Archive of Our Own

Even when he is alone, San still feels the sharpness of fangs piercing his neck. The memory of their sting has sunken deep into his skin, canine phantoms lingering long after Wooyoung has taken his mouth off him. There is barely an unmarked patch left on his skin, every inch of him tasted by his captor; but Wooyoung returns to San’s throat over and over again, introducing every freckle to his insatiable fangs. Wanting, always wanting more.

San used to like it. To feel wanted. Sometimes he can convince himself he still does.

The room is dark and damp around him, a chill seeping into his bones. Slumped against a cold stone wall, hands raised above his head by iron chains wrapped around his wrists. His arms used to ache at the strain, but now he barely feels them at all. Numbed by the wait for Wooyoung’s next visit.

He never has to wait long.

San’s chest jumps when the door opens with a loud creak, light cutting through the shadows. He winces at its brightness, his vision swimming nauseatingly; he can make out nothing but a dark shape in the doorway. It feels early for his daily meal, though San can’t know for sure, no way to track the time except for the hollow gnawing in his stomach. But if Wooyoung is not here to feed him…

The memory of fangs pounds into San’s throat with every step the figure takes closer, until a dark shadow falls over him as his visitor kneels down on one knee in front of him.

He whimpers when soft fingers brush over a deep gash in his chest. San knows Wooyoung doesn’t like it when he whines — or he likes it far too much — but he can’t help himself, flesh tender and raw under that light touch.

But the figure neither tells him off nor coos over him for the noise. Fingers silently move to examine the mottled tapestry of injuries on his body. Strange. It’s not like Wooyoung to be quiet.

San tries to raise his head to look at the figure, but pain stabs through the tendons of his neck and shoulders at the effort. Chains rattle as his head slumps back down in defeat, sweaty clumps of hair falling in his eyes. The shadow hovers over his broken form, prodding at his injuries like he’s a piece of livestock to be inspected, clinical and unfeeling.

Not Wooyoung then. Wooyoung always touches him with feeling. Hunger, glee, frustration. Sadistic malice. San feels it with every drag of Wooyoung’s tongue over his bruised skin, every bite to get to what’s underneath. Every thrust when he’s got San pinned against the wall, his face pushed into cold stone while Wooyoung pants against his bleeding neck.

It must be the other one. The one who picked San off the street like a bird of prey swooping down to catch a rabbit in an open field. Who threw him in the den of something far worse.

Hongjoong. That was his name, or so San thinks. His head feels so sluggish and heavy, it’s hard to be sure of anything anymore.

Short, nimble fingers continue to map him out, his chest, stomach, hips. A close scrutiny of his body, attention to every detail. San feels like he’s made of glass, cracked and frail and transparent, Wooyoung’s routine cruelties spelled out on his skin for Hongjoong to read.

The dark shape grunts in disapproval when he finds a particularly deep bite and San flinches at the sound, yanking uselessly at his iron bindings. He’s not sure what he did wrong, but disapproval is dangerous. He parts his dry, cracked lips, but the apology catches in his throat, only a weak croak coming out. Instantly, Hongjoong pinches his thigh in warning.

“Quiet.”

San struggles to hold down a whine, not daring to move. He burns with humiliation as the fingers brush over his soft dick, circling a set of fresh puncture marks near the base. Another noise of displeasure. This time, San stays quiet. A hollow nausea twists in his stomach at Hongjoong’s intense examination, his judgement.

There are a lot of things San tells himself to keep some small part of him whole. That Wooyoung has a fondness for him. That all of this is just play to Wooyoung, that he is too inhuman to see how he hurts his toy. That he knows exactly how much San hurts and knows that he could kill him in a heartbeat, but he doesn’t, and that has to mean something. Anything. Coming back to San over and over and over again. Caring for San, in the only way a monster can.

Now another monster has his eyes on San, and this one does not see care.

San chokes on a silent sob, his chains rattling as his shoulders shake. Desperately wishing Hongjoong would stop. Stop unravelling the illusion. The fingers travel back up to clasp his chin, forcing his head to tilt up. The light flooding through the doorway burns at San’s sensitive eyes. Every blink stings, but slowly the face in front of him is brought into focus.

Dark eyes are what San sees first, eerie with a reddish glow and impassive as they check him over. Hongjoong is beautiful but sharp, all edges in his cold, dismissive expression. He doesn’t meet San’s eyes, more interested in his split lip. Like San is not even real to him, existing only in echoes of Wooyoung on his body. It makes him want to crawl out of his skin.

“Wooyoung? I know you’re out there,” Hongjoong drawls, wiping San’s sweaty bangs off his forehead to discover a nasty scrape at his hairline.

The sharp light from the doorway breaks as a new figure steps into it, casting his long shadow over San. The dark silhouette leans against the side, arms crossed and one foot propped up against the door frame. San would recognise that attitude any day, no matter how thick the haze of his mind.

“What the fuck are you doing, Hongjoong?”

Relief surges through San at the sound of that familiar voice. Yes. What is he doing. Please. Make him stop. Please. Please care, Wooyoung.

“Just checking you didn’t kill your food supply,” Hongjoong says coolly, tipping San’s chin to inspect the underside of his jaw. “Or did you forget it’s supposed to last?”

At the last word, Hongjoong’s hand squeezes around San’s throat. He shudders out a whine as cold fingers line up with the tender bruises left by Wooyoung.

Wooyoung saunters closer, hands in his pockets. The light catches his face, and San aches at the horrible comfort of his familiar, striking features.

