The party is a haze, low and smoky and full of glittering sin.
Jeongguk wades through it all, warm under the dark leather of his jacket but not caring too much — after all, demons like the heat. He’s felt hell twice before: when he’d sold his soul, flipped the irreversible coin of fate: a breath of sulphur and pain like claws down his spine, and after, when he’d burned for what seemed like eons, but was told after by a smirking Yoongi that it had only been six minutes. Not that time was particularly a concern, for any of them.
He can see them all, dotted around the warehouse; Jin drinking something red and bubbling from a plastic cup with diamonds flashing at his ears, talking to a girl with green skin and pointed teeth, Namjoon animatedly discussing something with far too much enthusiasm for a hell party, Jeongguk thinks, with a fallen angel — he can tell by how their wings are black, slick-looking as oil, and the crown of briars that their halo has become. Taehyung is in the corner, mouth all over the neck of some (slightly steaming, Jeongguk hopes she hasn’t taken anything too explosive) water nymph, like he’s trying to suck out her non-existent soul. Fucking gluttony demon; Jeongguk couldn’t count the amount of times he’s caught Tae trying to steal his energy.
Yoongi himself is sat up on the table that heaves with bottles, new and stoppered and dusty all together, eyes gleaming with apathy as he watches Hoseok dance in the crowd. He’s shifting his body to fit the beat, hips rolling, dark eyes underneath dark hair. Yoongi curls his pale fingers around the neck of a bottle and gazes impassively, yet doesn’t look away. Sloth and wrath, respectively; Jeongguk wonders if maybe their two extremes can only be managed through each another.
The space is huge, crumbling stone and peeling yellow lines painted over the ground; the warehouse has been abandoned for years, in its isolated pocket of land that the mortals avoid, visit occasionally holding cameras and faux courage, coming away screaming about sulphur and sheep entrails. It’s all a lot of fun. Jeongguk likes being a demon.
The music is awful, some shitty thumping club bass pulsing, but the company is good, and that’s why he came. To be somewhere where he doesn’t have to pretend, where he can leave lingering glances brushing over people’s clothes, jewellery, partners — where he can flash his true eyes at them all, glittering and green as the emeralds that adorn the necklace he’d slipped from the neck of a woman, shimmering with material, cheap wealth, last week in an alley behind a bar that reeked of hopelessness, and taken back to his apartment to leave on the side somewhere. He hadn’t wanted to wear it, just possess. He never needs to use anything, never cares about looking after the things that other people love. He just wants.
Wants, wants, wants. He stares down into the questionably blue, swirling mass of his drink, then back up again at the party around him. There’s something burning underneath his skin, something other than the eternal fires of hell. If he had a heart that could love, he’d say there was a hole in it: a lust-shaped hole.
It goes like this:
Every time they meet, in a back alley or at the top of a skyscraper or a party in a cursed warehouse full of damned immortals, it’s like two waves colliding. Paradoxical, moonless and unrestrained. Fire on fire; brimstone.
Because the seven of them, they are ruination: that is the indisputable truth.
Namjoon’s greed; for power, as he paves his way to king, leader, gang head — they’ve evolved, the titles of ruthlessness, over the centuries. Jin, with his mirrors and his diamonds and his place at Joon’s side, arrogance going hand-in-hand with ambition: pride. The clash of chaos and chilling numbness that settles to something like peace, although never quite there, between Hoseok’s destruction and Yoongi’s irrevocable apathy. How Taehyung can never stop taking, taking energy in all its forms: sexual, magical; emotional, and the other hundred thousands complexities of human weakness. They rule, preen, destroy, neglect, take. Want.
And there’s one more, another kind of Want, that is the only one Jeongguk can ever understand, because they are so utterly the same and yet perfectly different. He’s never quite tasted it, always gotten so tantalisingly close, but just as he’s about to lean in — gone.
He feels it, when he enters. There’s a kind of collective pause, as everyone turns to look at the shadow being cast from the doorway, and upwards to the figure spilling it. Like the room knows that the main attraction, always the centrepiece of every hellish exhibition of celebration, has arrived.
Jimin’s eyes burn golden, cutting through the dimness between them. His hair is black, currently — Jeongguk kept on telling him how good he would look, with Jeongguk’s hands pulling on it as he held Jimin up against a wall and watched his head fall back, mouth open and gasping, and Jimin always laughed, brushed up against him teasingly but just slipped through his fingers — and his collarbones glitter where they’re exposed by the white silk of his shirt. The dark jeans outline his legs and Jeongguk doesn’t normally think they can ever look better than when they’re wrapped around a waist, but this is really testing him.
Jimin himself is an impossibility: beautiful, yet cold; wanted, yet rejecting. Sensuality pools at his feet like attention. Jeongguk can’t count the amount of times he’s wanted Jimin, couldn’t pinpoint the moment bursts of desire turned to a constant thrum, hot under his skin and flaring whenever the lust demon was close.
He can’t count how many times Jimin has brushed up close to him, laughed lightly as air and glanced down over him, before disappearing to nowhere. He supposes it’s a game, of sorts; anticipation is the greatest part of pleasure. A universally-known comfort truth.
He catches Taehyung watching him, from the corner, eyes flicking between where Jimin is walking slowly towards the dance floor, being stopped every step of the way by yet another eager acquaintance, and watches a smirk grow slowly over his face, as the nymph mouths down his neck and he meets Jeongguk’s eyes over her. It’s a tease, a stupid one, but it makes something prickle along the back of his neck, like an insult.
You want, he wants. Go get it.
