when a woman with Busan accent called a name outside the chapel, interrupting their short conversation.
”Jimin-ah? Jimin-ah, where are you? Come, let’s go home!”
Fear was crippling through Yoongi; the woman, an adult human, can’t come in! She will have questions, suspicions, assumptions…
”Go away! And don’t you dare come back and disturb me again!” He hissed, and the boy, Jimin, obediently turned on his heels and opened the creaking door, only reaching the knob while standing on his tiptoes. Then threw a last glance at Yoongi, a curious glance accompanied by a sweet smile, ”Bye bye~” he said, one teeny hand on the doorknob, the other waving at the vampire, short fingers poking out from the sweater’s sleeve. His hand looked like a kitten’s paw, and Yoongi wanted to retch from ravaging hunger. The door closed behind the boy, steps and noises and scents fading, cars receding, and Yoongi was sitting in the empty chapel till the dawn broke, and played Dieterich Buxtehude’s Passacaglia (probably falsely) on repeat to distract himself.
***
The second time they met was fifteen years later, when Jimin was on a summer vacation in the same village of Daegu, staying at his relatives’ house for two weeks. Far away from the village, deep in the forest, hidden by rocky mountains and recondite valleys there was a Western-styled castle, built by a wealthy nobleman in the end of the 19th Century – this was Yoongi’s residence most of the time. Ever since Seokjin had turned him into a vampire in the 1700s, Yoongi was looking for the perfect place to lodge; he occupied this castle for himself after the Second World War – after the loss of Seokjin, and after the death of the castle’s original owners. He spent most of his time rolling around on the bed covered with silk, and practicing various pieces on the grand piano in the fancy banquet hall. He didn’t have to go on hunts, since he had made a deal with the villagers many years ago; every full moon they gave the weakest, illest animal they could offer to Yoongi, they left the poor cattle bound to the trunk of a tree and during the night Yoongi came for it to feed himself. In return, the deal had stated, Yoongi didn’t attack their village for the blood of healthy livestock or humans.
The villagers didn’t bother him out of fear, and Yoongi didn’t bother them out of disinterest. Until one day – when Yoongi was deeply asleep, cocooned in various duvets in the bedroom where heavy velvet curtains hid him from the deadly beams of the Sun – two villager kids decided to have an adventure in the woods, and dragged Jimin along with themselves.
When the three teenagers stepped into his castle, Yoongi was waiting for them in the shadows, wondering with a dark smirk on his lips, how to scare them off? But as soon as his gaze fell on his targets, he forgot to be annoyed because of the rude trespassing. He forgot to be annoyed, he forgot to breathe (not like it was a big deal for him, though), and forgot his entire existence for a brief second. Becoming immortal has a price what everyone has to pay – vampires all have to lose something in return for avoiding death. Yoongi only could see black, white, red, and the colors what are these three’s mixes, like pink and grey – and one of the three trespassing kids had the brightest blood-red hairlocks Yoongi had ever seen. It was mesmerizing, the boy was mesmerizing; so beautiful that Yoongi was rooted to the spot, jaw hanging slack. He was pretty outside, too – but what made him outstanding was his heart.
”Taehyung-ah? Are you sure that this is a good idea?” The boy, the stunning boy with that red hair and magnificent heart of his whispered, turning left and right nervously.
”Don’t worry, Jimin hyung; I’ll protect both you and Taehyungie hyung, ’kay?” The smallest boy promised with fake bravado, although he really seemed a bit less intimidated by the enormous, abandoned castle than the other two.
”Pfff, Jeonggukie, you’re so funny!” The third boy – accordingly the one named Taehyung – chuckled, teasing, and smacked the smallest’s chest lightly, although he was visibly trembling. ”Protect us with what? With your noodle arms?”
The one called Jeongguk flushed brightly, and ducked his head in a shy manner but still started arguing with his hyung. Yoongi barely paid attention to them. His eyes followed Jimin, who had the same chubby cheeks and sweater paws like fifteen years ago, in the chapel. He was moving through the pieces of antique furniture with a dancer’s grace and fluidity, the music of his heartbeat was marvelous affrettando and the most beautiful, crooning agitato, and Yoongi felt himself already growing addicted to it.
