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Sleep is a fascinating construct.
When he was alive, sleep was an inevitability. The warmth produced from burrowing beneath his blankets, even as thin as they were, was a feeling that he only now knows in theory. The refreshment of awakening at dawn, limbs stiff and yet eager to expend energy once roused from unconsciousness. A strange cycle, but one that Hongjoong finds he looks back with a strangely fond nostalgia. The edges of his consciousness are frayed; he could feasibly surrender to the siren call of slumber, but he has seen what lies in that darkness and he cannot bear it.
A soft snort, followed by a weak mumble pulls Hongjoong from his spiralling thoughts. The heavy thump of a tail pulls back at the comforter, flattening it into submission. A thin smile pulls at his crimson-stained lips and he reaches down to gently drag his slender fingers through the snowy-white strands of Mingi’s hair. The wolf’s ears twitch at the motion, but he remains steadfastly asleep. Deftly, Hongjoong shifts so that it is now the pads of his fingers gliding through Mingi’s pale hair in a way he knows is comforting to the other. Heat radiates off the wolf in waves, and Hongjoong is amused by just how much can be expended without awakening the young wolf in discomfort. He’s tempted to be a little mean, to pinch at one of the faintly twitching ears, just underneath its most sensitive spot just so he can hear the little whimpers that tumble past Mingi’s plush lips.
But he refrains; at least one of them should claim the benefits of sleep.
“What do you dream of, my little doctor?” Hongjoong murmurs, idly brushing Mingi’s shaggy hair away from his face. “I cannot say myself,” he admits. “Humanity paints the past with an unfocused brush, and undeath clouds it further.”
Mingi makes a half-snort/half-stuttered exhale as he burrows closer to Hongjoong, arms wrapped tightly around the vampire’s waist. He could easily pull Hongjoong down to a horizontal position on the bed, but even in the depths of slumber, he is polite. Mingi’s nose wrinkles and he rubs it against the edge of Hongjoong’s thin sleep shirt. A smirk curls at Hongjoong’s lips; he has an inkling as to the effects of his scent on his caretaker, but he eagerly laps up the crumbs of evidence regardless. Lightly, Hongjoong uses the tip of his index finger’s nail to push up Mingi’s upper lip, revealing sharp canines.
Bloody, gnashing teeth piercing flawless, porcelain flesh.
The stench of blood from the dead fills the air.
Burnt fur. Stained claws.
Screams.
Darkness.
His thigh reflexively tenses, and Hongjoong swears to the Old Ones that he can see something pulsate beneath the healed over skin of his scar despite it being covered by several layers of fabric. He has spent countless hours staring at the grotesque scar, tracing the grooves that spread out in jaggedly sharp lines from the wound site. Each carved line is ingrained in his memory, an after-image that is burned behind his eyeballs for eternity. No matter how many layers of clothing he wears, he will always see it. In his weakest moments, Hongjoong curses the Old Ones and New as well as any deity or supposed power that be as to why he must be displaced like this. He is drunk on the irony that consumes him over the notion that anything he says can be heard by a higher power; centuries have passed and he is a stone in the river of time abandoned by the current, fated to be submerged and crashed into until he is smoothed down to nothingness.
Heat at his neck.
A soft whine.
“You should be asleep, puppy,” Hongjoong murmurs.
Another whine. This one with a tinge of frustration.
“So should you,” Mingi mumbles. He’s strong, easily able to pull Hongjoong from where he’d been resting against the headboard to a horizontal position against the soft mattress. “Sleep,” he commands. “Or try,” he amends guiltily.
A faint smile comes to Hongjoong’s stained lips and he gives Mingi a little pinch to his cheek. “This is acceptable for now,” he says softly, carding his fingers through the snowy white strands of Mingi’s hair. The gesture calms the werewolf, and Hongjoong smiles thinly as his fluffy ears twitch before Mingi burrows more against him. “Sleep is largely unnecessary.”
Mingi grunts, his cheek pressed tightly to Hongjoong’s side, impacting his speech and slurring his words more than being in the midst of sleep would. “If you want a coffin, jus’ say so, I can build you one. A nice one. With soft cushions n’ velvet.”
