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Seonghwa is, for all intents and purposes, a regular-ass graduate student. He wakes up around seven every morning and forces himself to power through the early hours by consuming worrying amounts of caffeine. He skims through his inbox and deletes the irrelevant junk. He mists his moss farm and tends to his lone cactus and then catches the train to campus. Before lunch, sometimes, he leads a handful of undergraduate lab courses, during which he draws diagrams on the board and supervises plant experiments and reassures the poor eighteen-year-olds that a seventy-five percent on one exam is not the end of the world.
He eats a packed lunch or buys an overpriced burrito from a location on campus if he’s feeling particularly lazy. In the afternoon, he heads to the lab, where he squints at leaf tissues and writes and writes and writes some more. When he’s feeling sufficiently drained, he takes the train back to his shared apartment with his flatmate, Yeosang.
Yeosang works as an accountant at a firm in the upper district, and has been coming home late recently (due to tax season, or something), so Seonghwa usually ends up putting together dinner on his own. He’ll eat and then store a second portion in the fridge, before retiring to his room, where he’ll read literature if he’s feeling motivated or more often than not simply pull out Animal Crossing.
Monday through Thursday, he goes through his mundane little routine, one he’s starting to get a little tired of. However, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see this degree out until the end.
On Fridays, though, Seonghwa hunts. Because while he is a pretty normal graduate student, he also has the unique pleasure of being part-incubus, and he needs to feed—properly feed—about once per week or he starts feeling a little off.
He enjoys the hunts, though. He usually makes the journey to one of the clubs downtown, where he lures in whatever pretty thing catches his eye. He has different strategies: sometimes, he actively pursues the person of his choosing, while other times all he needs to do is sit there and look delectable before his prey comes to him. He goes over to their place, usually, and gives them the best fuck of their life before slipping out at around three in the morning after he’s gotten his fill. He only ever takes what he needs, leaving his prey intact such that they’ll wake up the next morning perhaps a little exhausted but generally okay. He’s an ethical incubus, if you will.
Yeosang doesn’t question things, thank God. He probably thinks Seonghwa is simply some kind of whore, which isn’t to say that he’s not, but Yeosang never goes further than checking on him the following Saturday to make sure he’s doing alright after his night out.
That’s the deal, and it works out well. Up until Seonghwa starts being careless.
It starts, as many things do, with a single instance. Seonghwa stays in the lab far too late Thursday evening, and come Friday he finds he doesn’t want to do anything at all. Upon his return to the apartment, he collapses into his bed and promptly passes the fuck out; when he wakes up, it’s nine o’clock, which isn’t terribly late. But the thought of putting on makeup, throwing together an outfit, and forcing himself out the door seems daunting. He can’t make himself do it, even though he knows he might regret it.
Instead, he peeks into the living room, where Yeosang is seated on the couch and scrolling on his phone. He looks up as he catches sight of Seonghwa. “Oh,” he says. “Hi, hyung. I didn’t realize you were still here.”
Seonghwa hums as he moves into the kitchen to get a drink of water. “What are you up to?”
Yeosang glances down at his phone before motioning at the TV screen, which is currently cycling through screensaver frames. “I got distracted. I was planning on watching a movie.”
Seonghwa downs his glass of water and then sets it in the sink. “Is it alright if I join you?”
There’s a pause. Seonghwa turns around to find Yeosang already staring at him, blinking owlishly. Seonghwa sends him a frown. “Sorry,” Yeosang says, snapping out of it. “Just—you’re not going out?”
“I’m not feeling up to it,” Seonghwa says. “If you want to be alone, though, no worries. I can entertain myself.”
“Ah, no, of course you can join me,” Yeosang says, shifting positions and then patting the open space next to him. “I’m just surprised. That’s all.”
Seonghwa relaxes as he settles onto the couch, watching sleepily as Yeosang browses the movie offerings and eventually lands on a Ghibli film. “Is this alright?” Yeosang says as he presses play. “I don’t feel like using my brain tonight.”
Seonghwa breathes out a laugh. “Yeah, this is perfect.”
Yeosang curls into Seonghwa’s side and falls asleep about three-quarters of the way through the film, and Seonghwa smiles to himself as he wraps an arm around the other and pulls him closer. He thinks to himself that this was worth skipping a meal, even if it means he’ll be a little hungry.
He ends up feeling okay throughout the following week. A little lethargic, perhaps, but nothing so major that he can’t easily ignore the feeling.
Seonghwa doesn’t mean to, but he starts making a habit of it. It’s just easier, this way, and it doesn’t have much of an impact on anything at all. He alternates. Every other week, he hunts. On the off-weeks, he stays in and spends the night with Yeosang. They watch movies, or play games, or bake something together, and it’s nice. Their busy schedules make it so that the two rarely see each other throughout the week, and Seonghwa hadn’t realized how much he missed Yeosang’s company until now.
A couple months into this little pattern, Seonghwa messes it up by skipping two weeks in a row. Yeosang and Seonghwa bake brownies together the first week, and their kitchen turns into a bit of a disaster after Yeosang drops a tin of cocoa powder, but the brownies turn out delicious. The following week, Seonghwa’s faculty advisor hands back a paper of his with several pages of proposed revisions, and Seonghwa feels something in him wither up as he reads the feedback. He knows he’ll feel better about it in a couple days when he takes another look, but in the moment it feels like a pointed attack.
He returns to the flat to find Yeosang in the kitchen, snacking on the remnants of their tray of brownies. He spots Seonghwa and holds something out. “Here,” he says. “I saved the last one for you.”
Seonghwa takes one look at the stupid square of chocolate dessert and promptly bursts into tears.
“Oh my God,” Yeosang says, setting down the brownies and rushing forward. He raises his hands up before pausing, looking slightly scared. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”
“Sorry,” Seonghwa says, turning to the side so he can hide his face as he desperately scrubs at his cheek with the sleeve of his sweater. “Today’s been—a day.”
Yeosang nods in understanding before hesitating. “Is it—is it alright if I hug you?”
“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, a little embarrassed, but Yeosang wastes no time in closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Seonghwa’s frame. Seonghwa sneaks his own arms around Yeosang’s waist and drops his face onto Yeosang’s shoulder.
They spend a couple of minutes like that, Yeosang gently rocking them just slightly back and forth as Seonghwa lets the tears openly flow. He focuses on his breathing, on the way he can feel it steady as Yeosang runs a soothing hand down his back, and eventually his crying slows and then comes to a watery stop.
Yeosang pulls away to take a look at his face, and Seonghwa glances away. He knows he’s not a pretty crier. Yeosang pays that no mind, though, as he runs a thumb under one of his eyes in an attempt to clear the last of the tears. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Seonghwa sighs. “Talking about it would probably help.” He pauses. “Can we sit on my bed, though?”
“Of course,” Yeosang says, without hesitation, and he makes his way into Seonghwa’s room as Seonghwa goes into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He studies his face in the mirror, watching the way the drops of water bead up, before wiping it dry.
When Seonghwa enters his room, the sight of Yeosang perched carefully on the edge of his bed causes warmth to bloom in Seonghwa’s chest. Yeosang opens his arms as Seonghwa gets closer, and Seonghwa doesn’t hesitate to accept the hug before tipping both of them over to lie on the bed properly. He hums as he finds a comfortable position, head pillowed on Yeosang’s chest, and allows the tension to bleed from his body.
“It’s not a big deal, really,” Seonghwa murmurs, drowsy and content. It really doesn’t seem like much of anything at all anymore. “My advisor said some mean things about my writing.”
“Ah,” Yeosang says, bringing a hand up to meticulously comb through the strands of Seonghwa’s hair. “I’m sorry. I think your writing is brilliant, if it’s any consolation.”
“You can’t even understand half the words I write,” Seonghwa says, mildly accusatory. Yeosang had requested, one time, to read over Seonghwa’s work, and had given up after reaching the section on genomic architecture. “But thank you.”
Their talk comes to a halt after that, Seonghwa satisfied with simply closing his eyes and listening to the sound of Yeosang’s breathing. He’s on the brink of unconsciousness when Yeosang slips out of his bed, and he has half a mind to ask him to stay and nap with him; he can’t find the right words to do so.
Three weeks in, Seonghwa tries to go out. He really does. He takes thirty minutes brushing his face with various creams and powders, and he throws on a pretty standard outfit consisting of jeans, a corset-style top that shows off his waist, and probably one too many necklaces. When he exits his room, Yeosang is in the kitchen snacking on chips, and he says, “You look good, hyung.”
“Thank you,” Seonghwa responds, even as he gives Yeosang’s ensemble of an oversized hoodie and sweatpants a longing look.