When in a despaired, insane moment Seokjin had turned him – his last and youngest patient with a terminal illness – into a vampire, Yoongi had paid for his immortality with losing his ability to hear any melody what musical instruments or mouths make. He couldn’t hear his own humming or singing, nor even whistling. He couldn’t hear the notes of the piano or organ keys. Before becoming something else, Yoongi as a human had been a quite famous and acknowledged musician in his village. He had been able to play the guzheng, other zithers, the janggu and the haegeum – but ever since losing the ability to hear melodies, he has had to stop the activity what used to make him the happiest. When he had occupied the castle, he had got introduced to Western instruments and has learned how to play the piano. He could only see shades of black, white and red anyway, and the piano keys’ monochrome unanimity, the black-and-white tranquility of the notes on piano sheets always made him calmer. Made him mourn a little less over the loss of music in his life.
Without music it was hard to keep holding on, after all: days after days were passing and Yoongi somehow had to get through them without the most important and enjoyable thing for him. Without giving in to the alluring urge to kill himself already, end the misery of supposedly eternal boredom – only his promise to Seokjin was holding him back. But now, now—
Now the sounds of that Jimin boy’s heart were the most attractive music he’s heard in ages, and Yoongi was listening to them in stupor; basking in the symphony of opening and closing valves, excitedly springing fibres, irregular spasms of the young muscle, and the crescendo of blood flooding through chambers rapidly with slight panic. Once a chaotic disarray, and then suddenly harmonic adagio in the next moment – the palpitations in the melody of Jimin’s heart were drowning everything else out of Yoongi’s world.
In the end he didn’t scare the three human boys off, he didn’t show himself. Jeongguk was quite disappointed about the fact that they hadn’t found any secret treasure or mythical being in the castle, but Taehyung and Jimin seemed to be relieved. Neither of them noticed the dark figure in a hood following them through the forest, sneaking from shadow to shadow.
On the same day when Jimin lugged his puffy suitcase to the train, hugged Taehyung and Jeongguk tightly, and left the village, Yoongi waved final goodbye to the old castle and traveled to Seoul, too. In the sea of millions and millions of humans, he followed the faint trace of Jimin’s flowery scent, the blood-red of Jimin’s hair, the pumping sound of Jimin’s heart like a lunatic, like a maniac, drawn to it like moth to flame; obsessed with the memory of the interesting half-beats, unpredictable variations in the music of the human’s body. Obsessed with the memory of Jimin greeting him in the small chapel without fear, with a smile what reminded of happiness – happiness, what Yoongi had experienced way too long ago.
***
The third time they met a few months later Jimin was dancing on a stage, and Yoongi was lurking in the shadows of the auditorium, unable to tear his gaze away from Jimin’s movements, his lithe, flying form. His ears couldn’t hear the music Jimin was dancing to, but he could imagine it, because the way Jimin was floating in the air was like music itself. His ears couldn’t hear the sounds which the instruments made, but he could hear the melody of Jimin’s heart – crystal clear, wonderful, and so loud that Yoongi’s ears were ringing from the deafening beauty.
That night, when the performance was over Yoongi went backstage, hiding in the darkness of the corner. He waited for the cheering crowd to disappear, gathered strength and knocked on Jimin’s door with a single rose between his cold fingers. He didn’t know what color the flower had, but it was certainly neither white nor red – he had stolen it from a bouquet earlier, nobody had noticed it in the enthusiastic mass. After a few nerve-racking moments the addicting sound of Jimin’s mesmerizing heart came closer, and the boy opened the door. His thick lashes fluttered, gaze sliding from Yoongi’s face to the rose in wordless surprise, then slowly back to his face with knitted brows and a squint, recognition flashing in his eyes.
”You—” He started in shock, staggering back a bit, voice incredulous but still smooth and silky, and Yoongi got lost in the gentle lilts of it, in the skipped beats of his heart.
”Yes,” Yoongi confirmed huskily. ”Can I come in?” As a vampire, he always needed permission from a human to enter a room, except if the house was abandoned and its owners had already passed away.