It smarts, and Jeongguk has the arrogance of hell running through his veins. So he lays down his drink, shrugs off his jacket, tosses it to the wall, and flips Taehyung off as he follows Jimin. The gluttony demon laughs, and Jeongguk would genuinely feed him to a goat if they weren’t friends.
The dance floor is hot, bodies crowded close, and he weaves his way through smoothly. It’s a practised routine of theirs: Jimin waiting for him, Jeongguk coming, Jimin laughing and leaving with no more than a stroke of a fingertip across a cheekbone, a breath hot against his neck.
But tonight feels different. Jimin’s watching him as he approaches, casting coy glances through the crowd and looking, eyes lidded and low, over his shoulder, over the shimmering silk that slips as he dances. Jeongguk’s eyes are green, can’t stop watching him move.
He slides in behind him, and settles a hand on the soft curve of Jimin’s hip, on the transition from white silk to black denim. “Found you.”
Jimin laughs, sweet and heavy, and moves back against him, laying his hand over Jeongguk’s on his waist. “Took your time.”
“You arrived five minutes ago,” Jeongguk retorts. “You wanted me to jump you at the door?”
“Mmm,” Jimin hums, laying his head back against Jeongguk’s shoulder, still swaying to the hazy beat of the music. It’s loud, deafening, but Jeongguk can hear Jimin as though he’s whispering right into his ear. His voice smooths over Jeongguk, like honey pooling and sickly sweet.
He wants, he wants so badly.
“I want you,” he voices.
“I know,” Jimin says, and Jeongguk can hear him smiling. “You think I don’t want you?”
His question is poised like a point, sharp in its directness, yet hot with hellfire. Jeongguk murmurs it. “Can I have you?”
Jimin spins in his arms, turns to face him, and lays his hands on Jeongguk’s chest. The touch is feather-light, yet Jeongguk feels it burning through his shirt, right over where his lungs expand and contract in his ribcage.
The lust demon is even more beautiful up close, dark hair parted and curling down around his face, framing those cheekbones and almost reaching the lips that haunt Jeongguk’s dreams, looking wet with gloss. Jeongguk can smell the cherry from here.
Jimin laughs, light over his skin, over his collarbones and the curve of his neck. Jeongguk is sparkling all over, every inch of his being centralised on the demon before him, like a moon to its planet, a planet to its sun; Jimin tugs, he comes. Pulls, pushes. A game of wills, hanging in the air between them.
I desire you.
I want you.
“You think you can take this?” Jimin whispers, and presses the words against the space below his jaw, lips tracing the unhallowed question and sending a flurry up his spine, up his taken soul. He tilts his head to allow Jimin more access, opening up the vulnerable plane of his neck. Opening up himself, unclothed beneath the skin and sweat that Jimin must be tasting, mouth dragging as he murmurs. “You think you can manage me?”
“Can you keep up?” Jeongguk says back, hands sliding down Jimin’s sides, over the silk of his shirt, ivory and debauched and tucking up underneath his palms, resting on his hips and not grasping, or pulling — not yet. Just laid, Jimin slender between his fingers. He hopes his hands burn against the strip of Jimin’s skin that’s become uncovered, as the silken material slips out from underneath the waistband of his jeans; he wants Jimin to gasp against the unholy heat of him. Jeongguk wants to taste hell on Jimin’s skin.
Jimin licks a long stripe up his neck, over his jaw, tongue warm and dragging, over his pulse and tracing over his parted lips; Jimin presses his own against them. The next words are imprinted into Jeongguk’s lips, Jimin’s tongue luring them into his mouth, daring: swallow them. Swallow me, taste me and all my damning promises. Demon boy, I’ll devour you all over again.
“Baby, I’m the demon of lust.”
Jeongguk traces one hand up over Jimin’s spine, through the thin shirt, feeling as it curves, shifting with the gravity of their bodies as they dance in that carnal way. He reaches the nape of Jimin’s neck, and threads his fingers upwards and through his hair, weaving inbetween the black strands. He doesn’t miss the flutter of Jimin’s pulse as he kisses, slow and heady and heavy, down from his mouth to the space below his ear, and bites down. Ever so slightly. A touch at a time; each breath is a flurry in a void, chaos. Red and burning. “You think you can want more than Envy? Jealousy?”
“So you want me more? More than anything?” He can feel Jimin smile, above him as he licks and bites indigo blooms onto the golden skin of his neck. The only flowers that can grow in a garden of lust: roses made of strung-out gasps and Jimin worshipping his name, painted in moans. “Sounds like you’re desperate.”
“You’ll be desperate,” Jeongguk whispers, “When you’re full of my cock and I’ve got your wrists against the mattress and all you can remember to scream is my name. When I fuck you so good you’ll be limping for centuries, Minnie. Who’ll be more desperate when you’ve got my cum all over your pretty face and you’re still hard, rutting against me like a bitch?”
Jimin whimpers, and it’s the holiest sound Jeongguk’s ever heard; he wants to worship it, wants to lick into his mouth and wreck him until it’s all he can do, gasp and moan and scream.
“Do you want that?” Jeongguk licks over the mark he’s left, tastes the brimstone of Jimin’s sweat. “You want to know how good envy feels when it’s all for you?”
Jimin fists into his hair, drags him up to meet his lips in a kiss that’s messy as Babylon falling, wet and slick and heady. He kisses like he’s claiming, staking him as his own; want wanting want. Desperation is the weapon of them both. It’s a double bluff that tastes like the cherries and blood Jeongguk chases as he sucks the tip of Jimin’s tongue, dragging him closer, closer.
