icing sugar, sharpened teeth

by ouchsolo

Summary:

Jaemin does not let himself be so vulnerable, does not allow others to bruise him or bite him or throw him around. Jeno has been given exceptions so beyond the realm of what is his normal that Jaemin is beginning to fester with emotions that turn as sour as a grape in the sun, fermented wine replacing the once sweet taste in his mouth.

Notes:

a gift for my lovely michelle, and my first halloween fic of the season :) enjoy!

Chapter 1: heaven and earth

 

 

 

The smell of sweets can be overwhelming to some people. Never has Jaemin had more of a visceral reaction from others than when they walk in and complain of the scent of burnt sugar and syrup, boyfriends covering their noses and mothers turning their children away like feral dogs. 

Jaemin likes the smell though, and has never felt the need to close his bakery doors or turn on the fans to air out the sickly sweet scent of pain au chocolat and petit fours. Quite frankly, he finds it comforting, and he isn’t ashamed that he slides into bed soaked head to toe in the aroma of fresh baked bread and frosting. His partners always seem to like it—then again, they never really have much of an opinion on him outside of praise. 

“Thank you for that extra macaron with my daughter’s birthday order, Jaemin. It was such a nice treat after a stressful day.” The woman, Mrs. Robinson, smiles while grabbing her box of specially made chocolate covered strawberries that she gets her wife every 3 months. Jaemin thinks it's a nice gesture, but her wife is absolutely screwing the tennis girl, and Mrs. Robinson knows it too. 

“Of course, I hope she enjoyed her cake,” Jaemin replies with a smile of his own, slipping her the receipt with a gentle hand. “Have a good day.”

Mrs. Robinson leaves, and Jaemin watches her fake blonde hair reflect in the sun as she pulls her overpriced sunglasses on. The picture of mid-life crisis.

But then the little bell on his front door dings again not a second later, and Jaemin’s gaze is stolen by a stark contrast to the once warm and pastel vision before him. 

A man walks into the bakery, a dark facade adorning his strong and lengthy assets. Perfectly fitting black wrangler jeans, a soft sweater with a v-neck that shows off the owner’s collarbone, and surprisingly, a pair of black cowboy boots. The cowboy boots amuse Jaemin, because they are far from any ranches, but this man is definitely not from around here. 

“Good morning, what can I get for you?” Jaemin asks sweetly, already getting a whiff of potential as the man steps closer to the display case, boots clunking against the freshly polished hardwood. “I’m afraid by 10am a lot of the usuals are taken, but the key lime tart is delicious, and you can’t go wrong with an eclair.”

The man huffs, that small puff-of-air sort of laugh that flares his nostrils. His dark hair vaguely wafts scents of sandalwood and coffee, and Jaemin thinks he is just absolutely perfect. 

“I’ll take the, uh, key lime… tart?” He says, unsure, and Jaemin can’t help but grin as he watches him pull out a black leather wallet, J.L. pressed into the corner. 

“Can I get a name for that?” Jaemin asks as he rings up the order, already pressing the little button that says on the house. He is going to charm the man, after all, so the least he could do is make it free. “And don’t worry about the tab, I always give newcomers their first dessert on me.”

The man’s brow furrows, but he closes his wallet anyways, tucking it back into the pocket that Jaemin is sure has an outline from where he always puts his wallet. “That’s very kind of you,” he says with an attempt at a smile, standing up a bit straighter as if to accept a great honor. “The name’s Jeno.”

Jeno. Jaemin rolls it around in his head like ice in a smooth glass cup. It slides and swirls, creating shapes he can hardly fathom, and Jaemin wonders what it would be like on his tongue. 

“I’ll have it right out for you, Jeno.” Jaemin smiles, the name tasting as sweet as he’d hoped, and Jeno retreats to a table in the very back by the windows. Granted, very back is a bit of a hyperbole, because the bakery is small, and Jeno is still at most 10 feet away. 

No matter. Jaemin happily turns to his boxing counter, procuring a fresh key lime tart from the fridge and setting it in its container.

On the counter there is something resembling a salt shaker, but the contents contain crushed herbs that glimmer in the sunlight. Jaemin  sprinkles just the right amount onto the glistening green surface. The candied lime garnish sparkles with the magic, but just as quickly settles into nothing more than a dessert, and Jaemin smiles to himself at the thought of what Jeno must be like when he’s curious and desperate. 

The magic that allows him to do such things comes from a local witch, and perhaps his best friend in this current timeline. Renjun Huang can do any spell from any millennium, but he lives a quiet life in the woods surrounding the town. Sometimes Jaemin will stumble upon him in the grocery store or the library, but he mostly keeps to himself, and Jaemin can rely on him to be there when it’s time for him to feed.

At times, Jaemin almost wishes he were born a witch instead, but he has long since grown to accept his ancestry, and being an incubus has its charming moments. 

“Order for Jeno!” Jaemin calls out to the half-empty bakery, the other patrons paying no mind as Jeno stands from his table at the sound of his name. 

When Jeno approaches the counter once more, Jaemin smiles at him, and places the box on the top of the display case for him to grab.

“There are utensils and napkins by the door, I suggest eating it as fresh as possible,” Jaemin says as he watches Jeno grab the little box, feeling a familiar sense of excitement course through him at the realization that Jeno will just keep coming back. 

It’s a bit unfortunate, of course, because Jaemin wouldn’t mind perhaps going on an actual date or getting to know him, but his feedings are always so much more satisfying when he’s actually attracted to the poor bastard he makes his victim. Jeno has a shy smile, broad shoulders, sleek hair. He’s everything Jaemin could ever want, but he is also human, and to spare himself grief, he will see him as a meal and nothing more. 

“I’ll just eat it now then,” Jeno finally replies with a tight lipped smile, nodding his head politely. “Thank you for the dessert, Mr…”

“Please, call me Jaemin.” Jaemin shows his teeth, and sees as Jeno’s gaze so very easily flits down to catch the sharpness of his canines. “Formalities aren’t really my thing.”

Jeno nods again, an amused scoff leaving him as he begins to make his escape. “Thank you, Jaemin.”

And that is that. 

Jeno slips away to his original table of choice, hidden from the rest of the patrons while simultaneously having a perfect view of them. Even while pulling out the dessert from its box, Jeno’s eyes casually sift over the filled tables and chairs, almost as if he is hoping nobody notices him. It’s a bit silly, considering he’s incredibly hard to miss, but Jaemin gets that sulken and tortured vibe from the man. 

That is not really important though, because Jaemin is far more interested in the way Jeno dips his spoon into the little bit of merengue that’s perfectly toasted and dusted in magic. A familiarly slithering excitement travels down his spine when the plastic spoon is brought up to those perfect lips, the bright green touching his tongue before he sinks his teeth into the merengue.

A satisfying scraping sound graces Jaemin’s ears, accompanied by a small shiver that fills him with curiosity, and he is glad that Jeno seems to have absolutely no interest in him. 

In Jaemin’s favor, only one other customer comes in that he has to attend to, and for the remainder of the measly 7 minutes it takes for Jeno to eat the dessert, Jaemin gets to watch his every move. Perhaps it's the predator in him, or maybe Jeno is just that intriguing, but Jaemin finds himself absolutely transfixed when that pink tongue licks the spoon clean. Jeno’s strong hands flex as he crumples the trash into a manageable ball for easy disposal, and Jaemin gets nearly giddy when the man finally stands. 

This is the fun part, Jaemin thinks, when the obsession kicks in with nothing more than a meeting of gazes, and Jaemin begins to already imagine what Jeno’s soul will taste like on his tongue. 

“Have a good day!” Jaemin calls when Jeno tosses his trash, pocketing his cell phone and pausing to follow the sound of the kind voice that has bid him goodbye.

When Jeno turns, Jaemin finds his eyes, expecting to find desire there, or perhaps even just simple curiosity. The dose on Jeno’s food should have been enough to have him ready to jump over the counter and ask him out, but when their stares meet there is nothing but cordiality and… distraction in Jeno’s eyes, and Jaemin feels disappointment very quickly replace his anticipation when the jingling of the bell signals that Jeno has left. 

Before Jaemin can even process what has just happened, he turns to his boxing counter to see the small bottle of powder that sustains his way of life.

He opens it, sniffs it, dabs some on his tongue, and sure enough, it is exactly the way it's supposed to be. Jaemin tries to reason that perhaps Jeno is extremely talented at hiding his feelings, or maybe he’s a stubborn one and Jaemin will just have to wait for the magic to kick in. Sometimes people who don’t know they possess magic blood can have weird roadblocks when it comes to spelling them, but Jeno smelled as human as ever to Jaemin’s sensitive nose, and he can’t imagine that would be the reason. 

“Patience, Jaemin. You have to have patience,” he whispers to himself while mindlessly organizing his already spotless boxing station, his brain too frazzled to do anything of merit if there are no customers around to assist. 

If Jaemin is honest, what he mostly feels is confusing disappointment, because he had begun looking forward to consuming Jeno in a way that would be oh-so-satisfying, but he accepts that he can not make magic work faster. For now, Jaemin will just have to hope it kicks in before Jeno decides to leave again, and he hopes he is close by when it does. 

🍰 

Coming home after a long day is usually one of the top ten greatest experiences of Jaemin’s inexorably long life.

There’s nothing quite like finding the sunken spot in the couch and watching the Food Channel until he decides it’s time to walk 7 feet to his bed. It’s a simple existence that Jaemin prefers these days, especially since he spent the majority of the 60’s and 70’s wreaking absolute havoc on cults and communes in the west. People were ready to have sex in the thousands, and Jaemin doesn’t think he’s been so well fed since Shakespeare was writing Romeo and Juliet.

Tonight, however, Jaemin’s evening seems to have different plans than his desired relaxation, when upon hanging his keys up and opening his fridge to seek out something to drink, Jaemin hears a knock on his front door. 

It’s an urgent knock, one that he knows far too well to pretend to be oblivious about who is on the other side. Jaemin has been wondering when the poor fool would come crawling back to him, considering it's been about two days overdue since Jaemin spelled him in the bakery, but everything happens for a reason.

“Coming!” Jaemin calls as he makes the short walk back to his front door from the refrigerator, smiling to himself despite knowing that he could grin and laugh all he pleases. No matter how he acts when the door opens, the man on the other end will be focused on one thing and one thing only: getting him into bed.

The prospect is exciting, and Jaemin already feels himself growing hungry when the cold of the doorknob touches his palm.

Sweat and the pungent smell of liquor hits Jaemin’s nose before anything else, his eyes landing on a disheveled man in baggy jeans and oversized t-shirt. The v-neck allows the acquaintance's toned pectorals to peek out over the stretched black fabric, and God does he look enticing.

“Oh, Mark, how lovely to see you,” Jaemin says with a smile that is enough to turn coal to diamonds, bright and full of pressure. Of course, Mark hardly notices the way Jaemin is smiling, because his eyes are trailing down the expanse of Jaemin’s body, pupils blown wide and chest rising and falling with labored breaths. It almost looks like he ran here, and that delights Jaemin even more. “Please, come in.”

Mark doesn’t say a word, just stomps past Jaemin on uneven feet, seeming uncomfortable in his own skin. Something primal in Jaemin loves when his humans are so desperate that they can’t stand even being around Jaemin, a mixture of anger and helplessness, desire and pain. The mere scent of hormones and aggression wafting off of him is enough to have Jaemin purring, but he contains himself, deciding that he’s allowed to play with his food.

“You don’t look so good, baby. Everything alright?” It’s a crude question, because Jaemin can obviously tell that he is very much not alright. The spell is potent once the man invites its presence in.

Magic can plant the seed of Jaemin’s existence, but their own minds and bodies must conjure up the desire to sleep with him. The potion is nothing more than a siren call, a light in the distance, and Jaemin’s victims are equivalent to that of greedy pirates. 

“Don’t—don’t fucking play with me, Jaemin,” Mark rasps as he turns to face Jaemin after gripping at his hair, his cheeks flushed and eyes sunken. “I need you, you know I need you.” 

Like a stalk of wheat alone in a field, Jaemin shivers,tasting the desperation as it trickles down his throat. Jaemin will tolerate many things, but less when he’s hungry, and never when it is out of rudeness. He takes a step closer, then another, boring into Mark with his sharp eyes that melt into nothing but black, and Mark can only gasp before Jaemin is on him.

“Yes, yes,” Mark pleads when their lips crash together, Jaemin’s insistent hands ripping at his shirt, sharp claws easily slicing through the fabric. The mortal’s hands tangle in Jaemin’s hair, trying to bring him closer, to crush their rib cages together, but Jaemin keeps the control. 

“Get on the bed,” Jaemin demands with a low growl in his throat, feeling the effects of his body slowly changing piece by piece, the promise of a meal making his composure falter. “I’d like to at least enjoy myself before I kill you.”

Mark doesn’t even hear the admittance, scrambling towards Jaemin’s bed in the corner of the small studio, forcefully undoing his jeans with clumsy fingers. It’s at least refreshing that Mark is unashamed in his desires, because some men can become very… cold, very dangerous when they are made to seem weak. Mark gives in to each little silent command, crawling onto the mattress only once he’s completely naked, laying back with no other sound than the raggedness of his breathing. 

When Jaemin is satisfied, he slinks towards the bed slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall to the hardwood below. Mark’s gaze follows the movement, lips parting in a whine when Jaemin goes for his belt, only for the little creature to tuck his bottom lip between his teeth to silence himself. 