Hongjoong blinks slowly and he huffs out a laugh. “Do you think my kind sleeps in coffins, little doctor?”
“Know so,” Mingi mumbles, blearily opening his eyes. His face is puffy from sleep and his plush lips are curled into a petulant pout, and Hongjoong’s fangs ache at the temptation to bite him. Where Hongjoong is sharp edges and harsh colours of the underworld, Mingi is bright and soft. Where Hongjoong is darkness, Mingi is sunlight, nearly damaging Hongjoong's eyes if he looks too long at him. “M’be blocking out stuff will help you relax enough t’sleep.”
A soft chuckle escapes the vampire, and he gently scratches the best spot behind Mingi’s ears. The effect is immediate: the werewolf groans softly, tail rapidly thumping against the mattress. “Then I will be left with the thoughts and waking nightmares,” he murmurs, his voice perhaps too soft to hear. “I would much rather be here, like this… with you.”
The warmth engulfs him fully now, and Hongjoong is only faintly aware of how quickly their positions have changed. Mingi has him safely placed in his lap, large, muscular arms protectively wrapped around him and the heat at his neck returns, while the left side of his vision is blurred by the fluff of Mingi’s white hair. When the weather warms, so will his colouring. Hongjoong muses briefly on which of Mingi’s colouring he likes best. Both, comes the easy answer. “You never mentioned waking nightmares,” Mingi says softly, and Hongjoong can feel the shake in his voice, the way that his lips are curling into a frown. It is as if Hongjoong’s discomfort is felt by Mingi as well, and Hongjoong wonders if it will move the wolf to tears. “How long?”
“Oh, they are brief,” Hongjoong replies blithely. He grimaces as Mingi pinches him - though it is more of a warning shot. “Yes?” he demands.
Mingi catches his eyes now, his expression serious. “You know what I mean,” he presses. “How long have you been having nightmares when you’re awake?”
“Longer than I would care to admit.”
Not untrue.
“A few weeks?”
Since he awoke.
“One could say that.”
“What do you say?”
“That it is irrelevant whether or not I have them,” Hongjoong replies, allowing himself the comfort of sinking in against Mingi’s supple pectorals. His naturally larger body is simultaneously muscular and soft, and Hongjoong craves it more than the nightmares haunt him. Voicing this aloud, however, has proven far more difficult than understanding how a small steel box can communicate with someone in another country in real time. “They will not fade, nor will they become more than what they are.” Hongjoong’s eyes flutter shut as he allows himself to rest, comforted by Mingi’s scent, his touch, his voice, him. His fangs begin to ache. He is hungry … in more ways than one. “An … unfortunate side-effect in the midst of recovery.”
Much like this current position. Hongjoong tells himself that it is due to the unilateral arrangement that he allows this; it’s only proper, of course, to give the little doctor something in return for allowing Hongjoong to make use of him while he recovers.
Recovery is a rather cheeky way of framing what Hongjoong experiences in the present day. His body is weak, his teeth ache for blood and his bones remember how he used to feel at his apex. His body also remembers its fall, the descent into unconsciousness and the nothingness that followed until he was forcibly roused. A century has passed, an astronomical amount of time, barely quantifiable if he were not constantly at odds with the world around him. He was awoken by a man with feline eyes and sharp cheekbones, who purported to be a man of medicine, to help those like Hongjoong. Curious enough work for a human, to desire to help those humanity considers monstrous, and even more curious to have raised a werewolf into being a modern day cleric. So righteous and pure, yet he so easily succumbs to lust and desire when Hongjoong is involved. Such submission … Hongjoong could get intoxicated on such power that he clearly wields over the werewolf.
Yet… How can he curse and despise the teeth that took away his life and yearn to feel those same teeth pierce his flesh?
Is it solely because of the owner of those teeth?
Is it the person, not the species?
When did things begin to shift?
Curious and curiouser still.
“Have you spoken to Wooyoung about these nightmares?”
“No.”
“You should. He’s there to help you.”