“He’d get a break if you just let me go out already,” Wooyoung says, rolling his eyes. “What else did you expect, keeping me cooped up in here? You’re lucky I haven’t started chewing on the furniture yet.”

“We fucking talked about this, Woo,” Hongjoong snaps. His fingers squeeze tighter. San wheezes at the pressure, his blurry vision spotting with black. “We lay low until this storm blows over.”

“Coward,” Wooyoung snorts, though his eyes burn into San’s obstructed throat with a possessive edge.

San collapses with a whimper when Hongjoong releases him, his muscles screaming as the iron chains pull taut. He can barely hear their conversation, just silently begging for Wooyoung to yank Hongjoong off him already.

“Actually, it’s called diplomacy,” Hongjoong says calmly, almost bored. Only his sudden, harsh grip on San’s thigh betrays Wooyoung’s provocation was successful. “We don’t give Seonghwa a reason to cross us while he has his little crusade out there, and he won’t go looking for one.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at how San twitches at the bruising force of Hongjoong’s hand. He prowls closer, a slow grin widening across his face. “Diplomacy. Sure. Did you negotiate those terms before or after you blew him? Nah, gotta be before. This shitty deal would’ve been even worse if he had to sit through you fumbling with his dick first.”

Pain sears through San’s thigh, sharp nails drawing blood. But Hongjoong’s face keeps its cold expression, icing out Wooyoung as he silently takes out a key and reaches for San’s chains.

A loud click, and San’s hands fall heavily to the floor. He lets out a tight groan at the impact, weakly clenching his fists. Numbly, he lets himself be moved around by Hongjoong, who sits back against the wall with his knees spread, roughly pulling San back against his chest. San whimpers, the forcible movement sending thousands of tiny, sharp pinpricks needling through his limbs, weak from disuse. His noises are stifled with a firm hand across his mouth, his head forced back as hot breath fans across his bruised neck.

Wooyoung tenses, like a predator on alert when it spots a scavenger eyeing its kill. San smiles weakly. See? Care.

“Thought you didn’t need to feed again any time soon, Joongie,” Wooyoung scoffs, trying to sound casual. “Always bragging how an old bastard like you can last for months without fresh blood.”

Hongjoong’s mouth languidly presses against one of Wooyoung’s bite-marks on San’s throat, like he’s testing the fit of his own teeth over the puncture scars.

“What do you care?” he hums, nuzzling deeper. San squirms at the pressure of his slowly elongating fangs, but Hongjoong keeps him pinned against his chest with a lean, strong arm. His shirt chafes against the scratches on San’s bare back. “Weren’t you done with this one? You’ve been whining for fucking days now, I swear, if I have to listen to you one more time… ‘Oh Hongjoong, let’s go hunting’,” he drawls in a mocking exaggeration of Wooyoung’s voice. “‘Let me find a new one, Joongie, he’s so boooooring’.”

Ice pours down San’s back at Hongjoong’s sneer.

Boring.

One simple word, coming down on his broken illusion to crush it underfoot. Splintering the bloody shards that he cut his fingers on so many times to hold himself together over and over again.

San’s neck throbs with the memories of Wooyoung’s violence, his laughter, his casual cruelties. Last night still lives fresh in his body, in the raw ache of his throat. Shoved onto the floor, Wooyoung on his knees by San’s head. How Wooyoung had giggled cutely while leaning over him to press an upside-down kiss on his lips. Slowly biting and licking his way down San’s chest, stomach, hips, drawing drops of blood like small appetisers until he finally settled on San’s thigh to feed in earnest. The dark room filled with wet noises and muffled whines as San choked while Wooyoung drank and roughly fucked his throat. Each thrust deep and merciless. Boring.

Wooyoung’s teeth had sunk into San’s cock as he came down San’s throat. He’d laughed when San screamed around him, losing control of his bladder.

It was boring.

He is boring.

San snivels, weakly lifting his head to look at Wooyoung for something, anything he can grab onto. But Wooyoung does not meet his eyes, fixated on the small trickle of blood oozing down San’s thigh where Hongjoong’s nails pierced his skin. Hunger brewing in his eyes. San clenches his fist, holding tight. His chest aches. It’s not enough.

Silently he begs for Wooyoung to give him more, but Hongjoong tips his chin, forcing him to face those cold eyes with their red glow.

“So,” Hongjoong asks, the corner of his lips quirking upward, “what’s your favourite spot?”

What–? San’s head swims with confusion. He tries to make a noise, but his sore throat aches with the effort.

Hongjoong chuckles, his smile mean. “Come, don’t tell me you don’t have one. Favourite spot, blood bag. To feed from.” He leans in, licking a thick stripe up San’s neck. The trail of saliva leaves a hot tingle across his scratched up skin, drawing a shudder of anticipation. His hairs stand on end as Hongjoong rasps in his ear, “If you tell me, I might even use it.”

Shame flushes through San’s cheeks — for having an answer, and for the rush of arousal that pools low in his gut. His body remembers what comes with feeding. Has learned to crave it.

His voice comes out hoarse, scratching at his throat. “…Wrist,” he manages to gasp, embarrassment burning through him as he weakly lifts his hand, eyes pleading. “Here. P-please. Do it here.”