”Yes,” the word slipped out between Jimin’s lips shakily, unsure, and Yoongi closed the door behind himself in a swift motion without hesitation. That night was their real beginning; they talked and talked till dawn came with igniting colors which Yoongi couldn’t see, and after too-long ages, centuries Yoongi finally felt like being alive.
3. 轉
Because of an injury Jimin has to allow a break to himself, and stay home. Home – their home. Their shared, spacious one-room apartment with big windows framed by long and thick curtains; necessary accessories to protect Yoongi from the Sun – without them at daylight, one wrong move and Yoongi would be nothing else but a pile of ash in seconds. When they started dating one year ago, Jimin gave him permission to step in, then stay in this place, and thus it became theirs.
”I made pancakes,” Jimin announces around midnight, even though he knows Yoongi is unable to digest human food. ”Wanna smell it?”
With a giggle he teasingly pushes the plate full of delicious pancakes under Yoongi’s nose, and the vampire closes his book and adjusts his glasses with a sigh.
”Jimin-ah.”
That’s enough. Jimin retreats his hands with the plate and pouts, the mischievous sparkle fading in his shiny eyes. A slow, small grin stretches across Yoongi’s lips at the way he can discipline Jimin with just one single sentence, with just exhaling his name while giving him a piercing look.
”Sorry, hyung. I didn’t want to hurt you,” Jimin apologizes quietly, one hand searching for and finding Yoongi’s. His thumb draws lines on the vampire’s freezing knuckles, and when he lifts his fingers, for a few blessed seconds there’s still some lingering warmth before the neverending coldness creeps back under Yoongi’s skin. ”I know how much you want to eat human food.”
”You didn’t hurt me, brat,” Yoongi replies in a gravelly voice with no bite in it. He once explained to Jimin that even though his body is craving it ardently, he can perfectly subsist without blood – by sucking the energy out of people, a survival mechanism out of his control.
When Yoongi looks at Jimin’s diminishing form, thinning body, the deepening circles under his eyes, the guilt starts rampaging almost as strongly inside him as hunger. Even though he goes hunting into the forests which are surrounding Seoul, attacking an animal every full moon, his body still thinks draining energy out of Jimin is necessary in order to survive.
”C’mere,” he wraps his fingers around Jimin’s wrist and pulls him closer. Jimin melts into his lap like he belongs there, and Yoongi circles his arms around the boy’s slim waist naturally, immediately. He removes his glasses then starts pressing chilly kisses all over the slender length of Jimin’s neck, they both know that they’re playing with fire, but Yoongi has a self-restraint perfected through centuries, and Jimin trusts him with his whole heart. The pointy end of the vampire’s teeth are scratching Jimin’s warm skin, drawing thin, pink lines on it, sometimes digging into the flesh a bit, and after a few minutes Yoongi can feel Jimin’s hardening bulge against his belly.
”If you’re this needy, your pancakes will get cold,” he warns with a low chuckle, Jimin’s hot breath is washing over the skin of his chapped lips. Instead of answering Jimin presses his mouth against his and rolls his hips smoothly, making Yoongi groan into the kiss. He explained once to Jimin that since he has not a single drop of blood in his system, plus his heart isn’t working, as well, his dick can’t get erected but touching it still feels good.
(”Such a shame… You have a nice dick,” Jimin laughed loudly, amused. ”I wouldn’ mind sitting on—”
”And I wouldn’t mind if you closed that pretty mouth of yours,” Yoongi interrupted him in a rigid tone but with a playful glint in his eyes, making Jimin laugh even louder.
”If you have no blood, what keeps you moving then? How are you able to function properly?” He asked him once he calmed down, with sincere awe written all over his face, eyes comically wide and pillowy lips slightly parted.
”Magic,” Yoongi answered with poker-face, voice flat. Jimin laughed so hard at his stony expression that he flung himself onto Yoongi’s lap, throwing his head back in utter glee.
”Wow,” he managed to say between two squeaks, still snickering. ”Someone’s being realllllly mysterious today~” he singsonged, placing a tender little kiss on the tip of Yoongi’s nose.