“He is there to consume my already waning patience.”
Perhaps it is a previously unknown side-effect from drinking from Mingi in multiple sexual instances that is colouring his perception of a generational hatred that has persisted through bloodlines and through centuries. There is power in blood, and Hongjoong had perfected his craft during his peak. Even though his body is weak, his mind is beginning to remember just how to skillfully weave pleasure and lust into both himself and his blood source. Mingi is so malleable when Hongjoong frames it as helping him regain his strength … really, so easy.
Mingi’s heartbeat is steady. Healthy and strong.
The ache in his fangs gets worse.
A short, deep exhale leaves Mingi and for a moment, his arms tighten around Hongjoong. “He’s your adjustment therapist, not an enemy,” Mingi replies, voice muffled by the fabric of Hongjoong’s thin shirt. “Being combative isn’t going to help with recovery.”
The mere suggestion of spending precious time with someone as aggravating as Wooyoung makes Hongjoong’s skin crawl and resoundingly dampens his rising desire to stoke the fires of lust that lay dormant between them. To be perceived by someone so many centuries his junior makes Hongjoong nauseous and Wooyoung is irritatingly accurate which only prickles Hongjoong further. With his current state, Wooyoung is not only younger than Hongjoong, he’s more powerful than him too and at Hongjoong’s age, it is unacceptable. “I see no reason to advise Wooyoung of anything, let alone about that,” Hongjoong replies icily, keeping his eyes closed. “And which part of this is supposed to assist with my rest? You’ve gotten me ‘wound up’ as the kids say.”
There’s a short puff of air as Mingi scoffs against his earring, causing the charm to jingle softly in the quiet of the room. “No one says that,” he teases. He groans as Hongjoong bites at his shoulder, his tail thumping against the bed repeatedly. “Stop it,” Mingi whines. “We’re supposed to be resting.”
“And it fatigues me,” Hongjoong replies airily. He bites a bit higher, and a bit harder, dangerously close to Mingi’s neck, so deliciously exposed by the wide neck of Mingi’s well-worn sleeping shirt. “And I require sustenance. Do you wish to starve me, little doctor? I do believe that goes against your Oath.”
Mingi’s ears flatten and his expression is positively adorable; it’s difficult for Hongjoong to keep his expression steady. “If you’re hungry, just say so,” he mutters. “There’s no need for all this song and dance. I’m here to help you, you know.”
Hongjoong licks his lips, attempting to very much focus on the ‘song and dance’. “It is that ‘song and dance’ which provides the most reward,” he replies. All it takes is a slight press to the wolf’s crotch and Hongjoong can feel and smell the difference immediately. Mingi’s body is very honest, even if he himself is not. So much needless guilt and morality tied up in a bow that belies a feral creature underneath. The desire to unwrap the layers and see what it is that Mingi keeps hidden beneath this facade is addictive, almost obsessive. Lately, Hongjoong plays with the idea of being weak just a little longer if it means to keep Mingi closer.
It is only because the game is fun, he tells himself.
The actual reason lies behind his tongue, flattened by centuries of evidence to the contrary.
“Does it really, or are you just saying that?” Mingi asks, though he’s obediently shifting so that Hongjoong is more comfortable on his lap. Always so helpful, Mingi’s strong and gentle hands turn Hongjoong’s slender frame so that he’s properly positioned.
For a moment, Hongjoong does not answer, his eyes focused on his favourite vein on Mingi’s neck. His delectable femoral artery is also a top choice, but there is something about the way that Mingi will hold him tighter than usual without fear of breaking him that Hongjoong craves. To see the steel resolve of his caretaker snap and break like old, brittle board is something that Hongjoong is becoming obsessed with seeing. The obsession grows stronger, as Hongjoong even longs for those claws to pierce his skin in a way that leaves Mingi’s mark on him in a way that cannot be removed.
Curious and curiouser still.