“Everyone wants you,” Jeongguk says, harsh, bear-growls, something primal tearing at his chest as he digs his nails into Jimin’s hips; he has to leave marks, has to drag a trace of him against the demon who’s pulling his hair and trying to tear out his damned soul through his mouth. “But I want you most.”
He feels the hips he’s gripping surge forward, rolling, grinding up against him and he feels the press of Jimin’s hardness against his thigh; he slips it between Jimin’s legs, shoves up roughly and pulls him down — he moans, loud and torn from his swollen lips as his pupils blow to darkness. He looks like sin personified; Jeongguk wants to pull him apart, atom by atom, and see what he looks like when his own evil has been turned back against him.
Jimin makes a high, breathy sound against him. He tugs Jeongguk’s lower lip between his teeth, pulls it and lets it snap back; Jeongguk tastes Jimin’s cherry lip gloss, and blood, hot and coppery. Jeongguk kisses Jimin again, and smears it against the lust demon’s mouth. His blood, hot with hell. Jimin’s lips are crimson when they break apart for a moment, parted and panting as his dark, dark eyes gaze up at Jeongguk from underneath his lashes.
“If you fuck me,” Jimin says, “You won’t ever stop needing to. You wanna fill me up with your pretty cock? Drag my mouth down over and choke me on it?” He smirks around the words. “Make me cry?”
Jeongguk moves the hand fisting into Jimin’s hair round to cup his jaw, propping his chin up with a thumb, digging into the flesh of his neck . He nods. Jimin smiles. There’s a universe in the grin; a hell breaking apart and remaking itself in an infinite loop.
“You’ll want me,” he breathes, “Forever.”
“Good,” Jeongguk says, “Because when I’m done with you, you’ll never want anyone else.”
“Is that a promise?” Jimin murmurs, tilting his head to let Jeongguk scratch, feather-like, with his thumb, across Jimin’s throat. “Can you keep it?”
“Let me show you.”
Jimin reaches to lay a hand over Jeongguk’s, where it rests against his neck. He threads their fingers together; Jeongguk’s hand engulfs his. “Make me cry, Jeongguk.”
Over Jimin’s shoulder, Jeongguk can see Yoongi, sat on the drinks table with Hoseok between his legs, face buried in his neck as he kisses up the plane of his pale skin — probably biting, leaving behind indigo marks because Hoseok is wrath incarnate and likes to leave motifs of destruction behind wherever he goes: store fronts smashed in, drunk men’s faces bloody when they get too handsy, the mortal world spilling red at his feet. Hoseok leaves Yoongi’s body trembling underneath his touch, like an altar on fire. Jeongguk wonders if it’s the contradiction that makes them so violently perfect, wonders if maybe it’s his and Jimin’s magnetic similarity that makes them so — desire and want, intertwined yet destructive as each other.
He meets Yoongi’s eyes, watches as the sloth demon, so cursed with apathy most of the time, whimpers and melts against Hoseok, lips parting and eyes fluttering, and yet he still holds Jeongguk’s gaze steadily. Like hot coals, smouldering. Telling him, almost, because Yoongi’s been his mentor through everything demonic and not in his lifetime: when you want, you want.
“Do you want me as much as they want each other?” Jimin says, turning his head to brush his mouth against the tips of Jeongguk’s fingers, lips parting and tongue brushing out to flick against his thumb. He sucks around it, warm and wet and promising.
Jeongguk’s attention is firmly back on him, on Jimin, the lust demon with his cock hard against Jeongguk’s thigh and his tongue dragging up his thumb, that hot red haze of desire clouding the dark of his eyes. “More.”
“Let’s go,” Jimin bites down, light and teasing as his breath on Jeongguk’s neck earlier, a brush like anticipation set alight. “Because if I don’t get you in my mouth soon I’m going to do terrible things.”
He takes Jeongguk’s hand and tugs it down to pull him behind him, weaving a path out of the party. The dance floor is hot and full of couples, throuples, outlines made up of limbs and laughter; Jeongguk can taste the desire in the air, tangy on his tongue like sweat and cherries — Jimin’s lip gloss is smeared across his mouth. He already has traces of the demon all over him. That’s what lust is; losing yourself over and over in the body of somebody else, taking all you need and getting high off of the insides of their thighs and the way their moans mix with your own. That’s what Jimin is. Sex and power.
They spill out of the warehouse into the chill of the yard outside; the gravel crunches underneath Jeongguk’s boots as he pulls Jimin towards the Mercedes in the corner, black and gleaming as the dim light of the moon on Jimin’s hair as he pushes Jeongguk up against the car. The metal is cold against his back but Jimin’s hands are warm as they slide up his front, pushing underneath his shirts and tracing the plane of his stomach, the lines of his abs.
“You’re so strong,” Jimin breathes against his lips, pulling back and huffing a laugh as Jeongguk tries to follow, tugging his bottom lip back with his teeth. “Bet you could fuck me up against a wall with all these muscles.”
“Do you want me to?” Jeongguk wraps his arms around Jimin’s back and pulls him flush against him, bodies pressed together; he can feel as Jimin’s breath hitches, can feel the hardness of his cock against his thigh. “Want me to hold you up and make you come without touching yourself?”
“Big words.” Jimin raises an eyebrow, but Jeongguk can see as his pupils blow wider still.
He winks, a moment of softness as he says, “That’s not all that’s big.”
Jimin laughs, properly, eyes curving to crescents, and Jeongguk thinks that he really couldn’t get more beautiful — maybe he sold his soul for this too, the endearing loveliness that tinges Jeongguk’s desire with a hint of guilt. Sometimes, in the corner of his mind, he wonders if sex is all he wants from Jimin. But that’s a dangerous, dangerous line of thought, so he surges forward and obscures Jimin’s smile into a kiss. It’s messy and slick; Jimin tastes like cherry and sin, and Jeongguk strips off his guilt like a bandaid.