When Seonghwa leaves the apartment building, it’s raining. Not heavily, but enough so that he knows it’ll probably fuck up his hair. He makes it halfway to the train station before deciding he can’t do this. He’s so tired, and he can feel an impending headache, and he knows the lights and sounds of any club or bar would just make it worse, meal be damned.
Yeosang makes a surprised face and gives him a once-over as Seonghwa walks back through their front door. “What gives?” he asks as he turns back to whatever he’s stirring on the stove. It smells good, savory aroma layered with the warm scent of spices.
Seonghwa shrugs as he unzips his boots and hangs his coat before seating himself on their couch. “Wasn’t feeling it.”
“Ah,” Yeosang says. He looks down at his pot. “Do you want some? There should be enough for two.”
Seonghwa’s stomach chooses that moment to make itself known with a frankly embarrassing sort of rumble. “Yes, please,” he says as Yeosang offers him a crooked smile.
The two fall into a soft silence until it’s broken by Yeosang. “What a shame, though,” he says, glancing over at where Seonghwa is resting his head on the side of the couch, peacefully drinking in the quiet atmosphere and the sounds of his flatmate rummaging around in the kitchen.
Seonghwa blinks at him, half-awake. “Hm?”
“It’s a shame,” Yeosang repeats, turning back to his cooking, “that no one will see how beautiful you look tonight.”
Seonghwa sucks in a breath, weighing the words in his mind as he studies the way Yeosang is avoiding looking in his direction. “Well, you’ve seen me,” he finally says. “I think that’s enough.”
Yeosang can avoid looking at him but he can’t hide the pretty blush that spreads across his cheeks as he turns off the heat and begins spooning portions of rice and curry into a pair of bowls. Seonghwa smiles to himself, self-satisfied, as he sinks deeper into the couch and allows his eyes to fall shut. He’s so tired.
“You can’t fall asleep, silly,” Yeosang murmurs as he comes closer. Seonghwa opens his eyes to Yeosang setting a bowl and spoon on the coffee table in front of him, before sitting on the couch next to him with his own bowl in his hands. “After I went through all this trouble of making you food?”
“All you did was turn on the rice cooker and put some curry in a pot,” Seonghwa grumbles, but he leans forward to grab the bowl. He would normally insist that they eat at the dining table, but he’s lazy and sleepy and tonight feels a little special. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Yeosang says.
They don’t do much of anything at all that night. Seonghwa washes up and when he comes out of the bathroom Yeosang is lying in his bed, for some reason. Seonghwa settles next to him with his Switch, and Yeosang sits up straight so he can hook his chin on Seonghwa’s shoulder and inquire about what he’s doing. Seonghwa gives him a little island tour, pointing out all of his favorite villagers. “Look,” he says. “Doesn’t that one look like Hongjoong?”
“Yeah,” Yeosang mumbles, drowsiness evident.
Yeosang ends up nodding off against Seonghwa’s shoulder, and he has to gently gather him up in his arms to deliver him back to his own room. As Seonghwa gets ready for bed, he listens to the rain lashing outside his window and decides that staying home was the right choice.
By the time Seonghwa realizes that he’s well and truly starving, it’s too late for him to go out and hunt. It hits him in the middle of one of the lab sections he leads. As he’s at the front of the room trying to explain transpiration, he’s suddenly overcome with a wave of dizziness, and he has to pause as he sets his hands on the table in front of him and drops his head.
“Are you alright, Mr. Park?” comes a voice, even though he’s insisted that they just call him Seonghwa.
He takes a couple deep breaths before forcing his head back up. “Sorry,” he says. “Just a little tired.”
Seonghwa’s only halfway-there as he continues through the slides and draws a shaky diagram of the root system on the whiteboard. Once he’s explained the lab and set the students off to start working, he tentatively sits down and holds his head in his hands. His vision is spotty and his head feels like it’s stuffed full with cotton. What the hell is wrong with him? He got a solid eight hours of sleep last night, and he’s been consistently staying hydrated, and he skipped breakfast but that’s pretty normal since he doesn’t require that much physical food because he’s—
Because he’s part-incubus.
Seonghwa mentally kicks himself as he puts together the pieces. He’s hungry. He’s aware, distantly, of the aching emptiness that is his hunger, but somewhere in the last few weeks he had learned to ignore the feeling until it was nothing more than a quiet reminder.
When was the last time he fed? Last Friday he had given up on hunting, and the previous week was when he had his embarrassing breakdown, and the week before that—brownies. Which means—
Which means it’s been nearly a month. Holy shit. He hasn’t gone this long without feeding since… since his coming-of-age, probably.
Seonghwa comes to the realization as he drags his feet back home to get some rest that he’s definitely in no shape to hunt. He barely has enough energy to get himself up the couple flights of stairs to his floor, and he doubts he’d be able to make the journey out and then properly seduce a piece of prey.
How else is he supposed to find a meal, though? He worries a lip between his teeth as he dials Hongjoong and Wooyoung, his closest non-human friends, and prays that they’ll answer.
“Hey, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says as he picks up the video call, and Seonghwa breathes out a sigh of relief. Hongjoong waves at the camera before setting his phone down, and Seonghwa gets a very nice view of his ceiling fan. “What’s up?”
“I think I fucked up,” Seonghwa says at the same time Wooyoung’s face joins his screen.
“Seonghwa-hyung, fucking up?” Wooyoung says, and he sounds more than a little bit delighted. Seonghwa sends him a death glare through the phone, before letting out a groan as another wave of fatigue courses through his body.
“Woah,” Wooyoung says as Hongjoong picks his phone back up, worried look on his face as he gives Seonghwa his full attention. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he responds, after he’s regained his bearings. “Just, um. I haven’t been feeding properly.”
Hongjoong frowns at him. “How so?”
“The last time I fed was four weeks ago, I think?”
“Woah,” Wooyoung exclaims at the same time Hongjoong lets out a concerned noise. “That’s far too long,” Hongjoong says. “How are you feeling?”
“I was doing okay,” Seonghwa says, “up until today? I nearly collapsed in the middle of a class. I feel super weak, and mildly ill.”
Hongjoong’s frown deepens as Wooyoung says, “That doesn’t sound good, hyung. You need to have sex, like, as soon as possible.”
“I know,” Seonghwa replies. “That’s why I called. I don’t think I can manage a hunt right now, and I was wondering if you all have any better ideas.”
There’s a lengthy pause as the two take his words in. “I could call Mingi,” Hongjoong offers, although his voice lacks conviction. Seonghwa knows Hongjoong has regularly fed from Mingi, but last he heard Mingi had broken things off after meeting some other guy. The last thing he wants to do is get in the middle of all that.
“You could download a dating app,” Wooyoung suggests. “I bet you’d have no issue finding someone willing to hook up.”
Seonghwa wrinkles his nose. He’s never liked the idea of dating apps. “That’s so scary,” he says. “What if I end up with a serial killer? I think I prefer real hunting.”
Wooyoung sighs overdramatically. “You’re so traditional. Surely you have someone in your contacts list who’d be willing to receive a blow job, or something.”
Seonghwa runs through a list of potential candidates in his head. There’s San, who had once been his prey and is now a good friend, but he thinks he might be out of town. His labmate Yunho might be open to it, but he had recently started seeing someone. Other than that—
“What about your roommate?” Wooyoung says. “Yeonsan?”
“Yeosang,” Hongjoong corrects.
“Yeosang,” Wooyoung echoes. “Yeah, he’s hot. I bet he’d be good in bed.”
Seonghwa lets out a breath. “Guys, I can’t fuck my flatmate. That doesn’t seem right.”
“Well, you don’t have a whole lot of options,” Wooyoung says. “Pity you can’t feed from me, or I’d be over in a flash.”
Before Seonghwa can properly process and respond to that statement, he freezes as he hears the faint sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway. “I have to go,” he says.
“Aw,” Wooyoung says as Hongjoong adds, “Be careful, Seonghwa. I know you’re only part, but incubi really can’t go all that long without feeding. Let us know once you’ve figured something out.”
“I will,” Seonghwa says, ending the call as the front door swings open.
“Oh, hey,” Yeosang says as he slips through the door. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Seonghwa says, probably a little too quickly, as he eyes his flatmate. He fleetingly wonders what Yeosang looks like during sex, tries to imagine what the man might look like laid out on his sheets, before immediately shutting the thought down. He will not have sex with his flatmate, regardless of how hot he might be.
Seonghwa spends the next few days in bed, tired and miserable and weak. He tries to read or write or play games, but nothing can really distract him from the gaping chasm that seems to be opening up from within him, begging to be fed. He’s never felt hunger quite like this, harsh and unignorable. He didn’t know it was possible.
He tries downloading a single dating app, and gets all the way through making a semi-decent profile, but he immediately gets five messages that are far too forward for his tastes and deletes the app in a panic. He texts San, but it turns out the other is all the way in Japan, for some reason. He briefly debates reaching out to his ex, but he firmly decides that he’s not that desperate. Yet.