His touch is light as he trails his long, sharp nails along Mingi’s neck, tracking out the outline of the vein at the wolf’s jugular that his fangs join moments later. Just a little bite … just enough to have the elixir that is Mingi’s blood coat his throat, to feel that heat that lies dormant in his long undead body… Hongjoong’s other hand is mischievous and focused, his palm grinding down against Mingi’s cock, feeling him fill out in his heather gray sweatpants sends a filthy thrill down his spine. But it is nothing compared to the pathetic little whimper that tumbles past Mingi’s plush lips despite all his effort to the contrary. Hongjoong can feel a wet patch begin to form beneath the hardness, so cruelly trapped by fabric and Hongjoong’s hand, and Hongjoong huffs out a little laugh, the cold hair dancing along the flushed skin of Mingi’s neck. He loves when Hongjoong drinks from him and this little snack is barely enough for both of them.
There is evidence to the impossibility of their partnership, so much that is biologically embedded in every fibre of their dual being, and yet, Mingi is eager to help Hongjoong. He gives himself to Hongjoong without hesitation, despite knowing how the vampire loves to play with him. Perhaps because of it; Hongjoong has his theories that his little wolf has carnal desires that are buried so deep that it would take a lifetime to dig out. He is surprised to find that he is eager to begin the excavation, and his fangs ache just a little more.
Mingi’s hands tighten at Hongjoong’s small waist, his tail rustling anxiously against the sheets. Hongjoong is fascinated by the way that he can see the brown already begin to slowly come in, pushing back the pale white that Mingi’s colouring had been throughout the winter. As spring calls, Mingi will be a rich, glossy brown that Hongjoong compares to the glint off a beautiful onyx gemstone in the sunlight. Curiosity gets the best of him and he reaches up, brushing back some of Mingi’s thick, fluffy hair, his eyes combing over the slowly darkening roots. His nails barely graze against the sensitive skin of Mingi’s ears, and a mischievous smile comes to Hongjoong’s lips as Mingi’s claws dig into his waist, only for a soft yelp and his tail rapidly hitting the bed to follow.
“I’m sorry!” Mingi frets.
Hongjoong chuckles, low in his throat as he presses forward, applying just a bit more pressure to his wolf’s hard-on. “I want more of it,” Hongjoong replies, his voice rough. “I want you to draw my blood as I draw yours, I want it to mingle, to become one when we become one.”
The flowery declaration hits its mark and Mingi’s resolve falters just a little more and victory dances along Hongjoong’s lips as it curls around a moan as finally, finally, Mingi ruts up against him with his engorged length. It may just tear the fabric of his pants, Hongjoong thinks deliriously, and he presses his tongue to the tip of his left fang. The tear of fabric of Mingi’s claws shredding his own loose sleep trousers is of little consequence to Hongjoong; a worthy sacrifice to his true goal. A soft moan trickles past Hongjoong’s crimson-tinted lips as Mingi grinds up against him with more force, now with far less barriers in the way, save for his own pants. But he likes it, his little doctor does, and a cutting little tease dances along Hongjoong’s tongue.
“Is this how you treat all your patience, little Doctor?” Hongjoong murmurs, dangerously close to Mingi’s sensitive ear, a devious giggle leaving him like a balloon that has left the hand of a careless child far too focused on a sweet treat. Heat licks up his spine as the blood fills his system - not enough, never enough - but enough for now… enough for him to get what he truly desires.
He bites his bottom lip as his eyes flutter shut as Mingi roughly shoves his waistband down enough that he frees his cock from its damp confines, now free to slide it between the cheeks Hongjoong’s buttocks. It provides the friction and heat that Mingi sorely craves but denies himself, but it’s not enough. Hongjoong knows it’s not enough and Mingi knows it isn’t enough, but his little caretaker will deny himself in the name of morality and duty. As if he is before a puzzle that takes a series of complicated moves to solve without breaking the pieces, Hongjoong makes his move.
Mingi whines as Hongjoong purposefully grinds back against his cock, leaking so profusely that they would scarcely need lubricative assistance. “Hongjoong,” he whimpers, his grip shifting grip strength so frequently that Hongjoong wishes to abandon his entire plan just for the immediate gratification but he holds steady to his original plan. “You need to eat… That wasn’t enough just now.”