”Geniuses remain geniuses because of their talents and secrets,” Yoongi shrugged with the same expressionless face, and his features only softened when Jimin started giggling again.
”Genius? Since when are you a genius?”
”Since I can get through a day without stumbling over my own two feet – that’s something you can’t tell about yourself, despite having blood in your veins to help you ’function properly’.”
”Aish, so rude.” Jimin’s laughter was healing. Yoongi felt like maybe that is the secret what keeps him moving day after day.)
Jimin is his personal sunshine, his warm presence staves off the cold to the point where Yoongi thinks his frosted heart is finally thawed – at least partly. He has a lapful of pretty Jimin – warm, soft, kindhearted little Jimin, and Yoongi tries to suppress his hunger what’s turning in his empty stomach with nausea. The boy keeps grinding on him untiringly, however his pace starts faltering after a while. They are kissing messily, Yoongi can almost taste his blood beneath the thin layer of plush skin. The beat of Jimin’s pulse is speeding up and hammering against Yoongi’s lips, and he feels the hunger rip through his body like a tidal wave, like thunderbolt – fast and unstoppable.
”Your pancakes,” he grits his teeth while pushing Jimin a bit away, trying to hide his growing fangs. ”Go and eat ’em.” Jimin blinks at him, his pleasant weight is shifting in Yoongi’s lap.
”Would it be so bad, if you were biting me?” He asks after a few heartbeats of silence, with a strange kind of sorrow lacing his melodic voice. He’s still sitting on Yoongi’s thighs, smelling so good it makes the vampire feel punch drunk. ”If you bite me, then I’ll turn into a vampire, too, right? We could be together, forever,” Jimin continues, and Yoongi’s hands ball into fists because there are hope and longing in the human’s voice. ”Wouldn’t that be… nice?”
”No,” Yoongi croaks out, firm and certain. ”Being— Being something like this is everything but nice. Believe me.”
”Why?” Jimin, always stubborn and intriguing. ”You’ll never get old, never get ill, have enhanced strength and superspeed, plus your senses are sharper than human’s, evolved… I don’t know, it sounds kinda nice to me.”
”I can’t see most of the colors, Jimin.” He reaches out to tug a stray strand of Jimin’s hair behind his ear, bony fingers then skating down to cup the boy’s cheek. ”It might doesn’t seem like a big deal, even I thought it’s not a big deal at the beginning. But then, as years and years pass, you start missing it; the lush green of meadows, the bright blue of the sea, the amber of grainfields—” Yoongi's never sounded this vulnerable, almost broken. He turns away from Jimin, fingers pressing half-circles into the skin of the boy’s jaw. ”I can’t see your hair properly, it’s devoid of color to me. You tell me that it’s dyed blond now, but I only see it as grey. I can’t see half the colors of the sunset, I can’t see your eyes when you wear your blue contact lenses. You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met, and I want to see you fully in color, y’know, but— I can’t.”
Jimin’s shoulders sag, the vampire’s murmuring voice causes a scraping lump to form in his throat.
Yoongi continues, words barely audible, ”I can’t hear the melody you’re humming whenever we shower, I can’t hear the sounds I make when I’m playing the piano. I can’t hear the music you dance to, I can’t listen to your favorite band, and it’s—”
Quiet. Lonely. Deafening. Yoongi doesn’t say it out loud, but Jimin understands.
”If you bite me, I’ll suffer the same fate as you, right? Losing my ability to hear music?”
”Probably,” Yoongi exhales a gulp of air he didn’t need anyway, and scratches his nape. ”Everyone pays a price for eternality.”
”And— And there’s no way to get it back?” Jimin’s naive, hopeful gaze is searching for his, and Yoongi snorts, but his eyes are filled with rue.
”There is. To get my hearing and proper vision back, I have to take a mortal’s blood; someone's who gives it to me willingly. I have to hurt them and murder them, and then make them miserable forever, too. See, Jiminie? I can feed on the energy of humans or the blood of animals, but my body is craving human blood, I’m craving your blood every fucking day. My predatory instinct is telling me every single minute to kill you, to tear you apart and rip your neck open mercilessly, to slurp your blood till there’s no more left in you. Don’t tell me this is a fate you want to share.”
