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They say that for banryu, it’s common to fall in love at first sight. That instinct will drive them to find the one who’s suited for them, who completes them. That he’ll be able to find them by scent alone, drawn together by an unknowable force. Sungchan’s heard this parroted at him throughout his life, from when he was just a child wondering how his parents met, to now, twenty-one and being forced to attend marriage talks every weekend.
You’re the one who will know if they’re right for you,, his mother reminds him before each meeting, and he wonders idly who it’ll be this time, if his parents are prioritizing prestige or procreation— a heavy-seed snake, maybe, or a light-seed canine. As a heavy-seed deer, he’s not hurting for suitors, but if he’s being honest, the candidates his parents have been largely forgettable, faces and backgrounds all blurring into one another. He hasn’t felt that spark, that something yet, and he wonders if he ever will.
Sungchan pulls an envelope out from his pocket, opening it to reveal the contents inside. Today’s candidate is a heavy-seed feline, the son of restaurateurs. There’s a photograph and a brief biography attached to the letter, and Sungchan studies it before slipping it back into his jacket. The hotel façade looms large over him, and Sungchan takes a steadying breath before he steps through the gilded double doors.
Eunseok texts him first.
how was it? Eunseok asks, and Sungchan suppresses a grimace.
It was ok, just not the one for me, Sungchan replies, not untruthfully. Not going to lie, pretty sure he felt the same way.
hmm. well, ok then, Eunseok says. dance department seniors are having a thing tonight. anyone can come we’re just grabbing chimaek and nrb after. wanna come?
Okay. Where?
i’ll text u later, the goal is for u to either get drunk off ur ass or find the love of ur life. u can thank me in ur wedding speech
It’s loud inside the restaurant, the din nearly deafening when Sungchan steps inside. It’s easy enough to spot his classmates— they’re a sizeable group, everyone huddled over four tables all pushed together. Sungchan’s only met a few of them before, his old teammates from back when he used to join them for dance practice as a way to stay fit. Eunseok is sitting at the very end of the tables, far from where most of the other guys are, and he waves Sungchan over.
“That bad? You look like shit,” Eunseok says as Sungchan sits down next to him. Sungchan narrows his eyes at him. Eunseok’s tone is sympathetic, but his eyes are dancing in mirth. Traitor. “Hey, don’t look at me like that, I’m not the one forcing you to go to marriage talks every other week.”
“Yeah, and why aren’t you?” Sungchan hisses, low under his breath. “I don’t think I’ve heard a single thing from Uncle and Auntie about you.”
Eunseok shrugs. “My brother’s too young right now, they probably don’t want to deal with babysitting grandkids yet. Like it’ll be kind of weird if he becomes an uncle at ten.”
Sungchan pretends to gag. “That’s disgusting, I don’t—”
Whatever was next on the tip of his tongue dissipates when the door swings open, the bells jangling. Sungchan can feel it in his bones, the way the temperature inside seems to change, the way the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. It’s a strange feeling, a curious feeling, something he’s never experienced before. Sungchan’s attention follows, unconscious, as the newcomer makes his way over to their table.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” he says, taking a seat across from Sungchan, his attention directed at the others. “Did you already order?”
“Yeah, we just ordered for the table,” Eunseok says. He nudges Sungchan, who’s still dazed, staring blankly at the man in front of him. “This is Shotaro-hyung, one of the dance seniors. Sungchan, say hi.”
“Well, I’m not really in the dance department, I just help out. I’m actually studying econ.” For a second, something in the air shimmers, shifts, and Shotaro disappears, replaced by the image of— an animal? Something small, something brown, something very decidedly not human. Sungchan blinks, and then Shotaro’s back to normal, sitting on the cushion on the ground, hands folded in his lap. “Is there something wrong?”