Guilt, regret — it’s all meaningless, to them.
“Let’s go,” Jimin whispers against his mouth, and Jeongguk fumbles for the handle of the car door, pulling it and pushing Jimin in.
The car is silent as he pulls out of the warehouse yard, ringing after the rumble of the music they’ve left behind, but Jimin’s presence is loud; loud like the ruffling of silk, fabric heavy and pooling like water. The light from the illuminated knobs and displays across the dashboard is neon, casting a cold glow over moments of the interior: the leather seats, the gear stick, Jimin’s dark hair and Jimin’s collar bones between the folds of his silk shirt and Jimin’s hand as it reaches over to settle on Jeongguk’s thigh.
It rests there for a while, as they move past the dark shapes of trees outside; Jeongguk barely notices when they start to blend to buildings, the street lights lighting up the outline of Jimin’s figure in the corner of his eye.
Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. He feels as though the demon is filling his every pore, senses overwhelmed. Like the world has blurred out and all he can see is dark hair and white silk and hips he wants pinned against every flat surface in his house.
The gear stick beneath his palm; the cold leather beneath him. Jimin in the seat beside him, hand heavy and warm on his thigh. This is his world, right now. His whole, overwhelming world.
The clock on the dashboard is lit in blue neon, numbers cold: 03:00.
“Drive faster, baby,” Jimin murmurs, the soft sound filling the car like the scent of cherries. “What are you scared of?”
“Dying?” He snipes back. Jimin’s chuckle makes something glow warm in his chest.
He puts his foot down.
Jimin opens the window, all the way down, and stretches his arm out into the cold air; Jeongguk sees it in the wing mirror, the pale silk against the dark of the night, the chill as it washes across his face. He risks a glance across at Jimin, but he’s leaning out of the window, his black hair ruffling in the breeze and his arm leaning up on top of the car door. Jeongguk wishes he could somehow capture the moment, the exquisite image of Jimin in his car against the night they’ve both sold themselves to.
He wants to mess up Jimin’s hair more than the wind ever could.
“Looking at something?” Jimin asks, voice lilting as he meets Jeongguk’s eyes in the wing mirror. There’s something burning in his eyes, something that Jeongguk wants to press his lips to and swallow.
“You know I’ve been looking at you for years.” And it’s true; ever since he became a demon, became envy incarnate, ever since he’s stumbled his way into unhallowed immortality, Jimin has danced around the edges of his existence. All the parties, every bored stoned hang out at Namjoon and Jin’s place, exhaling smoke with his cheek pressed against the velvet of their couches with his gaze resting heavily on Jimin.
Jimin, with his small waist and small hands and small heart, who everyone wants. All Jeongguk ever wanted.
Jimin’s perfect lips curl into a smirk, and he breaks their gaze and looks out into the night. “Eyes on the road, demon.”
But as soon as Jeongguk’s eyes snap back to the road before them — which has, thankfully, been empty the whole time — the hand on his thigh creeps higher, thumb tracing the inseam of his jeans. He bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from exhaling shakily.
Jimin doesn’t look at him, as his hand brushes up, fingertip of his pinky flicking against the tent of Jeongguk’s cock, straining against the denim. Jeongguk bites down so hard he tastes blood. He can’t help it; his eyes flick over to where Jimin is watching him, yet again, with that burning gaze in the mirror.
“Eyes on the road,” Jimin whispers. The words drag over his skin like fire.
So he complies.
The hand slides up over his cock, and he can’t help the soft gasp that slips from his lips. It presses down, barely, and pleasure flushes his veins like gluttony half-satisfied, like every drug Taehyung has ever shared with him amplified impossibly. It’s so little, and yet it’s Jimin: it feels like everything.
The hand pops the button on his jeans, eases the jipper slowly. Leaves his belt done up; plays with the gap beneath it. His breath catches halfway in his throat.
“Eyes on the road,” Jimin murmurs, leaning close to press the words to his neck, lips dragging as he shivers, and then Jimin’s lower, lower, lower. He’s bent over Jeongguk’s lap, nose pressed against the skin that’s exposed as he pushes up the hem of Jeongguk’s shirt, breath hot against his navel. “Keep me safe, yeah?”
“You wanna play safe?” He manages to breathe out, fighting to keep the words steady. “Disappointing.”
He feels Jimin smile against the waistband of his underwear. “Nothing about either of us is disappointing. We’re…” he hums, and the feeling of it sends a violent shiver up Jeongguk’s spine. “… an acquired taste.”
And he presses his mouth to Jeongguk’s erection.
“Fuck,” Jeongguk stutters out, barely keeping his hips from twitching forward.
Jimin mouths over his cock, warm and wet through the fabric of his boxers, and hums against; the vibrations go right through Jeongguk’s non-existent soul. “Drive faster, Gguk.”
He works his lips slowly, drunkenly, and Jeongguk’s grip on the steering wheel tightens until his knuckles are white. Jimin licks, and he barely stops himself from keening.
He’s breaking the speed limit by at least twice, but the road is empty and Jimin feels like chaos uncontained. Jeongguk drags a hand into the dark hair that’s in his lap, and tugs, revelling in the vibrating groan he elicits. They’re playing each other like universes imploding.
When they finally reach his house, he turns into the driveway without slowing and the car screeches as it spins, through the open gates and towards the sprawling building that looms in dark brick and golden edgings. He almost hits the fountain.