Yeosang seems a little worried about him, but he leaves him be, for the most part. Which is probably for the best. Now that Wooyoung’s put the idea in Seonghwa’s mind, he can’t stop thinking about what it might take to get Yeosang into his bed.
Seonghwa’s hunger comes with other side effects. He winces and has to turn away every time he sees himself in the mirror—his skin has gone scarily pale, as if he’s lost some of his humanity. He also begins to release an aphrodisiac into the air, an ability he usually has full control over and only uses in select situations, and he doesn’t even notice it’s happening until it’s a moment too late.
Seonghwa is lying in bed, clutching a pillow to his stomach, when he feels it. He feeds off of sexual energy, and at the moment it’s beginning to leak from the direction of Yeosang’s room.
And Yeosang’s energy tastes good, rich and heavy. The slightest taste has Seonghwa’s hunger flaring up, like a stabbing pain, and Seonghwa groans and curls in on himself as arousal pools in his stomach and his cock begins to respond.
He realizes with a start that Yeosang is probably being affected by him. Incubi release an aphrodisiac when they’re hungry, and since Seonghwa has spent his time cooped up in the apartment it’s had nowhere to go except to fill their flat. He’s briefly overcome by a wave of guilt, but his contemplation is cut off when Yeosang’s energy flares up again and he hears a choked-off moan through the wall.
His eyes widen. Yeosang is usually quiet when he pleasures himself, and the only reason Seonghwa knows it’s happening is because he can recognize the energy.
Seonghwa stays still and listens carefully as Yeosang continues, occasionally letting out the prettiest little noises, and he sucks in a breath as his energy rises and rises and then peaks, deliciously satisfying and so intense Seonghwa thinks he might be sick.
He hadn’t even realized it, but he’s been steadily pulling the energy out of the air for himself. It’s not enough, though. He wasn’t the one to cause the orgasm, for one, and he needs closer proximity.
Seonghwa realizes, with a start, that he craves more. Not just any meal, but Yeosang in particular.
The second time it happens, Yeosang is in the shower. Seonghwa is so weak that he can’t even force himself to leave his bed, so he resigns himself to lying there as he listens to the sound of water falling in the next room over and grabs the energy from the air without even thinking about it. It’s just as tasty as the last time, and Seonghwa groans a little as he hugs a pillow to his chest and wills his cock to ignore it.
His brain is flooded with images of what Yeosang might be doing. Maybe he has a hand wrapped around his cock, slowly jerking himself off under the spray of the shower. Seonghwa thinks distantly that he probably looks pretty when he cums, since he looks pretty all the time.
Seonghwa nearly chokes as Yeosang’s energy peaks, his body working hard to consume as much of the energy as it can, to the point where it’s almost too much. He squeezes his eyes shut as the energy begins to wane, and he’s still left with that aching, neverending emptiness. He’s so hungry.
Seonghwa drifts in and out of lucidity as he listens to Yeosang turn off the shower and go through his night routine. He’s nearly asleep when Yeosang pokes his head into his room and gently asks, “Hey, hyung. Are you still feeling unwell?”
Seonghwa blinks his eyes open and turns toward Yeosang to find him shirtless. He sucks in a breath. His eyes follow a single drop of water as it trails down Yeosang’s neck, over the curve of his collarbone, further down his chest and stomach toward his—
A strangled noise leaves Seonghwa’s throat before he can stop it. “Oh my God,” he says, turning away so he can shove his face into his pillow. His voice is scratchy from disuse, and it almost hurts to talk. “Please put on a shirt.”
Yeosang lets out a worried noise and, to his dismay, moves closer. He tilts Seonghwa’s head to the side so he can take a look at his face, and whatever he sees makes him inhale sharply.
“Jesus Christ, Seonghwa,” Yeosang says, regarding him with wide eyes. Seonghwa knows that he looks a mess, skin scarily pale and ugly circles under his eyes. “What the hell is going on with you? You’ve been sick for so long.”
Seonghwa groans and rubs the side of his face with his palm. “I haven’t been feeling good.”
“No kidding,” Yeosang says, reaching out to press the back of his hand against Seonghwa’s forehead. Seonghwa is so wound-up now that even the tiny touch feels like relief, and he can’t stop the small gasp that leaves his lips.
Yeosang pulls back, looking concerned. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No,” he says. “I’m fine.” And then, as if it’ll explain anything at all: “I’m not sick.”
“Right,” Yeosang says. Doubt is written all over his face. “Then what’s going on?”
Seonghwa debates for a moment. Human-demon offspring aren’t unheard of, but it’s generally a part of his identity that he prefers to keep hidden, since being part-incubus comes with all sorts of negative connotations. Yeosang has always been wonderful and trusting and kind, though.
He heaves out a sigh. “I’m part-incubus,” he says, before he can overthink it.
Yeosang’s eyes widen a fraction. “Oh,” he says.
“Less than half,” Seonghwa continues, “so I don’t rely on sex as much as the typical incubus. I do need to feed about once per week, though, and I’ve been seriously neglecting it and now… now I’m starving.”
“Oh,” Yeosang says.
Seonghwa watches his face as he staunchly refuses to meet his eyes, gaze burning holes into the carpet instead. “So,” he eventually says, “when you were going out every Friday…”
“I was fucking someone new every week, yes,” Seonghwa says, and he’s slightly amused by the way Yeosang grows flustered in response.
Yeosang is quiet for another moment. “So you’re unwell because you’re starving,” he says. “From a lack of sex.”
“Right,” Seonghwa says.
Yeosang looks away. “I mean. I could have sex with you.”
“I—what?” What? Seonghwa’s head spins as he tries to comprehend what Yeosang’s just said. What?
“You need to feed,” Yeosang says. “Let me have sex with you.”
“No,” Seonghwa says, vehemently, and he catches the way Yeosang’s face falls slightly but he brushes it off because this is important. “Yeosang, I don’t want you to feel like you need to have sex with me just because I’m part-incubus. I can find another solution. Not to mention all of the—you’ve probably been unusually aroused recently and that’s my fault, I’ve been releasing stuff into the air, and I’m sorry about that.” He gestures in the vague direction of Yeosang’s cock. “The last thing I want is for you to feel—to feel pressured.”
Yeosang blinks as he processes. “I don’t think you understand,” he finally says. “I don’t feel pressured. Seonghwa-hyung. If you had asked to fuck me a year ago, when we first met, I would’ve said yes. Immediately.”
And isn’t that quite the confession. Yeosang had been awfully quiet when they had been introduced to each other by a mutual friend. He’s always been a little hard to read.
Has he been thinking about fucking Seonghwa this entire time?
“You’re sure?” he says eventually. “I’d literally be draining energy from you, so it would be exhausting.”
A ghost of a grin passes over Yeosang’s features. “I think I can take it.”
Yeosang is quiet as Seonghwa just sits there and thinks. Fucking his flatmate probably isn’t a good idea. It would probably break some sort of unspoken flatmate code, or something.
But Seonghwa—he needs this, and he’s running out of options. He’s not sure what happens when an incubus fully starves, but he doesn’t want to find out.
Not to mention the fact that he wants Yeosang. Craves him, carnally.
With no warning, he slips off the bed and drops to his knees so he can look up at Yeosang through his lashes.
He’s not very graceful, and the motion is decidedly less sexy than he had hoped it would be, and he ends up a little dizzy, but it’s still worth seeing the way Yeosang’s lips part as he takes him in. “Well, fuck,” he says, and Seonghwa manages a wicked little grin.
Seonghwa lets out a breath against Yeosang’s front, where his cock is steadily hardening. Seonghwa has little to no control on his incubus side, not when he’s this weak, so he knows he must be releasing insane levels of aphrodisiac into the air right now. Yeosang is obviously affected, and he smells—he smells delicious, and Seonghwa needs to get his mouth on him.
He glances back up at Yeosang, who’s staring at him with something dark and heavy in his eyes. “Can I suck you off?” Seonghwa says.
“Please,” Yeosang answers, voice bordering on a whine.
Seonghwa wastes no time unbuttoning the front of his jeans and pulling them down with his boxers, just far enough to free Yeosang’s cock. He’s beautiful, flushed red and leaking pre-cum, and saliva floods Seonghwa’s mouth as he gets a proper lungful of his scent. God.
He thinks, distantly, that Yeosang probably deserves better. If Seonghwa was in his right mind, he’d take his time—pull down the zipper of his jeans with his teeth, mouth at his cock through his boxers, tease him and drag things out so he can make the most of the situation.
As it is, though, he’s hungry. He’s so hungry. So he takes Yeosang’s cock, pumping it a couple times in his fist, before leaning forward to take the tip into his mouth.