It’s always quite gratifying to see a human break down, because despite Jaemin holding no ill feelings towards them, it’s in his very nature to get excited when they are vulnerable. It is no different than a lion finding a wounded gazelle, licking their sharp teeth at the promise of a meal. Jaemin is thankful that what he does requires little to no bloodshed, only as much as he and his partner wish, but tearing apart a soul is also as gratifying as ripping flesh from bone. 

Yes, Jaemin much prefers when they are desperate and pathetic, but he isn’t a monster.

“Take a deep breath, baby,” Jaemin murmurs with a smile that is all pointed fangs, reveling in the way Mark is clearly trying to see through the haze in his mind. He watches as Jaemin’s bones protrude in unnatural ways, his face contorting just enough to be unsettling, but he blinks it away as if it is not real. “You’re all worked up.”

Jaemin pushes his jeans down right at the edge of the bed, his briefs coming away with them before he’s crawling onto the mattress. Mark’s legs twitch when Jaemin finds his way between them, and the smell of sweat and fear and arousal floods Jaemin’s senses, making his cock harden with each inhale. 

“Jaemin, you—” Mark exhales, almost disbelieving what he’s seeing with his own eyes as Jaemin’s fingers find his thighs, squeezing the pliant flesh with a groan of satisfaction. This one is soft, Jaemin thinks to himself, sharp nails scratching faint lines into the tanned skin. “Please fuck me.”

A grin illuminates Jaemin’s features at the request, his gaze flitting from Mark’s weeping cock to his flushed cheeks, honestly impressed with how turned on he is. He must have been painfully attracted to Jaemin even before the spell, which only serves to make Jaemin feel absolutely feral. 

Being an incubus, most people are attracted to him upon first glance, because that's simply part of his anatomy. He attracts, entices, making men and women bat their eyelashes or leave brushes of their fingertips against his arm. Jaemin prides himself on his ability to get anyone he wants in his bed, but after deciding to feed solely from males to avoid producing any more of his kind, Jaemin thinks he likes turning them to puddles the most. 

When an incubus feeds from a female body, that body is invaded and the person is forced to endure months of agony they never asked for. With male bodies, it is their soul that is corrupted and eaten away, and it happens within days of the feeding. As sexual energy is exchanged, and Jaemin releases into their pliant bodies, it’s like implanting a parasite that’s directly connected to his bloodstream. Jaemin’s demon anatomy becomes satisfied, and the person he’s slept with will likely go mad and jump off a cliff, or cause a scene and end up with a bullet hole in their chest within a week of the act occurring.

Jaemin finds it more humane to just let the humans die than make them suffer, and so here he is, laving at Mark’s perked nipple as he thrusts up into Jaemin’s hand, as at peace as he’ll ever be before the end of his life.

“Jaemin, Jaemin ,” Mark pants desperately, hips twitching as if he’s afraid to come too soon. Jaemin’s other hand trails between Mark’s thighs, something slick and iridescent like an oil spill coating his fingers as he teases at Mark’s entrance. “Fuck—”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Jaemin coos with that same saccharine smile, using his fangs to scrape down Mark’s chest, his toes curling at the way Mark shudders from such a small thing. “You’re just so reactive. I want to have fun with you.”

This time his words are followed by a pout that Mark can only see when he lifts his head between broken moans, body beginning to glisten with a faint sheen of sweat. God, this man is perfect, and Jaemin almost regrets what he’s about to do.

Almost.

Jaemin pushes two slicked fingers past Mark’s puckered rim, finding that his body relaxes around him as if he was made for him. Another perk to demon anatomy is that their pheromones affect everything in their partner when the partner is receptive, making their muscles lax and pleasurable touches a hundred times more intense. Jaemin is like a walking sex pill, but he thinks he’s way more fun. 

“It’s a shame I won’t get to keep you.” Jaemin sighs wistfully at his own words, a third finger joining his ministrations as he fucks Mark open casually, as if the man isn’t even there. “Such a pretty face, soft lips, beautiful cock. We could have really made each other happy.”

Mark mewls like a ragged cat when Jaemin’s fingers curve up with his thrusts, finding that spot inside of him that makes every human fucking weep . This one is no different, it seems, and Jaemin can’t help the small sound of amusement that escapes him when Mark’s entire body seizes, spurts of white staining his stomach as his cock twitches pathetically. Mark just came from a little prostate touching, so fucking sensitive, and Jaemin can’t handle waiting a second more. 

Pushing into a warm body is a shock to Jaemin’s nerves every time, unable to see anything but exploding bursts of colors like fireworks behind his eyes. Jaemin knows mortals describe orgasms with such things, but the first contact of flesh in such an intimate way is unlike anything else in the world. Release, at least for Jaemin, is much less of a release and much more of an overwhelming surge of everything all at once. Jaemin’s entire body becomes tight, painfully so, his organs shuddering and skin prickling with needles. That rush of magic and bits of a mortal soul that infest him when the acts are over are euphoric, agonizing, and all the things in between. 

Fucking is fun, though, and Jaemin groans in shameless pleasure as Mark’s arms curl around his neck, beginning to thrust into him with fast and effortless strokes. The poor creature is already sticky with his own sweat, his cock leaking onto his toned stomach as Jaemin’s force shrugs him up the bed, only for Jaemin’s strong hands on his waist to tug him back down. Mark lets it all happen, body entirely focused on fusing to Jaemin and nothing more, his ankles locking around Jaemin’s waist. 

It’s mundane, enjoyable, and Jaemin revels in the feeling of a mortal soul slowly losing its armor, trickles of life seeping into his bones with each cry of his name. It’s not a slow process by any means, the second Jaemin breaches their body and bodily fluids are exchanged, the transaction begins, and it’s as arduous as it is wonderful. Jaemin loses pieces of himself to implant in the host, but it cycles through them like an organ, and in return Jaemin is fed the most basic life force one could ever possess. 

Jaemin tastes memories on his tongue as he indulges Mark’s parted lips in a messy kiss, seeing images in his mind’s eye of the most important days in Mark’s life. His first day of college, his twelfth birthday, the first time one of his architecture designs was chosen by a board. Jaemin lives Mark’s life right there with him, experiencing this mortal soul in its totality as he consumes it, breaking it down to nothing but rotten jelly that Jaemin sucks through his tongue. 

Mark trembles in his hold, his entire body coming alive with agonized groans. When Jaemin parts their lips long enough to look down between their bodies, he sees Mark’s cock still red and heavy, fresh streaks of cum coating their skin from who knows when. This morsel is extra tender, beyond reactive, and Jaemin almost wishes he could sink his teeth in. 

“Awe, did you come again already?” Jaemin coos with just enough condescension dripping from his voice that Mark whines, another flash of a high school graduation swimming in Jaemin’s vision. “That’s okay, baby. I’m almost done with you.”

At Jaemin’s words, panic rises in Mark’s features, his nails digging into the flexing muscle of Jaemin’s shoulders as he fucks him harder, deeper. Jaemin is chasing a high that can’t even be described, giving in to the flames licking his insides, as if he were made entirely of brimstone. It’s clear that Mark doesn’t want this to end, made even more obvious by the way his body clings to Jaemin as he moans in a broken symphony, pathetic and laborious but oh-so-sweet. He has no idea the way this desperation feeds Jaemin’s hunger, the ancient and primal magic finally feeling satiated when that all-consuming end finds Jaemin as quickly as it will leave him. 

Jaemin’s bones crack obscenely as his hips stutter, a raw and visceral growl escaping past his bared teeth that are sharper than razors. Many times Jaemin has compared this moment to that of werewolves or skinwalkers, a shedding of oneself that is as miserable as it is freeing. Strength and power and everything sinister and unknown surges in Jaemin all at once, and his claws sink into the softness of his pillows as he comes into Mark’s mortal body, planting a seed that can not be uprooted. 

🍰 

One perk to being thousands of years old is that humans never stop writing books, and the stories just get more and more exhilarating. 

Jaemin remembers a time when things were print-pressed, and before that, handwritten. These days there are so many exciting things to read—love stories, horror stories, horror-love stories (those are Jaemin’s favorite)—and he takes a trip to the local bookstore that’s run by the most curious man at least once a week.

Said curious man has tried to recommend that Jaemin listen to the Bible on audiobook at least once to appreciate how horrible it is, and Jaemin has to continually resist the urge to tell him that he was there when it was written. Chenle is nice enough, though. Aside from the witch Jaemin visits in the woods, he is probably his only true friend, if getting coffee at 2 in the morning to discuss their latest two-man book club read counts as friendship. Jaemin thinks it does. 

“Jaemin, I’m telling you, there are things in Genesis that you just can’t get until you’ve heard them narrated by some man named Paul. It hits in a different way, you know?” Chenle asks as he follows behind Jaemin in the aisles, just happy to have someone to talk to seeing as his employee is up front checking out the books for any customers that may be passing through. 

“I’m sure you’re right, Chenle, but I’ve read the bible once, I don’t need to again,” Jaemin returns with a small laugh under his breath, admittedly fond of Chenle’s enthusiasm. Some might think being demon-adjacent would make Jaemin curt and rude, but he has had many lives to be such a thing, and after a few centuries your patience becomes steel. “Besides, you know I don’t care about that stuff—”

The doorbell rings, and Jaemin feels a familiar tickle at his neck that can not be mistaken. That scent of sandalwood and leather hits his nose before he even has to look, and when he turns his head he sees none other than the man dressed in all black and sporting well loved cowboy boots. 

In an instant he thinks this means he’s won, that the spell has finally broken through and Jeno was drawn to him like a sailor with a siren's song. Jaemin watches Jeno intently as he walks up to the counter, smiling at the sales boy and offering a kindness that simultaneously suits him while appearing very forced, and tries to listen to their conversation with Chenle still rattling in his ear. 

“Do you guys sell books on local history? I already checked the library and couldn’t find much for the timeline I’m looking for.” Jeno tucks his hands into his front pockets while rocking in his heels, something Jaemin finds endearing if he’s honest. 

“Oh, yeah! Let me show you,” the boy, Jaemin thinks his name is Jisung, replies while stepping down from the raised register, and Jaemin decides to use his time wisely. 

“Come, Chenle, I want to look over here,” Jaemin interrupts without care for what sentence Chenle had been in the middle of, especially because the second he turns, Chenle is already continuing as if nothing had happened. 

Jaemin leads him over to the history section, grabbing something about the French Revolution and pretending to look it over. Now, Jaemin understands that he is an immortal being with a lineage dating back to the beginning of time, and he also understands that tricks such as these are juvenile, but he can’t deny himself the excitement of a beautiful man. 

“Oh, hi Jaemin,” Jisung offers with a smile that Jaemin easily returns when they come down the aisle, making him feel a bit bad for only barely remembering his name. Oftentimes it can be tiresome to remember such things when Jisung will go through his life and then disappear before Jaemin’s even felt the passage of time. “Here’s the local history. It’s not very big and a lot of it is personal accounts or crazies, but there’s good stuff.” Jisung turns to Jeno then, putting his long fingers on a section of books only a mere foot away from where Jaemin is standing.

At this point, Chenle has stopped talking, and by some magic that is not Renjun’s doing, he turns his attention towards Jisung. The pair get whisked away as Chenle then asks Jisung how far along in the Bible he is, and Jaemin can’t help but huff in amusement. 

Being left alone with Jeno would be nerve wracking if Jaemin were mortal, but all he experiences in this moment is a sense of curiosity. Perhaps Jaemin’s ego is also just as hungry as his body, because he craves to know what Jeno will do when their gazes meet again. 

Will he pin Jaemin against the books and beg to fuck then and there? Will he ask Jaemin for his phone number and insist they go out that same night? Maybe if Jaemin is lucky, Jeno will outright invite him over to wherever it is that he’s staying, and he can melt into Jeno’s warm scent while fucking his brains out.

Metaphorically, of course. His brain will degrade much later. 

It seems odd, though, that Jeno isn’t even making an attempt to look his way. Typically the men he spells are falling over themselves to get a single glimpse of Jaemin, and to have any measly crumb of his attention. Jeno seems… normal, unaffected, and Jaemin has no idea why. 

“Are you from around here?” Jeno asks without even looking in Jaemin’s direction, letting it be known that he can feel eyes on him. Surprisingly, this does make Jaemin feel a little bit of mortal embarrassment, because it's not often people are aware of him unless he intends them to be. “If you are, maybe you could help me.”

Finally Jeno looks in his direction, their eyes meeting only briefly before he’s looking down at the book in his hand once again. Jaemin momentarily tries to think of what to say amongst his confusion and slight frustration at being glossed over, but then decides it probably doesn’t matter, because they won’t know each other long either way. 

“Not from here per say, but I know more than most people,” Jaemin decides on replying, leaning over just enough to peek at the book that has caught Jeno’s interest. It’s a Complete History of the town that supposedly contains scans of documents and letters up into the 2010’s, and Jaemin hums as if to contemplate its integrity. “What are you looking for exactly?”

The question seems to be the wrong one right away, and Jaemin almost startles at the way Jeno so evidently bristles at the question. He’s quick to recover though, rolling up those dark sleeves to reveal veiny arms that have Jaemin teeming with annoyance that something clearly went wrong with the spell.

“I’m not looking for anything, really, just curious.” Jeno shrugs, and his eyes barely shift in evidence of him being a skilled liar. Even if he were the best liar, Jaemin can smell the nerves on him, and it's practically sweet. “I’m on leave from work for a bit for family stuff and thought I’d indulge in a hobby.”