As soon as the car stops, he pulls Jimin from his lap and grabs his hips, hauling him over the middle partition between them and into his lips. It’s a mess of limbs and hot, panting breath, as Jimin straddles his lap and grasps his shoulders to balance himself, palms hot through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Was that necessary?” Jimin says between breaths, and Jeongguk smirks.
He tightens his grip on the lust demon’s hips, and kisses him hot and wet and heavy, licking into his mouth and biting his lips, their teeth clacking together. Jimin groans, the sound travelling across his chilled skin like electricity.
Jimin’s hands thread up into his hair, tugging sharply and making him laugh low against his mouth.
He pulls away to look Jimin in the eye — they’re dilated, pupils dark and huge as extinguished moons. “You wanna play in charge, baby?”
Jimin grins down at him, ruthless as the hot night. “We both know who’s leading here, Jeon.”
And he grinds down with a roll of his hips, pushing up right against Jeongguk’s dick, their erections pressed together underneath the layers of material that Jeongguk wants increasingly to get rid of, violently. Jeongguk feels hot pleasure, raw and burning, shoot through him, blood pooling to his crotch, and he groans, the sound loud and washing up in his ears as Jimin smiles softly down at him, cupping his chin and looking at him almost gently, if gentle was cotton candy edged in silver.
“Don’t we?” He whispers, and he’s doing it again and again, finding a rhythm and they’re dry humping, cocks pressing together and Jeongguk’s hands gripping Jimin’s hips so tightly they’re going to leave bruises. Good. Jeongguk wants Jimin to remembers him every time he’s naked and painfully alone, wants Jimin to remember how good he made him feel.
How good he’s going to make him feel.
“I’m taking you inside,” he says, voice low and grating, and he doesn’t miss how Jimin shivers. “I’m going to make you remember how I feel. Every time you walk, you’ll think of me.”
“I’m getting impatient with you making all these promises,” Jimin sighs, tracing over Jeongguk’s cheekbone with his short thumb. “When are you gonna make good on them?”
Jeongguk feels along the edge of the car door, finds the handle and yanks it open, pushes Jimin out and follows, doesn’t let go of him as he slams it closed behind them and they stumble out into the cold, grasping at each other as they make their way over to the house. Jeongguk kisses him deep as the night sky above. It’s cloudless; the stars watch and coolly dissaprove. Jeongguk laughs. He has more than they ever will.
They reach the front door with Jimin having only tripped and fallen against him once, bodies hot against each other as they pant into each other’s mouths. They separate as Jeongguk fumbles for his keys in his pocket, manages to slide it into the lock as Jimin laughs, light and loaded, and traces a finger over the carved edgings of the doorway.
“You got angels carved into your house?” Jimin says, trailing over the wide eye of a cherub, holding a bow with an arrow tensed to fly. “Not worried about the big daddy in the sky smiting you down?”
“Haven’t I already fallen as far as I can possibly go?” Jeongguk retorts, shoving the door open and grabbing Jimin’s wrist to pull him inside.
“Your taste is questionable,” Jimin murmurs against his lips, as Jeongguk slams the door shut and pushes Jimin up against it, hitching a leg between his thighs roughly and savouring the soft moan that slips from his lips.
“Nothing about you is questionable.”
“Jeongguk,” Jimin says, plainly and soft, “Please take me upstairs and fuck me because I really, really just need you inside me, and you being nice is doing nothing to stop that.”
“You want me to be nice?” Jeongguk says, to cover the sudden rush of overwhelming heat that the words shroud him in, “Want me to call you pretty and fuck you vanilla?”
“Want you to call me pretty and fuck me like a demon,” Jimin says harshly, up against his ear. “Think you can manage that?”
In response, Jeongguk grasps the backs of Jimin’s thighs, and hoists them up around his waist. The sudden impossible closeness of them, Jimin’s core against his chest and his ankles locked around his waist, hands in his hair and hardness against his stomach, makes him damn near growl against Jimin.
They manage it up the stairs, Jimin laughing between the moans he presses against Jeongguk’s lips, Jeongguk feeling up Jimin’s thighs and grasping his ass, squeezing roughly. He wants to manhandle Jimin, but he also wants to fuck him like he deserves: like he’s carved into marble, made of gold and stained glass. The paradox of them, of unearthly beauty and the heat of hell.
Jeongguk’s bedroom is huge in the darkness, moonlight streaming through the tall windows that line one wall, his bed a soft mass in the centre. He near-throws Jimin down onto it, watches as he bounces a little and reaches up as if to tug him down too, but steps backwards, just out the way.
A heavy moment passes between them, drenched in the unholiness of their swollen lips and mussed hair. Jimin, kneeling on the edge of the mattress, silk shirt loose and flowing, dark marks stark across his neck in the shape of Jeongguk’s mouth. Jeongguk, stood before him, looking down into those pupil-blown eyes.
Then, Jeongguk, slowly, unbuckles his belt.
Jimin’s eyes drop to the movement, and suddenly his hands are scrabbling to replace Jeongguk’s, shoving them away and tugging at the leather strap, yanking it undone and pulling it from the loops of his jeans with practised speed. He throws it to the side like it’s burning, and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Jeongguk’s already-undone jeans, and pulls both them and his underwear down.
The sight of Jimin, kneeling on the edge of the bed, his bed, with his eyes wide and pupils pooling at the sight of Jeongguk’s cock, is everything holy and sinful in the world.
When Jimin leans forward, eyes flicking up to hold his steadily, and takes Jeongguk into his mouth, Jeongguk swears he’s feeling heaven.