Seonghwa almost moans himself as Yeosang lets out a whine above him, because Yeosang tastes so, so good on his tongue, and he mentally curses himself for putting this off for so long. He swirls his tongue in slow, languid circles, and Yeosang makes more high, pretty sounds. He’s so responsive, and Seonghwa needs to see him fall apart.
Something inside Seonghwa clicks into place as he sinks down on Yeosang’s cock, because this—this is what he was made for. The weight in his mouth and the stretch of his jaw—it’s perfect, and he has half a mind to just stay here forever. Yeosang’s cock hits the back of his throat, and he keeps going, because he can. Yeosang lets out the loudest moan yet as Seonghwa swallows around him, his cock fully sheathed in his throat.
Seonghwa sits there for a few seconds, relishing in the moment, before beginning to tentatively bob his head up and down. Yeosang’s cock is wet and dripping and delectable, but it soon becomes clear to him that this simply isn’t enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
He pulls off of him to gasp for air before circling his fingers around Yeosang’s wrist and guiding his hand to his head. Yeosang’s fingers twitch before hesitantly settling in his hair, grasping lightly at the strands.
Seonghwa looks up at him. Yeosang’s quite the sight, really, flushed cheeks and eyes blown wide with lust. “Good?” Seonghwa asks.
Yeosang nods, almost frantically, and Seonghwa smiles as he leans forward to kiss the tip of Yeosang’s cock. “Fuck my mouth?” he requests, watching as Yeosang’s pupils dilate marginally at the request. “Please?”
“I—yeah,” Yeosang says, working his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair as if petting him. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Seonghwa allows his mouth to drop open, tongue lolling out the tiniest bit, and Yeosang bites out a curse as he guides his hips forward. Seonghwa breathes out through his nose as Yeosang, inch-by-tantalizing-inch, feeds his cock back into his mouth.
Yeosang immediately begins to move his hips, plunging his cock in and out of Seonghwa’s mouth, but he’s—he’s being far too careful with it. He’s hesitating, as if he’s afraid of hurting Seonghwa.
Oh, Yeosang, Seonghwa thinks. Always too nice for your own good.
He taps Yeosang’s hip and pulls off of his cock with a gasp. Before Yeosang can speak, he says, “You can be more rough. Please. Please be more rough. I can take it.”
Yeosang groans at that, eyes falling shut. When they reopen, he fixes Seonghwa with a wild stare, and breathes out, “Okay, hyung.”
Yeosang feeds his cock into Seonghwa’s mouth once again. He doesn’t hold back, this time, working both hands into Seonghwa’s hair and tangling the strands between his fingers before shoving his cock forward. Seonghwa lets out a strained sound as Yeosang’s cock hits the back of his throat, choking around the intrusion. Yeosang repeats the movement over and over, rough and demanding, and Seonghwa groans in approval as best he can around the cock in his mouth.
The sounds they’re making are obscene, between Yeosang’s moans and the wet sound of the cock sliding in and out of Seonghwa’s mouth as he sits there nicely and takes it.
Seonghwa feels blissful, like this, spit starting to drip out of the corner of his mouth as his eyelids flutter. This—this is what he’s been craving, and something within his body is finally settling as he feeds on Yeosang’s energy.
He reaches a hand down to grind the heel of his palm into his own dick, and Yeosang lets out a garbled sound as he spots the action. “God, you’re perfect,” he says, tugging at Seonghwa’s hair. “I’m gonna—gonna come.”
Seonghwa reaches up to shove Yeosang’s hips away just so he can gasp out, “Come in my mouth, please,” before taking Yeosang into his mouth all the way down.
He hollows his cheeks so he can suck, hard, and Yeosang lets out a shout as he tugs harshly on Seonghwa’s hair and begins to come down Seonghwa’s throat. Seonghwa hums happily as he feeds straight from the source, finally getting a taste of what he needs.
Seonghwa gently pulls off once Yeosang’s finished coming, licking his lips to collect the fluids that have escaped. It’s good, but it’s not enough yet, and Yeosang has remained fully hard due to the aphrodisiac still sitting heavy in the air. “What the fuck?” Yeosang says, staring down at his own cock.
“Sorry, baby,” Seonghwa says, making his way to his feet so he can push Yeosang down onto the bed. “I need a little more from you.” Yeosang doesn’t protest as Seonghwa straddles his waist, tugging his shirt over his head and pulling his jeans and boxers down and off his legs, before leaning back to admire the meal in front of him. Yeosang is gorgeous, all defined muscles and shining skin, and he shoots off a prayer toward whatever higher being has allowed such a beautiful creature to land in his bed.
He ducks forward to leave a trail of kisses down Yeosang’s neck, stopping regularly to suck marks into his skin wherever he pleases. Seonghwa has always loved leaving marks on his partners—the physical reminder that he was here, that he made them feel good.
Yeosang lets out a gasp as Seonghwa gets an especially sensitive spot on his neck, and he forces himself to pause so he can move back up and check in on him. Yeosang’s eyes are unfocused, breath leaving him in short puffs of air, and his hair is a bit of a disaster, and Seonghwa thinks he’s never looked prettier.
Yeosang’s eyes zero in on Seonghwa as he pecks his cheek. “You alright?” Seonghwa asks.
“Yeah,” Yeosang breathes out. “Yeah. Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” Seonghwa promises. “Is there anything you need from me?”
Yeosang sucks in breath. He’s avoiding eye contact. He’s cute. “Can you kiss me?”
That gives Seonghwa pause. He’s more or less open to anything in bed, and has dealt with his fair share of out-there kinks, but one thing he doesn’t usually do is kiss his partners. It’s something of a rule within the incubus-succubus community. Don’t kiss your prey, they warn, lest you fall in love with them.
Yeosang is looking up at him so sweetly, though, gaze open and trusting and pure, and Seonghwa doesn’t have the heart to say no. Instead, recklessly, selfishly, he leans forward to capture Yeosang’s lips.
He learns that Yeosang tastes sweet here, too, as he gasps into the kiss. Seonghwa works his tongue into his mouth as he threads fingers through his hair, and Yeosang is so pliant, and he thinks he might be able to take his fill just like this, with Yeosang’s lips on his own.
He eventually pulls away as Yeosang lets out a choked moan. “I—ouch,” he says, and Seonghwa’s eyes fly open in alarm. Is he hurting him? “Your nails,” he says in explanation, and Seonghwa tugs his hands away from Yeosang’s hair.
Oh. His claws are out, which means—
He sits up and catches sight of his reflection in the window, and yes, he’s startling to lose himself to his incubus side. His eyes have gone dark, and he can see the faint ghost of his wings and horns and tail starting to take shape, as if the shadows are gathering around his body to join him. He bites on the tip of his tongue, and feels the way it’s become a little bit pointed.
Yeosang doesn’t look afraid, though. Instead, he stares up at Seonghwa with something close to wonder in his eyes, alongside the clear arousal. “Sorry,” Seonghwa says, letting out a light laugh. “I usually have more control than this.”
“It’s okay,” Yeosang says. “More than okay. Can I see you? All of you?”
Seonghwa hums as he pulls his own shirt off and slides his sweatpants down his thighs before tossing everything to the side. Yeosang’s eyes wander down the expanse of his torso and focus in on his cock, leaking profusely, before he resumes eye contact and gives him an expectant look.
Seonghwa allows his eyes to fall shut as he fully lets go of his control on his appearance, letting the last bits of his composure slip out of his grasp. The shadows grow more solid, properly joining with his flesh, and he flicks his tail back and forth as he stretches out his wings. Seonghwa has always thought of his wings as impractical, and his opinion doesn’t change as he opens his eyes to the appendages blocking the light and casting Yeosang’s body in shadow.
Seonghwa watches in mild amusement as Yeosang catalogues each of the changes—the horns, the wings, the tail. The dark, unforgiving eyes, and the way the shadows seem to curl around his limbs and creep up his chest. Seonghwa flexes his fingers, now tipped with sharp claws, another change that he’s always found mildly impractical. Seonghwa has to restrain himself from smirking as Yeosang eyes his cock once again, standing tall and proud and just the slightest bit larger in this form.
“God,” Yeosang gasps out. “You’re stunning, Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa raises his eyebrows. It’s not the weirdest thing, he supposes, but it’s certainly unexpected—most would probably balk at the prospect of having sex with a being like him. “Thank you,” he says, before hooking his leg over Yeosang’s waist again.
Yeosang’s eyes are wide as Seonghwa grabs his cock, mindful not to hurt the other with his claws, and guides it to his entrance. “Don’t you need to prep?”
“Nope,” Seonghwa grits out as he eases Yeosang’s cock into his hole. “I was built for this.”