“How polite,” Hongjoong purrs with condescension. He takes San’s hand and leans in to smell at his pulse. The angle strains San’s aching shoulder. “Toothless little thing…”

San fidgets, his focus bullied between the disgust on Wooyoung’s face and the press of Hongjoong’s nose against his jumpy pulse point, breathing deep. “Please…” he whines again, panting when Hongjoong’s tongue darts out to lap at the abrasions left by his chains.

A dark chuckle falls against his skin. “Desperate for it too,” Hongjoong chides. “No wonder Wooyoung got bored with you. He likes his meals to bite back.”

Wooyoung snorts, “You don’t know a thing about what I like, old geezer. These last few weeks proved that.” But his eyes are blazing, fixed on how Hongjoong’s teeth search for an old bite-mark — where they sink down.

San cries out as his scars are reopened with a burst of pain. Tears well up but he keeps his eyes on Hongjoong’s mouth, on seeing the fangs pierce his skin, seeing the pain. Seeing them retract from his body, blood bubbling up from the wound. Knowing the pain is just those phantoms lingering in his flesh. It’s not real anymore. The pain is not real. Only real is the flush of heat that blooms under Hongjoong’s tongue, slathering the bite with saliva.

His spit bleeds into the wound, and San’s whines rise in pitch as a rapid swell of glittery warmth rushes through his veins. He moans at the searing tingle that flares deeper with every beat of his pounding heart, spreading from his wrist up to his arm, his shoulder, all through his body until his toes curl and his throat chokes up, cheeks burning.

Desperately, San chases the flush. Panting open-mouthed, unable to tear his eyes away from Hongjoong’s hungry lips. Everything shimmers with a golden shine, from the flash of Hongjoong’s teeth to the crimson rivulet running down his chin. San whines, overwhelmed by the heat coiling through him. His fever spikes at a hard pull of blood, his limp dick twitching uselessly. It hurts, Wooyoung’s bite marks throbbing.

Hongjoong smiles red as San trembles in his hold, bloody lips and teeth and chin. “Cute,” he hums, eyes gleaming with greed as his free hand wanders over the bruised expanse of San’s wide chest. Plump tits mottled with hickeys and bites in various stages of healing, a tapestry of deep purples and faded yellows and all colours in between. Hongjoong traces them with attention, eating up San’s small whines. A hardness soon presses against the small of his back, a slow roll of Hongjoong’s hips. “What a sweet, responsive thing I picked out for my little fledgling. Ungrateful brat. Maybe I should keep you for myself.”

San’s head spins, his skin ablaze wherever Hongjoong touches. Wooyoung snaps something in response, but San can’t hear it. He feels drunk, reflexively grinding back into Hongjoong, his thoughts dragging slow through a slick, sticky golden haze.

He gasps when Hongjoong harshly squeezes his wrist, a fresh burst of blood spilling forth for him to drink. With a soft whimper, San rips his eyes away from the pain — and finds Wooyoung. Beautiful, jealous Wooyoung.

The air crackles angrily around him, eyes blown wide. Dark with hunger and irritation and want as he stares at Hongjoong’s lips on San’s wrist. Wooyoung’s fingers twitch, an obvious bulge at his crotch. Want. San’s mouth falls lax into a smile, stupid with it. Wooyoung wants.

Always in tune with his prey, Wooyoung instantly notices the dizzy relief spilling out of San in waves. A grin splits across his face, wide and feral.

“Pathetic,” he scoffs with a shake of his head, but it’s playful. Affectionate even, if San throws himself deeply enough into the delusional, fuzzy golden haze of Hongjoong’s salivary aphrodisiac.

San whimpers when Hongjoong’s nails jab into his thigh again, forcing his legs further open. Blood trickles to the floor, bruises blossoming under unforgiving fingers digging into his skin. San’s head lolls back against Hongjoong’s shoulder, breath pitching with every sting of pain. Chest heaving, throat exposed. Dangled in front of Wooyoung like a treat.

Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate.

A dizzying blur lunges forward, and San’s noise of surprise is muffled by Wooyoung’s harsh mouth before he can even realise Wooyoung is on him. He’s knocked back into Hongjoong, mewling in pain when teeth pierce deeper at the collision. A sharp grin spreads against his wrist.

Wooyoung pounces him like a slab of meat, roughly grabbing his chin to force his mouth open. San can’t do anything but whimper helplessly when Wooyoung spits, a thick glob of saliva hitting his tongue. He swallows instinctively, heat burning down his throat.

San melts away between them, devoured from two sides. Hongjoong bucks his hips, releasing San’s wrist to breathe into the crook of his shoulder instead. Desperate not to drown, San clutches onto them both with weak a weak grip, his hands slipping every time their hot mouths press greedier against him. Wooyoung’s tongue licks deep, choking San on his spit in a kiss that’s sickly sweet. His eyes flutter shut but still the golden shine pulses, thrumming when San gags as Wooyoung cruelly squeezes his soft, sensitive dick.

His nails easily find the puncture marks from last night, and Wooyoung giggles when San gasps at the sting, breaking away from the kiss. Wooyoung laps up the spit that has leaked past his lips, feeding it back, and San eagerly sucks it off his tongue, mindless in the pursuit of its heat.

“Poor kitten, did you miss me?” Wooyoung coos, taunting as he pulls back when San tries to chase his lips. “You like me much better than that old man, don’t you. Alright, alright,” he pants, nipping at San’s bottom lip, “I’m here now, don’t you worry.”

He grabs at San’s thigh, smearing his hand with blood. His fingers drip red as he raises them between them, and reflexively San parts his lips, his throat empty and aching.

“Ah-ah,” Wooyoung tuts. “Not for you—umph—!”