There are tears gathering in Jimin’s eyes, then he sniffles, wiping a teardrop away with the too-long sleeve of his pastel pink sweater. Yoongi releases a deep, unnecessary sigh out of habit, words are sitting on the tip of his tongue, sour and sickeningly sweet. He raises his gaze up to meet Jimin’s watery one, and lets the strange sentence leave his mouth, ”I love you, Jimin. You know that, right?”
Jimin’s eyes are galaxies and stardust is pouring from them. ”I love you, too. That’s why I want— I want to be yours forever, you see?” The volume of his voice is dwindling to that point where Yoongi isn’t sure whether a human ear could pick up the words or not. His nails sink into Jimin’s skin, bringing the boy even closer, embracing him tightly. It hurt to say the three-words magic spell, and it hurt even more to hear.
Forever? Such an indescribable, intangible, unbelievable thing; it’s not for everybody. It’s not for anyone, to be honest.
”You have dreams and a promising career as a ballet dancer of Seoul's Opera Theater. You have a supportive family and great friends, Jimin-ah. Don’t give up on them for a monster. You deserve someone much better than me, anyway.”
”You’re perfect for me,” Jimin whispers into his cold skin, arms looped around Yoongi’s shoulders, feeling safe and cozy. ”The best.” Yoongi doesn’t reply, eyes closed, body unmoving for long minutes.
You don’t even know what ’forever’ means, he thinks bitterly, finally kissing Jimin’s temple. I wish I wouldn’t, as well.
***
It was Jimin’s request, and even though Yoongi knew right away that it’s a bad idea, a horrible one, he couldn’t say no. Yoongi had several decades to learn how to say no, he's a professional at it, actually – but when it comes to Jimin, it’s the most difficult task somehow. So against his better judgement, Yoongi agreed to give him what he wants (as always), a goodbye gift – the moonlight filtering through the slits of curtains finds the vampire laying between Jimin’s legs, kissing the creamy skin of his inner thighs. Jimin’s shallow breathing and soft little gasps echo in the bedroom, the quiet sound of skin rubbing over skin is filling up the time between quickening heartbeats.
”H-hyung,” Jimin stutters, tone pleading, chest rising and caving in rapidly as his darkened eyes are locked on Yoongi. He looks wanton, hips jerking up sporadically, blush seeping down his sculpted torso, and Yoongi wants to see him covered in his marks. It feels primitive, wrong as always, and the plain hunger is growling in his stomach impatiently. ”Can I come? I want to come—”
”Soon, baby,” Yoongi coos into golden skin, voice hoarse. Giving a blowjob to Jimin is more entertaining than he'd thought – especially because he barely touched the boy’s cock yet, but Jimin already sounds completely wrecked and on the edge. Yoongi really would enjoy toying with him like this – he would, if he didn’t need most of his brain capacity to concentrate on himself, to hold himself back.
He licks the pre-come from base to head, following a prominent vein with the tip of his tongue, then fondling the boy’s balls, taking his time. Jimin’s eyes are already glazed, glassy as he's writhing, his fists are twisting around the gripped bedsheets, and Yoongi is bathing in the gorgeous sight of his face; cheeks rosy from exertion, sheen of sweat glimmering on his forehead. He pulls himself up to taste Jimin’s mouth, wishing for a brief second that Jimin didn’t need to breathe too, so they could keep kissing without pause. Jimin’s panting and keening as Yoongi goes back to business, tongue darting to the boy’s slit, making him clap a hand over his mouth as he muffles a loud moan, high-pitched and frantic. He's canting his hips up and Yoongi gets a glimpse of his hole, a groan catches in the back of his throat as he sees Jimin clenching around nothing, pink rim puckering raw and waiting to be filled. Shit.
This was a terrible idea, indeed.
His hunger is growing, extending in tandem with his possessiveness, he wants to own Jimin, mark and brand him, make him his forever; he wants to mingle their bodies together so bad, he wants to eat him up—
His irises become crimson red as his canines poke out of his mouth, entire body shaking with withheld power, he gags and his muscles are rippling beneath white skin as his eyes are lingering on the pulsating vein of Jimin’s dick. He wraps his fingers around it, his teeth sinking into the throbbing meat – but not deep enough. He’s quite proud of himself.
