Work Text:
Thank you to @m1nchnisn for putting this into my head
The air in the old church was thick with the scent of candle wax, old paper, and the faint, sweet hint of incense, long since surrendered to the dust. For Jeongin, this was the scent of sanctuary, the perfume of purity. It was a world painted in shades of solemn reverence: the muted glow of candles trembling in their brass holders, the deep, resonant tones of the organ that vibrated through the stone floor and up into the soles of his feet, the hush of a congregation united in prayer. He moved through this world with a quiet, unshakeable faith, Black hair neatly combed. Uniform pressed. Bible margins filled with careful notes in tidy handwriting. He attended Mass even when it rained, even when he was tired, even when his friends drifted away to hard mornings and louder nights. He stayed. He knelt. He listened He was the picture of devotion, a young man whose soul was a meticulously kept garden, free from the weeds of worldly temptation.
Or so he believed.
Sin, he was told, was not always an action. Sometimes it was a glance that lingered too long. Sometimes it was a warmth that spread without permission. Sometimes it was the quiet thrill of being seen.
That was how it began.
Seungmin laughed in the row ahead of him, sunlight catching the edge of his jaw, and Jeongin's gaze betrayed him. It slid where it should not, traced lines he pretended not to notice, imagined weight and warmth where only distance existed. Jeongin felt the response like a bruise blooming under skin tender, unmistakable.
He dropped his eyes. Whispered a prayer.
Forgive me.
The prayer did not erase the image.
Shame became his routine. He scrubbed his hands until they stung. He took longer showers, water hot enough to scald, as if heat could cauterize thought. He confessed more often, voice shaking in the dark, accepting penance with bowed head and clenched jaw.
The priest spoke of temptation like it were weather. Passing. Impersonal. Something to endure. Jeongin nodded, grateful and hollow all at once.
At night, his dreams turned against him. They had started nearly a month ago. At first, they were fleeting, like smoke slipping through his fingers. A sensation of warmth, a low, resonant voice that seemed to speak directly into his soul, a pair of intense, dark eyes that he could feel even when he couldn't see them. Then, the dreams began to solidify, gaining form and substance in the fertile, unguarded soil of his subconscious. And in every single one, he was there.
Chan.
He never learned the name in the dreams, but he knew it upon waking, the syllable materializing on his tongue like a profane prayer. The man in his dreams was a creature of impossible beauty. His hair was a shock of white, a stark contrast to the shadows that clung to him, and his eyes... his eyes were the color of a starless midnight, so deep and black they seemed to drink the light around them. They were eyes that held an ancient, predatory hunger, a lust that was so potent it felt like a physical force.
In these dreams, Jeongin was not the chaste acolyte he was in his waking hours. He was pliant, eager, a vessel for a pleasure so profound it bordered on pain. He dreamt of hands, long fingered and impossibly strong, roaming his body, mapping every curve and hollow with a possessive expertise that made his own skin feel foreign. He dreamt of a mouth, hot and demanding, claiming his in kisses, devouring him, swallowing his gasps and moans until he was breathless and dizzy. He dreamt of the weight of a body over his, the hard press of muscle against his own frame, the friction of skin on skin that sent jolts of electric heat straight to his core.
He would wake from these dreams tangled in his sheets, his body slick with sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The evidence of his body's betrayal would be a sticky, shameful dampness on his stomach and thighs, a visceral reminder of the sin his soul had committed while his mind slept. A wave of self-loathing, hot and acidic, would wash over him. He would stumble out of his narrow bed, his legs trembling, and fall to his knees on the cold, hardwood floor of his small room.
"Forgive me, Father," he would whisper into the darkness, his voice cracking. "Forgive me for these impure thoughts, for these lustful dreams. Cleanse me of this filth. Cast this demon from my mind."
He would pray until his knees were numb and his throat was raw, reciting every prayer he knew, begging for a purity that felt increasingly distant. But the prayers felt hollow, echoing back at him from the oppressive silence of his room. The demon didn't leave. If anything, the dreams grew more vivid, more intense. Chan's touch in his sleep felt more real than the rosary he clutched in his hand during the day. The phantom scent of something dark and spicy, like cinnamon and sulfur, would sometimes linger in his room upon waking, a taunting reminder of his nocturnal visitor.