“An exquisite meal needs to be prepared with care, does it not?” Hongjoong murmurs devilishly as he produces a small vial that makes Mingi’s eyes widen in recognition. “Put those hands to good use, Mingi.”
It feels as if Hongjoong is cheating, in a way, to use Mingi’s name as a foolproof way to get what he desires, so Hongjoong picks his moments to ensure they are at their most effective. An airy exhale leaves the vampire as Mingi sets to work, always so diligent as he prepares Hongjoong, and Hongjoong longs for those brief moments when Mingi is just a little rougher than usual due to his impatience, only for it to be clamped down by his discipline. Strong and sure, deep within to the point that Hongjoong feels as if a piece of himself has returned home. A ludicrous thought clouded and soaked in lust, and Hongjoong’s mouth hangs open as pleasure slowly licks up his spine as Mingi’s blood dries on his lips.
He lurches forward, pushing back against Mingi’s long fingers as they work him open, and Hongjoong exhales shakily as a prayer to the Old Ones threatens to give form. His nails scrape against Mingi’s toned shoulders, and his fangs ache. “It is enough,” Hongjoong urges, licking a long stripe up Mingi’s neck, drawn to the sinful smell even though it’s barely a trickle at the puncture site. “Fill me…” Hongjoong breathes, “impale me, Mingi, I crave it.”
“I… I don’t want to hurt you,” Mingi protests, but his voice hangs on by a frayed thread that Hongjoong will slice clean through. “It’s too big and you need more time–”
Hongjoong ignores the dull throbbing pain in his fangs as he suckles gently at Mingi’s neck, drawing just enough blood that the wolf whimpers again, louder this time. “I assure you, just like all the other times, I can take you,” Hongjoong promises. He draws Mingi’s eyes down as he trails a hand down his soft stomach, “and you see the evidence.”
A band of bright red streaks across Mingi’s cheeks and neck, and he buries his face in Hongjoong’s neck as his cock throbs against the vampire’s buttocks. “That’s not… I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You will not,” Hongjoong counters, carefully pulling Mingi’s hands away and repositioning himself so the head of the wolf’s cock teases his entrance. “Do you recall what I told you about my feeding, little Doctor?”
Mingi swallows and nods. “I remember…”
“It will be more fulfilling this way,” Hongjoong continues, spreading his legs and guiding Mingi’s hands to return to his waist. His ambition was always bottomless, and never more than when it comes to taking Mingi’s thick, long cock all the way to the hilt. His nails draw lines of red that drip blood, and Hongjoong stems the bleeding long enough by lapping it up as if it were the nectar of the Gods. His body accepts Mingi in, as it always does, as his blood slowly begins to slide down his throat. A little at first, then more, the puncture marks widening as his fangs impale them as he is simultaneously impaled. “Diversion of my steps take me further away, to become perverse…” he whispers huskily, his lips fastening to Mingi’s neck to draw more of that precious elixir into his veins.
A deep, guttural moan tears out of Mingi’s throat as he finally sheathes himself fully within Hongjoong, his nails scraping against Hongjoong’s waist. His hand drops from Hongjoong’s waist to his hip, holding tight just above his thigh. Hongjoong drinks deeply, ravenous and impatient to feel all of his wolf, until the thought occurs to him to wait. Mingi’s release colours his blood in a manner that Hongjoong can only compare to heavenly nectar. He’s held close, so close that it feels as if Mingi is attempting to fuse their bodies together, so that they truly do become one.
His blood is different this time, Hongjoong thinks, the errant thought cutting through the thick, syrupy lust. Delicious as it always is, but something new and strange lies beneath the surface, now the dominant flavour even above the lust that Hongjoong has so skillfully cultivated. He wants more of it, but he hesitates; what is this flavour? This feeling? It continues to dance along the tip of his tongue. He knows the word. He ignores it.