“I—” Sungchan starts, then shakes his head. He already knows. There’s no point in asking him the things he wants to, at least not in public as they are now. “No, it’s nothing. I’m Sungchan, Eunseok’s friend. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Shotaro says. He hums under his breath, and Sungchan wonders briefly if it was just him, if only he had experienced that fleeting feeling. There isn’t much time for conversation after that, when they bring out the food and the drinks and Eunseok shoves a can of Hite in his hands. Even with his mouth full of chicken, the question is still heavy on his tongue, and Sungchan nearly starts to think he’d hallucinated it all when Shotaro, in the middle of talking to one of the other seniors, looks back at Sungchan and winks. Another ripple in the air, and then it’s there, a pair of small brown ears perched on the crown of Shotaro’s head, a pointed tail whipping behind him.
Banryu, Sungchan thinks, nearly deliriously. He can’t drag his gaze away, not when it’s like he’s been magnetized, forced to face in just one direction forever. He knows Eunseok is giving him the mother of all dirty looks right now, something along the lines of I brought you here to hang out with normal people in a normal way, and you’ve managed to make a fool of yourself within the first thirty seconds, good job, but he can’t quite bring himself to care, not when he’s finally found him, his person. The one that’s made for me.
“Did you know? That he was banryu?” Sungchan asks Eunseok later, outside. The air is cool on his overheated face, and whether it’s due to the four cans of beer he had pressed into his hands or the whole just found my mate over chicken and beer! situation he doesn’t quite know. He must look a mess regardless, stumbling out of a bar on a Saturday night, face in his hands, flushed beyond all recognition. “I looked so stupid.”
“Yeah, he’s kind of too cool for you, so…”
Sungchan gives Eunseok as best of a glare as he can muster, and he knows it’s failed when Eunseok just laughs.
“Of course I knew. I just didn’t know it’d end up like that. Remember to name your first baby after me, yeah? Or all of them, I have a few ideas in mind.”
“Fuck off,” Sungchan says before he notices Eunseok’s gaze sliding off to the side, behind him.
“So I’m going to just give you two some space now,” Eunseok says before he disappears and Sungchan feels a hand clamp onto his elbow, hard, before he’s spun around and he looks down— down! his stupid good-for-nothing heavy-seed hindbrain chirps at him, reveling in the height difference— into Shotaro’s smiling eyes.
“Sungchan, right?” Shotaro says, and without waiting for a response, he barrels on. “I wonder where Eunseok was hiding you away from me all this time.” He slinks closer, sinuous, and Sungchan wonders for half a second if he’s a snake-type banryu instead; if mammal-types can move like that. “Wanna skip noraebang with me?”
Yes, is Sungchan’s immediate thought, replaced immediately by a twinge of guilt. Momentary, for even entertaining it. Because he can’t just ditch Eunseok like that— can he?
And Shotaro doesn’t blink at all while Sungchan’s brain whirs into overdrive, his gaze fixed intently on Sungchan’s face. Like he’s reading Sungchan’s mind, Shotaro says, “Eunseok told me earlier he’s not going to noraebang. He’s playing League with some junior of his tonight.”
“Oh,” Sungchan says, very intelligently, and he grabs Shotaro's hand. “Well then, lead the way.”
Sungchan’s halfway through taking off his shoes in the doorway when Shotaro pounces. He doesn’t expect it, the wind knocked out of him as Shotaro pins him to the door. Like this, with the door locked and Sungchan’s back against the door, all he can see are Shotaro’s bright eyes, lit up by the scant moonlight filtering in through the blinds.
“Hi,” Shotaro says, tracing a finger down Sungchan’s chest. Sungchan shivers— fire arcs across his skin, following the path of Shotaro’s movements. Shotaro’s a warm weight on his thighs, his scent intensifying by the second. Sungchan swallows. Shotaro leans in, forehead against Sungchan’s. It’s intoxicating, the scent— something spicy, something woody, something floral. “I never found out what you were.”
“Deer. Heavy seed,” Sungchan replies, his gaze fixed on the way Shotaro’s tongue flicks across his lower lip. “You?”