Before he can suck his fingers clean, a small hand yanks Wooyoung’s head away by the hair, slamming him down against the stone floor.

Hongjoong’s eyes glow scarlet as he keeps Wooyoung pinned down, effortless despite the younger’s snarling and bucking against his hold. “Oh, now you’ll eat,” Hongjoong sneers, pushing the side of Wooyoung’s face harder into the rough surface.“No. You can play with it after you apologise, brat.”

He flings Wooyoung back, scuffing him across the floor. Sharp nails scrape over stone as Wooyoung manages to catch himself, his lip split and bloody when he whips his head up to glower at Hongjoong. But past the annoyance, past the defiance to his elder, something else burns in his eyes. Something heady and thick in its need. Wooyoung licks his split lip as he grins at Hongjoong, ignoring the helpless prey in his arms.

“Aw sorry, Joongie, not feeling appreciated enough?” he drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you for this cute toy. There, all good now?”

Wooyoung slinks towards them, slow and graceful and deliberate, his crooked grin hungrier than ever. His dark eyes rake over Hongjoong in challenge; but Hongjoong denies his provocation.

“Not me. This thing,” he says, nodding to San. “Apologise to your blood bag.”

Wooyoung freezes in his tracks, eyes snapped open wide and incredulous. “What?”

San freezes with him, tension coiling painfully in his stomach. No. The golden daze in his head glitters and sparks dangerously, unwilling to reconcile Hongjoong’s demand with his truth. It’s not right, can’t be right. He’s just a blood bag. He’s boring. San whines, shaking his head at Hongjoong with pitiful eyes, but Hongjoong does not look at him, smiling disdainfully at Wooyoung. No. Don’t apologise. Black tar fills San’s gut, acid bubbling up to his throat. If Wooyoung has something to apologise for, then—

“Are you kidding me?” Wooyoung balks, and instant relief ignites through San like wildfire.

“No,” Hongjoong says, unrelenting. “Apologise to it.”

“You fucki—”

San cuts Wooyoung off with a pained cry when he’s suddenly yanked around, roughly turned by Hongjoong to sit in his lap. The golden shine of the world spins and swirls dizzyingly, and San scrambles for an anchor, burying his face into the crook of Hongjoong’s shoulder as he clutches tightly onto his shirt.

“Well, guess it’s just the two of us then,” Hongjoong breathes into his ear. “That works too.”

Harsh fingers grab at San’s waist, coaxing him to roll his hips. He whines, too tired to move, too tired to fight it. The stone floor digs into his scraped knees but San barely feels it. Messily gyrating at Hongjoong’s instruction, wincing when his sensitive, soft cock drags against rough fabric, and a hard bulge underneath. He tries to jerk away but Hongjoong’s grip is like steel, forcing them flush together with one hand on his ass, fingers tangled in his hair to harshly pull up his head.

San tastes his own blood before he realises Hongjoong is kissing him, tongue probing deep. He moans, everything else blurring away. San’s chest hurts, even Wooyoung fading into a distant idea as his lungs drown in a melting pot of smells; the metallic tang of blood and his own heady musk underneath, old sweat and need and filth, all drowned out by the irresistible spice of Hongjoong, sharp and hot. San is high on it, his skin burning up. He chases the taste ever higher, sloppy in his desperation as his tongue entangles with Hongjoong’s, who giggles against his mouth. The laugh is mean, but that suits San just fine. A giggle of his own bubbles up from high in his chest, giddy and mindless and taut with anticipation.

He arches with a tight gasp when Hongjoong’s slender finger rubs over his hole, sensitive and raw, stained with remnants of Wooyoung’s crusted cum. Used over and over again until San could never scrub him off again. The roll of his hips falters as two fingers shallowly press inside him, but a warning tap at his thigh keeps San moving, the loud protest of his muscles silenced by Hongjoong’s hot mouth.

“Don’t be nice to him, Joongie, he doesn’t need much prep,” Wooyoung says, poisonous, and San swears he can feel the heat of his body, hand ghosting over the nape of San’s neck. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. “He’ll take what he gets. You’re smaller than me anyway.”

Hongjoong scoffs, his smile razor sharp. “Never should’ve turned you. What a mistake you turned out to be.”

“Like hell I am,” Wooyoung grins back at him, and now teeth definitely catch at San’s shoulder, just underneath where his matted hair sticks to his neck. “Best decision you made in six hundred years. You would’ve withered away decades ago without me, old man.”

“Who do you keep calling old? You’re eighty-nine,” Hongjoong fires back, not paying San any attention except to pull his hips forward, rubbing San over his clothed cock. “Maybe I should replace you with something younger.” He mouths at San’s neck, and San glances back to see him wrap his fingers in Wooyoung’s hair, tugging him closer while his other hand reaches down between them to undo his pants. “Something that’d behave.”

Hongjoong nips at Wooyoung’s bottom lip while he lines San up, who can’t do anything but whine and wiggle futilely as he’s made to sink down on Hongjoong’s cock. He’s thick, bigger than San expected after Wooyoung’s razzing; but clearly they’d been empty words, just to get a rise out of Hongjoong. A sweat breaks out on San’s skin, his worn-out body struggling to accommodate the intrusion. Wooyoung groans lowly at San’s pitchy gasps, rocking into him as he eases San deeper with a hand on his waist. San whines at the burn, but the ache feels good, good to not be empty anymore. The satisfying fullness melts his body into a relaxed, pliant hole to warm Hongjoong’s cock, limp in his arms.