He started seeing the man from his dreams during his waking hours, flickering at the edges of his vision. A flash of white hair in the crowded pews. The feeling of being watched by those black, hungry eyes as he lit candles at the altar. He knew it was his imagination, a product of a mind confused by guilt and lust. He told himself it was a test, a trial sent by God to strengthen his faith. He threw himself into his duties, polishing things until they gleamed, arranging the altar flowers with meticulous care, volunteering for every menial task, all in a desperate attempt to outrun the ghost that haunted his nights.
But the incubus was patient. Chan had been watching Jeongin for weeks, drawn to the brilliant, untainted light of his soul like a moth to a flame. There was something intoxicating about the boy's devotion, a purity so absolute it was a challenge. He could see the conflict raging within him, the war between his indoctrination and the burgeoning desires of his body.
Chan could feel the boy's need, a deep, aching loneliness he mistook for spiritual yearning. It was a delicious vulnerability, a crack in the armor of his faith that Chan was eager to exploit. He had fed on the boy's dreams, tasting the sweetness of his lust, savoring the tang of his guilt. But dreams were no longer enough. He wanted the real thing. He wanted to feel the boy's trembling body beneath his own, to hear his whimpers in the flesh, to watch those innocent, pious eyes cloud over with the kind of pleasure that could make man forget God.
Tonight, he decided, would be the night.
Jeongin drifted into a restless sleep, the sheets a tangled shroud around his legs. The dream began as it always did, a warm, enveloping darkness that smelled of something anciently evil. He was floating, weightless, and then he was not. Hands were on him, stroking his arms, his chest, his thighs. A low chuckle vibrated against his ear.
"So eager tonight, little lamb," the voice purred, a silken caress that sent a shiver down his spine. "Are you finally ready to stop fighting?"
Jeongin wanted to answer, to scream, to push the hands away, but his body betrayed him. It arched into the touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips. The dream Chan laughed again, a dark, triumphant sound. His mouth found Jeongin's, and the kiss was a searing brand, claiming and possessive. It was a kiss of fire and ash, and Jeongin felt himself burning, melting, his will dissolving into a puddle of want.
He woke with a strangled gasp, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his sternum. The dream had been more intense than ever before, the phantom touch of Chan's lips still burning on his own. He lay there in the darkness, panting, trying to anchor himself to the reality of his small, simple room. The familiar shapes of his dresser, his desk, the crucifix on the wall they were all there, a silent testament to the world he knew.
But something was different.
The air was heavy, thick with an unnatural stillness. And that scent... it wasn't a phantom memory this time. It was real. The dark scent of cinnamon and sulfur filled his room, coiling around him like the serpent. A cold dread, sharp and piercing, cut through the haze of his post dream lethargy.
Slowly, terrified of what he might see, he forced his eyes to focus on the darkness above his bed.
And there he was.
Chan was not a flicker of imagination, a dream made real. He was tangible, terrifyingly so. He was hovering over Jeongin's bed, his body defying gravity with an effortless, predatory grace. The moonlight, filtering through the thin curtains, caught in his hair, making it shimmer like a halo for some fallen angel. His face was cast in shadows, but his eyes... his eyes were visible, twin pools of absolute black, fixed on Jeongin with an intensity that stole the breath from his lungs. They were filled with a raw, undisguised lust, a hunger so profound it was almost a tangible thing.
Jeongin's blood ran cold. A scream built in his throat, a primal cry of terror, but it died there, strangled by the sheer, overwhelming presence of the creature above him. This was the demon from his dreams, the source of his torment, and he was real.
"Wh-what are you?" Jeongin finally managed to stammer, his voice a pathetic whimper.
Chan's lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. He lowered himself slowly, his body finally coming to rest on the bed, caging the younger boys smaller frame with his arms. The mattress didn't dip under his weight; it was as if he were made of shadow. "I'm the answer to your prayers," he murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. "The prayer you don't even know you've been saying."
He leaned in closer, his face just inches from Jeongin's. The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying.
"You've been dreaming about me," Chan stated, it wasn't a question. "You've been calling out for me in your sleep. Such sweet, desperate sounds."
Shame, hot and suffocating, washed over Jeongin. "No," he choked out, shaking his head, his black hair clinging to his sweat damp forehead. "That's not true. You're a demon. A temptation. You're here to corrupt me."
"I'm here to give you what you want," Chan corrected, his voice dropping to a silken whisper. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against the shell of Jeomgin's ear. "What you need."
Before the young boy could form another denial, Chan's mouth was on his neck. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a hot, open mouthed press of lips against his pulse point, followed by a sharp, sucking pressure that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity through his entire body. A choked gasp escaped his lips, his hands flying up to Chan's shoulders, intending to push him away. But his fingers, traitors to his mind, instead curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him.