“You’ll find out in the morning.” Shotaro smiles, all teeth, and then he leans down. His lips are soft and plush and taste faintly of mint, and Sungchan nips at them, making Shotaro open up. He tastes like soju, the alcohol warm on his tongue. Sungchan licks across Shotaro’s teeth, and Shotaro smiles against his lips. Sungchan’s half hard now, straining against his jeans, and he wants. Wants to sink his teeth into Shotaro’s neck, wants to bury himself deep inside Shotaro’s body, wants.
“Bed,” Sungchan pulls away long enough to mumble, and he can’t even begin to explain it, how electric he feels, like a live current is dancing on his skin. Shotaro scrambles off of him before he ducks, and Sungchan is about to say something like hey, I’m up here before he realizes Shotaro’s fiddling with his shoelaces, slipping his shoe off his foot, and Sungchan wiggles his toes. Warmth blooms in his chest, unbidden, and Shotaro grins up at him after he’s tossed the shoe into some dark shadowy corner of his apartment.
“You’ll have to show me where,” Shotaro says, and he grabs Sungchan’s hand and pulls him upward, and Sungchan stumbles only a little bit once he’s upright. Like this, Sungchan can look down at Shotaro again, and it’s involuntary, really, the way a sort-of feral grin stretches across his face. It would be easy, he thinks, it would be easy. So he does— reaches down, settles his hands on Shotaro’s waist, picks him up. He’s heavier than he looks, but Sungchan doesn’t go to the gym for nothing, and it is easy, the way Shotaro wraps his legs around Sungchan’s waist, his hands settling on Sungchan’s shoulders. Shotaro cocks his head to the side, leaning in. “Has anyone ever told you that you look a little crazy when you smile like that?”
“All the time,” Sungchan replies, automatic, and he’s rewarded with a peck on the corner of his lips.
“I like crazy.” Shotaro nudges at Sungchan’s back with his foot, urging him closer, and it’s another switch that’s been flipped in his brain when he does that— the next thing he knows, he’s stumbling through the hallway, Shotaro’s arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life, before he’s hovering over his own bed, staring down at Shotaro sprawled out over his blankets, wide-eyed.
Sungchan pauses, feeling winded. Breathless, he says, “Is it just me? Why do I feel like—?”
“Oh, it’s not just you,” Shotaro says, honey dripping from each word, and he opens his arms. Sungchan crawls over him, dropping onto him like he’s boneless, his mind swimming. Shotaro’s voice is silk in his ear. “Don’t you see?”
He pulls away, his fingertips on Sungchan’s cheek, and Sungchan follows it, mesmerized. Feels like he’s ten feet underwater at this point, the way he feels all sorts of sloppy-headed, like his body is moving on autopilot without him there. Wants to chase the feeling, this warm body underneath him, pliable and wanting and giving and his.
“It means you’re mine.” A kiss on his lips, sweet, innocent. Then Shotaro drags Sungchan down, legs wrapping around Sungchan’s waist again, rolling his hips in a way that’s anything but. Another kiss, lower, on his neck, the kind that’ll leave a mark tomorrow. Fingers on his collar, unbuttoning it, clumsy, shoving his shirt off his shoulders. “And I’m yours.”
“Fuck,” Sungchan groans, dropping his head into the junction of Shotaro’s shoulder and neck. Can’t help himself from rutting into Shotaro’s warmth, the friction of his jeans against Shotaro’s sweats so unbelievably delicious, and he can’t stop himself, Shotaro’s skin is right there, so he licks at Shotaro’s pulse, making a mental note of how strong it is, how fast it is, before he bites down, then. He feels a wetness in his pants, spreading. “Fuck. I—”
“It’s okay,” Shotaro coos, and then he grabs Sungchan’s hand and sticks it down his pants, between his skin and his underwear, downward past his cock, and Sungchan’s brain just about short-circuits when his fingers come away impossibly wet, sticky. Sungchan stares at his fingers, and some insane impulse overcomes him and then he’s lifting his hand, pressing his fingers to Shotaro’s mouth, just to see, wondering. If. And Shotaro opens his mouth, Sungchan’s fingertips on his plush lips, and he licks Sungchan’s fingers, his tongue sweeping into the vee of Sungchan’s fingers, cleaning them of his own slick.