“Maybe that’d teach you,” Hongjoong continues his musings at Wooyoung, slowly fucking up into their plaything. He taps San’s thigh in warning again, reminding him to meet his thrusts. “Take your toy away, give you a brother instead. Someone who’ll set the right example.”

“N-no,” San gasps, though he’s not sure what he’s saying no to, all their words filtered through a sweet, sticky syrup swimming in his head.

“Wait a few years first,” Wooyoung says, ignoring San’s feeble protest to reach around and grab his chin. His grip is hard, squishing San’s cheeks. “Look at that face. So handsome. Bet he’ll be one hell of a silver fox, don’t you?”

Hongjoong makes a thoughtful noise, dark eyes taking in San’s features, his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. San whines under the attention, eyes tearing up as he squeezes them shut. “Won’t have to wait long,” Hongjoong says. “It’ll go grey dealing with you soon enough.”

Wooyoung just cackles, his breath hot as he presses a wet kiss on his favourite bite-mark on San’s neck. It’s hungry, and San melts in relief at the fresh coat of saliva — but it’s gone when Hongjoong yanks his fledgling back by the hair.

“Ah-ah,” Hongjoong tuts. “You don’t get to play yet, remember? Apologise.”

Wooyoung groans, rolling his eyes. “Fuck. You’re such a fucking drag. Fine. Fuck you.”

He tightens his grip on San’s chin, turning him so they’re eye to eye, not letting San escape the slow, mocking lilt of his smile.

“Sorry I got bored by you, kitten,” he says, brushing his thumb over San’s bottom lip. “It’s just…you got boring, see? You understand, right? Let’s have fun from now on.”

His thumb slips inside San’s mouth before he has a chance to answer, but San moans around it, nodding with a soft snivel. He understands.

Hongjoong sighs in exasperation. “We really need to talk about your definition of an apology.”

“The definition probably changed like a dozen times since they taught it to you in school. When was that anyway? The Mesozoic Era?” Wooyoung asks absentmindedly, replacing his thumb with two long fingers, slowly fucking San’s mouth in time with Hongjoong’s thrusts. “Besides, Sannie accepts my apology. Don’t you, baby?”

Wooyoung moves his fingers up and down, forcibly nodding San's head for him. He does not fight it, drool spilling down his chin as he gurgles meekly.

“That’s it, get them nice and wet,” Wooyoung murmurs, his eyes fixated on how San’s limp dick bobs against Hongjoong’s stomach. “Not gonna break my pet right after Joongie told me to take better care of you.”

“Not break it?” Hongjoong laughs, breathy. “Little late for tha—ahh f-fuck—”

He curses when Wooyoung rips his drenched fingers away from San’s mouth, smears blood from his bitten wrist over the glistening digits just for good measure, then bullies one in alongside Hongjoong’s cock. San snaps taut, clenching reflexively at the slick pressure of Wooyoung’s finger splitting him further open.

“Gonna fuck you all better, kitten,” Wooyoung whispers in his ear. The flat of his free hand runs along San’s sweat-slick spine, raising goosebumps on the glistening, scratched up skin. “Relax. Let me in.”

San takes deep, shaky breaths, and the glide does get easier, especially when Wooyoung spits on his lower back, the slow dribble down to his hole leaving a wet, tingly trail. Hongjoong’s cock throbs inside him, twitching as Wooyoung forces in another finger.

“There you go,” he purrs, cloyingly sweet, “you can make room for both of us. Joong won’t last much longer anyway.”

Hongjoong sighs in what wants to be exasperation, but edges closer to a moan. “You’re impossible. Fucking menace.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, a pleased grin in his voice. “And it’s your favourite thing about me.”

The steady pump of his fingers next to Hongjoong’s slow grind is overwhelming, firm pressure against his prostate cascading pleasure through San’s core, and yet he is unsatisfied, trapped in a greedy haze by his captors. Intoxicated, he barely hears his own pathetic pleas, m-more, please, more; but he hears their laughter perfectly clear, a little fond, mostly mocking. Another split-slicked finger breaches his abused hole, coating his walls with his own spit and blood, and San’s mouth falls open in a dopey smile, blissed out on getting what he wants. Wants. He wants this. Has to want this.

Their every touch sends him higher, possessive lips sucking on his throat, his collarbone, his plump tits. Hands groping at him, scratching and squeezing and taking as they like. His soft dick flops against Hongjoong’s stomach as Wooyoung fucks him open with three fingers, and San gasps as Hongjoong grabs it, stroking firmly. He hasn’t been able to get it up anymore in a while, like Wooyoung drained too much of him, but Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind. He is plenty amused by San writhing in his lap, happy to torment his useless dick.

The downward rush of blood brings nothing but a throbbing pressure, Wooyoung’s bite mark pulsing under Hongjoong’s palm in delicious torture. San whines helplessly, no more difference between pleasure and pain.

He makes an eager noise when Wooyoung’s fingers pull away and he hears the clink of a belt buckle, the rustle of clothes. San arches his back in invitation as far as Hongjoong’s grip on his hip will let him, not allowing his cock to slip out. But Wooyoung makes him wait, reaching a hand around to hold in front of San’s face, palm-up.

“Spit,” is Wooyoung’s simple instruction.

San tries, but there’s no strength left in him. He works his jaw then spits weakly, messily, most of it dripping down his chin.