Another lie, except this one is followed by a half-smile that’s meant to convince Jaemin of Jeno’s sincerity. Of course it only serves to make him more agitated beneath his skin, but Jaemin ignores his own feelings in favor of watching the way Jeno turns away from him, bending slightly to grab a book closer to the bottom. 

In complete and total transparency, Jaemin takes this moment to examine Jeno’s back, admiring the way his muscles so visibly flex even beneath the black fabric of his clothes. Jeno’s waist is small and his legs lean, and good lord do his jeans fit him so perfectly. Jaemin doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so perfect—or so full of surprises, it seems—when a glint of silver catches his eye as it pokes out from the top of Jeno’s back pocket. 

Jaemin is no fool, and he recognizes a badge when he sees one, having always been one that has been forced to recognize the signs of law enforcement. Idiots in chainmail were far easier to evade than bastards with guns, but Jaemin adapts, even if his instincts get thrown off when said law enforcement is more sculpted and beautiful than any ancient piece of art. 

The sound of a book thudding makes Jaemin jump, pulling him from his thoughts to focus on Jeno pressing a book firmly into the shelf for dear life, presumably because he’d almost dropped it. It’s kind of cute that Jeno is evidently uncomfortable with the lying, and Jaemin decides it might be best to put a stop to it now. 

“Maybe we could talk about it over another free dessert? To thank you for your service, and all that,” he asks in an attempt at sounding playful, holding his ground when Jeno stiffens as soon as the words grace his ears. “Sorry, do people say that for cops?”

A very blatant shade of red graces the tips of Jeno’s ears, another obvious tell like the rest of him. Perhaps it isn’t smart to torture the man who he craves so badly, but Jaemin is nothing if not a creature of habit.

“I’m not a cop,” Jeno grumbles while reaching for another book, flipping through it to show just how unbothered he really is. The spike in his adrenaline speaks to his nerves, though, and Jaemin is as intrigued as ever. “I’m a detective—off duty—and I’m just here for my leave.”

This is perhaps the first honest thing the man has said since Jaemin met him, and he can’t help but lean into his shock upon hearing it. All this time, Jeno has been hiding behind mystery and feigned indifference, trying to showcase himself as a man of nothing at all. Perhaps at first glance it can be easy to dismiss Jeno for being simple, but Jaemin has been alive long enough to pinpoint when someone knows much more than they’re letting on. 

“I’m also pretty sure people don’t say that for cops,” Jeno adds while stopping on a page to read over it, interrupting Jaemin’s thoughts and stealing his attention all over again. When Jaemin looks at him for what must be the millionth time, there’s a hint of a smile gracing Jeno’s perfect lips, and Jaemin can’t help the small huff of amusement that escapes him. 

“My mistake,” Jaemin acquiesces with a bow of his head, turning to the books to grab one for himself. This isn’t particularly his favorite genre, seeing as history is more or less redundant to him, but for Jeno he will flip through a locally printed cookbook if it means having just a few more minutes of his lovely scent nearby. “The free dessert is still on the table though.” 

The sound of a laugh catches Jaemin off guard, his ears perking up at the warm timber of Jeno’s happiness being let out for only him to hear. All Jaemin can do is stand frozen with the book in his hands as he looks at Jeno in complete wonder from that one singular laugh, because somehow it is the most beautiful thing Jaemin has ever heard.

Which, to anyone else, would be a particularly heartwarming moment. How lovely to meet someone that makes your immortal heart beat?

But Jaemin has no interest in feeling things for Jeno, he just wants to win him over like eveyrone else. The end result will be the same no matter how he feels, so why bother? Why put himself in this position?

All the arguing inside his head is pretty much useless, Jaemin knows, because he can be fluttered by Jeno’s laugh all he wants. At the end of the day, no matter what either of them do, Jeno is food. His long legs and small waist and bulging arms are a casing for a soul that Jaemin feels determined now more than ever to ruin.

Perhaps it’s bitterness, or stubbornness, or a worse third thing that Jaemin refuses to name, but all of it is moot in the grand scheme of the world they live in. Jeno can have all the lovely laughs he wants, but Jaemin will not fall for them.

He’s far too detached for that. 

🍰 

The woods surrounding town are always very peaceful, brimming with life but carrying a softness that can only be achieved by nature. Jaemin understands why Renjun chooses to live out here all by himself, because the trees are probably better friends than Susan with three kids. He loves his little town, and his perfect bakery, but sometimes Jaemin misses the life of mystery and peace, being known as nothing more than a folktale in the woods to warn husbands from wandering off too late. So many lives he has lived, and still there is always something to be desired, always a greener patch of grass on the other side, but Jaemin is not good at letting things grow. 

This particular trip is one that feels a bit less serene, because the entire walk to Renjun’s house is filled with his own raging and overwhelmed thoughts. Jaemin is not the type to relish in mishaps or skewed plans, so though he’s not starving yet, he is getting hungry, and he knows he won’t be satisfied with any meal that isn’t Jeno if he can’t figure out what’s wrong. Renjun’s magic is as reliable as the sun rising in the east, but this one time, with this one man, it has refused to allow Jaemin the only thing he wants. 

Jaemin wonders if Renjun’s magic can even be blamed, or if there is something worse going on that he can’t comprehend. Perhaps he is the problem, or maybe Jeno is hiding something that Jaemin can’t quite smell, and both options leave him beyond the point of being pissed off. 

To spare himself the grief, Jaemin tries to ignore his own spewing brain for the last 15 minutes of his walk, and exhales with sweet relief when Renjun’s cottage finally comes into view. Perhaps in his next chosen life he will mimic the soft stone house with wooden steps and a pointed roof, or maybe the world will end before he can even get the chance.

In lieu of knocking, Jaemin lets himself in, because Renjun already knows he is on his way. In the same way Jaemin can sense things others can not with his predatory instincts, Renjun’s magic flows through the earth like roots, learning from the grass and the leaves and the bees. Renjun knows so much about the world, and the things it keeps hidden.   

“Please tell me you can sense my distress so that I do not have to explain myself,” Jaemin says as his attempt at a greeting while shutting the front door behind him, quick to remove his shoes as he knows how particular Renjun is about his rugs. Admittedly, they are nice rugs, so Jaemin doesn’t mind being respectful. 

“You’re so dramatic.”

Jaemin looks up to see a warm and familair shape in the archway that leads into the kitchen, Renjun standing with a kettle of tea in one hand and a plate of things to eat in the other. Food doesn’t quite satisfy Jaemin in the same way feeding does, but he still loves brie cheese, so he’s happy to see the offerings. 

“I am, as is my perogative,” Jaemin grumbles while slinking into the living room, helping Renjun set the plate down on the coffee table before collapsing back into the couch. “You know I hate being inconvenienced.”

Renjun laughs dryly at such a pitiful statement, but Jaemin doesn’t do more than glare as he accepts the oncoming lecture. “Jaemin, you strip people of their clothes, their sanity, and then eventually their lives. I think you are hardly being inconvenienced.” Grabbing the pot of steaming tea, Renjun motions for Jaemin’s teacup to come closer, the little porcelain set sliding over on its own as if it has the capability to be obedient. This is another moment where Jaemin kind of wishes he were born a witch, but he digresses. “So the poor guy is immune to your charms, hm?”

When put like that, Jaemin has half the mind to bare his teeth in upset, but Renjun doesn’t deserve it. Having his entire life revolve around his charm can make it feel almost debilitating to be ignored, especially when, even without magic, Jaemin has been able to lure whomever he pleases into his bed with no complaints. Everyone is grateful for even just a moment of his time, it’s in his fucking DNA to be desirable, and to have that taken away feels almost… degrading. 

“He’s not just immune, he’s fucking indifferent . It’s driving me insane,” Jaemin grumbles while reaching forward for his now full cup of steaming tea, liking the delicate feel of the porcelain to contrast his frustration. “Shouldn’t you also be upset? It’s your magic that isn’t working.”

Renjun scoffs at him, bringing the cup to his lips to take a sip before even thinking about answering Jaemin. Realistically, Jaemin knows that any attempts to rile Renjun up are futile, because Renjun is as level headed as they come—unless his anger benefits him. “Nothing in the world is absolute or all powerful, Jaemin. Things don’t work sometimes, other people's magic is stronger, the moon interferes and—”

“Wait wait wait.” Jaemin sits up suddenly, setting his cup down with a small clink to give Renjun his undivided attention. “When you say other people’s magic could be stronger, do you think he’s, I don’t know, protected?” 

The prospect seems even worse somehow, because that would mean Jeno knows way more than he’s letting on. Jaemin would be beyond angry with himself for letting a witch go unnoticed right beneath his nose, but even moreso if he let his attraction to the man be the reason for it. Maybe he’s been so intent on his feeding that he’s been ignoring warning signs, but then Jaemin really thinks about it, and decides that’s absurd.

Renjun, too, seems to agree that there’s no way Jaemin wouldn’t have noticed someone connected to magic, but his features remain thoughtful. “Did you bring something with his genetic makeup like I asked?” 

Indeed he has, and Jaemin reaches into his back pocket for the plastic spoon he embarrassingly grabbed out of the trash when nobody was looking and subsequently put into a little baggy. From the moment Jaemin realized that Jeno hadn’t been effected, he knew that Renjun would have to get involved, because it is his magic afterall. The unfortunate reality was that Jaemin’s nose is the one that had to differentiate Jeno’s saliva amongst the garbage. Not his proudest moment, but he can promise himself that he’s had worse.

“Mm, this isn’t a lot,” Renjun murmurs to himself more than anything, setting his cup down while taking the baggie in his hand. “Do you want to figure out more about him? Maybe see what he’s doing?”

A little peek into what Jeno could possibly be doing right now doesn't sound terrible, but it’s not Jaemin’s purpose for being here. “I want to know why he’s here, more than anything,” Jaemin admits while crossing his arms against his chest, not particularly loving the look of hesitance on Renjun’s face.

“Figuring out someone’s motivations is nearly impossible, because they could change at any time, and the individual may not even really know why they're doing something.” Renjun shrugs, standing from the couch and traveling the short distance to his credenza covered in candles and trinkets. He places the plastic baggie with the spoon onto a metal tray with pretty engravings, and gestures for Jaemin to follow him.

Without question, Jaemin stands from the couch, trailing behind Renjun through the house towards the very back where a sunroom sits, though the afternoon sun is on the other side of the house, and it looks almost dark back here.

In the middle of the sunroom is a wooden table with a black lacy cloth, a collection of candles sitting in the middle with dried wax dripping down their sides. It’s where Renjun performs most of his spells, and when the witch gestures for Jaemin to sit at his usual chair, Jaemin listens.

After setting the silver tray with the spoon onto the table, Renjun rummages around for supplies that Jaemin recognizes well enough. Powders made from crushed bone and firefly wings, oils infused with rotten flowers and fermented seeds. Everything that graces Jaemin’s senses is familiar and potent, but it all teems with the unmistakable electricity of magic. 

This feeling is what convinces Jaemin that it is nearly impossible for Jeno to be in touch with the magical world, because Jaemin is a part of it himself. He does not have the ability to conjure spells or brew potions, but his entire body is built with something supernatural, and that is a magic in itself.

“We’ll do a spell to see his whereabouts from the days before he arrived here, maybe give us a better sense of what lead him to come at all?” Renjun offers while finally finding his place in the chair across from Jaemin, the candles between them being lit with nothing more than a wave of his hand before Renjun gets to work sprinkling the plastic spoon with various ingredients. 

It’s nice to have a friend like Renjun this go around, because seeing someone so confident in their craft is comforting to Jaemin. He likes to think he is someone who is good at what they do, who thrives more than survives, but Renjun has humbled him on numerous occasions—including this one. Everyone, even demon spawn, needs humbling every now and again.

“Take my hands,” Renjun says while holding his small palms to the sky, patiently waiting for Jaemin’s much larger ones to nearly swallow them whole. Jaemin makes a mental note that Renjun’s skin is very soft, and on his own accord his brain wanders to what Jeno must feel like, if his hands would be rough while holding him, or if callouses would scratch Jaemin’s nape as he fucked him. “Okay, let's say the spell together.”

Jaemin nods, sitting up a bit straighter to focus his attention entirely on the witch before him, the witch’s glass sitting idle between their joined hands. This is a spell that Jaemin has had Renjun perform before, in various ways using park ponds and bathroom mirrors. It’s nothing more than a reflection of the person whose spit or hair or fingernail clippings they’ve stolen, and the sample is always too small to produce more than a flicker of weak willed images. 

“Vir videre encantare. Vir videre encantare. Vir vedere encantare.”

Their voices mingle into one harmonious buzz, Renjun’s fingers squeezing Jaemin’s hands as his eyes flutter shut. The already quiet room dips and sways with a silence so heavy that Jaemin can taste it, and then as quickly as Jaemin can blink, the witch’s glass is glowing. 

“Vir videre encantere. Vir videre encantare. Vir videre encantare.”

Renjun eyes open, and when they both look down there is an image swirling around in the glass ball, the picture becoming clearer by the second. 

“He’s … reading something?” Renjun asks more than tells, Jaemin watching those pretty fingers flip through pages of scribbled writing in a brown leather bound book. No, a journal, and he wishes Renjun’s magic got them close enough to see what it says. 