And he was—between his body’s elasticity and the natural slick-like substance incubi produce, the slide is made ridiculously easy as he sinks down on Yeosang’s cock. He stretches him open in the best way possible, and Seonghwa takes a moment to adjust and simply feel before planting his hands on Yeosang’s chest and lifting himself up. Yeosang’s mouth falls open as Seonghwa drops back down, taking him to the hilt, and something like relief courses through Seonghwa’s veins. He was meant to be filled, and having Yeosang inside of him just feels right.
Seonghwa’s aphrodisiac makes it so that both of them are sensitive, Yeosang probably overwhelmingly so, so he gets to see Yeosang quickly fall to pieces as he builds up a rhythm. His eyes go hazy as his breathing picks up, and Seonghwa feels some kind of satisfaction settle in his chest at the sight.
Yeosang is still far too composed for Seonghwa’s tastes, though. He has more energy now that he’s fed once, so he can take the time to pull Yeosang apart piece by piece. He wants to see him gone.
He circles his hips in a filthy grind and smiles as Yeosang lets out a broken sound. “You’re so loud, baby,” Seonghwa breathes out. “Do you want the whole building to hear us?”
Yeosang’s eyes grow large but he doesn’t seem opposed to the idea, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the words. Seonghwa raises his eyebrows as he lifts himself up and down on Yeosang’s cock again. “Or would you like that?” he asks. “You want everyone to know how well you’re filling me up right now?”
Yeosang fully whimpers at that, screwing his eyes shut, and Seonghwa huffs out a laugh. He seems to have lost the ability to form words, which is a shame. Seonghwa likes hearing him speak.
Seonghwa has had many beautiful people in his bed before, and is well familiar with the sight of someone falling apart beneath his touch, but nothing can quite compare to the vision Yeosang makes under him as Seonghwa continues to ride his cock. His eyes rake over the other’s features in an attempt to commit the sight to memory as he works his hips. Yeosang’s hair falls onto the pillow, framing his face in a sort of halo, and he has his head turned to the side as he moans and pants and tries to breathe through the pleasure. There are bruises beginning to bloom on his neck, and his birthmark peeks out from under the strands of hair.
Angel, Seonghwa thinks. I have an angel in my bed. How a depraved creature such as himself got so lucky, he isn’t quite sure.
“Seonghwa,” Yeosang gasps out, and Seonghwa snaps back to attention.
“Yes, angel?”
Yeosang bites his lip between his teeth before managing to get the words out. “I’m close.”
“Already?” Seonghwa says, and Yeosang all but whines. He breathes out a laugh. “Go ahead,” he says, riding Yeosang’s cock with renewed energy. “Go ahead and come for me.”
As Yeosang’s breathing grows heavier and he reaches up to grasp at Seonghwa’s hips, Seonghwa leans forward to press a kiss to his mouth. Yeosang can do little more than gasp into it as Seonghwa grinds down and clenches around his cock and nibbles slightly at his lower lip before he comes undone.
Seonghwa drinks it all up—the beautiful sounds escaping his lips, the way his fingers tighten their grip on Seonghwa’s hips, the release filling him up. Yeosang tastes divine, and he can’t get enough.
Yeosang’s eyes are teary as he comes down from it, and Seonghwa presses light kisses to his cheeks as he eases himself off of his cock. He’s still hard, which Seonghwa feels a little bad about, doing his best to rein in the aphrodisiac now that he possesses a little more control.
Seonghwa ignores the way Yeosang’s cum is dripping out of his hole in favor of pressing another kiss to Yeosang’s lips and licking into his mouth. He thinks he might be addicted, now that he’s had a taste.
When he pulls away, Yeosang looks lovely and peaceful, expression relaxed as he sinks back into the mattress. “How are you feeling?” Seonghwa asks.
Yeosang lets out an audible exhale. “Good,” he says. He glances down at his still-hard cock, and Seonghwa almost laughs at the look of gentle concern that passes over his features. “Although—what the hell, Seonghwa? Is this normal?”
“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says, genuinely apologetic even as he gives into the urge to lightly curl a fist around Yeosang’s cock. His hips jump up in response. “I usually only feed twice, but I’m not usually this hungry. I generally have more control, I swear.”
When he glances back up at Yeosang’s face, he finds that the other isn’t looking at him, not quite—instead, he’s staring at the space just above his head.
Seonghwa cocks an eyebrow. “Do you want to touch them?”
A wild blush spreads onto Yeosang’s face, but he nods with a shy smile. “Can I?”
Seonghwa grasps Yeosang’s hands and then tugs him up, up, until they’re in a seated position, facing each other. He flexes his wings just to show off a little, delighting in the way Yeosang’s eyes grow comically wide. “Go ahead.”
Yeosang reaches a hand up, pauses briefly, and then runs a finger down the length of one of Seonghwa’s horns. Seonghwa has to suppress a shiver at the sensation as his fingers circle around the base. “They’re very smooth,” Yeosang quips.
“Mm,” Seonghwa responds, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s having the belated realization that Yeosang might be the first full human to ever see him in this form, and he’s not sure how he feels about that fact.
Yeosang takes his time as he inspects Seonghwa’s wings with the same careful attention. They’re leathery and colored a deep black, sort of bat-like, and Yeosang’s touch is soft as he runs a hand over the top edge and feels the clawed digit at the very top.
Yeosang curiously peers down at his tail and Seonghwa flicks it to the side to allow Yeosang to grasp it in his hand. His tail has always been sensitive, and he has to fight off the urge to tug it out of Yeosang’s hands as the other begins to lightly feel its length.
Seonghwa catches another glimpse of his reflection in the window, and what he sees makes him do a double take. His monstrous side is out, but more than anything he just looks—he looks soft. He looks overwhelmingly human, as he lets himself be observed by the delicate, beautiful person in front of him.
He looks like he might be a little bit in love, and for some reason the idea is scarier than any monster Seonghwa has ever seen.
He pulls his tail out of Yeosang’s hold and pushes Yeosang back down to lie on the bed as his eyes turn up to him, questioning. Seonghwa distracts him with a kiss, before asking, “Do you think you can give me a couple more?”
Yeosang only hesitates briefly before answering. “I can try,” he says, tone open and earnest. “I want you to fuck me. Please?”
The words make Seonghwa feel like all of the breath is stolen from his lungs. “Okay,” he eventually manages to say, once he’s collected the remaining pieces of his sanity. “I can do that. How do you want me?”
Yeosang carefully considers for a moment, before saying, “Would just like this be okay?”
Seonghwa stares at him hard, studying the obvious blush on his cheeks despite how forward his words had been. When it gets to be too much, he leans in to kiss Yeosang’s lips again, because he can. “Yeah,” he says. “This is perfect. Do you have lube?”
Yeosang’s blush deepens even as he gestures to a drawer. Seonghwa is loath to break their contact, but he pulls away long enough to retrieve the little bottle and squeeze some of the contents onto his fingers as he wills his claws to go away. Yeosang is responsive and beautifully malleable in his hands as Seonghwa pulls one of his legs up toward his chest.
Seonghwa leans in for another kiss as his fingers circle Yeosang’s rim until the other says, “Wait.”
He pulls back, concerned. “What’s up?”
“I—” Yeosang starts, before letting out a light laugh and turning his head to the side in an attempt to hide his face behind his hands. Seonghwa can’t help smiling at the picture he makes, overwhelmingly cute when flustered. “... I was fingering myself. In the shower. Just now. So you—don’t have to be too careful.”
Seonghwa’s eyes widen at the admission. He had assumed, somehow, that Yeosang had simply been jerking off while he was in the shower. When he finally finds his voice, he murmurs, “Is that so?”
He slips a finger into Yeosang’s hole. “A bit naughty, aren’t we?”
Yeosang whines. “No.”
“No?” Seonghwa says, working a second finger in alongside the first. “Your hole is practically sucking my fingers in right now, though. What did you think about while you were fingering yourself?”
“I—” Yeosang says, voice breaking off into a gasp as Seonghwa curls his fingers upward. “Thought about you,” he says, and something akin to pride flares in Seonghwa’s chest at the words. “Wished it could’ve been your fingers instead.”
Deeming Yeosang adequately stretched, Seonghwa slips in a third finger, reveling in the way Yeosang clenches around him. “Do they feel as good as you imagined?”
“Yes,” Yeosang groans. “Even better than I imagined.”
“I’m glad,” Seonghwa says, laughing lightly. Yeosang is already relaxed, but he takes his time, curling and prodding his fingers this way and that so he can watch the way Yeosang writhes.
Yeosang’s hips jump up and he bites out a curse as Seonghwa grazes a particularly sensitive spot. “You’re being mean,” he grumbles as he relaxes back into the sheets.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seonghwa replies, twisting his fingers so he can hit the spot again.