"Stop," Jeongin whimpered, the word sounding weak and unconvincing even to his own ears. "Please... you can't..."
But Chan didn't stop. He moved his mouth down the column of Jeongin's throat, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He nipped at the sensitive skin where his neck met his shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin, but with enough pressure to make Jeongin cry out, a sound that was half pain, half pleasure. His body was a battlefield, his mind screaming prayers of denial while his flesh sang a hymn of surrender. Every cell was alight, buzzing with a terrifying, exhilarating energy he had never known. He could feel Chan's smile against his skin, a silent, mocking acknowledgment of his body's betrayal.
"Your mouth says 'stop'," Chan growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble that vibrated through Jeongin's chest. "But your body is begging for more. Can't you feel it? The way you're trembling? The way your heart is racing for me?"
Chan's hands, which had been bracketing his head, began to move. One slid down Jeongin's side, his touch searing through the thin cotton of his sleep shirt, while the other tangled in his hair, gripping the dark strands at the nape of his neck. The grip was firm, controlling, and a fresh wave of arousal, so potent it made him dizzy, crashed over him. He had never been handled like this, with such raw, unapologetic dominance. It was terrifying, and it was the most intoxicating thing he had ever felt.
He tried to fight it. He really did. He recited the Lord's Prayer in his head, a frantic, desperate mantra. Our Father, who art in heaven... But the words were shredded by the sensations assaulting him. Chan's mouth was back on his, and this time, it was no gentle exploration. It was a brutal, demanding kiss, a pure act of conquest. Chan's tongue forced its way past his lips, claiming the wet heat of his mouth with a ferocity that left Jeongin breathless. He tasted of darkness, a flavor that was both alien and addictively familiar.
His whimpers were swallowed by the kiss, the sounds of his reluctant pleasure muffled against Chan's demanding lips. His mind was a whirlwind of conflict. This was wrong, a sin of the highest order, a defilement of the temple of his body. But his body... his body was a traitor. His hips arched off the bed, pressing against the hard, solid weight of the demon above him. A desperate, needy sound tore from his throat as he kissed back, his own tongue moving tentatively, clumsily against Chan's expert onslaught. He was desperate, and his body knew exactly what it wanted, even if his soul was screaming in protest.
Chan felt the shift, the moment of surrender. He pulled back from the kiss, his black eyes blazing with triumph. He looked down at the boy beneath him, his lips swollen and bruised, his eyes wide and dazed with a mixture of fear and lust. A dark purple mark was already blooming on his neck, a brand of ownership.
"That's it, little lamb," Chan purred, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Stop fighting it. Give in to me."
With a rough tug, he ripped Jeongin's shirt open, sending buttons skittering across the floor. The cool night air hit Jeongin's overheated skin, making him gasp. Chan's gaze raked over his exposed chest and stomach, his expression one of a predator admiring his prey. He lowered his head again, his mouth finding Jeongins's chest. He bit down on his hard nipples, making him cry out, his back bowing off the bed. The sharp sting of pain melted instantly into a throbbing wave of pleasure that shot straight to his groin.
"Please..." the boy begged, but he didn't know what he was begging for. For him to stop? For him to never stop?
Chan's mouth was relentless, lavishing attention on his chest, leaving a constellation of red marks and hickeys across his pale skin. His hands roamed, squeezing, kneading, claiming every inch of him. One hand slid down his stomach, dipping below the waistband of his pajama pants, wrapping around his already hard and leaking cock. Jeongin sobbed, his hips bucking wildly into the touch. He had never been touched like this, not by himself, not by anyone. The sensation was overwhelming, a pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.
"You're so sensitive," Chan murmured against his skin, his hand stroking him slowly, deliberately. "So responsive. You were made for this."
He released Jeongin's dick, ignoring his frustrated whine, and hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants. With one sharp, decisive motion, he pulled them down, along with his underwear, leaving Jeongin completely naked and exposed. The vulnerability was staggering. He lay there, trembling, his body a canvas of fresh marks, his erection jutting up from his body, a flag of his surrender.
Chan rose up on his knees, his own clothes dissolving into the shadows, revealing a body that was all lean muscle and sharp angles. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the dim light, and his cock was heavy and thick, jutting out from a nest of dark hair. The sight of him, sent a fresh wave of lust through the boy lying in front of him.