“Is he in his car?” Jaemin follows up with just as much confusion, glancing up at Renjun for only a moment to confirm that he’s not alone in his helplessness. “This must have been the morning he came into my cafe. He’s wearing the same shirt.”

Renjun hums at this, and the pair watch as Jeno turns the page once more, the only thing legible being a header on the top of the page. All it says is UNKNOWN in scribbled lettering, and Jaemin has no idea what that could possibly allude to.

“I don’t think this is going to work very well,” Renjun grumbles as that image flickers away as quickly as it came, the scene of Jeno entering Jaemin’s cafe suddenly presenting itself. Jaemin huffs the moment he realizes that Renjun is right, and his hands break away before Renjun can witness that catastrophe of a morning. 

“Fuck.”

“You didn’t let it finish,” Renjun scolds even as he picks up the plastic spoon once more, examining it to try and determine if it was even worth using at all. “We need something stronger. Blood, preferably, but a clump of hair could be okay, or fingernails.”

Jaemin’s nose scrunches at the ideas, because he’s so downtrodden that he doesn’t think anything is going to work—and because he doesn’t want to gather fingernails again. Sure, he’s being a bit annoying, but it’s been a long while since he’s had to work for a meal. If Renjun doesn’t sense anything out of order yet, then perhaps Jaemin just needs to give it time, because he’ll be damned sooner than he throws himself at a mortal's feet. 

“I’ll give you a new bottle of the spell and you can try again, okay?” Renjun offers while waving his hand over the candles to put them out, not one to waste perfectly good wax. “If that still doesn’t work, come back with a better sample and we can do a spell to see if there’s anything blocking him from being susceptible.”

“Blocking him?” Jaemin asks before he even really ponders what that means. “But you said it was unlikely that he’s a witch.”

A noise resembling acknowledgement leaves Renjun as he shrugs noncommittally, making Jaemin even more agitated than he was seconds ago. “Just because he is not protecting himself doesn’t mean that there isn’t something else at work here. It is unlikely, but you and I existing is also unlikely, so I try not to rule things out so soon.”

As he speaks, Renjun begins cleaning up the little spell, tossing the plastic spoon into a trash right behind him and placing the metal tray on the table filled with ingredients. Jaemin is almost exactly where he started, except now he’s got a grudge against the silly crystal ball. 

“Okay, thanks,” Jaemin acquiesces with a sigh, deciding that he’d very much like to finish his tea. Even though he came to Renjun for a spell, he also enjoys the witch’s company, and if Renjun isn’t ushering him out the door, he will stay his welcome. “Can we watch Silent Hill ?”

Renjun’s features perk up in amusement at the question, giving Jaemin a look that speaks to his nonchalance. If Renjun is unbothered by the validity of his magic, then Jaemin knows he should be too—for now, that is. This will invariably follow Jaemin home tonight, infiltrating his bedtime drink until he’s drunkenly muttering about Jeno to the spiders that live beneath his stove. 

But he can pretend to forget about it for today, if only to spare his already limited sanity. 

“No, but we can watch youtube playthroughs of Resident Evil ,” Renjun replies with a smile that feigns innocence, standing without even beckoning for Jaemin to come along. The incubus has never needed an invitation before though, so he stands to follow behind Renjun like a moth to a blinking flame, happy now more than ever to have a friend that understands him better than himself. 

🍰 

The next time Jaemin sees Jeno, he has to say that he’s surprised to smell the woody scent of his cologne trailing in from the sidewalk through the open door. Jaemin almost expects Jeno to walk by his window without a second glance, or to simply catch a glimpse of him across the street. Considering his luck as of late, he doesn’t anticipate Jeno to waltz right through the entrance with a smile on his face, black cowboy boots thudding on the original hardwood. 

“Jeno, good morning,” Jaemin says happily, feeling his teeth bare in a display of excitement upon seeing the man. The sun is so bright this morning, the fall air crisp but not too cold, and Jaemin feels… something. “Come to accept your free dessert?”

A small sound of amusement releases from Jeno, his chest that lays hidden beneath a fuzzy black sweater buzzing as he crosses his arms. “I can pay for this one, I think,” he says while perusing the display case, Jaemin’s stock a bit fuller on this slow Sunday. The churchgoers don’t show up until after lunch, so his mornings are quiet, and now inexorably more intriguing with Jeno here to provide entertainment. “What’s your favorite of your desserts?”

Jaemin’s eyes widen at the question, his hand coming up to hold his chin as he looks down to join Jeno’s wandering stare, once again reminding himself that his work is quite good. “That is like asking a mother to pick their favorite child.”

This time the sound of amusement is a warm and private laugh, Jaemin’s gaze lifting to catch Jeno looking back at him too. They stare for a moment in their silliness, and Jaemin thinks he could probably get accustomed to mortal flirting if it's always as fun as this, though he doesn’t think it would be as fun if the mortal wasn’t Jeno.

“Every mother has one, I’m just asking you to admit it to me.”

“Oh, only just?”

Jaemin rolls his eyes playfully, taking in the display of berry tarts and pain au chocolat and pecan swirls that glitter in the light, hours of labor from his morning prep staff that is completed and perfected when he shows up at 5am. Of course he has his favorites, because he’s not a big fan of rich chocolates, and will always reach for something with fresh fruit or a custard if it’s up to him. Jaemin also enjoys flaky pastry and pie crusts over cakes or mouses, but they’re all delicious, all worth trying at least once. 

“You’re thinking about this way too much,” Jeno says lightheartedly, stealing Jaemin from his thoughts and ruffling his feathers a little. Jeno has no idea how humorous this really is, because Jaemin is an immortal demon that eats peoples souls, but somehow this is the agonizing part of his day. “Tell you what, I’m going to go sit down, you take this ten dollars and surprise me.” Fishing into his back pocket, Jeno shakes his head with another chuckle, pulling out a ten dollar bill that seems fresh from the bank. He sets the money onto the counter before backing away slowly, and Jaemin has no choice but to agree. 

A lie, he knows, because Jaemin has had every opportunity to have this be over and done with, but he has begun craving Jeno’s company like a drink of fresh water. Perhaps it’s the challenge of the man, or maybe the mystery, but whatever it is, Jaemin needs to unravel him until there is nothing left but a writhing and quivering mess. Only then will he be satisfied. 

Focus, Jaemin.

Intaking a deep breath, Jaemin turns to grab a pink ceramic plate and a metal fork, deciding that Jeno will have no choice but to eat the dessert in front of him. Though, he’s still unsure what to feed Jeno, because he does not have a favorite dessert. He could play it safe with something light that even a child would lick clean, or test the extents of Jeno’s palate to see if he is worth fawning over at all. Jaemin has always liked men with a little artistry about them, which is why he chose Mark, and the musician, Johnny, before him. 

Deciding to play it somewhere in the middle, Jaemin peeks to make sure Jeno’s focus isn’t on him before opening the display case, grabbing a pistachio eclair garnished in raspberry dark chocolate and setting it on the plate with his little tongs. At his boxing counter, Jaemin eyes the shaker that holds Renjun’s magic, looking back and forth between it and the dessert. It’s silly, but Jaemin kind of hopes that it will work this time, because it’s never let him down before. 

The exception that proves the rule, and all that.

“One dessert for detective-not-detective Jeno,” Jaemin says while coming around the counter to Jeno’s table, the bakery empty save for them. “I tried to choose a crowd pleaser that will still challenge your taste buds.”

Jeno watches Jaemin sit right across from him with a raised brow, his lips also turned up in a half smile, as if he doesn’t want to admit that this is enjoyable. Even when Jaemin places the plate down in front of Jeno, the metal fork laying next to it like a soldier standing at attention, Jeno tries to pretend this is bothersome. 

Playfulness wafts off of him like a dog at a park though, telling on him even when his lips purse. “Didn’t know my taste buds needed challenged,” Jeno mutters teasingly while picking up the fork, his fingers delicate in contrast to the rest of him. 

“Everyone’s tongue needs a challenge now and then,” Jaemin says without even thinking, but Jeno doesn’t seem to mind it, his features finally breaking into another laugh. It’s almost unbelievable that Jeno seemed so stoic before, because he’s entirely unable to keep from having a good time, overflowing with amusement and fun. 

Jeno also isn’t shy despite Jaemin watching him intently, fingers clasped beneath his chin as he grins at the curious detective. He uses the fork to cut through the crumbly pastry, just the right amount of cream spilling out the sides that Jeno is sure to get on the fork too. Jaemin is proud of his technique, and waits with glimmering eyes as the first bite graces Jeno’s tongue, flakes of pastry making their way to his chin, and Jaemin wants to lick them off. 

Giving Jeno a moment to savor the bite, Jaemin listens intently to the little hum of enjoyment that Jeno gives him, the detective’s head nodding like one does when their waiter asks if they're okay but their mouth is full. Having his approval is… nice, albeit expected, because Jeno doesn’t seem like the type to be cruel, but Jaemin appreciates it nonetheless. 

“So?” Jaemin asks impatiently, his hands dropping to the table as Jeno’s reach for a napkin, wiping away the excess that Jaemin mourns right away. “How’d I do?”

A small huff of breath puffs from Jeno’s noise in an attempt at acknowledgement, but he finishes chewing in his own time, only parting his lips after Jaemin watches the bite get swallowed with a bob of his throat. “It’s pistachio and raspberry, isn’t it?” Jeno asks his own question instead of answering, earning him a look of genuine surprise from Jaemin across the table. “I thought this was meant to be challenging.”

Jaemin feigns a gasp as his hand clutches his heart, looking down at the dessert that Jeno is already diving in for more of. That alone is enough to heal his faux-wounded ego, because there is nothing Jaemin loves more than a man with a happy stomach. “I wasn’t intending for the flavors to be hard to guess, just that most people find pistachio to be an acquired flavor. Clearly I underestimated you.”

Jeno’s eyes curve up in that way that makes Jaemin’s insides weak, so sweet looking, yet harboring an aura of ominous humanity. Never has Jaemin considered a human to be foreboding, but Jeno is full of surprises. 

“My neighbors growing up were these Italians that owned a deli right beneath us. They were always giving us this ice cream that was made with pistachios and cherries and chocolate. It’s one of my favorite flavors, actually,” Jeno admits with a sheepish shrug, hesitancy billowing out of him for the first time this morning. It’s cute, is all Jaemin can think as he watches Jeno continue enjoying his dessert, cute and evidence of depth.

In all honesty, if Jeno were just some brooding brute he would have gotten bored quite quickly, but that is definitely not the case here. Jeno holds layers upon layers of life beneath his dark exterior, and Jaemin thinks it has been such a long time since he’s met someone with such piquancy. 

So Jaemin does what he does best, and leans in.

They have a large chunk of the morning to themselves after all, seeing as it’s only 8:30 and church has just begun. Of course he could be doing a million other productive things than indulging himself by having every useless conversation under the sun while Jeno finishes the eclair, but he doesn’t want to do anything else, and that… is okay with him.

🍰 

If there is one thing Jaemin absolutely loves, it is irony. 

He is a sweet baker that wears pink sweaters and has a larger body count than ancient Greece, so he practically thrives on the concept. In humans? It is delightful how easily such irony gets lost on them. They save sex until marriage only to have it once and never again because they don’t know how to fuck beyond procreation. Humans credit God for the creation of the universe but refuse to blame him for any of the bad things beyond it being his will to teach us all lessons. Everyone wants family values and tradition when the founding fathers themselves begged for their runner ups to not do as they have done. 

Something about irony makes Jaemin laugh, especially when it mingles with the bittersweet taste of hypocrisy. 

Because of this, Halloween is one of Jaemin’s favorite times of year, even as it has evolved so far from its roots. Jaemin remembers Samhain celebrations with homemade wreaths and offerings in the woods, sitting around roughened tables with steaming stew and grainy bread. Nowadays it is filled with sweets and velvet capes and eyeliner, but it is still fun, and still fills Jaemin with warmth. He gets to indulge in faux horrors while being a real monster beneath men’s beds. Irony.

This year he has decided to attend the town's halloween party in a classic getup that requires little to no effort, dawning his natural fangs and letting his eyes retreat to being completely black. Everyone thinks he’s wearing tooth caps and contacts, but the only thing artificial about his costume is the blood dripping down his chin—and he could have been authentic with that too if he was really devoted. The costume is held together by nothing more than black slacks and a black button down to match, but he looks the part, and Renjun has so humorously joined him as none other than a witch. 

“Would it be funny to put worms in the apples?” Renjun asks thoughtfully while the pair stand near the food booths, a woman who works in the public library pouring cups of free cider and placing them on the table for passersby to take. Jaemin has already had two, so he snorts a laugh at the idea of the rest being soiled.

“No… no. Though I won’t complain if you drop some spiders in the Mayor’s powdered wig. Bastard told me my macarons were too dry,” Jaemin grumbles while crossing his arms against his chest, glad that Renjun also finds his bitterness amusing. 

“What a bold statement considering the man has never experienced anything dryer than his wife.”

This makes them finally erupt into a proper fit of laughter, ignoring the looks from people walking past them that are trying to figure out who Renjun even is. Jaemin is a familiar and friendly face in town, but Renjun is a stranger, an outsider, and that always attracts attention. 

“God, you’re worse than me. Honestly—”

“Jaemin?”

The sound of his name from an all too familiar voice stops Jaemin’s laughter even as it tries to escape him, Jaemin turning instantly to catch the stare of a man he has become more than acquainted with. 