Mingi’s arms are strong and sure as they embrace Hongjoong, not even moving his hips, content to stay like this, completely buried within Hongjoong’s heat, to breathe him in and feel him. And Hongjoong… does not mind. He pulls back, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth as he looks at Mingi, whose face is flushed and holding no secrets. Every emotion is clearly written on the wolf’s face, his eyes focused dazedly on Hongjoong’s tongue as it laps up the remnants of his own blood. His body warms, and Mingi’s ears twitch as the familiar scent of Hongjoong’s brief return to the world of the living begins.
Mingi looks at Hongjoong like this often, the vampire notes. A strange expression that Hongjoong has spent countless hours attempting to decipher, but that now has a name that forms behind his eyes and on the tip of his tongue with more clarity than he is prepared for. He leans forward, capturing Hongjoong’s lips in a fangy kiss, undisturbed and unbothered by the bite of Hongjoong’s fangs, his hips moving slowly yet with a careful strength, like the tide at night under the full moon. Hongjoong’s mouth opens easily to take more of Mingi in, and as their tongues curl together, scraped by his and Mingi’s fangs, the word becomes clear.
Love.
Diving forward, Hongjoong ignores the honest beauty in Mingi’s eyes, instead going straight for his neck, the streams of blood thicker now. He pushes Mingi backwards against the pillows, needing to gather up every single drop of the wolf’s blood. Surprised, Mingi holds Hongjoong tighter, making sure that the vampire will never fall. Not while he remains a fixture in Hongjoong’s life. The unrelenting loyalty, the unwavering belief in his duty, his kindness, his patience, his love for Hongjoong, that has coalesced within the vampire’s mind and heart. When … When did it make a home there? How did he not notice?
When did his feelings change?
Mingi’s pace is steady and sure, just like he is. Hongjoong gasps away from Mingi’s neck, choking on his moans as the pleasure begins to crescend. He’s closer to his release than Hongjoong realized so he is moving closer to his instincts. Hongjoong is so close to what he desired, yet his thoughts are anchored at another moor, one that he had spent so long ignoring.
He cannot ignore it.
It’s too hard.
It is so clear now.
As bright as the sunlight behind Mingi that makes it difficult to look at him for too long, it builds within Hongjoong like a tidal wave that crests high above, about to descend with all the force of nature.
“I’m … Hongjoong, I’m close–”
“Do not stop, I–”
Sexual oblivion is on the horizon. They careen dangerously along a rickety track, fastened together. Bonded together. He bites Mingi again, rougher this time, directly at the juicy vein that calls his name.
Their hearts together.
Release consumes them both, spots dancing behind his eyes as Mingi’s climax is pounded into him, the pace relentless and instinct driven. Hongjoong’s eyes roll back in his head, but he remains fastened to the wolf’s neck, the elixir coating his throat and overtaking his entire being.
He feels it.
All of it.
All of Mingi.
I love y–
Bloody, gnashing teeth piercing flawless, porcelain flesh.
The stench of blood from the dead fills the air.
Burnt fur. Stained claws.
Screams.
Darkness.
Searing pain erupts thunderously from his thigh, and Hongjoong tears away from Mingi’s neck, a bloodcurdling scream tearing from his throat. In an instant, he is on his back and empty, and Mingi’s hands are no longer clawing at him. They are soft. They are sure. They rub gently but firmly at his skin, at his hip and waist, yet they hesitate as they linger dangerously close to an area that is expressly forbidden.
“Please, let me help you,” Mingi whispers, cutting through his thoughts. “Hongjoong, your leg–”
A violent rejection strains past his teeth, all coherent thoughts flying out as his body goes rigid. “No,” Hongjoong growls, his jaw clenched tight. “Do not touch it–”
Mingi frowns, obedient, and although he allows Hongjoong to hold his hand tight enough to bruise - or it would, if Hongjoong were strong enough - it is clear from his expression that he is not dropping the subject. “Listen to my voice, Hongjoong,” Mingi says softly, but loud enough that it takes the vampire’s attention, “I want you to focus on me, and I want you to repeat back what I say.”