“Jimin—” He gasps, hands falling to Jimin’s hair and fingers threading through. “Fuck. You feel—”
Jimin feels like the rawness of a blade, like rocks being crushed and oceans writhing. Like the earth rolling and thrashing, the heat of Jimin’s mouth so impossibly soft, silken as he works down Jeongguk’s length, tonguing at his slit in a way that makes him thrust his hips forward involuntarily, fucking into the lust demon’s mouth.
Jimin hums, pleased, around his cock, and Jeongguk almost cries.
“Like that,” Jimin rasps, pulling off for a moment and jerking Jeongguk slowly with his hands. “Fuck my throat.”
He thrusts into Jimin’s mouth at a rough pace, steadily yet ruthless, feels Jimin’s throat expand around him and tugs his hair to pull him closer, impossibly closer. “Jimin, I’m gonna—”
Jimin blinks up at him, as if daring him, goading: come. Come in my mouth and choke me.
Jimin’s mouth is impossibly hot, tight, and Jeongguk wants to do nothing more than fuck his own cum down Jimin’s throat, make him swallow it and feel his throat as he does. But Jeongguk has self-restraint, and the desperate, clawing need to be inside Jimin in another way.
“I’m not coming until I’m buried in your ass and you’re begging me to,” he smirks down, and watches as Jimin visibly shudders.
He pulls off, and grabs at Jeongguk’s jeans, tugging them further down. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
Jeongguk laughs, feels that tiny spark of something too dangerous and unwanted to name flare up in his chest again, sweet in his lungs and bitter on his tongue. He pushes Jimin forward, back onto the bed fully, and tugs his jeans and boxers off, grasps his shirt and pulls it over his head. He swallows the sweet, toxic little thing, and loses himself in the way Jimin’s eyes rake up his naked body.
He climbs over him, braced on his elbows above Jimin, and kisses him, pressing him down against the white bedsheets and trying to taste the very essence of his taken soul, like if he kisses him deep and long enough he’ll discover the part of Jimin he traded for the eternal life and pleasured damnation. It’s a fruitless search, but Jimin’s moan, loud and carrying against his tongue, feels like reward enough.
He breaks away and leans back to unbutton Jimin’s trousers, pulls them down his legs. He presses a light kiss to the tent in his briefs, the wet patch there that he takes some twisted glee from. Jimin shudders beneath him, makes another unholy cherry-sweet sound. Jeongguk feels drunk on it all, the sound and scent of Jimin, the way his now-exposed thighs are smooth as the marble of the bed frame.
When Jimin’s jeans have been tossed aside to join his own, he goes back to those thighs, presses hot little kisses along the insides of them, and bites, licks, until Jimin is squirming underneath him. He bites down, works the fragile skin as he leaves purpling stains along the expanse, dark and heady as spilt wine, burst grapes and bitten lips.
“Jeongguk,” Jimin moans, voice sweeter than any expensive, dark honey wine Jeongguk’s ever tasted, “Jeongguk, please.”
He sits back, admires the art he’s made of those thighs, and slides his hands up to pop open the buttons of Jimin’s shirt. The white silk pools as he undoes it, leaving the softly-defined plane of Jimin’s stomach on show, and Jeongguk wants to do so much to the lust demon below him, wants to make him feel so many things. Wants him to taste Jeongguk’s name like it’s celestial.
When he finally undoes the last one, just below the glistening edges of Jimin’s collarbones, he pushes the fabric aside with soft, brushing fingertips, pulling it down over his arms until he’s just lying there on it, golden skin naked except for his briefs, against the white of Jeongguk’s bedsheets and his own ivory shirt.
“You look so good, baby,” he murmurs, traces across Jimin’s front and flicks a nipple lazily, watching as Jimin’s back arches in a way so beautiful he almost chokes up, his head tipping back and eyes glazed when they find Jeongguk’s. He looks utterly debauched, thighs littered with dark stains and skin glistening with sweat. “So good for me.”
Jimin’s chest rises heavily, and Jeongguk traces his hand up to his mouth, fingertip tracing the outline of Jimin’s lips. It’s like the moment at the party all over again, except now Jimin is here, in his bed and spread before him and desperate for him. Jeongguk is heavy with want. He pushes two fingers into Jimin’s mouth, feels the heat of Jimin’s tongue around them, how his lips close around Jeongguk’s knuckles and his head bobs, not breaking his gaze and hands trailing over Jeongguk’s hips.
“Who is this for?” He whispers, pulling his fingers out to trail Jimin’s own spit across his chin. “Who’re you so messed up for?”
“You,” Jimin replies, voice half-wrecked, and his eyes narrowing is the only warning Jeongguk gets before Jimin’s wrapping his legs around Jeongguk’s waist, locking his ankles behind, and rolling them over.
Jeongguk’s breath catches with the suddeness of it, winded, as he lands on his back with Jimin on top, braced on his hands as they plant on either side of Jeongguk’s head. The envy demon’s world view is narrowed down to just that: Jimin, dark hair hanging down around his face as he gazes down at Jeongguk with a smirk, chest heaving a little.
“And who’s this for?” Jimin says, tucking a strand of Jeongguk’s hair back behind his ear, expression painted thoughtful. “Who are you so desperate for, demon?”
“Always you,” Jeongguk says, and turns his head to press a kiss to Jimin’s hand, light as a butterfly. “Sit on my face.”
He doesn’t miss the way Jimin’s eyes widen, for half a moment, and watches as he smiles slowly. “Ask nicely.”
Jeongguk doesn’t beg. But he knows that sometimes, being polite is the best way to get what he wants. “Sit on my face. Please.”