Jeno stands only a few feet away, dressed in black pants with a long leather jacket that nearly reaches the floor. Perched atop his head are a pair of sunglasses, and Jaemin is painfully endeared when he realizes what Jeno is.

“Let me guess, you’re going to ask if I want to take the red or blue pill?” Jaemin asks with a teasing lilt to his voice, glancing back at Renjun only once before giving Jeno his full attention. Renjun seems intrigued as well, and Jaemin can feel the stare of his friend as he keeps his back turned.

Jeno doesn’t seem so mild-mannered, though, and his only slight smile in response to Jaemin’s joke makes him uneasy. “Unfortunately I think I have to ask you more than that,” Jeno mumbles as one of his hands comes up to scratch at the back of his neck, his gaze going past Jaemin to catch sight of Renjun still nearby. “I’m sorry, I hate to interrupt, but can we talk?” A pause, Jaemin knowing where he’s going with this but simultaneously aware that Renjun won’t like it. “Alone?”

At the request, Jaemin turns to smile at Renjun, giving him a look that is one big plea for him to let this go. Renjun glares in return, but his arms cross against his chest in annoyed defeat, and he leans over to look beyond Jaemin and reply to Jeno himself. 

“You can have him, but I expect payment later,” Renjun says with a sarcastic smile, rolling eyes with a venom that even burns Jaemin. For being quite unthreatening looking, Renjun holds more hostility in one pinky finger than anyone Jaemin has ever met in over a thousand years, but that is part of why Jaemin loves him. “That means chantilly cake by the slice.”

Jaemin smiles, nodding in acquiescence before leaning in to place a goodbye peck to Renjun’s cheek, nothing more than a friendly display of affection. Renjun grimaces at it before turning to run off and do who knows what, leaving Jaemin and Jeno finally alone.

“Okay, what was it you—”

“Are you and him together?” Jeno interrupts Jaemin’s question with one of his own, his eyes flitting from where Renjun is disappearing amongst the crowd of people to where Jaemin stands right in front of him, and Jaemin has to hold in his laugh at the insinuation. 

“ No , god no,” he replies with a scoff, reaching out to place a warm hand on Jeno’s shoulder. “Renjun is an old friend, nothing more.”

He’s not sure why he feels the need to remind Jeno that there’s no competition, because from an incubus standpoint, competition can be very rewarding. Emotions and pheromones on high, jealousy that burns people up from the inside out until they’re on their knees, begging for a crumb of validation.

But Jeno doesn’t seem like the type to beg, and Jaemin doesn’t really think he wants him to.

“Okay…” Jeno trails off, shrugging Jaemin’s hand away as subtly as he can. Typically this would scorn Jaemin, but he understands that Jeno doesn’t like being forward—he probably didn’t mean to ask the questions at all. “Well, I’m sorry to send him away, but I have a very unfortunate request.”

Finally Jaemin is reminded that Jeno wanted to speak to him alone, which he momentarily gets frustrated with himself for forgetting such a small thing. Jeno makes his brain frazzled, messy, and Jaemin isn’t sure how he feels about that. 

“Well, go ahead,” Jaemin offers with a small wave of his hand, realizing that there is still fake dried blood on his fingers.

Jeno looks hesitant once given the go ahead, as if telling Jaemin this big secret is very wrong. In a way it’s kind of flattering, to know that Jeno trusts him despite his better judgement. Yet it is also very frustrating, becasue Jaemin hates being left in the dark.

Within a breath or two, Jeno seems to have convinced himself that this is all okay, and with one last glance at their surroundings, he meets Jaemin’s gaze with a plea in his warm brown eyes. 

“I may have lied about why I’m here,” Jeno admits in a soft voice, the sounds of the party going on around them almost enough to drown him out. Jaemin hears him, though, loud and clear, and he can’t believe that Jeno is finally telling him the truth. “I’m a detective, yes, but I didn’t come here for a vacation. I mean, I’m technically on leave, but I… I came here to solve a case that nobody was willing to look into back home.” Jeno swallows thickly, his throat bobbing with the action, and Jaemin gets the urge to bite him. “But I have a lead, and I need your help to follow it through.”

Well, of all the things Jeno could have come to him with, this is not one that Jaemin was anticipating, if he’s honest. In a lot of ways, Jaemin has been expecting Jeno to disappear before he could even have his way with him, and every day that they’ve run into each other has just been another lucky day. Jaemin was fully prepared to allow Jeno to be a what-if, but this definitely changes the order of things. This gives him a chance, and Jaemin still isn’t sure how that makes him feel.

“Oh?” He replies simply, trying not to feign indifference nor eagerness, wanting Jeno to know that he’s listening, without revealing that he’s invested. “What lead?”

Jeno licks his lips, chewing on the plush of the bottom one and tearing off a bit of skin. His eyes twitch just the slightest when the skin comes off, letting Jaemin know that it hurts, but Jeno only nurses the wound with his tongue while he thinks of a way to respond, the tension around them heavy with anticipation. 

They both seem to be waiting for the other to turn and run, to give up and forget any of this ever happened. Jaemin admits, even despite the lack of magic, that he has felt a pull between them. It’s something… natural, primitive, like two magnets who are trying to connect but keep being put together on the wrong sides. They repel each other unwillingly, no matter how badly they want to stick, and Jaemin is convinced now more than ever that he has to see this through. 

“There’s a pattern here, Jaemin. I don’t know how to explain it, but people disappear here. Men will show up, be fine, and then either go crazy or are never heard from again.” Jaemin’s throat tightens as Jeno finally reveals himself, a faint sense of anxiety wanting to murmur beneath his skin even when Jeno continues. “Nobody has believed me, because they seem to be random and don’t connect to anything but this place, and there’s never any evidence of foul play,” Jeno adds with a sigh, his hand coming up to comb through his gelled hair that cracks with the disturbance.

This is ridiculous, Jaemin thinks to himself, forcibly pushing down the anxiety in favor of focusing on the reality of the situation he’s in. Nobody has believed Jeno’s case because there is no case. The death’s are all entirely random, and he has nothing tying him to them. Even if he did, the law can’t detain things they don’t understand, and as far as the laws of the universe work, Jaemin doesn’t technically exist. 

“And you finally found some evidence?” Jaemin decides on asking in lieu of giving his opinion just yet, knowing that if this goes wrong at any time, then he has to know exactly what Jeno knows. The only way Jaemin has ever been able to protect himself has been by being smarter than every mortal in the room, and though it makes a strange and uncomfortable twinge settle in his stomach, he knows that Jeno is no exception. 

“Another one has been found dead, but it’s not public knowledge, and his house isn’t an official crime scene yet,” Jeno finally says in no more than a whisper, the pair having to lean in so close that Jaemin can feel the faint warmth of Jeno’s breath on his cheek as he speaks. “I need you to help me investigate, because you know this town better than I do, Jaemin.”

Hearing his name from Jeno’s lips is always a nice treat, like giving a cat some tuna straight from the can. When has Jaemin become so simple? So base? He has no clue, but Jeno is just about the only mortal he can think of that deserves it.

Even if he is just going to be another meal.

“I don’t want to put you in a situation you don’t wanna be in, but I just—”

“No,” Jaemin interrupts with a shake of his head, his hand coming out to touch Jeno once more but deciding against it at the last minute. Jeno’s gaze catches the small movement as Jaemin’s hand gets tucked back into his side, and the faint smell of disappointment is like a hit of ecstasy straight to Jaemin’s veins. “I’ll help, Jeno. I’d rather it be me than someone else.”

Almost immediately, the odor of disappointment dissipates into the crisp autumn air, leaving Jeno covered in excitement from head to toe. Somehow this is even more intoxication to Jaemin’s senses, and he has to steel himself to keep from pouncing on Jeno then and there.

If Jaemin plays his cards right, then maybe he can figure out why Jeno is unable to be swayed by his magic, and if Jaemin can figure that out, then maybe he won’t end up being a problem at all. Jaemin doesn’t fear the detective, not one bit, but he doesn’t like loose ends, and he can’t let Jeno leave here knowing even the small bits that he’s figured out on his own. This beautiful mortal with warm skin and kind eyes doesn’t deserve what Jaemin is going to do to him, but he is just another blip in Jaemin’s radar—just a human that will come and go.

This particular human smiles like the glow of the sun though, and Jaemin shoves down that unfamiliar ache into the deepest parts of himself upon seeing it. Nothing is different now, nothing at all, and Jaemin can accept that.

🍰 

If Jaemin were human, this interaction could be considered very cliche. 

Two men in an abandoned house to investigate the disappearance of a local is practically the plot of a Hallmark movie—except Jeno would probably be the idealistic woman cop who has time for no man, not even the completely sweet baker she never seems to trust. 

Now that Jaemin is thinking about it, he wonders if Jeno actually does trust him. A working detective would hardly be willing to allow someone to join his investigation unless he truly trusts them, but Jeno isn’t exactly on the job, and Jaemin is a liar.

“Have you ever talked to this guy before?” Jeno asks while they quietly step through the kitchen, the flashlights on their phones the only lights they’re using to help them see. Even that seems risky, from Jaemin’s perspective, because anyone could walk by and see a light on, but if Jeno is unbothered then less is Jaemin. “I asked some people and they said he’d only been here a little while.”

Jaemin hums as if to ponder Jeno’s question, because he knows by now that the missing man they found in the woods is Mark. The timeline fits, and Jaemin hasn’t fed from anyone since him. Come to think of it, that was almost a month ago, and he should probably plan to feed again soon.

“I served him once I think,” Jaemin replies while silently pulling open a kitchen drawer, seeing perfectly untouched cooking utensils stashed away. “He wasn’t from around here, just renting the place for a bit.”

Jeno nods in agreement when he opens the fridge and sees it completely empty save for a case of unfinished beer and lunch meat. Any single guy could probably get away with having that in their fridge, but Mark wasn’t really the type.

It seems silly in retrospect to consider Mark as having been anything, because to Jaemin he was just an easy meal. He always targets out of towners, bonus points if they’re here for outdoor sports or if they’re from a big city. Anything about a person that makes them more likely to go crazy or disappear under mysterious circumstances is a go for Jaemin, and never does he really stop to think about a person beyond that.

Following this train of thought, Jaemin’s eyes travel to where Jeno is examining some stacks of papers from a briefcase, shuffling through what appears to be architect designs. He can remember that very first day he saw Jeno, and how right away he was having to remind himself that Jeno is just food . After a thousand years you become used to differentiating your meals, but Jeno has always been different, always been someone , and that leaves an ache in Jaemin’s chest that he doesn’t expect. 

“Looks like he was here to offer his designs to the city for the new movie theater,” Jeno mumbles to himself more than anything, still deep in his own thoughts. “They’re pretty good, kinda a shame for you guys.”

Another small sound leaves Jaemin to show that he agrees, though he can’t quite pinpoint why the comment gets under his skin. From Jeno’s mouth, the words seem unfair, like an accusation despite him having no idea that Jaemin is the reason for Mark being gone. This human is making him feel… strange, so very strange, and Jaemin doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Why do you think someone would want him dead?” Jaemin asks while moving away from the table, his skin crawling from being so close to Jeno in the dark. He wants to kiss him, to touch him, consume him, and yet he can’t do any of those things, because Jeno doesn’t hear the siren call like his other suitors, doesn’t see the flashing light above Jaemin’s head to beckon him closer. All Jaemin can rely on is the way Jeno seems to follow him like a fly as they walk around the apartment together, even without the magic, and that at least brings some comfort to Jaemin’s ego.

“I don’t know if anyone even did want him dead,” Jeno admits when they find themselves in the living room, the only sign of life being an empty coffee cup on the table and the remote left thoughtlessly on the couch. Absently Jaemin wonders what kind of tv Mark liked to watch, and if Jeno likes watching things too. “There’s never any evidence of foul play, they just… die.”

There’s a frustration in Jeno’s voice, a helplessness that makes Jaemin bristle in an odd way. He wants to defend himself, to argue that it’s just food, just the way things are, but he can’t say anything of the sort to the man. If he has any hopes of feeding from Jeno, then he can’t mess this up, because this little bit of trust is the only indication Jaemin has gotten that Jeno isn’t entirely indifferent. Whatever Jeno has that keeps him from being victim to Jaemin’s charms also dampens his scent that would usually be dripping with pheromones.

Around Jeno, Jaemin might as well be mortal, and the thought makes him sick.

When the living room ends up being fruitless, the pair find themselves in Mark’s old bedroom, clothes still strewn to the floor and sheets ruffled. Jeno goes to the nightstand to rustle around, and as Jaemin uses his flashlight to check the top of the tv stand,  Jaemin feels his entire body shiver when Mark’s scent finally permeates his nose. It’s potent, as if Jaemin can still feel his body beneath him, or taste the sweat on his skin. 

“Nothing here,” Jeno says with a sigh, and Jaemin can hear his soft footsteps against the hardwood, coming up behind him to see what it is he is doing.

Jaemin can’t pay him any mind, though, because his gaze has caught onto a card from his bakery, staring at him like an X to mark buried treasure. 

No, not yet.

Without thinking, Jaemin turns abruptly, bumping into Jeno just as he plans, and allows a small yelp of forced surprise to escape him. As if on instinct, Jeno’s hands come up to hold Jaemin’s arms and presumably keep him from stumbling, but then they are just standing there, and Jaemin doesn’t know what he was intending to do next. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Jeno mutters sheepishly, his fingers squeezing Jaemin’s arms through his jacket as if he is afraid to let go. The sensation is pleasant to Jaemin, affirming but also… comfortable, and that tightness in his stomach returns. “Find anything?”