The incubus moved down the bed, positioning himself between Jeongin's trembling legs. He pushed Jeongin's thighs apart, his grip unyielding. Jeongin squeezed his eyes shut, his face burning with shame. He knew what was coming, and a part of him was terrified.
"Look at me," Chan commanded, his voice low and authoritative.
Jeongin's eyes fluttered open, and he was immediately captured by that intense, black gaze. He watched, mesmerized, as Chan lowered his head. He expected pain, or perhaps more rough biting. He did not expect the wet, shocking heat of Chan's mouth engulfing his cock.
A strangled moan ripped from Jeongin's throat. His hands flew to Chan's hair, his fingers tangling in the milky strands as his hips thrust uncontrollably. It was a pleasure so intense, so all consuming, it felt like a divine revelation, a blasphemous sacrament. Chan's mouth was a vortex of heat and suction, his tongue swirling around the head, tracing the sensitive vein underneath, driving him to the brink of insanity with a practiced, ruthless expertise.
"Please... I can't..." Jeongin babbled, his head thrashing against the pillow. Whimpers and moans spilled from his lips, a litany of desperate, incoherent pleas. He was so close, the pressure building, a tight coil of ecstasy ready to snap.
Just as he felt himself about to tumble over the edge, Chan pulled away, leaving him gasping and throbbing with unfulfilled need. The denial was a fresh kind of agony.
"Not yet," Chan growled, his voice rough with his own desire. "You don't get to cum until I'm inside you."
He moved back over Jeongin, his body covering his once more. He captured his mouth in another bruising kiss, making him taste himself. As he kissed Jeongin, one of his hands moved down, his fingers tracing the cleft of his ass. Jeongin tensed, a flicker of fear cutting through the haze of lust.
"Shhh, relax," Chan murmured against his lips. "I'll make it feel good. I promise."
He felt a pressure against his entrance, a firm, insistent prodding. A finger, slick with some kind of supernatural lubrication, breached him. Jeongin cried out, the sensation strange and intrusive. Chan didn't give him time to adjust. He began to move, thrusting his finger in and out, scissoring it, stretching him open. The initial discomfort quickly melted into a strange, full sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. Then Chan curled his finger, brushing against a spot inside him that made the boy see stars.
"Oh God!" he screamed, his entire body arching off the bed. A bolt of pure, white-hot pleasure shot through him, more intense than anything he had ever felt.
"God isn't here right now, little lamb," Chan chuckled darkly, adding a second finger. The stretch was more intense now, a burning ache that was quickly eclipsed by the pleasure as Chan relentlessly targeted that sensitive bundle of nerves. He was ruthless, fucking him with his fingers, stretching him, preparing him, reducing him to a whimpering, needy mess. Jeongin's mind was completely gone, wiped clean of every prayer, every rule, every ounce of self-control. All that existed was the overwhelming pleasure, the desperate need for more. He was grinding down onto Chan's fingers, shamelessly chasing the sensation, his body moving with an instinctual rhythm he didn't know he possessed.
"Please... Chan... please," he sobbed, the words a broken, desperate chant. He needed something more, something bigger, something to fill the aching void inside him.
Chan knew exactly what he needed. With a final, cruel twist of his fingers, he withdrew them, leaving Jeongin feeling empty and bereft. The incubus rose up, his black eyes burning with a feral hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He gripped Jeongin's hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, hard enough to leave bruises. He flipped him over with a rough, easy strength, maneuvering him onto his hands and knees.
The sudden change in position was disorienting. Jeongin was now facing the headboard, his back completely exposed and vulnerable. He could feel Chan's gaze on him, a physical weight that made his skin prickle. He felt the heat of Chan's body settle behind him, the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against his ass.
"This is how I'm going to fuck you," Chan growled, his voice a low snarl right next to his ear. "Like the animal you are. You're not a saint. You're a creature of lust, just like me. And I'm going to make you scream."
He positioned himself at Jeongins's stretched, fluttering entrance. There was no more preamble, no more gentle preparation. With one brutal, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.
The pain was blinding. It was a searing, white hot agony that tore through him, stealing his breath and bringing tears to his eyes. A raw, guttural scream was ripped from his throat, a sound of pure torment. His arms gave out, and he collapsed face first onto the pillow, his body trembling violently.
Chan didn't give him a moment to recover. He set a punishing, brutal rhythm from the very start, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, each thrust hitting him deeper and harder than the last. The headboard slammed against the wall with the force of his movements, a frantic, violent percussion that echoed the chaos inside Jeongin's own body.