Yeosang groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Yes, you do. And I’m ready, you know I’m ready, I’ve been ready for a while—if you don’t get your cock inside of me right now, I—”
Yeosang cuts himself off and peers up at Seonghwa as he slides his fingers free. Seonghwa grins as he says, “You’re so desperate, baby.” Yeosang’s mouth falls open to refute the claim, but Seonghwa distracts him from talking by slicking up his cock and then lining himself up. “It’s cute. You’re cute.”
He would love to see Yeosang beg for him, but that’ll have to wait for another time. He doesn’t have the patience today.
Seonghwa watches Yeosang’s face as he pushes in, slow and deliberate. He notes the subtle furrowing of his brow; the deep, measured breaths; the way Yeosang’s mouth falls open the slightest bit as Seonghwa bottoms out. Seonghwa busies himself with nosing at the line of Yeosang’s jaw, littering it with little kisses, until Yeosang says, “I’m good. You can move.”
Seonghwa shifts back until just the head of his cock is resting inside of Yeosang’s hole, before driving his length back into the other, and Yeosang lets out a gorgeous little choked noise. He begins to build up a pattern of slow, measured thrusts, determined to see Yeosang lose what remains of his composure.
He’s careful with it, studying each one of Yeosang’s reactions to see if he’s feeling good. He’s being much softer than he usually would be with something that’s probably supposed to be a one-night stand, but he can’t really bring himself to care. Yeosang deserves the best in the world, he thinks.
He angles his hips just right, and Yeosang gasps out, “Oh, fuck. Right there.”
Seonghwa does his best to nail that spot, fucking Yeosang in long, fluid strokes, and he loses himself in the rhythm of making Yeosang feel good until Yeosang says, “Hyung.”
Seonghwa’s hips still. They briefly make eye contact before Yeosang casts his gaze downward.
“What is it?” Seonghwa says, a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t get shy on me now.”
There’s a brief pause, and then Yeosang says, “You can fuck me a little harder. I like it—like it rough.”
Seonghwa’s brain short-circuits. Of all the surprising things Yeosang has said tonight, this one might be the most earth-shattering. He’s having a hard time reconciling Yeosang—sweet, giving, beautiful Yeosang—with the one in his bed right now.
He laughs breathlessly, grinding his hips into Yeosang so he can watch the way Yeosang’s eyes screw shut. “Who knew?”
Seonghwa complies, though, leaning forward and bending Yeosang in half so he can begin properly fucking him with a sort of reckless abandon. He has a far better hold on himself now that he’s fed, but he lets some of the raw desperation from before bleed back into his actions, working his teeth into the junction between Yeosang’s neck and shoulder and drinking in the noises the other can’t seem to keep in.
Sweat drips from Seonghwa’s skin onto Yeosang’s and he licks at the drops without thinking about it. Yeosang makes a particularly pretty noise as Seonghwa hits his sweet spot, and Seonghwa groans as his lips find Yeosang’s again in a kiss that’s more spit and tongue than anything else. Everything about this, from the connection of their lips to the way lube leaks out of Yeosang around Seonghwa’s cock, is dirty and messy and perfect, and Seonghwa thinks he truly might be addicted.
“You’re lovely, did you know that?” he says as he pulls away, because it seems like something Yeosang should know. Yeosang is too out of it to really respond beyond another sweet moan.
Yeosang wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s shoulders to pull him closer as he approaches his climax once again, made clear both by the swell of his energy and the litany of noises that fall from his mouth. Seonghwa reaches a hand down to wrap his fingers around his cock, and it only takes a few tugs before Yeosang’s coming once again, nails digging into Seonghwa’s skin as he rakes his fingers down his back. Seonghwa gets to admire from up close this time as his eyes fall shut and his face contorts into a twisted expression of pleasure. He fucks Yeosang through it with slow movements of his hips as he savors Yeosang’s sticky-sweet energy.
As Yeosang comes down from it, Seonghwa brings his hand to his mouth so he can lick at the cum that’s collected there, and Yeosang makes a strangled noise. “God,” he says.
“No God here, I’m afraid,” Seonghwa says, sucking his middle finger between his lips in a way he knows probably looks lewd. “Was that good?”
“Yeah,” Yeosang breathes out, and Seonghwa hums, pleased.
Yeosang grabs Seonghwa’s arm as he’s pulling out, though, and Seonghwa sends him a questioning look.
“You can keep going,” he says. “You haven’t come at all yet.”
Seonghwa frowns. He derives the vast majority of his pleasure during sex from his partner’s pleasure, and he’s satiated from how thoroughly he’s fed from Yeosang—he doesn’t necessarily need to come himself.
“Come on,” Yeosang says. “I want you to come in me. Want you to fill me up.” And it should probably be embarrassing how quickly Seonghwa crumbles at those words, feeding his cock back into Yeosang’s hole even as the other twitches with oversensitivity.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he warns, waiting for Yeosang’s nod before beginning to snap his hips forward again.
He’s quick with it, perhaps a little thoughtless, as he chases his own pleasure and forgoes prioritizing Yeosang’s. Yeosang jerks and shudders in his hold, but he doesn’t say anything, simply lies there and takes it with gorgeous gasps leaving his lips.
“Fuck,” Seonghwa bites out as Yeosang’s eyes begin to well up with tears, helpless to fight the oversensitivity as Seonghwa pushes him past his limits. “You feel so good around me.”
He brushes a gentle finger under Yeosang’s left eye. “You can let go, beautiful.”
Seonghwa learns, then, that Yeosang is very pretty when he cries. Yeosang lets out a sob and brings a hand to his mouth as the tears spill, tracking down his cheeks. Seonghwa groans as he buries his face into the crook of Yeosang’s neck and pumps his hips one, two, three more times before stilling with his cock buried deep inside the other. It feels good, as the pleasure crests and settles into his bones, but overall it just feels right, satisfies some kind of base instinct that he thinks might come from his incubus side as he marks Yeosang from the inside to match the way he’s already marked up his skin.
Seonghwa scrapes his teeth over the flesh of Yeosang’s neck before leaning up to check on the other. His face is splotchy and he’s gasping, breath leaving him in little puffs of air, but the tears seem to be stemming now that Seonghwa has stopped moving.
Seonghwa is gentle as he pulls out, and Yeosang makes a wounded noise as his hole is left to clench around nothing. “How are you feeling?” Seonghwa asks, guiding Yeosang’s legs down to rest on the bed before reaching up to move the strands of hair, sticky with sweat, out of Yeosang’s face. Now that he’s regained proper control, he lets go of his incubus appearance and allows the shadows around his body to dissipate, and Yeosang openly stares as his wings and tail disappear into nothing.
Yeosang lets out a shaky breath. “I’m good. But tired.”
“I’ve taken a lot from you,” Seonghwa says. He hesitates, and then adds, “Thank you. Give me a moment to grab some things and I can clean us up a little.”
As Seonghwa is making his way off of the bed, Yeosang asks, “Didn’t you want one more, though?”
“I—” Seonghwa’s movements come to a halt. “What?”
“You said you wanted one more,” Yeosang repeats, “right?”
Seonghwa stares at him, at the way he meets Seonghwa’s eyes levelly despite the fact that he’s a wrecked mess. “Yes,” he says, because yes, he did say that, “but three was more than enough. I’m very well-fed and you’re already pretty drained.”
Yeosang honest to God pouts at that, brow furrowing and lower lip jutting out the slightest bit. “I want it, though,” he says, all but whining. “You promised me four.”
“I didn’t promise anything,” Seonghwa says, even as he makes his way back over to the bed. “Are you sure? One more?”
He knows he’s probably being a little too greedy, that he’s leaving his natural domain of lust and dipping slightly into gluttony territory. He knows that he’s fed enough at this point, that anything more would be overdoing it, but he can’t help it. Yeosang is irresistible, especially when he’s like this.
Yeosang wordlessly nods, face splotchy and eyes still wet with tears, and Seonghwa leans in to leave a long kiss to his lips before working his way down, down, pressing fleeting kisses as he goes. When he reaches his destination, he hooks Yeosang’s legs over his shoulders, and then hooks a finger inside of Yeosang’s hole to watch the way his cum leaks out.
It’s mesmerizing, and he can’t resist leaning in to taste. Seonghwa thinks, distantly, that nothing has ever tasted as good as Yeosang does on his tongue.
As Seonghwa begins to properly eat Yeosang out he notes that the other is shaking, body wracked with tremors that he can’t seem to control. He doesn’t draw things out, determined to get Yeosang to completion as quickly as possible. He uses his tongue and lips and probably a little too much saliva, but Seonghwa has always liked it messy, and Yeosang doesn’t seem to mind considering the way he’s gasping.