The question finally snaps Jaemin out of his thoughts, his instincts taking over as he gives Jeno a sweet smile to cling to. Mortal flirting is as simple as it comes, and Jaemin decides to welcome the challenge, suddenly resenting his reliance on the magic he’s used for so many years.

“Nothing,” Jaemin replies with a small shrug, giving Jeno a half-hearted smile to feign disappointment. “Should we check the bathroom?”

Jeno stares at him a second too long even after having been asked a question, his hands only falling to his sides when Jaemin takes a deep enough breath to move his shoulders. It’s almost like a rubber band snapping, or a pan cap flying off, but when Jeno finally does look away, the spell is broken, and Jaemin misses his touch before his body even has time to register that it’s gone.

🍰 

“Sorry you didn’t find anything,” Jaemin says as he and Jeno walk side by side through the now nearly empty streets of town, Jaemin having offered to walk Jeno home after the search in Mark’s house ended up being fruitless.

Well, not entirely. Jaemin had decided to throw Jeno a bone towards the end there, and showed him a slip of paper with some of Mark’s ramblings on it. It seemed like drafting paper, probably from one of his designs, but it was instead filled with nonsensical words about being led by an angel to heaven, scribbles of angel wings and clouds that looked like a five year old did them. Jeno was fascinated by the clear evidence of Mark’s unwell state, but Jaemin knew the scribbles were about him, and he was wary to put it in Jeno’s hand.

“Most of the time you don’t find what you’re looking for while actively seeking it out,” Jeno replies with a bit of a calmness to his voice that Jaemin isn’t sure he recognizes, as if Jeno is happy to have finally been validated for not being crazy. 

Come to think of it, Jeno could have searched Mark’s house alone, because nothing in there involved Jaemin’s presence or know-how (other than covering his own ass). This is Jeno’s job, his skill set, and yet he had sought Jaemin out to be his confidant, and that fills Jaemin with a fire that burns those knots trying to build in his stomach, making him feel lighter almost instantly. 

Maybe he doesn’t need magic to sway Jeno, and maybe Jeno has been telling him that he wants him in his own ways all this time.

“Well, this is me,” Jeno says once he’s stopped in front of a building, one that Jaemin recognizes well. It’s a condo building, and some of them are only owned by people as vacation homes, so they get rented out by people every other 9 months out of the year. Jaemin has been in these condos before, with victims of different names he hardly remembers, and Jeno will be another. “Thanks for helping me tonight. I think I… well, just, thanks.”

Nervousness wafts off of Jeno like smoke from a candle, hitting Jaemin’s senses with the sweetness of a freshly baked dessert. What was once closed off notes of crisp pine and quiet sandalwood is now an explosion of sugar and burning honey, Jeno’s body reaching out to Jaemin in a way it never has before. Jaemin meets Jeno’s gaze almost instantly, entranced and addicted, and Jeno stares back.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jaemin replies softly, taking another step closer as his lips curve up into a coy smile, curious fingertips coming up to brush non-existent fluff from Jeno’s leather jacket. “I like spending time with you.”

From this close, Jaemin can feel the way Jeno inhales shakily at the minuscule touch, looking down to see where Jaemin’s hand relaxes against his chest. Jaemin isn’t sure where this sudden burst of confidence comes from, but his incubus instincts turn on subtly, like a butterfly emerging from it’s cocoon, and it feels so fucking right.

“Do you… want to come in?” Jeno asks once his eyes find their way to Jaemin’s stare once more, warm brown swimming amongst a puddle of black, the warmth of the street lamp making him practically glow. “We could have some tea, or some beer, whatever’s more your thing.”

The offer is given with a nervous smile, Jeno’s own hand coming up to fidget with the seam of Jaemin’s coat. Perhaps this is just flirting, and maybe it won’t lead anywhere than a suggestive cup of tea, but Jaemin doesn’t think he minds. 

For once, Jaemin just wants to see what happens, wants to know what it means to be at the mercy of whoever he’s with and not defined by his own needs. He’s not starving, doesn’t need to feed, and he… wouldn’t mind if Jeno made it impossible for him to do so. This mortal has burrowed so deep under his skin that Jaemin is willing to do just about anything to relieve the itching deep beneath his flesh, and he gives Jeno a sharp smile that speaks to willingness. 

“I’d love to come in.” And Jaemin means it, his heart beating just a little bit faster, fingertips buzzing with excitement when Jeno’s grip on his jacket tightens. The pair settle beneath the lamplight, letting the tension flex and bleed, finding a calm place to continue before parting. Everything feels delicate, like at any moment they could snap, and Jaemin can’t comprehend the anticipation it burrows into his bones.

Jeno is the first to take a step back, carefully breaking the spell long enough for him to lead the way to his front door. Jaemin follows behind him, keeping his hands to himself to avoid pressing his luck. In a way, it’s almost refreshing to not be leading this interaction, and to not have to worry about saying the next right thing. 

Jeno is in control here, leading Jaemin’s nerves, giving out pieces of himself with each display of good behavior. Burnt sugar graces Jaemin’s senses when Jeno unlocks the door, and he’s enveloped in a glistening candy coating when the door swings open, Jeno stepping aside to allow Jaemin to enter first.

If this were any other man, or any other day, Jaemin wouldn’t dare put himself  in such a compromising situation. This is why he has used the magic, relying on the men coming to him to avoid any mishaps. Jeno is not under a spell, not desperate to please Jaemin or make sure that this ends with them in bed together. Jeno is simply inviting Jaemin into his space because he wants to, and when the door shuts behind them with a soft click, Jaemin can’t help the small shiver it sends up his spine.

“So, beer or tea?” Jeno asks after setting his keys on the credenza, Jaemin able to feel curious eyes on his back as he pretends to examine the living room, knowing very well that none of this stuff belongs to Jeno. “Or something to eat?”

It takes all of Jaemin’s strength not to laugh at the offer, because Jeno has no idea what such a question means to Jaemin. Of course I want to eat, you’re so fucking tempting.

But Jaemin says nothing of the sort, instead turning to Jeno with a close-lipped smile and hands held behind his back. “I think some tea would be lovely.”

In reality, Jaemin doesn’t want any tea, but he’s trying to remind himself that this interaction is not so simple as his past endeavors. With the others, Jaemin has been able to strip his clothes and fuck to his hearts content without so much as a word spoken between them, but with Jeno, he’s forced to downplay his desires. His feelings about the situation are still muddied, still confused, because his instincts are telling him to make Jeno a meal, but his other organs throb in protest of such an idea. 

He wants Jeno, but it doesn’t have to be under his rules, and Jaemin follows the feeling of relinquishing control.

“Go ahead and make yourself at home, I’ll be right back,” Jeno says while gesturing to the couch, giving Jaemin one last smile before spinning on his heels to disappear into the kitchen.

Jaemin welcomes the opportunity to be alone, because now he can soak up the subtleties that Jeno has left in this little home away from home. The tv remote is placed neatly on the coffee table, and the couch wafts his scent like a t-shirt from an ex-boyfriend. Jeno’s cologne sticks to the walls, and Jaemin can practically taste the desperation hiding in every corner of the room. Despite Jeno’s attempts at appearing mysterious and uninterested, Jaemin can feel every little intricacy of Jeno’s mind from this room alone, and he can only imagine what being in his bedroom would feel like.

“Cream? Sugar?” Jeno calls from the kitchen, breaking Jaemin from his bubbling thoughts to pull his attention towards the dimly lit tile that cuts off the hardwood. Jeno is standing at the counter, his back to Jaemin and leather jacket now slung over one of the dining chairs. He looks… good in the all black getup, and Jaemin realizes belatedly that Jeno’s t-shirt is just a little too tight.

“I like it dark, thanks,” Jaemin replies while silently making his way into the kitchen, coming up behind Jeno like a cat with a mouse. He decides that being careful is now redundant, because Jeno would not have invited him in if he did not mean it, and Jaemin can’t ignore the stench of curiosity that tickles his nose with each passing second.

Jeno wants something to happen, his pheromones now practically begging Jaemin to at least bring it up, and who is Jaemin to deny Jeno his wants?

“Jeno,” Jaemin hums, voice soft and sweet, tickling Jeno’s ear as his chest presses into the mortal’s back. “Feel free to tell me if I have read this all wrong, but I really don’t think that I have,” he adds with a grin to his voice, teeth nipping the shell of Jeno’s ear just to feel him shiver. The stove clicks off as swiftly as it was turned on, and Jaemin feel’s Jeno’s body tense as his hands grip the edge of the counter, muscles becoming taut like a bow. 

Jeno stays quiet for a long while, as if afraid to break his own silence, but Jaemin doesn’t pry, doesn’t try to touch him or make another move. Jaemin just hovers, letting Jeno feel the warmth of his body on his back, and waits. This mortal will have to decide how they proceed, and Jaemin feels exhilarated leaving it all in his hands. In a strange way, Jaemin trusts Jeno to do this right, and perhaps that is Jaemin’s undeniable attraction to the odd creature, but he doesn’t mind much either way. 

“Bite me again,” Jeno says in a voice so soft that Jaemin almost misses it, if not for his every nerve ending being so in tune with Jeno that he could recognize him by smell alone. It’s strange, to be commanded without any ferality, to feel Jeno’s eagerness even through his steely restraint. Jeno is simply… engaged, wanting and enthusiastic in his own ways, and Jaemin feels his insides clench sweetly. 

“Well, since you asked,” Jaemin practically purrs, his lips leaving a teasing kiss to Jeno’s neck before nipping at his ear once more. The small action is received just as it should be by Jeno, with a drop of his head and soft inhale that Jaemin feels against his chest. There’s a calm here, a stillness ruminating between them that builds and builds. Never has Jaemin felt such anticipation before, at least not in the last thousand years, because no matter how fun something is, your senses can always be desensitized to it. 

Jeno is the opposite of numbness, a pluming smoke of desires and feelings, wants and prayers, secrets and sins. Jaemin feels everything as Jeno shifts in his hold, forcing Jaemin to let him go so that the curious creature can look at him. It’s almost unsettling, that sudden rush of mortal experiences hitting Jaemin all at once, but he knows that there is no way this ends not in his favor. 

“If we do this, you should probably know that I wasn’t, you know, expecting it,” Jeno says with a deepness in his voice that rivals the bottom of the ocean, full of darkness and harboring things that Jaemin doesn’t even want to try to imagine. “Understand?”

Oh, Jaemin understands just fine, though he admits that he isn’t quite sure what to say. He’s an incubus, by nature he is supposed to insert himself into things, his entire life a long game of fuck or die. Jaemin likes using his cock, likes the feeling of tight warmth enveloping him and mortal bodies clenching with each thrust. A part of Jaemin is tempted to convince Jeno that it doesn’t matter, that whatever magic is in his pheromones will ensure that Jeno is ready for him, but then Jaemin remembers that his magic appears to be inconsistent when it comes to this particular human. 

Perhaps this is a good thing. Maybe this is what Jeno’s body needs to become susceptible to his magic, and after this endeavor, Jaemin will be able to spell him properly. Patience is all Jaemin can remind himself over and over again, looking into Jeno’s waiting stare and feeling… surrender. Jaemin wants this, however Jeno is willing to go about it, and the bobbing of Jeno’s throat keeps him from thinking too much about what that means.

“Lucky for you, I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” Jaemin finally answers, putting on his best coy smile to convey sheepishness. He’s not actually embarrassed, never about things such as these, but he is curious where this endeavor will lead them, and he also can’t believe it’s really about to happen.

The moment between them sways and constricts, like an old ship on unsteady water, worn wood contracting with the waves. If there were ever a time to be indulgent in the intricacies of human experience, Jaemin thinks that time is now, and he gives himself over to the inevitable just as Jeno takes a telling step forward. It’s impossible to know who leans in first, maybe they both do, but none of it matters when Jaemin feels a warm pair of lips against his own, tasting chocolate and coffee and hints of things unspoken.

Jeno kisses like a man deprived of earthly pleasures, hands gripping Jaemin’s jaw and encircling his waist, fingertips pressing so hard into fair skin that he’s sure to bruise. The thought is exhilarating, and Jaemin only becomes that much more fascinated by the man with warm eyes and a tired smile, rage and resistance teeming off of him like billowing smoke. The tendrils suffocate Jaemin, his lips parting to easily invite Jeno into his mouth, tongues tasting and clashing before Jaemin is giving up all too easily. He doesn’t want to fight against Jeno, because he’s been fighting against him for days, begging his magic to finally capture the only thing he can dream about when he closes his eyes. Jaemin’s every wandering thought is plagued by Jeno, infiltrated by his inability to be broken, and somewhere along the way Jaemin has become cracked and unsightly, the embodiment of everything he seeks to consume in others.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this,” Jeno pants into Jaemin’s mouth, blunt teeth tugging on his bottom lip with just enough force to make Jaemin whimper, the pleasurable burning of pain slithering down Jaemin’s spine with a promise of more. “Please tell me it wasn’t in my head.”

Even without the magic, Jeno sounds possessed, fucking starving and looking to Jaemin to end his hunger. Never in his many years of being alive has Jaemin blinked into a wondering stare and seen himself reflected back, and Jaemin’s entire body shivers with the realization that he has been handed his karmic equal.