“Think it got fucked dumb already,” Hongjoong chuckles. “What a useless pet you have, drooling all over itself.”

“You’re the one who picked him out for me.” Wooyoung roughly wipes San’s lower face to catch his spit, though all it does is spread the mess around. “You saying you got bad taste, old man?”

“Maybe. I did turn you, after all,” Hongjoong jabs, and he grabs Wooyoung’s wrist before he can snipe back, spitting in his hand, thick and generous. “There, get on with it. You’re hungry, right?”

“Starving,” Wooyoung groans, his forehead falling against San’s shoulder. He’s burning up, and San wonders if his head is also filled with that euphoric, golden shine. If they’re sinking together, lost in the soft squelch of Wooyoung slicking himself up with a slow hand, his fingers and cockhead bumping against the small of San’s back. Wooyoung’s breath picks up, panting hard by the time he finally guides himself to the base of Hongjoong’s cock, rubbing against the underside.

A choked noise is torn from San’s throat when the tip presses against his rim, his body locking up from something that can’t decide if it’s arousal or distress. “Too tense, kitten,” Wooyoung rasps, tongue flicking out against San’s ear. “You want me, don’t you?“ He rolls his hips in a shallow rhythm, his cock pushing at San without pushing inside, like he’s taunting him. “Well?”

Heat flushes through San as Wooyoung suckles and nips at his earlobe, Hongjoong staring them down with a crooked, sharp smile as he digs his nails right into the bite-mark on San’s dick. “Y-yeah, wanna, wan’ it,” San babbles, spatters of sweat and drool flicking from his face as he nods desperately.

“Then..be good.”

There is no more teasing, no patience, just Wooyoung’s unforgiving demand. San mewls, clawing at whatever he can grab when his body obeys, giving way for Wooyoung to sink inside his already stuffed hole. His vision flashes white, pressure tearing him apart from the inside as Wooyoung does not give him time to breathe, to adjust, mercilessly pushing deeper, inch by unbearable inch. The slick helps, but still San’s shoulders tremble with a broken sob as he feels every vein and ridge of their cocks slide inside him. Too much. He faintly hears Hongjoong curse, keenly feels the way he twitches next to Wooyoung. It’s too much.

But Wooyoung moans shakily in his ear, so overtaken he forgets to be mean. “Fuck, look at you.” Wooyoung groans as he bottoms out, holding San steady with one hand but petting restlessly at his flushed chest with the other. “Pretty, so pretty when you’re stuffed full. Oh fuck,” he curses, and San jolts as Wooyoung’s hand pushes down on his lower abdomen, right where they shift inside him. “Fucking hell, you gotta feel this, Joongie. There, shit, that’s us right there.”

He yanks Hongjoong’s hand away from San’s cock and presses it against his taut belly. Wooyoung kicks his hips as he does so, and the air is knocked out of San’s lungs as the obscene bulge of their cocks is fucked harder into Hongjoong’s palm.

“Fuck, that feels…” Hongjoong hisses through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into San’s stomach. He giggles when San whines at the added pressure, painfully full. “That tight little hole can take more than I thought. Aww look, Wooyoung, it’s tearing up again. You keep making it cry.”

“That just means he likes it.” Wooyoung fondly nuzzles San’s wet, flushed cheek, before catching the streak of tears with the flat of his tongue, dragging a thick stripe up San’s face. “Such a cute, perfect pain slut you got me. Did you like his blood, Joongie? So tasty, isn’t he?”

“Tasty, yes,” Hongjoong agrees, his canines peeking out as he licks at the dried blood on his lips. “Very…robust.”

They talk about him like he’s some prized bottle of wine from their personal cellar, and maybe he is. San shudders at their approval, a heat blooming in his gut that pushes all the pain to the back of his head. All that lingers is a faint buzz, pleasantly frazzling his nerves wherever the two fanged beasts pull at him, push into him, mouthing at the bites and bruises on his shoulders, neck, chest. Their endless bickering forgotten, unified by their mutual goal to tear San apart.

Mindlessly, San chases the intoxicating fullness, easier to take with every roll of their hips. He wrests every last ounce of strength to meet them but his thighs twitch from the burn, falter, until he’s nothing but a ragdoll jostled around between them. The fog in his mind thickens as Hongjoong captures his mouth again, tongue delving deep. Pleasure spills out and through him, his fingers and toes tingling with it. He drifts away in it, mind fading as he just lets them take, take, take.

An insistent tap on his thigh brings San back to himself, quietly demanding him to move. He sobs at his own inability to obey, exhausted to the bone.

“So weak,” Hongjoong sighs in mock-disappointment, pinching the tremouring muscle. “Are you feeding it properly, Wooyoung? You can’t draw from a dry well.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, never stopping his sharp thrusts. “Are you serious? Did that taste like malnourished blood?”

(It had confused San at first. Rich, fulfilling meals through which he could count the days. A care incompatible with Wooyoung’s other cruelties. Until he realised he was here to stay, not to be discarded. Treated like cattle given the best, most nutritional feeds, to deliver the highest quality produce.)

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re giving it plenty exercise too,” Hongjoong chuckles darkly. “Guess it’s just lazy then.”

San lets out a pathetic whine as it tries and fails to match the rhythm of their brutal pace.

“That he is,” Wooyoung pants against San’s shoulder, only fucking him harder. Fixed on reducing him into a floundering mess. “Bad kitten, making us do all the work.”