“If this is your way of hearing what you’d like to hear me say, little Doctor, then this is–” Hongjoong cannot finish his sentence, white-hot pain pulling him asunder. The violent memories are clouding his vision, forcing tension into his briefly human-feeling body to the point of physical pain. He cannot see Mingi, he cannot see anything but the snarling beast that took a hundred years away from him. Werewolves, they are all the same, are they not? Biologically, nothing separates Mingi from his ancestors, no matter how much San has trained him to be a modern day Cleric.
“Listen to my voice, Hongjoong. I’m here. You’re safe and you are here. I am here. I made a promise to you, and nothing will stop me from keeping it.”
Warmth.
The faint scent of apple and cinnamon.
Familiar.
A kiss.
Love.
He sees Mingi now, as the image of the beast that took a century of Hongjoong’s life fades. It disappears slowly as Mingi speaks to him, his words soft but sure, and his touch careful and loving.
Loving.
Another kiss.
A promise.
Love.
Mingi loves him.
Hongjoong … loves him too.
Yes. That is this accursed feeling that has taunted Hongjoong, that he has been unable to put a name to, to put a face to.
His vision doubles, and Hongjoong struggles to look at Mingi. It is always so bright, looking directly at him, but Hongjoong… he tries. He squeezes Mingi’s hand as the pain blisters beneath the jagged, splintered scar on his thigh, deep within the muscle. Tears of red prick at his eyes, and Hongjoong squeezes them shut.
“...Please, Mingi…”
“—Hongjoong?”
“My leg, please–”
I trust you.
Please heal me.
Heal my body, as you have healed my heart.
Mercifully, Mingi moves fast once permission leaves Hongjoong’s lips. His hands are strong, massaging the muscle of Hongjoong’s thigh, the technique obvious, the skill … incredible. Hongjoong bites into Mingi’s shoulder as those safe and strong hands massage his thigh, being respectful and careful around the jagged lines of damaged skin. Hongjoong wants to curl in on himself, he wants to scratch and claw and ruin his leg so he doesn’t see the scar. He doesn’t want Mingi to see it.
But Mingi is not looking at the scar. He is looking at Hongjoong, holding his gaze just as he held Hongjoong earlier: gently but firm enough that Hongjoong knows that Mingi will never let him fall. Never once has Mingi faltered, straight and true like an arrow loosed from a finely crafted bow. Mingi’s hands are reverent as they pass over and under Hongjoong’s thigh, coaxing the muscle to warm up enough to loosen. His skin is warm, Mingi’s blood still coursing through his veins; it would not have been possible otherwise. His kisses are seemingly random but exactly where Hongjoong craves them the most: lips, jaw, neck, chest, down to his stomach and finally, they hesitate just above his thigh.
Mingi’s eyes watch Hongjoong carefully. ‘May I?’ They ask.
His throat feels dry.
His vision doubles, then steadies. If he had a heart, it would be beating out of his chest.
If he had a heart, it would be in Mingi’s hands, safe and sound.
Hongjoong nods.
Mingi’s warm eyes don’t leave his own as he leans down to place a reverent, almost worshipful kiss to the center of his scar. Where a werewolf’s fangs pierced him, now a werewolf’s kiss heals him. Hongjoong cannot tear his eyes away, only vaguely aware that Mingi has not stopped massaging his thigh. Slowly, the movement does stop, but Mingi is careful as he straightens Hongjoong’s leg, trailing soft kisses along each inch of pale skin and dried release until he captures Hongjoong’s lips in a kiss that is unlike what they’ve shared before.
I love you.
The words dance along his tongue, buried in his throat. Warm hands glide over a part of him that he thought would remain broken, the prices withered away to dust.
His leg?
Or his heart?
His arms are stiff as he reaches towards the bright sun, pulling it down towards him. Warmth envelopes him in a way that memories had once haunted him. It no longer blinds him, the sun. He brings his sun closer until they are wrapped up in one another.
The words dance along his tongue, buried in his throat but it matters not.
“Are you okay?” Mingi asks, his voice soft and his eyes shining.
Hongjoong places a finger to his love’s lips. “I would like to rest now.” He nestles into Mingi’s arms, slotted in perfectly like a puzzle piece that has finally found its place.
Darkness comes, but now, he welcomes it in the arms of his beloved.