“No, it’s not.” Jaemin shakes his head, already struggling for breath when Jeno’s forehead presses to his own, burning fingers already finding the soft flesh at his waist. “If it is then I’m crazy too.”

Jeno laughs at this, something dripping with realized irony and delicious defeat. They both know that this is bordering on crazy, that the static tumbling off of their skin like sparks across oil is not normal, but neither can deny that it feels good. “Can I take you to my room?”

What a lovely offer, like a demon offering to take your soul. Jaemin has made this offer many times, has kissed it into twitching ears and whispered it into dark corners. Those were made with the promise of death, and Jeno hands it to him with a hope of forever.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Jaemin settles on answering, nearly collapsing like a rag doll when Jeno’s already painful grip tightens at his words. They could very well tear each other apart, fight for the chance to rip out each other’s throats or race to break the most bones. Jaemin can feel that there is restraint here, the unwillingness to go too far, so he takes it upon himself to let Jeno guide those limits, trusting this mortal with all his thousands of years. 

Jeno’s hands slide down his body with purpose, a pointed nose nuzzling in Jaemin’s chest just long enough to grip onto his thighs. It catches him off guard, suddenly being lifted from the ground and only saved by his hands gripping Jeno’s shoulders. Jaemin looks down to meet Jeno’s gaze, finding a dazed expression that is focused only on his lips. It’s nice to feel so desired, to be wanted so fully without the assistance of a spell, and Jaemin hopes so secretly within himself that he will not get addicted. 

The bruising kisses don’t seem to ever have an end as Jeno carries Jaemin through the small apartment, the smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the cotton sheets that find Jaemin’s body before his senses do. In fact, sense is just about the furthest thing from Jaemin’s mind when Jeno blankets him like an omen, shoes being clumsily kicked off the edge of the bed as his jacket is nearly torn in desperation. Jeno is greedy and lively and forceful in all the right ways, pinning Jaemin’s arms down to tug off his jeans, shoving him back into the mattress after removing his shirt. Jaemin leans into every order, raising his hips and biting his tongue and ignoring the tingling beneath his skin at how strange it feels to be told what to do. Jaemin isn’t afraid of being fucked, his demon pride entirely unscathed and his excitement never dwindling, but it does feel surreal to not be in control of every little thing. Jaemin had always thought that if he ever did let someone fuck him again, it would be with him riding them until their eyes rolled back into their head, taunting how pathetic they are and leaving imprints of his nails on their chest.

Even in that daydream, Jaemin had control, but now he lays beneath Jeno, bare and vulnerable, and it’s the most gratifyingly odd pleasure he’s ever known. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Jeno comments under his breath as if he doesn’t intend for Jaemin to hear it, his fingers much more gentle as they run down the length of his side, tracing the swell of Jaemin’s hip and making his thigh twitch. The gentle touches are almost worse, because at least when Jeno is manhandling him he has something to focus on. Softness breeds a wandering mind, and God does Jaemin’s travel so very far away. “But I think you know that.”

Jaemin’s eyes flutter closed when a gentle kiss is pressed to his jaw, spit coating his skin as Jeno’s lips drag down his neck, kissing across the expanse of his throat as if to trace a dotted line to slice through. He’s said it a million times before that he is not a monster, and Jaemin has no wish to maim or destroy, but Jeno instills a need to be reduced to flesh and bone beneath him. Jeno nips at his sensitive skin, sucking a harsh bruise just above his collarbone that feels close to drawing blood. Small sounds of pained euphoria escape Jaemin in quiet pants as he claws at the sheets, senses heightened beyond his comprehension from nothing more than a little kissing. 

“Jeno, I—”

“You what, hm?” Jeno interrupts Jaemin before he can even breathe, his nose nuzzling along the thrumming vein in Jaemin’s neck as if he can sense it beating. For once, Jaemin is not the predator, and he has to let himself be carried by each surprise that Jeno throws his way like rogue waves on a shore. “Be patient, Jaemin. You’ve been eye fucking me for weeks, I think you can take it for a few minutes.”

Patient. Patient. Patient. 

Jaemin repeats it once more, letting it drown out Jeno’s words for fear of what they will do to him. He knows that mortals are not entirely stupid, and if there is something in Jeno that makes him even more special than the rest, then it would stand to reason that he has been observing Jaemin just as much. Jaemin has never been careful or subtle about his wants, openly sharing his desire like a gift bestowed upon the world. Jeno has been the first man to not fall victim to his tricks in this sleepy town that’s overrun with monsters, but clearly he is entrapped in other ways. If Jeno has noticed how badly Jaemin has been wanting to win him over, then of course he is frustrated and at his wits end, because Jaemin was nearly at his breaking point too. 

“Good… good,” Jeno murmurs into his neck, his body sliding lower down the bed to settle between Jaemin’s thighs, kissing down the length of his sternum as he goes. A pointed tongue flicks against Jaemin’s right nipple teasingly, only barely making him twitch, and Jeno doesn’t seem very satisfied with that. He goes to the left, but this time Jeno flattens his tongue against the taut bud, licking over it as if Jaemin were coated in sweetness, and his entire body tenses at the feeling.

Something about the way Jeno commands the situation makes Jaemin feel as if he can melt back into the mattress, completely at his mercy and unafraid of the consequences. Every hair on his arms turns up in goosebumps as Jeno nips at the softness of his stomach, strong hands squeezing his thighs to keep them apart. Jaemin wonders if he should be more unsure, less comfortable, but comfort is all he feels when Jeno’s warm breath ghosts over his already swelling cock, the most shameless part about Jaemin that reacts to Jeno as if they’ve known each other for years. If it were any other man, any other mortal, Jaemin might be embarrassed or annoyed, but Jeno makes him feel something he didn’t even know he could feel.

Overwhelming and undeniable submission floods every one of Jaemin’s veins when Jeno’s lips wrap around the head of his cock without warning, Jaemin’s back arching from the bed just enough to earn him a stern push back down. Jeno’s hand stays splayed and insistent across his stomach, holding Jaemin down and only making him want to squirm more. 

“You know, it’s really not fair,” Jeno mutters under his breath, sounding dazed as his tongue flicks at the slit of Jaemin’s cock, earning him another small twitch. “It’s not fair that you smell so good and feel so soft and fall apart like you were born for it.” Another lick, but this one is followed by a searing warmth that Jaemin feels in his stomach, teasing fingers slipping around him before guiding the head of his cock into Jeno’s mouth.

Jaemin practically mewls at the feeling, ignoring the words that almost seem like jabs at his nature, forcing him to accept that he wants nothing more than to fall apart. It feels like being dipped in oil and lit on fire, Jeno’s skilled tongue swirling around his cock as he bobs his head slowly, entirely unphased while taking Jaemin deeper and deeper. Little jolts of curious pleasure skitter across Jaemin’s skin, teasing at his most sensitive insecurities as he melts for Jeno with each passing second. Never has Jaemin been at someone else’s mercy, so willing to be devoured and destroyed and built back up to repeat it all over again. 

Perhaps this is all just a fluke, a hoax, and Jaemin will wake up to Jeno begging to fuck him with teary eyes and flushed cheeks. But for tonight it is all too real, visceral surges of searing heat consuming Jaemin from the inside out. 

“Fuck, Jeno—” Jaemin pants as one of his hands finds its way to Jeno’s hair, the other still tearing at sheets that are not his own. Being alive as long as he has, Jaemin has experienced many blowjobs, but nothing quite like this, with spit dribbling down the sides of Jeno’s mouth, messy and sloppy and fucking perfect. For once Jeno doesn’t stop his touching, doesn’t pull his hand away to pin it to the bed, and Jaemin can’t help but lift his head just enough to peek at the lewd sensations he’s feeling. It’s a fucking sight to behold, an obscenity of pure bliss, and Jaemin doesn’t regret any of the frustrating events leading up to this very moment. 

If Jeno is immune, so be it, he will deal with the consequences of what that means at a later date. Mortals are always so concerned with fuck, be seen, fuck again, and Jaemin can’t be blamed for falling into the habits of man when they surround him like locusts. Jeno sucks him off with an untamed eagerness, his hands digging into the flesh of Jaemin’s thighs to keep him spread. It feels… it feels like too much, like stepping on hot coals then jumping into snow. Too many sensations cluster together until Jaemin can’t tell which is pleasure and which is the overwhelming need for more. Never has Jaemin been an easily satiated creature, but Jeno makes him feel inclined to wait, wanting nothing more than to earn his rewards like a bird with fallen breadcrumbs.

“Jaemin,” Jeno says in a small gasp, his hand pumping up and down the length of his cock as he tries to catch his breath, not giving Jaemin a chance to properly acknowledge him. “I’m gonna stretch you open now, okay?”

A noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze escapes Jaemin, his fingers flexing in Jeno’s hair to let him know that he understands. Jeno’s demeanor gives him whiplash, a strange middle ground between firm and careful, aggressive but kind. It’s clear that Jeno wants this to be good for Jaemin, and in turn Jaemin will do what is asked of him, finding that warm buzz only growing when Jeno leaves a small kiss to the tip of his cock before letting it slap against his stomach once more. 

“I don’t have lube, sorry,” Jeno mutters while pushing Jaemin’s thighs somehow further apart, making him feel exposed and undeniably hot if the way Jeno stares at his fluttering hole is anything to go by. Despite the position, Jaemin has taken it upon himself to watch for as long as he can, holding himself up on his elbows to witness as Jeno kisses at his inner thighs, leaving teasing licks in his wake to let it be known what his intentions are. 

“I’d let you fuck me dry if you were into that,” Jaemin says as his eyes flutter against his will, remaining up right even as Jeno’s fingers travel up and down his thighs, thumbs getting closer and closer to the swell of his ass each time. Jeno chuckles darkly as he dips down for another teasing lick, this one prodding at Jaemin’s perineum, and his head drops back between his shoulders with a blissful sigh.

Jeno doesn’t say anything more to Jaemin’s quip, seemingly lost in his task of pulling Jaemin apart. He likes to think about what Jeno must be seeing from his perspective, having no idea that Jaemin is capable of things beyond any human possibilities. All Jeno has seen of Jaemin is that he is a man who owns a bakery that harbors flirting eyes and teasing smiles. Jeno has fallen susceptible to a crush on a local, seemingly harmless, perhaps a little exciting, and only Jaemin is aware of how truly unimaginable this all is.

The slick sound of Jeno’s spit on his own fingers drags Jaemin from his thoughts, realizing perhaps a second too late that his thighs are already trembling from Jeno’s once wandering tongue. Jaemin’s elbows have slid down the bed again, leaving him on his back and writhing for more, Jeno doing nothing to soothe his silent pleas by holding him down with one hand. This mortal is so strong it makes Jaemin’s head spin, harboring bulging muscles under his t-shirt he only barely got to admire before being thrown into pleasure. 

Jeno seems intent on tossing him further out to sea, and Jaemin receives no warning before two slick and eager fingers are slipping past his puckered entrance, stealing his remaining ability to think any rational thought.

“Oh— oh,” Jaemin groans as the stretch shoots up his pine, a subtle pain that is eased only by Jeno murmuring nonsense into his lower stomach. Even amongst the filth, Jeno is incessant in his need to be close, to feel things with every inch of his body that can reach. It’s endearing and familiar in a way that Jaemin has felt often since being approached by Jeno at the party only hours ago, an unspoken understanding that Jaemin recognized even in the bakery. Jeno may be searching for something inside of Jaemin, or maybe it’s the incubus that feels lost in the dark, but the end result is all the same.

Jeno fucks Jaemin with his fingers as if it’s the real thing, testing what angles Jaemin likes and humming in delight when he finds just the right rhythm. Jaemin wishes he had the strength to observe the hungry creature, wanting nothing more than to watch this moment from above like some perverted angel. There’s nothing Jeno is doing that Jaemin doesn’t also do well, but to experience them is much different than executing them, and Jaemin is relieved and turned on beyond belief that Jeno is the one performing them on him. 

“You weren’t lying about hoping to see me,” Jeno mutters in his deep voice, the gravelly tone sending little butterflies around Jaemin’s stomach, like he’s a young demon still learning about the wonders of the human soul. He remembers first learning about what he was, coming of age and having to take a life for the first time. Incubi are born of human wombs from other incubi, and often they are raised by their demon parent, stolen from the human if they even survive. Jaemin was raised by his human mother until he was 16, living in a small village with only a weakly willed wooden roof over his head. His father found him just before his coming of age, came back for him, really, and Jaemin will never forget how it felt to learn that he wasn’t crazy.

Madness can drive anyone to do unnecessary things, things born of boredom or frustration or for the need to prove yourself wrong. Jaemin is not a monster, but he used to be, and the burning need that courses through his veins makes him feel as if he could become one again. He will never tell Jeno that the reason it feels as if he has prepped is because his body is designed for sex, and he will never let Jeno understand the mechanisms behind their original interactions. Jaemin will let Jeno believe that this is all an organic meeting of two men found in unlikely circumstances, and Jeno will fuck him with the peace that his life does not depend on showing Jaemin a good time.

“I’m ready, please,” Jaemin pants between ragged breaths, his chest already tingling from the inability to properly intake oxygen. Never has he been made to feel this weightless during sex, as if all of the tension has been stolen from his limbs and replaced with jelly. Jaemin’s knees are weak, legs trying to bend and squirm against the sheets but reduced to nothing but trembling flesh. His cock is leaking precome onto his stomach, the pearly liquid pooling into his belly button. A part of Jaemin wants Jeno to lick it up like a kitten with milk, but he hardly has the faculties to ask for such a thing, and he thinks Jeno might like it too much.