He leans back to spit on San’s lower back again, groaning lowly when he rubs his thumb around San’s puffy, stuffed hole, around the base of his and Hongjoong’s cocks, the squelching noise of their rut growing ever louder. Pressure builds inside his core as they take out their voracious appetite on him, drunk on their growled moans and hungry mouths, so overwhelming he becomes numb with it, lost in a woozy daze as an aimless trickle of drool escapes from the corner of his upturned lips.

Hongjoong laps it up, licking into his mouth. Wooyoung takes control of the pace, his balls slapping against the base of Hongjoong’s cock as he bucks harder, humping into San like he wants to leave him gaping open like a wound. Etching the memory so deep into his brain it will haunt him like he’s haunted by Wooyoung’s fangs in his throat.

“Come,” Hongjoong rasps in San’s ear, lazily smacking San’s soft cock like he’s finally gotten bored with it. “Just because you can’t get it up doesn’t mean you can’t still come for us, right?”

“I– I– p-please—” Fresh tears well up in San’s eyes. He wants to, wants to do as he’s told, but all that molten pleasure inside him presses up against a blockage, like a dam deep inside his body refusing him release.

“Do it. Wanna see it. Wanna hear you,” Wooyoung eggs him on, kicking his hips sharply, Hongjoong meeting him perfectly. Two brutes ramming at the walls, unrelenting in their greed to see San fall apart. “C’mon, I know you can. Sounded so pathetic last night when you made a mess all over yourself, haven’t stopped thinking about it.” He grabs San’s chin, his grin feral and wild. “Come, Sannie, don’t be boring.”

San chokes on a sob at the word and all its playful cruelty. Heat coils tightly and his tears spill over, bursting with relief. Haven’t stopped thinking about it. Even with his mind blanked out on strained pleasure, San knows praise when he hears it. Can fool himself so easily that he hears the fondness laced into Wooyoung’s bullying. It wasn’t boring. Wooyoung just says things sometimes to be mean. Not boring. Not—

He cries out when fangs plunge down without warning, tearing deep into the plump meat of his chest. In one fell bite Hongjoong breaks through the dam, shattering it apart as San’s body starts trembling uncontrollably. Pain sears through him, a savage catalyst that finally allows the pleasure to spill over, cascading from where Hongjoong laps at the wound above his heart, feeding with steady, greedy gulps while San whimpers and squirms beneath him, a slow bead of cum oozing from the slit of his limp dick.

Wooyoung watches with feral fascination how the slow release wreaks over San, drinks in his wanton sobs, shaking uncontrollably while weak spurts of cum hit Hongjoong’s stomach and dribble down to where he’s stuffed San’s clenching hole.

San’s chest aches as he gasps for desperate breaths, heat immolating him from the inside. Unable to come down from the high now that it’s kicked off. He tries to swallow down his sobs, to come back down to earth, but Wooyoung’s hand on his chin forces his mouth open, every debauched noise spilling freely from his lips. Someone bucks their hips, maybe San himself, and a painful spike of electricity shoots down his spine. San’s head snaps forward as he cries out, slipping out of Wooyoung’s hold to bite into the heel of his hand.

Wooyoung hisses, more in surprise than anything else; San’s canines are comically ineffectual compared to a vampire’s fangs. Not even breaking skin while Hongjoong feeds through the wound he tore into its chest. “Oh, we’re having fun now,” Wooyoung keens happily, not bothering to try and free his hand. “Cute kitty, pretending to be fierce.”

Drool pools in San’s mouth and spills over with his muffled whimpers, twisting and squirming instinctively to escape the onslaught of getting fucked through his orgasm, drained through it, mocking praises whispered in his ear to prolong the euphoric agony. San’s heart pounds against his rib-cage in a frenzy, tremors of sweetened pain stabbing through him with every rapid beat, delivering more blood to Hongjoong’s mouth. Idly he wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like. If it feels this good.

When the high finally breaks, San lets out a muffled sob of relief. And as the brutal pleasure fades away, so does he.

Black spots swamp San’s vision as his body grows heavy, held up only by their unyielding hold on him. Wooyoung’s large hands on his narrow waist, guiding him up and down their cocks, Hongjoong’s small hands on his broad chest, bloodied fingers pinching his nipples. Somewhere underneath the fever, San shivers with a deep, dark chill, drowsy and welcoming.

It’s easy to let himself fade. Like he’s floating, disconnected and drifting away from himself as he looks down on this broken stranger trapped between two beautiful, hungry predators.

He watches Wooyoung snarl as he bares his fangs, long and sharp and dripping saliva, and even from afar San braces himself. Anticipating. Nervous. Wanting. Breath catching in his throat as Wooyoung lays his mouth there — and whining at the loss when he’s ripped away.

Confusion swims through San’s mind until his head clears enough to see Hongjoong, plunging his crimson-red tongue past Wooyoung’s lips.

San stares at how Hongjoong force-feeds Wooyoung his blood, unable to look away. Heavy-lidded eyes watch in delirious adulation how Wooyoung gags in his surprise, red streaks trickling down his chin. Hongjoong does not allow him escape, his hand tangled in Wooyoung’s hair as he keeps their lips locked together. Wooyoung jerks, his hips stuttering; at first San thinks he’s choking, choking on his blood, and a dangerous pleasure rouses at the thought.

But then Wooyoung groans against Hongjoong’s mouth, and a burst of warmth fills San up from deep inside, filling his head with gooey, sweet bliss. Sticky smooth wetness eases the slide of their cocks, one still rock-hard, the other throbbing as it softens; but Wooyoung stays right where he is, sluggishly rutting through his release. He melts into the kiss with a satisfied sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he lets Hongjoong yank him around by the hair as he pleases.