Sungchan stares up at Shotaro in wonderment, and Shotaro’s eyes are nearly black in the moonlight, his cheeks flushed red and his lips slick with spit and his own come. Presses a kiss, frantic, to Shotaro’s lips before he moves downward, laving over the bite he’d left earlier with some apologetic licks, shoving the collar of Shotaro’s hoodie downward so he can get at his chest before deciding fuck this hoodie and urging Shotaro up so he can pull the damn thing off, and when he’s gotten it up and over his arms and head it’s a veritable feast of bare skin ready to be marked up, and Sungchan runs his hands up and down Shotaro’s sides, marveling.
Shotaro is ticklish. This he learns when he scoots downward, thumbing at his nipples before licking impatient circles around them, taking them into his mouth one by one, sucking. Shotaro bucks against him, whining, and Sungchan presses him back into the bed with his weight, using his body to hold Shotaro down. Then lower, his ribs, his stomach, and Sungchan catalogues each reaction Shotaro makes for future reference, notes the way Shotaro jerks full-bodied when Sungchan licks into his belly button.
Shotaro lifts his hips for Sungchan, his sweatpants slipping off his waist easily, and Sungchan peels them off and tosses them off the bed. And his legs— Sungchan knows he’s drooling, just a little, can feel the saliva in his mouth gathering at the sight. He can’t help it— he shoves Shotaro further up the bed, ducks his head, and bites down into Shotaro’s thigh, the milky skin. Shotaro whines again, high, saying something like Sungchan, wait, please, and Sungchan has always been a good listener, so he stops, blinking up at Shotaro.
“Please, I want you,” Shotaro’s saying, please please please, “Sungchan please fuck me, I need you.”
Sungchan thinks about it, a split-second decision, before he cobbles together enough neurons to say, “Not yet,” and reaches for Shotaro’s underwear. He can see it, the hard line of Shotaro’s cock, blushed red and leaking, and Sungchan hooks his fingers into the panties he’s wearing and pulls it down, letting Shotaro’s cock spring free.
“Oh, baby,” Sungchan says, his vision fixated on the pearly beading at the tip of Shotaro’s cock, deciding against saying anything about the lace, “let me.”
And he’s never done this before, not on anyone else, but he leans in and kisses Shotaro’s cock, licking a stripe up the underside, feeling Shotaro’s thighs tense underneath his hands, knowing he’s close, and Sungchan smiles. He opens his mouth, jaw falling open, lips parting, and then Shotaro’s cock is heavy in his mouth, against his tongue, and he laves at the tip, letting himself drool around it, and when Shotaro’s entire body tenses and his cock twitches once, twice, Sungchan keeps his mouth around it, letting Shotaro come in his mouth, down his throat.
“I told you I wanted you to just fuck me, now look,” Shotaro whines, pushing at Sungchan’s shoulders, and Sungchan lets Shotaro’s soft cock slip out of his mouth, pillowing his head on Shotaro’s thigh. He reaches up, curious, finds Shotaro’s hole wetter than before. Slips his fingers into Shotaro’s hole, one, two, three going in easily, and Shotaro bucks against him, writhing. “Ah— please— please—”
“Okay, baby, I’ll give it to you,” Sungchan pants, pulling his fingers out with a wet pop and scrambles up to his knees, shoving his jeans and boxers off before going back to Shotaro, who’s struggling to get his panties off from where they’re twisted around his ankles. Sungchan watches him, thinks about helping him, and then he decides against it. Shotaro’s an easy target like this, his hole exposed and dripping slick everywhere he moves, and Sungchan crawls over him, taking himself in hand, making his fingers a tight ring around the base. He’s so hard he could die, and it’s only by willing himself to stay that he holds back that building pressure. He leans in, kissing Shotaro deep, letting Shotaro taste himself on Sungchan’s tongue. Presses Shotaro’s knees against his chest, letting his ankles fall limply to one side, trapped underneath Sungchan’s weight.