“Much better,” Jimin breathes, and shifts where he sits on Jeongguk’s chest, thighs spread across. He rolls his hips as he lifts them, shimmying out of his briefs, and Jeongguk slides them down over his thighs, over the marks he’s left there, and over his ankles.
Jimin’s cock is as pretty as the rest of him is, and Jeongguk would want to worship it a little more if he wasn’t so desperate for Jimin to slink forward just a little, and set his ass down over Jeongguk’s face. So he slides his arms around the backs of Jimin’s thighs, and pushes himself down the bed to get there.
Jimin gasps as Jeongguk licks over his hole, grasp on his thighs tight, and tongues there. “Ggu—Gguk—”
The room fills with his pretty noises as Jeongguk works his tongue across Jimin’s hold, slides in as it flutters around him and Jimin’s back arches impossibly, his moans slurring together into some kind of unhallowed symphony. Jimin is hot and heavy above him, thighs trembling in Jeongguk’s grasp as he spreads them wider, hands scrabbling to twist into the sheets.
Jeongguk fucks his tongue in and out of Jimin, tugging from the demon’s throat strangled groans of, “Gguk— fuck, Jeongguk—”
He sucks on Jimin’s hole, can almost taste the sweetness of the choked-up sound it drags from his mouth. His nails dig into his thighs, surely leaving biting half-crescents in the golden skin, and all he taste, all he can smell and comprehend is Jimin above him, making sounds more beautiful than the whole fucking universe.
Jimin’s walls contract, squeezing, and he pushes back against Jeongguk’s tongue, hips lifting and pushing back down, riding his face. Jeongguk feels his own spit run down his chin, feels Jimin’s hands trembling in the sheets above his head.
“I’m gonna—” Jimin groans, and Jeongguk pulls his tongue out, pressing a soft kiss to Jimin’s hole. Jimin near-sobs, shuddering above him, thighs shaking.
“Don’t want you to come until I’m in you,” he replies, pushing Jimin down a little to sit up against him, kissing his face. It’s wet with his spit, and a stray tear that’s made its way down Jimin’s cheek.
“You were in me,” he mumbles, and Jeongguk chuckles.
“You don’t want my cock, baby?”
Jimin fixes him with a dark, heavy look, and asks,
“Where’s the lube?”
“Top drawer.” He gestures to his left, and watches the gently-sculpted muscles of Jimin’s abs shift as he leans over to pull the drawer open and scrabble around for the small bottle. He leans forward to bite down on the juncture between Jimin’s neck and shoulder, hard enough to feel him shiver as Jeongguk licks across the golden skin there to taste the salt of his sweat.
Jimin pops the cap of the bottle, and pours it thickly over Jeongguk’s hand, making no effort to be neat. He lifts his gaze to Jeongguk’s, coats his own hand in it, and strokes down over Jeongguk’s cock.
The envy demon hisses with the sudden pressure there, how Jimin drags slowly, smirking behind how he’s biting his lip.
“I want you to fuck me hard,” Jimin says, slowly and steadily. “I want to feel you for the next week. Fuck me so I remember.” He squeezes round the base; Jeongguk gasps sharply. “Fuck me so I come back.”
Jeongguk’s never been one to deny Jimin.
Jimin lifts his hips and braces his hands on Jeongguk’s shoulders, and Jeongguk traces one fingertip around the edge of his hole, teasing. He feels it flutter, and Jimin presses his face into the curve of Jeongguk’s neck, groaning.
“So impatient,” Jeongguk murmurs, and slides a finger in.
Jimin exhales shakily against the patch of skin just below his ear, and takes the earlobe into his mouth, nibbling and sucking, playing it between his teeth. Jeongguk tilts his head involuntarily, opening up the expanse of his neck for Jimin to press hot kisses across.
He works his finger in and out, and slips in a second, stretching Jimin open as he sucks dark patches across Jeongguk’s neck, biting at the places that make his knees weak and pleasure pool, hot and heavy, in the pit of his stomach.
It’s when he’s working a third finger in, curving and pushing deeper, that he traces that spot and Jimin gasps, back arching and hands scrabbling against Jeongguk’s back. “Gguk, please fuck me, I’m good, please just fill me with your fucking cock and make me cry. Please.” His voice is wrecked, stretched on a sob, and Jeongguk could never say no to that.
He grasps Jimin’s hips, helps lift him over, and starts to push him down, cock breaching his hole and making them both let out strained sounds.
Jimin slides down over him slowly, hands squeezing his shoulders and walls his length, tight and warm and Jeongguk is caught on the edge of that rawness again, running across his skin and engulfing him, Jimin all he can see of the world. He’s drowning in him, in how he whimpers as Jeongguk finally bottoms out, how his nails bite into the muscle of Jeongguk’s shoulders, how his chest rises shakily with exertion.
Fuck, Jeongguk has never, ever wanted something so much as he wants Jimin right now.
“Baby,” he says, voice hoarse. Jimin makes a high, breathless noise. “You feel— you feel so fucking good.”
Jimin takes a deep breath, swallows, and settles a smirk across his face. “So, when are you going to make good on all those promises?”
Jeongguk slides his hands down to grasp Jimin’s thighs, pulls them flush together, making Jimin shudder and break his smug composure for a moment, and swings them around to the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the floor and pulling Jimin’s legs tight around him.
He stands, and Jimin keens.
“Yes yes yes yes,” he pants as Jeongguk walks over to press him up against the wall, Jimin’s back hitting the paintwork with a muffled thud, head falling back and mouth dropped open. “Oh god, please do it, please just fuck me—”
Jeongguk thrusts up, shoving Jimin against the wall and fucking up into him, and sees fucking stars.