San watches, entranced by Wooyoung’s sudden, strange docility, moaning contently when Hongjoong laps up everything he spilled. Lips stained cherry-red, Hongjoong stick his tongue back down Wooyoung’s throat, growling in approval when Wooyoung obediently sucks his tongue clean of San’s blood.

The blood loss is getting to San, his head light and fuzzy as he watches Wooyoung contently accept everything he’s fed. Like a baby bird. The thought bubbles up inside San with a giddy laugh, though his body can’t muster up the strength for more than a breathy sigh.

Wooyoung trembles with soft moans and gasps, his sensitive cock twitching. With glassy eyes San witnesses their kiss, enraptured by how they devour each other even after his blood is long swallowed down. The kiss is filthy, a hungry mess of teeth nipping playfully at each other, but they are beautiful, so terrible and beautiful, and he is theirs.

He whines at the thought, involuntary, unintentional, but he makes no complaint when the sound gets Wooyoung’s attention. A large hand cups the back of his head, long fingers sinking into his matted hair, and suddenly San is pulled into their kiss, two tongues tangling with his, slick and hot and greedy, not sated yet. Sharp teeth worry his bottom lip until a dried crack splits open, and San moans hazily at their possessive growls as they both try to catch the blood that wells up. Wooyoung loses the fight when Hongjoong bucks his hips. Lewd, sopping noises fill the room as his punishing thrusts dislodge Wooyoung’s cum, bubbling at San’s abused rim.

With dogged single-mindedness, Hongjoong chases his release. Roughly fucking up into San, yanking Wooyoung close by the hips to keep him trapped inside when he yowls from overstimulation. Every breath is punched from San’s lungs before he can draw oxygen, the world spinning around him in a dizzy haze like he might pass out at any second. Wooyoung claws at him in desperation, nails scratching over the wound in his chest and leaving a red smear all the way down to his navel, down to where his stomach bulges, and he pants at the added pressure when that is where Wooyoung’s hand settles, pushing back against Hongjoong’s cock every time his hips snap up.

Heat licks at San’s core again, tendrils of pleasure twining through the abuse. Slowly, gently inching back towards a new high — but there is nothing slow nor gentle about Hongjoong.

San jolts when a small hand wraps around his dick again. Swift strokes, spreading around the white sticky mess of his own cum, mixing with blood. “N-no, ‘s too much, t-too mu-uch—” he whimpers, but Hongjoong shakes his head, sadistically fixated on his impotence.

“Wanna see it again,” he says, licking his lips as he strokes San and bounces him in his lap while holding Wooyoung in place. His stamina is terrifying, a slight catch of breath the only proof that he’s affected at all. “One more. Show me.”

“C-can’t…” San blubbers pathetically, wanting to be good, but the barrage on his senses is overwhelming, ruined bliss that his body is desperate to escape. Dizzy spells surge through him with every hit of Hongjoong’s cock against his prostate, until his passing out feels like a matter of when, not if.

“One. More.” The demand is unyielding. “Wooyoung, help it out…if you ever managed to figure out what gets it off.”

Wooyoung snorts, offended. “T-that’s easy,” he scoffs, still huffing for breaths but seeming to get a grip on himself now that he has a task to his liking. “Doesn’t take much with him.”

His hands leave San’s body, their steadying hold missed as he whines at the added strain of staying upright. Distantly he hears the sound of rattling metal, but he doesn’t understand what it means until cold iron digs into his throat.

“Do as Joongie says, kitten,” Wooyoung rasps in San’s ear, chains wrapped around his fists as he pulls them taut, metal rings digging into the bruised, delicate skin of San’s neck. “You want to be a good boy, don’t you?”

San wheezes as his airflow constricts, the breath choked out of his throat right as Hongjoong’s fist tightens around him. Liquid heat fills him up, Hongjoong’s low groan ringing in his ears, feeling full, so full he’s close to bursting. His body spasms, clawing at the chain, overloaded, adrenaline screaming through him as his vision whites out. The bliss is excruciating, and for a moment San can’t tell if he’s dying or if he’s the most alive he’s ever been.

It must’ve been the latter.

Slowly San comes back to himself, all the strength sucked out of him as he lays collapsed back against Wooyoung’s chest. Still full, two hands patting at his swollen belly. Faintly San feels the trickle of cum leaking from his hole, dripping down like blood from his wounds. It hurts, but the pain is dampened by the lingering haze of Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s heat, protecting him.

The chain is gone, but Wooyoung nuzzles at the indents on his throat, affectionate in the way he sometimes can be after he’s full and satisfied. Hongjoong watches them quietly, a pleased glint in his hooded eyes. There is a healthy glow to their skin, warmed by the sustenance of San’s blood. He sighs dazedly, knowing he did well.

Wooyoung chuckles when he realises San is back with them, pulling him tighter against his chest. “Hey Joongie, I don’t have to get rid of him after Seonghwa finally fucks off, right? I get to keep him?”

“You can keep it for as long as you can keep it alive,” Hongjoong fires back, but the scolding is softened by affection. “Learn to take care of your pets, brat.”

“But I do, oh I do,” Wooyoung coos over San, peppering kisses all over his cheek. “Such good care, don’t I?”

Too drained to nod his agreement, San just smiles up at him, weakly, drunkenly, through a golden daze. Such good care.