”Ahh, hyung, p-please, wanna, wa—” Jimin’s blabbering incoherently, clawing the sheets at the friction, voice raspy and his slick cock is twitching violently in Yoongi’s grasp. The galloping rhythm of his heart beating in double-time, his delicious blood flowing, surging in his stream south like a torrent is driving Yoongi out of his senses. Nothing else exists but Jimin and Yoongi’s insatiable, voracious hunger.
Jimin’s heart plays the most beautiful symphony in allegro, then andante, then staccato, irregular and thundering, the boy’s chest is heaving, his tousled, velvety hairlocks are flowing between Yoongi’s rough fingers. The vampire leans to his chest to listen as closely as possible, stroking Jimin’s cock with one hand, making the boy squirm, blood running molten, then whole body falling apart at the seams, euphoria blasting through his system, leaving him delirious and completely sated.
Yoongi collapses on top of him, trembling and unsteady, vision hazy and blurring with giddiness, frenzied emptiness screaming in his veins wildly.
”Woah,” Jimin giggles, a twinkling sound, breathless and exhausted. ”This was awesome!”
Yoongi hides his tiny, sad smile in the boy’s collarbones.
***
Yoongi is dizzy with hunger, laying wide awake as he needs without stop; needs and craves and wants—
Wants to tear open Jimin’s neck, wants to suckle the sizzling blood out of the wound, wants it to fill his belly, wants—
Wants Jimin to stay alive, mortal. Happy. He can’t be selfish, he can’t lose control.
He wants, wants, wants—
Just wants this to end already.
Yoongi moves in a flash, guided by instinct, hitching himself up and hovering above the sleeping human with tense muscles. The sting would make Jimin wince, he would flinch and jolt awake – but it’d be already too late. Yoongi licks his lips, dry tongue dragging slowly. The litres of blood would be so heavy inside of him, they would undulate in his belly and stretch his veins while rushing through his stream, but finally colors in his vision would all be back, his hearing would be back, and the void of hunger in his stomach would be gone.
He peers at Jimin, weight bearing down on his elbows, the boy’s hair spreading across the pillow, glowing around his head in the moonlight like a silver halo. It’d be so easy, to leave the trademark, that two-prong bite mark on Jimin’s unblemished skin, to suck the bruised flesh into his mouth, to drink the life out of him. It’d be so easy as it feels primal, and it makes his innards churn with disgust; loath festering in the pit of his stomach, revulsion toward himself.
”I’m sorry— I'm sorry. I can’t do this anymore, Jiminie.” Yoongi looks at him with a foreign expression, like he’s about to cry. The redness in his eyes is gone, replaced by something more profound than anguish. Jimin is sleeping unbothered, delicate and precious, and Yoongi writes him a letter and puts a rose – neither white nor red – on top of it, leaving his explanation on the floor in front of the balcony door. He spends the night sitting on the edge of the mattress, caressing Jimin’s hair restlessly, drinking in every flutter of the boy’s long eyelashes, every little change of his expression as there are sweet dreams chasing after one another in his head.
When the dawn breaks, Yoongi’s non-beating heart breaks with it, alongside with the promise he made to Seokjin ages ago. He pulls the thick curtains open, marveling at the way the Sun paints bleeding colors across the sky, setting the fog and clouds on fire. He glances at the sleeping boy, having too much to say – thank you, I’m sorry, I love you, forgive me – but remains silent, the sunbeams are flickering gold in his half-lidded eyes, body burning.
4. 結
When hours later Jimin wakes up with a tired yawn, the mattress beside his body is even colder than usual, the one-room apartment is empty save for him, and there are three unfamiliar silhouettes on the floor, basking in the misty morning sunlight.
Jimin calls for Yoongi as he walks closer to the balcony door confusedly, observing the items on the floor. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight – a letter with Yoongi's handwriting on it, a yellow rose, and a pile of silvery ash.