“You piece of shit,” Shotaro mumbles up at him with no real heat behind it, sounding all sorts of fucked-out already, and Sungchan has just enough time to think, despairingly, that he’s been ruined for anyone else for the rest of his life before he lines himself up at Shotaro’s hole and pushes in.
“Fuck,” he exhales, enveloped by warmth and wet and he pulls back, watching as his cock appears shiny with slick, as Shotaro’s hole flutters uselessly against nothing. Shotaro grabs at his arms, fingers scrabbling for purchase, legs kicking at Sungchan’s side, urging him back in. So he follows, hand on Shotaro’s knees, pressing his legs back down against his chest, his cockhead resting against his hole, and the position is so different now and he’s so much tighter now when Sungchan fucks in, and Shotaro digs his nails into Sungchan’s arm and pushes himself onto Sungchan’s cock, taking him all the way. Sungchan fucks into him, snapping his hips faster, deeper like he can bury himself inside completely, make Shotaro take all of him and more.
Shotaro takes Sungchan’s cock like he was made for it, fucking back against him, meeting Sungchan’s thrusts, clenching down on him. He’s flushed all over, skin shining with sweat, and right now, looking down at him, he’s the most beautiful person Sungchan’s ever known.
“I’m close,” Sungchan pants, bracing himself over Shotaro, pressure coiling in his groin, and Shotaro makes a small sound, fingers digging into Sungchan’s skin. Sungchan thrusts into him, going as deep as he possibly can, feeling Shotaro’s walls closing in on him, and Shotaro moans, high and thin and reedy. “I’m gonna—”
It hits him hard, all the pressure building inside him releasing in a single moment, spilling inside Shotaro’s body, and his vision whites out. Or at least he thinks he does, because when he comes to he’s rutting absentmindedly inside Shotaro still, Shotaro’s walls spasming weakly around him. Shotaro’s staring up at him with hazy, unfocused eyes, and when he notices Sungchan looking at him, he smiles. Reaches up for him, fingers on his jaw, says with a rasp to his voice, “So that was alright.”
“Just alright? Alright?” Sungchan mumbles, and then he can’t meet Shotaro’s eyes anymore. Focuses instead on the sight of Shotaro’s soft cock, the mess on his stomach, the way come spills out of him with every thrust. It’s enough to make his own cock twitch in interest, which he notes absently, a little bit guiltily.
“Yeah,” Shotaro purrs, reaching for Sungchan’s arm, and the next thing Sungchan knows he’s on his back with Shotaro sitting on him, his cock still buried inside, and he settles his hands onto Shotaro’s thighs, admiring them, how soft they are, how the muscle beneath ripples with each small movement. He’s slipped his panties off his ankle, and they’re now bunched up in his hand. Shotaro gives them a long, measured look before he leans over and taps Sungchan’s jaw with his free hand. “Open.”
And really, he should’ve expected it, that there would’ve been some sort of revenge for all the times he went ahead and did whatever he wanted. But when Shotaro stuffs his panties, still damp with his own slick, into Sungchan’s mouth it shoots straight to his cock. The taste on his tongue is warm and heady and so uniquely Shotaro’s, and he wants more. He’s not above begging, and he makes some sort of noise, garbled around the fabric in his mouth, and his hips move automatically, rutting into Shotaro with a renewed excitement.
“What’s that?” Shotaro asks, feigned innocence, and Sungchan drools around the panties, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth. “Are you sure you’re not a little puppy instead?”
Sungchan snaps his hips up, so hard he nearly sends Shotaro tumbling off of him, and that gets Shotaro’s attention, and he leans over and plucks his panties out of Sungchan’s mouth. “What, puppy?”