The pain was immense, but woven through it, almost immediately, were threads of pleasure. Each brutal thrust forced a choked gasp from his lungs, and with every gasp, the pain receded a little more, replaced by a mind blowing, full body pleasure that was so intense it was almost painful in its own right. The feeling of being so completely filled, so utterly possessed, was a drug.
"Look at you," Chan grunted, his voice ragged with exertion. He leaned over Jeongin's back, his chest pressing against Jeongin's marked skin. One of his hands snaked around the boys throat, his fingers wrapping around it in a firm, but not constricting, grip. The possessiveness of the gesture sent a fresh jolt of arousal through Jeongin.
"Taking my cock so well. Such a greedy little slut."
The words were degrading, filthy, but they only served to heighten Jeongin's arousal. He felt like he was being split in two, remade in the image of this creature's lust. He could feel Chan's animalistic groans vibrating through his back, a primal sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Chan's free hand was gripping his hip so tightly he knew it would leave a constellation of deep, purple bruises, a brand that would last for days.
Jeongin was lost in a haze of sensation. He could feel the drag of Chan's thick cock inside him, the slap of skin against skin, the possessive grip on his throat, the brutal force of the thrusts that were pushing him relentlessly towards the edge. He was moaning continuously now, a stream of broken, needy sounds that were completely beyond his control. He reached back, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on Chan's thigh, his nails digging into the hard muscle, leaving red crescent marks in his wake.
"Harder," he heard himself beg, the word a hoarse, desperate whisper.
"Please, Chan... harder..."
Chan responded with a guttural groan, his grip on Jeongin's throat tightening slightly, cutting off just enough airflow to make his head swim. He obliged, his hips snapping forward with renewed ferocity, fucking into him with a wild, untamed pace.
The bed was shaking violently, the room filled with the sounds of their rough, animalistic coupling: the slap of flesh, the creak of the bedframe, Chan's possessive grunts, and Jeongin's high, desperate whimpers.
"Mine," Chan snarled, his lips brushing against Jeongin's ear. "This ass is mine. This body is mine. You're going to think of me every time you kneel to pray. You're going to feel my dick inside you for the rest of your life."
The possessive words were the final push. The coil of pleasure in Jeongin's stomach tightened to an impossible degree, and then it snapped. A silent scream tore from his throat as his orgasm crashed over him, a tidal wave of ecstasy so powerful it whited out his vision. His body convulsed, his muscles clamping down around Chan's cock as he spilled himself onto the sheets beneath him, wave after wave of intense, shuddering pleasure wracking his frame.
The feeling of the younger boy's body clenching around him sent Chan over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep, his own body going rigid as he came. Jeongin felt a sudden, intense heat flood his insides as Chan released, thick streams of his essence filling him up, a primal, possessive claim. Chan's roar of completion was a raw, feral sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room.
For a long moment, they stayed frozen like that, Chan draped over Jeongins's back, both of them panting, their bodies slick with sweat. The room was silent except for the sound of their ragged breaths. Slowly, Chan eased out of him, and Jeongin collapsed onto the bed, his limbs feeling like jelly. He could feel Chan's release, a warm, slow, sticky trickle running down his thigh, a tangible reminder of what had just transpired.
Chan rolled him over onto his back. Jeongin lay there, boneless and spent, his body aching in a dozen different places. His chest and neck were covered in a mosaic of purple and red hickeys, his hips were bruised, and his throat was marked by the faint imprint of Chan's fingers. He was a mess, a ruined, defiled thing.
He looked up at the incubus who was now kneeling beside him. Chan's black eyes were still intense, but the feral hunger had been replaced by a look of dark, possessive satisfaction. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of sweat-soaked black hair from Jeongin's forehead.
The touch was surprisingly tender, and it was that, more than anything, that broke him. A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye and traced a path through the sweat on his temple. The shame was gone. The guilt was gone. The self-hatred had been fucked out of him, burned away by the fire of a pleasure so profound it had felt like a religious experience. All that was left was a profound, earth shattering emptiness, and a terrifying, undeniable need for the creature who had just destroyed him.
Chan saw the tear and leaned down, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of his sorrow. "Don't cry, little lamb," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I'm not done with you yet."
And as Chan lowered his head for another kiss, Jeongin knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he was lost. The church boy was dead. In his place was something new, something hungry, something that belonged, body and soul, to the demon with the black eyes. And as he kissed back, his own neediness and desperation a mirror of the creature's lust, he realized he didn't want to be found.