With half of Jimin’s weight shoved against the wall, Jeongguk can fuck him freely against it, hips pinning him in place and Jimin’s hands clutching at his back, scrabbling as he moans brokenly. The rhythm is fast as hellfire, pistoning up into the tight wet heat of Jimin, the slide in and out of him constant and smooth as silk.
“Fucking envy demon,” Jimin pants, “Is this what you wanted so badly? Wanted me all to yourself? Just me?”
“Just you,” Jeongguk growls against his throat, “Wanted you like this, all around me and crying because you wanted me so bad—”
“Do want you, want you so much,” Jimin gasps on a particularly rough thrust, Jeongguk shoving him up and down the wall with his hips alone, “Want you to make me cry, make me come so hard I scream—”
And Jeongguk pushes forward at just the right angle, feels Jimin tighten around him and feels the scream build in Jimin’s throat before he releases it, before it fills the hot, dark room. Feels himself hit the spot inside Jimin that makes him come undone around Jeongguk.
“There!” Jimin sobs, hips pushing back weakly, desperately, against Jeongguk’s. “Fuck, there, please!’
It loses all rhythm after that, the pattern of theirs— it descends into the chaos of limbs and thrusts and Jeongguk’s hips hitting that place in Jimin, over and over and over until he’s trembling, only held up by the wall and Jeongguk. Jeongguk feels like he’s praying, worshipping at some damned altar and offering away something more terribly dangerous than his soul, some tender, vulnerable side of himself, unholy and fragile as communion wafer.
“Touch me,” he pleads, “Please, Gguk—”
“You can come like this,” Jeongguk says, low and primal, “Come on my cock, just like this, you can do it.”
Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, a tear trailing down over his cheekbone; Jeongguk licks it from his chin and tastes the salt.
It takes three more thrusts, three more pushes of his hips and rough shoving of Jimin back against the brick, for him to scream, drag his nails down Jeongguk’s back, and come.
It hits Jeongguk’s stomach, chest, Jimin’s own torso, and the sudden, blinding squeeze of Jimin around him makes Jeongguk’s orgasm hit him like a freight train, knocking him almost off balance as his vision flashes white and he bites down on Jimin’s neck, tasting blood and still with cherries lingering on his tongue.
Jimin goes limp against him, chest rising erratically and breath panting, and Jeongguk pulls out as gently as he can; Jimin whines, and Jeongguk can’t help just watching for a moment as his cum slides down Jimin’s thighs, milky white against the golden skin and dark marks.
“Gguk,” he mumbles, “Bed.”
He half carries, half drags Jimin over to lay him down on the sheets, covered in cum and spit and tears, chest fluttering and eyes lidded. He looks uterrly ruined, when Jeongguk stands, equally ruined, and casts a long look over him: purple-blue stains over his thighs and his neck, hair wrecked, cum splattered across his stomach and chest. Utterly ruined by Jeongguk.
Jeongguk leans forward to kiss him, slow and soft, lips slurred, and murmurs, “We need to shower.”
“Don’t wanna,” Jimin mumbles, and Jeongguk chuckles.
“You’ll hate me if I let you sleep like this.”
Jimin makes a sound of agreement, but still sighs exasperatingly when Jeongguk gently tugs him up off the bed, and towards the bathroom.
They don’t stop kissing, as Jeongguk gently cleans the (removable) traces of himself off of the demon; open-mouthed but slow as the centuries, warm but sweet, and how Jimin still tastes faintly of cherries, Jeongguk will never know. He fingers the cum out of him, gently as a feather-touch, and rinses the hot water through Jimin’s hair. Something warm, that thing he doesn’t want to name, buzzes in his chest again, sweet as summer and dangerous. But he can’t run away from it now, with Jimin falling asleep against him and utterly fucked out, so he just turns the shower off and guides Jimin back into the bedroom.
The sheets are relatively clean, as they didn’t exactly have sex on them, so he pulls Jimin against him and tugs the covers over them. Jimin curls up against him, face to his chest and leg strewn across his, and that Thing is acridly sweet in Jeongguk’s mouth, when he presses a soft kiss to Jimin’s forehead.
“Did I live up to my reputation?” Jimin mumbles, muffled against Jeongguk’s skin, and he can’t help smiling into his hair.
“It doesn’t do you justice.”
“No it doesn’t,” Jimin agrees, the words whispered and a tad smug, and he’s asleep before Jeongguk can say anything else.
He looks almost angelic, soft and washed and tucked up in Jeongguk’s bed. Jeongguk feels that sharp pain in his chest, prickling uncomfortably and making the dark room seem even bigger around them, waiting to swallow up them and any hope of their being any more than this: an adrenaline-laced fuck, immortal bodies intertwined in the liminal hours of the early morning.
That’s the curse, Jeongguk thinks, isn’t it? They exist forever, cursed to dance among humanity and melt against each other, a constant battle of blood and bitter wills. Like the softness of skin, hardened to smooth marble. Hope gone rotten.
Hope gone unhallowed. That’s him and Jimin. Envy and lust: desire turned sour.
But there’s no more to agonise over. They have forever, after all, to try to work out the impossibility of them. The night is black as damnation outside, and Jimin is warm and solid in his arms, breath gentle and steady against his chest. So Jeongguk just smiles, a tinge sad in the safety of Jimin’s soft hair, and closes his eyes.
Tomorrow is another whisper of eternity. He has that long, and then some, to play this game. Sin glitters across Jimin’s body, and the moonlight pooling in through the windows glimmers with something that, if Jeongguk squints just enough, looks a little like hope.