Yeosang is obviously spent. He’s squirming from sensitivity but he’s not as loud as before, staying silent except for the occasional cute whimper. It doesn’t take long, however, before he’s tensing under Seonghwa’s hold and coming with a long, drawn-out whine, as Seonghwa says, “That’s it, baby,” and tongues lazily at Yeosang’s rim. Yeosang releases considerably less energy than before but Seonghwa enjoys it nonetheless, savoring the way he’s beginning to teeter on the edge of too full. As Yeosang’s energy wanes, Seonghwa leaves a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh before pushing himself upward until he’s once again face-to-face with him.
“Thank you,” he says, pressing a flurry of kisses to every inch of Yeosang’s face. Yeosang is blinking slowly, dazed and struggling to stay awake, and Seonghwa presses one last sweet kiss to his lips before whispering, “Thank you. Rest now, love.”
Yeosang stops fighting it and immediately falls unconscious, likely drained beyond imagination. Seonghwa kisses each of his eyelids before leaning back and taking stock of the situation.
He feels good. He feels really good. He feels better than he has in weeks, sated and so full of Yeosang's energy that he thinks he might get drunk on the feeling.
Seonghwa feels a pang of guilt hit him as he processes. He took far more from Yeosang than he usually would when feeding, and he has to remind himself that Yeosang asked for it, that he invited it.
He takes his time cleaning Yeosang up, though, wandering out of the room to grab a soft rag and then returning back. He’s made quite the mess of his flatmate, his body littered with marks and bruises and his torso messy with fluids, and Seonghwa takes a moment to memorize the sight before thoroughly wiping him down to the best of his abilities.
Once he’s deemed Yeosang sufficiently clean, he gently tugs his fingers through Yeosang’s hair to work out some of the tangled mess. He then wraps the other in a blanket and maneuvers him into a position that he thinks might be slightly more comfortable. Yeosang is dead to the world throughout it all. It seems unfair, somehow, that he’s this beautiful even in his sleep.
Satisfied with Yeosang’s comfort, Seonghwa leaves one more selfish kiss to Yeosang’s forehead before moving into the bathroom to wash up himself. All in all, he feels considerably more human than he has in several days, and it’s a wonderful relief.
Yeosang doesn’t wake up for twenty-two hours straight.
Seonghwa doesn’t think too much of it when he wakes up the next morning, pleasantly rested, and finds Yeosang still passed out in his bed. He must be exhausted, after all. He moves into the kitchen to make breakfast—French toast, because he’s craving something sweet, and he knows Yeosang will like it as well. It’s a Saturday, so Seonghwa has the luxury of a free day that he can spend lounging around the apartment.
The French toast turns out lovely, and it feels good to eat human food, but Yeosang doesn’t wake up before noon. Seonghwa frowns to himself as he slides the leftovers into the fridge, but he brushes it off. Yeosang can enjoy the dish later. He busies himself with the latest novel he’s checked out from the library, one that’s probably long overdue considering how he’s been neglecting everything around him.
Around two in the afternoon, Seonghwa starts to get worried. He peeks into his room and peers at Yeosang’s chest to make sure he’s still breathing, which he is, thank God. He bites his lip, wills his mind to stop spiraling, and goes back to sending off emails and messages to all the parties who had been worried about him these past few days. I apologize for the sudden absence, he writes. I was hit by an inexplicable illness, but I’ve recovered and plan to return on Monday.
Around six, he no longer has control over his brain’s spiraling. He tries to wake Yeosang up with a gentle tap to the shoulder, then a slightly more violent shake, and then a variety of noises he plays from his phone. Yeosang continues sleeping through it all. He’s missed breakfast and lunch, at this point, and he’s about to miss dinner. And doesn’t he need to drink water? It’s probably been a long time since he consumed any liquids, and Seonghwa realizes with a panicked start that he didn’t make Yeosang drink a glass of water before he passed out.
What if Yeosang doesn’t wake up? What if Seonghwa took too much from him, and he doesn’t recover?
He does the only thing he can think of, and he calls a friend.
“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says once his friend blinks into view, open panic bleeding into his tone. “I think I might’ve killed Yeosang.”
“Woah, there,” comes a voice from off-screen, and Hongjoong sighs at the same time Seonghwa realizes who it’s coming from.
“Wooyoung? What are you doing at Hongjoong’s place?”
“Bothering me,” Hongjoong says.
Wooyoung’s scowling face comes into view as he pokes his head next to Hongjoong’s. “I’m a delight to be around, thank you very much.”
Hongjoong doesn’t even look his way. “Please elaborate, Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “We fucked,” he says, ignoring Wooyoung’s whispered hell, yeah. “And, um. I think I overdid it. I took more than I usually would, and he hasn’t woken up yet.”
“You’re, like, a prude, though,” Wooyoung says, and Seonghwa sighs. There was a reason he had only called one of them. “You have that weird morality thing where you always leave your prey intact.”
“That’s called being a good person, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says, chastising. “He has a point, though. How much do you usually take? And how many times did Yeosang come?”
“...Just one or two, usually,” Seonghwa says, pursing his lips as Wooyoung snorts. Hongjoong cuts Wooyoung a glare. “And for Yeosang. Four?”
Wooyoung takes a moment to collect himself before saying, “Seonghwa-hyung. Respectfully. That’s nothing. It takes a lot more to kill a human, and I would know.”
And Seonghwa respects his friends’ choices, but that isn’t a line of conversation he’d like to follow whatsoever, so he says, “What do you think, Hongjoong?”
“I wouldn’t say it quite so indelicately,” Hongjoong says. “But I agree. Four… I wouldn’t worry about four. He should wake up soon—just make sure he drinks something and eats a proper meal and he’ll be okay. If he doesn’t, call me again and I’d be happy to come check on him.”
Hongjoong’s words do a better job of placating Seonghwa, and he feels relatively okay about the entire situation until Wooyoung says, “Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll break you out of prison if you get arrested for murder.”
“I don’t care about being arrested, I care about making sure my roommate is alive,” Seonghwa snaps.
Wooyoung raises his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you care about the guy that much.”
“Of course I care,” Seonghwa says, the words coming tumbling out before he can stop to consider what they might mean. “Yeosang is my roommate. He’s sweet and generous and… and wonderful, really. He doesn’t deserve to die because I wasn’t able to handle my own hunger properly. Are you insane?”
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says. “Breathe. Yeosang will be okay. He’s not going to die.”
“Okay,” Seonghwa says, lamely.
There’s a pause before Wooyoung adds, “You sound like you’re half in love with him, to be honest. Was he that good in bed?”
Seonghwa lets out a noise of disapproval before clicking end call. He can’t deal with any more of his friend’s ridiculous antics today.
When Yeosang finally, finally comes to, Seonghwa is sitting in his room, anxiously and unblinkingly watching the bed because he feels like the other might disappear if he looks away for too long. He startles as Yeosang shifts among the blankets, and then tenses as his eyes flutter open.
He’s at Yeosang’s side in seconds, peering over him as Yeosang blinks up at him blearily and reaches a hand up to rub at his eyes. “How are you feeling?” Seonghwa says, before immediately continuing, “Wait, don’t answer that. I’m going to go grab you a glass of water. I’ll be right back.”
Seonghwa rushes into the kitchen and then rushes right back, helping Yeosang into an upright position so he can take a sip of the water. Yeosang’s movements are sluggish but he goes willingly, the blankets slipping off his shoulder to expose the bare expanse of his torso, and Seonghwa winces slightly at the number of bruises that cover his body.
Yeosang takes a small, tentative sip of water when Seonghwa raises the glass to his lips, and then tries to speak, but his voice comes out as more of a jagged croak. Seonghwa’s eyes widen with worry as he brings the glass back to his lips. “Please drink some more.”
Yeosang gives in, taking a couple more sips before raising a hand to take the glass from Seonghwa’s grasp. He lets out a raspy laugh, and when he speaks, his voice has a little more substance to it. “I can drink by myself, hyung.”
“Sorry,” Seonghwa says, dropping his hand away as if burnt. “I just—you—it’s eleven p.m., Yeosang. I thought I—I thought I killed you.”
Yeosang raises an eyebrow. “You thought you fucked me so well that I died? Isn’t that a little self-centered?” His expression melts into one of concern, though, as he takes in how genuinely panicked Seonghwa is. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m obviously still here, and I’m alright.”
“Are you sure?” Seonghwa says. “How are you feeling?”
Yeosang makes a face as he answers, “I am kind of sore all over, to be honest, and I probably desperately need to take a shower, and I’m the most hungry I’ve ever felt in my life, but. I’m okay. I promise.”
Seonghwa notes down each of the items in his head. “Okay. Okay. I have some leftover French toast that I can get heated up if you’d like, or I can put something else together. Do you need anything else from me? Pain meds? Do you want to shower now? Can you shower on your own?”