“Please,” Sungchan warbles out, and he knows he must look a sight, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, drool spilling from his mouth, and Shotaro coos at him before he leans down and kisses Sungchan. It’s open-mouthed and dirty and sloppy, and Sungchan grabs tight onto Shotaro’s hips, fucking into him, moving his cunt up and down as he wants. Shotaro pulls back first, panting, and Sungchan chases after him, dragging him back down, thumbs sweeping over Shotaro’s cheekbones, his jaw, his ears. “I want you— want you on my mouth— my face—”
It takes a second to register, but then Shotaro is clambering off of Sungchan’s cock, leaving him rutting uselessly into the air, his cock red-hard. Shotaro’s hole is glistening wet, shiny with spit and slick and Sungchan’s come, and when he lowers himself onto Sungchan’s face, Sungchan’s hands large on Shotaro’s thighs, holding them open, Sungchan utters a silent prayer before he dives in, his tongue probing into Shotaro’s folds. He laps it up, and Shotaro gets wetter and louder, his juices spurting onto Sungchan’s tongue, and when Sungchan inhales it’s addictive, his scent everywhere. Sucks at Shotaro’s hole, licks along his balls, and he feels it when Shotaro comes, his thighs shaking around Sungchan’s head, his walls pulsating with each wave.
Shotaro collapses on Sungchan, but he’s not quite done yet— it’s easy enough to sit up, to maneuver Shotaro where he wants him. Coaxes him back onto Sungchan’s cock, and he slips into Shotaro’s warmth easily, so hard he could burst when Shotaro’s walls envelop him, and Shotaro moans when he sinks onto it, long and drawn-out, his eyes barely open at this point.
“Oh, kitten,” Sungchan says, and he hugs Shotaro to him, fucking into him at a frenetic pace. He knows he won’t last long, and it’s mere minutes before he comes inside Shotaro’s hole again with a groan, drawing an exhausted sigh from Shotaro, who smiles sleepily into Sungchan’s skin.
“Feels good,” Shotaro murmurs, “inside me.”
Sungchan kisses the top of Shotaro’s head, slipping his cock out of him carefully, and when Sungchan moves to get out of bed it’s with shaking legs that he steps onto the carpet. He laughs under his breath— there’s a joke in here about being a newborn fawn, something stupid, something silly. He reaches for Shotaro, who’s dozed off in bed, carefully curled up on the blankets, and he slots his arm behind Shotaro’s back and underneath his knees and carries him to the bathroom. He’ll tell him about it later.
Morning comes too early. Sungchan squints against the sunlight, feeling oddly bare, which is weird because he doesn’t sleep naked like that, and there’s a half-second of momentary panic before last night comes rushing back to him. He’s sore all over and his thighs burn and he’s pretty sure his cock won’t be the same again, but it’s a good feeling. It’s nice. Then his eyes snap open. He’s alone in bed, the other side of it where he’d carefully tucked Shotaro in last night empty, and it’s with a sinking feeling that he realizes he’s just been left a one night stand.
Sungchan rolls over in bed, already deep into the mourning phase, when he hits something small, something furry, and it squeaks. Gingerly, he pulls back the blanket, and he rubs his eyes to make sure he’s not dreaming. It’s an otter, small and brown, one of the animals he’s only seen in zoos and aquariums and in nature documentaries, lying on the pillow, and as Sungchan watches, it shifts, the air glimmering, and morphs back into Shotaro’s naked body.
He pauses for a moment. Then two. Then he rubs his eyes again, just for good measure, and when he opens them again Shotaro is still there, deep asleep.
There’s a crazy sort of feeling inside him, one that’s threatening to spill over, and Sungchan, with an expression on his face that might make someone think he’s just a touch sick in the head, snuggles back into bed, tugging Shotaro back against him. Shotaro snuffles, and his hair is silky-soft against Sungchan’s nose, and Sungchan thinks to himself that he’ll have to remember to call off next weekend’s marriage meeting. He doesn’t need it anymore.