With a lewd shlick and low hum of satisfaction from Jeno still nestled happily between his thighs, Jaemin’s toes curl when Jeno’s fingers finally slip out of him, still coated in whatever extra saliva Jeno has spit onto them while stretching Jaemin open. “You’re ready, hm?” Jeno asks with a hint of teasing in his voice, Jaemin’s skin twitching when blunt teeth scrape against his inner thigh, followed immediately after with a loss of warmth.

Jaemin blinks his eyes open, realizing that they’re bleary and strained as he looks up to see Jeno now hovering above him, clothes still on and cheeks flushed red. He’s a fucking dream, a hallucination of the cruelest kind, because Jaemin can feel him.

Oh yes, Jaemin can feel him, his hands rising on their own accord to grip Jeno’s bulging biceps, the fabric of his black t-shirt acting as if it wants to burst at the seams. Even this subtle display of dominance is fascinating to Jaemin, because it is a tactic he has used often. It’s a fun sort of humiliation for the meals he’s indulged in, making them feel like they have something to prove when Jaemin won’t even bother undressing. Perhaps it’s one of his more cruel and animalistic tendencies, but clearly it is a mortal enjoyment too, so Jaemin doesn’t let the thought fester. 

“Think you can be patient just a little bit longer?” Jeno tells more than asks, his eyes glimmering with a promise when Jaemin nods right away. His original promise is yet to be broken, because Jaemin quite likes the feeling of melting back into the soft mattress once more, his arms dropping to frame his head rather than hold Jeno as an anchor. 

Jeno slips off the bed with a gracefulness that Jaemin admires, all strong limbs and Grecian bone structure. Jaemin was born much after the height of ancient Greece, but he understands it’s beauty, and Jeno is a God worthy of worship and scented oils as he lifts his shirt over his head, tossing the measly fabric to the floor to join Jaemin’s lost clothing. Skilled fingers unbutton his jeans, the sound of a zipper coming not a second later that Jaemin nearly misses, far too focused on the miles of tanned and taut skin that’s just been handed to his gaze like a gift.

Jaemin has seen many detective movies in his life, all full of romanticized middle aged men in trench coats and harboring unresolved childhood trauma. Never has the concept quite intrigued him before like it does now, the air of mystery that Jeno blankets himself in becoming the only thing that Jaemin cares about. He wants to unravel the man, beyond just the jeans and tight black boxer-briefs that are pushed to the floor without shame. Jeno knows there are eyes on him, and when he’s finally standing up straight once more, he stands at the end of the bed just long enough to allow Jaemin to take all of him in.

And fuck, Jaemin can’t believe he almost convinced himself to give up on him.

Jeno is muscle from the neck down, his arms corded with veins like vines covering an old building, legs strong and lean as he kneels back down onto the bed, blanketing Jaemin’s body with his own. Even as Jeno leans over to rummage around in the bedside table, Jaemin’s eyes are glued to the flexing muscle moving beneath Jeno’s skin like a parasite, his waist small and shoulders broad. 

In all of his years, Jaemin doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more fucking stunning, a body worthy only for him and his eyes, because he understands the physical beauty better than anyone else could. Humans may be his food, but he respects them more than he’d ever be willing to admit, finding their odds and ends to be endearing when they’re in his bed. Jeno is not just odds and ends, but ancient antiquities glittering with gold leaf, his head practically haloed with light when Jaemin finally looks up to meet his gaze.

There’s a crinkling next to his ear, and Jaemin knows that Jeno has procured a condom from wherever he was digging around. Jaemin has half the mind to tell Jeno to forgo the protection altogether, because he can not be diseased after all, but the risk is definitely not worth the reward he will receive for enduring the slide of rubber rather than the texture of Jeno’s veiny and bulging cock.

How silly of Jaemin to not have noticed it until now, too distracted by every other perfect inch of Jeno. Of course his cock is perfect too, just thick enough and harboring matching veins to his pretty hands. The head is pink and leaking precome, and Jaemin thinks he’ll die if it’s not inside of him right now.

Jeno seems to share such sentiments, leaning back just enough on his knees to rip the condom open, sliding it on with practiced ease that excites Jaemin. Sometimes humans can be nervous or unsure during “hookups”, as they call them, many of Jaemin’s feedings only ending successfully because he was leading the interaction. Jaemin must admit it feels like a massive weight lifted from his shoulders to be in bed with someone who also knows what they are doing, and who isn’t afraid to convince Jaemin of such a thing.

Jeno is entirely comfortable, calm, stroking his cock a few times once the condom is on. presumably to take some of the edge off. Their bodies come together once more, easily but with enough buzzing anticipation to start a wildfire, and Jaemin’s needy hands find their way to Jeno’s strong shoulders. Unlike the other times, Jeno lets him, and Jaemin’s chest rises with a slow breath. 

The first press of Jeno’s cock is gentle, which surprises Jaemin, because Jeno hasn’t exactly been gentle since this endeavor began. He pushes into Jaemin’s body with care, slowly but not with fear, as if he has already learned the intricacies of Jaemin’s body. The thought is… pleasant, terrifying, but Jaemin welcomes only the pleasure, his fingers tangling in Jeno’s hair to keep himself grounded to earth. He is a sex demon, that much is true, but it has definitely been a very long time since anyone has been inside of him, and that still takes some adjustment.

“You really are perfect, aren’t you?” Jeno asks in a daze, nuzzling against Jaemin’s cheek and leaving light kisses to his jaw. The affection is nice even if it is new, and Jaemin thinks he could get used to things such as tenderness. “So fucking warm, so tight.”

Jaemin feels his body react to Jeno’s praising words, his insides tightening and squeezing when Jeno finally bottoms out, sharp hips meeting the plush of Jaemin’s thighs. It’s still strange, still unlike anything Jaemin has ever experienced before, but he’s already damned to a hell he knows nothing about, so fear is the furthest thing from his mind.

He wants to enjoy this for whatever it is, even if the sun comes up and shrivels them to biblical ash, Jaemin wants to experience mortality for just one evening. A life of constant taking and taking and taking can wear on anybody, and Jaemin lets himself be taken with the first rock of Jeno’s hips, giving himself over to the soft moan that escapes past his already raw and bitten lips. Jeno steals even the sound from him, already staking a claim on Jaemin that he revels in surrendering to. Their lips meld together in a kiss that reeks of desperation, small waves of euphoria washing over Jaemin’s body with the first shallow thrust.

He hums into the kiss, mewling sharply when Jeno nips at his bottom lip, tugging the sensitive flesh before soothing it with a kittenish lick. Jeno is full of as many juxtaposing edges as Jaemin, his own messy constellation of paint splatters that don’t make nearly enough sense. It’s as absurd as everything else, but Jaemin lets himself believe he could keep Jeno, the slowly building rhythm of Jeno’s hips egging Jaemin’s irrationality on. 

Patient. Patient. Patient.

Jeno had been telling him to be patient, to wait and to receive. It’s not hard for Jaemin to sit by idly and wait for things to come his way, but with Jeno it feels impossible. Whatever it is that shields Jeno from Jaemin’s magic somehow brings them closer in other ways, preventing Jaemin from hiding behind his own concrete walls. Messy and creaking sounds of the bed begin filling the room as Jeno fucks him, their kiss becoming uncoordinated and sloppy. Ragged breath is exchanged between them while the atmosphere builds with a suffocating pressure, each passing second growing more intense than the last.

Jaemin wonders amongst the bursts of stars behind his eyes what his humans must feel when he fucks them, how much pleasure they must receive to cry on his cock until they’re soaking his sheets with sweat. Tears prick in his own eyes when Jeno’s fingers dig into his thigh, the stretch on his limbs becoming taxing but oh-so-worth-it as Jeno fucks him deeper, faster.

Jaemin never has to ask for Jeno to adjust, to speed up or slow down. Jeno alternates between thrusting with controlled and deep strokes to pounding into Jaemin until the room is nothing but lewd slaps of skin against skin. Every second of it is a new sensation, Jaemin’s insides turning to syrupy honey as flames lick across his skin, pleasure burning into every inch of him. The sheets of Jeno’s bed are soft, the smell of cigarettes still lingering amongst the saltiness of sweat and sweetness of tears. Jaemin really is crying, wetness streaming down his cheeks that Jeno kisses away, licking the stray droplets from his neck like a dripping popsicle. 

It’s perfect in all the ways that Jaemin has not been allowed to experience simplicity, the joining of two bodies into something blissful and void of physical consequences. When all is said and done, Jeno will be unharmed, and Jaemin’s sore muscles will soothe over by morning. The only thing that binds them to this very moment is the desire to bathe in it, their spit-slick lips and wandering hands belonging to nothing but the next need to feel and be felt. There is no painful release of energy, no excruciatingly tight grasp on his insides as the pressure becomes serenely unbearable. Jaemin can only not bear it because it feels so euphoric, his brain buzzing so loudly it drowns out Jeno’s deep grunts against his jaw, his own moans turning to nothing but whispers in the dark room.

It doesn’t crash or crescendo, doesn’t tatter or destroy. Jaemin feels his high crawling up his limbs, his cock twitching pathetically against his stomach as Jeno fucks into all the right places. Nonsensical words are muttered against Jaemin’s ear when Jeno’s hips stutter, his rhythm faltering but never losing strength. What Jeno begins to lack in tact he makes up for in eagerness, and when a calloused hand slips between their bodies to grasp his aching cock, Jaemin’s body sings.

He comes with a broken and pitched mewl, a slurred and butchered attempt at Jeno’s name slipping from his throat as Jeno fucks him through it. Jaemin bathes in every sonorous noise that itches places he has never known needed scratched, Jeno groaning into his ears as their limbs cling to each other for dear life. The moment bleeds and shutters, like a wound spilling flesh blood, and Jaemin’s back arches into Jeno’s safe and warm chest, feeling shaky yet sure fingers digging into his hips. 

Warmth fills Jaemin to the brim, intoxicating pleasure coating his tongue when Jeno kisses him for the hundredth time, stealing what remains of his breathless moans. The deep thrusts don’t stop, but they do slow to an agonizing crawl, Jeno grunting against his lips like it pains him to do so. This mortal seems to chase things he can not take, but Jaemin will indulge his madness, if only to witness the beauty of his limits.

The once obscene and wet sounds of the room die to mumbled whispers, Jeno muttering praise into Jaemin’s sweaty hair as their bodies finally still. The skin of their chests stick to each other through each bated breath, and Jaemin feels, for the first time in so long, utterly satisfied.

🍰 

If Jaemin is surprised to have Jeno ready for a second round only an hour later, then he doesn’t voice it, because he doesn’t really know if he is actually surprised. Jeno is clearly attracted to him, desiring of Jaemin in whatever ways he sees him, but it’s another first that sticks to Jaemin like static.

He was too tired after their first time, Jeno sweet enough to clean up and wipe him down before cuddling up next to him in bed. Never has Jaemin really been cuddled after sex, but the closeness is nice, the rise and fall of Jeno’s chest against his back like a lullaby that is so ancient it speaks. Everything is nice, and sweet, and good, but when Jaemin is finally laying in bed, awake and staring at the ceiling as if it will crack open and reveal to him the solution of all of this, Jaemin wonders if he is in over his head.

For thousands of years he has never second guessed himself, willing to accept his misdeeds and knowing when things are not worth his time. Jaemin has perfectly crafted a life filled with forgiveness of oneself and embracing of others, never needing to have the last word or the final punch or the satisfaction of ending things he did not start. Simplicity has been his motto for at least the last 700 years, and it has served him well. 

But this… this is something Jaemin didn’t see coming, at least not in this way. Jaemin had been hoping to get Jeno in his bed for days, weeks, and nothing ever came of it. Now that it has, Jaemin can’t seem to let go of how it had happened, and he replays everything that has gone wrong like a broken record in his head. 

Reality hits Jaemin as an all consuming tidal wave, drowning him in distress and discomfort and a mind-numbing confusion that glues itself to his skin. Everything that has just transpired has been perfect, euphoric even, but Jaemin is settling into his own insecurities, no longer blinded by hormones and orgasms. If Jeno is immune, then Jaemin needs to fix it, because this is not what he does.

Jaemin does not let himself be so vulnerable, does not allow others to bruise him or bite him or throw him around. Jeno has been given exceptions so beyond the realm of what is his normal that Jaemin is beginning to fester with emotions that turn as sour as a grape in the sun, fermented wine replacing the once sweet taste in his mouth.

This can’t go on, no matter how nice it is, no matter how badly Jaemin wishes it could. He has to try, at least one more time, or else the guilt will eat away at him until he’s nothing more than stubs of bone. Jeno is a meal. Jeno is a meal. Jeno is a meal. He repeats it to himself over and over again, trying to convince himself as earnestly as the first time that it’s true even with Jeno’s fingers intertwined with his own. Maybe it won’t be today, or tomorrow, or months from now when Jeno is safe in his bed all the way in the city, but Jaemin will not let him go—not ever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

hello ! thank u much for reading this wild ride. these characters gave me a HARD TIME !! bc jaemin had been so developed in my brain that he just… kept having things to say. towards the end i was beginning to resent him, but i think his journey with jeno will be worth it …. 😃

as always, comments and kudos are much appreciated, this is definitely a fic of mine i could talk about forever ❤️ ily all