A tentative smile blooms on Yeosang’s face at his rambling, and his anxiety lessens incrementally in response. “I think I can manage a shower on my own,” he says. “And French toast sounds lovely.”
Seonghwa lets out a breath. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll go get that ready for you.”
He escapes into the kitchen and begins to reheat the food, keeping an eye on Yeosang as he takes his sweet time rolling out of Seonghwa’s bed and into the bathroom. He keeps Seonghwa’s blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he waddles around the apartment, and Seonghwa isn’t sure if it’s to keep himself covered or to stay warm or for any other reason but he finds the sight hopelessly endearing nonetheless.
When the bathroom door reopens twenty minutes later, Yeosang calls out, “Damn, hyung,” and Seonghwa’s eyes fly from the fruit he’d been slicing to where Yeosang is peering at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You really did a number on my neck,” he continues.
Seonghwa abandons his chopping in favor of moving closer to take a look, and he lets out a noise of worry as he eyes Yeosang’s neck. It honestly does look like he was mauled by some kind of feral animal considering the amount of bruising. He has to squash down some tiny, sick part of him that satisfies at seeing his marks on Yeosang’s body in favor of saying, “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
Yeosang smiles lightly as he sends him a sidelong glance. “It’s okay,” he says. There’s a generous pause, before he says, “And are you really sorry? You don’t want the whole world to know that I’m yours?”
Seonghwa’s mind goes blank as he does some weird combination of sucking in a breath, letting out a strange noise, and choking on his own spit. There’s mirth dancing in Yeosang’s eyes as he approaches Seonghwa to pat him on the back as he coughs up a lung. “What the hell, Yeosang,” he finally manages to say.
“Sorry,” Yeosang says, but his tone lacks sincerity. “You’re ridiculously easy to tease for a supposed sex demon.”
It’s because it’s you, Seonghwa thinks. “I am more human than incubus, first of all,” he says. “And I swear to God, I’m usually more put together, you know that. But I just—you’ve been sleeping for nearly an entire day, and I fed so well, and I—I don’t know how to thank you. And I keep thinking that I kind of pressured you into sex, which was never my intention, and—”
“Woah, hey,” Yeosang says, reaching out to take Seonghwa’s hands. He hadn’t even realized he’d been nervously wringing them, but he breathes out and relaxes slightly as Yeosang squeezes his palms. “It was all consensual, yeah? There’s nothing to thank me for. I had a good time. Come on, let’s go eat some food, and then we can talk about this some more.”
Seonghwa lets his eyes fall shut as he takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he whispers.
Seonghwa doesn’t let Yeosang do anything beyond sit down at the dining table as he plates the French toast and gathers utensils, napkins, and another glass of water. Yeosang props up his head with his hand and watches fondly as Seonghwa flits around the kitchen, and then claps his hands together excitedly when Seonghwa finally places the plate in front of him. “Breakfast at midnight,” he says. “This is the kind of stuff I dreamed about as a child.”
Seonghwa is happy to sit there and watch Yeosang eat, to watch him replenish his energy. He ended up going a little overboard as he waited for his flatmate to finish up his shower, serving up the French toast alongside eggs and an assortment of cut fruit, but Yeosang digs in wholeheartedly. “It’s delicious, hyung,” he says once he’s all but inhaled half of the food, and Seonghwa smiles gently at the compliment.
“How are you feeling?” he says. “Any better?”
Yeosang lets out a happy little hum. “Yes,” he says. “I think I probably still need to rest some more, to give my body a moment to recover all the way, but yeah.”
Once Yeosang has finished up, Seonghwa swoops in to collect his dishes before he can move a muscle, and Yeosang laughs lightly as he watches. “I’m not entirely helpless, hyung, just a little tired,” he says. “But thank you.”
Yeosang makes his way over to the couch as Seonghwa finishes cleaning up, and when he turns around Yeosang motions to the space next to him and says, “Sit with me.” Seonghwa’s legs start moving before he can make the conscious decision to follow the instruction, so he finds himself sitting on the couch, facing Yeosang, in no time at all.
Yeosang’s eyes are warm, though, as he says, “Okay. Talk to me.”
Seonghwa lets out a breath. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Let me start from the beginning.” Yeosang gives him an encouraging hum. “I’m part-incubus. Obviously. As you have observed.”
A half-hearted grin makes its way onto Yeosang’s features. “I may have noticed.”
“I don’t usually tell people,” he continues, “because it’s easier to keep hidden, you know? People have all sorts of preconceived notions of demons, especially succubi and incubi, and it’s so much easier to just avoid exposing myself. All I really need to do is feed by having sex with someone about once every one to two weeks.”
“Which is why you were going out regularly,” Yeosang says.
“Right,” Seonghwa responds. “I’m not, like, a party animal. But I need the sex. I was being a little irresponsible, though, and I ended up putting it off for way too long. Which is how it got so bad, like you saw last night.” He shivers at the memory of the hunger.
He breathes in and sighs. “I understand if you don’t want to live with me anymore,” he says, looking down at his hands. “I’m sorry for not—for not telling you the extent of who and what I am, and I get it if you just. Don’t want to live with an incubus. I can be a lot when I’m hungry, clearly.”
Seonghwa looks back up as Yeosang scoffs. “Seonghwa, I don’t care,” he says. “Well. I care, obviously, because it’s you. But I don’t mind that you’re part-demon, okay? I—I had a lot of fun last night, and I would do it again, one hundred percent. Okay?”
Seonghwa’s eyebrows raise at the confession. Yeosang’s reactions last night had made his enjoyment obvious enough, but hearing the verbal confirmation is still nice. It’s more than nice. He slowly nods.
“Promise me, hyung,” Yeosang says, “that if you don’t have the chance to go out to feed again, you’ll come to me before it gets that bad. Okay?”
It’s a reasonable request. “Yeah. I promise,” Seonghwa says.
The more he thinks about it, though, the less he wants to go out and hunt ever again. Not when he knows there’s such a delicious meal sitting right here at home. He swallows. “What if I—what if I want more, though?”
Yeosang tilts his head, a question in his eyes. “More?”
“What if I don’t want to feed from anyone else ever again?” Seonghwa forces himself to say. He can feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, but he wills himself to keep talking. “I think you might be the loveliest thing I’ve ever tasted, Yeosang, and I don’t think I can settle for anything less now. You might’ve ruined regular feeding for me. I want you, always. Whenever I’m hungry.” And then, because he knows he’s being horribly selfish, he adds on, “But only if it’s okay with you. Of course. I can manage on my own, and I’ll be more careful from now on, I promise.”
Yeosang simply stares at him, wide-eyed, as Seonghwa holds his breath and waits for an answer. When it seems like one won’t ever come, he says, weakly, “Please say something.”
Yeosang blinks a few times. “I—wow. Yeah, no, that’s fine. I’d be into that, but…” He bites his lip, then says, “Just. Take me out on a date first, will you? I don’t think I can do friends with benefits, if it’s you.”
Seonghwa holds eye contact, making a valiant attempt at reading Yeosang’s mind. Unfortunately, incubi do not possess the power of telepathy, and the ability is not coming to him right now as much as he might wish for it. He clears his throat. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Yeosang says, and he’s trying to sound confident and unbothered, but Seonghwa catches the faint quiver in his voice.
“Okay,” Seonghwa breathes out. His ability to think properly might have disappeared—there’s nothing but static in his brain right now. All he can do is focus on the beautiful being sitting right in front of him and the fact that he would love nothing more than to go out with him. “Yes. Let’s go on a date. We can do whatever you want.”
Yeosang stares at him for a couple of seconds before breaking out into a wide, stunning smile, tipping forward into Seonghwa’s space. Seonghwa startles before enveloping the other in welcoming arms, and Yeosang wastes no time situating himself by curling into his lap and laying his head on Seonghwa’s chest. “You’re the one taking me out on a date,” he mumbles as he gets comfy. “It should be you who plans it, not me.”
“You’re the one who asked for it, though,” Seonghwa says, even as he lays a gentle kiss on the top of Yeosang’s head. He smells like his shampoo, soft and clean. “But alright.”
Yeosang stays quiet, and when Seonghwa peers down at his face he finds that his eyes have fallen shut. “Are you falling asleep again?” Seonghwa says. “You just woke up, silly.”
Yeosang lets out a sort of sleepy grumble, before simply saying, “I can hear your heartbeat.”
“Oh,” Seonghwa says, something seizing in his chest. It’s the only syllable that manages to leave his mouth, somehow, so he falls quiet as he watches Yeosang drift off once again.
Seonghwa has always loved hunting, but trading away his hunts seems worth it, if it means getting this. He would trade away everything in the world, probably, if it meant being able to sit here with Yeosang in his arms.