Archive of Our Own ^beta

Beomgyu liked to tell himself he didn’t panic easily.

That he was the kind of person who kept his cool no matter the situation, calm and collected just like his parents had always taught him to be. Freaking out never solved anything—if anything, it made problems worse. That was the belief he clung to. The problem was, it wasn’t exactly true.  

Beomgyu was, in fact, someone who panicked often and dramatically. He had perfected the art of internal screaming, often accompanied by actual screaming. He wasn’t calm, he just worked really hard to convince himself he was. But right now, he was dangerously close to losing it. Because no amount of self-reassurance could change the fact that his Biochemistry grade was a disaster.  

The numbers on his screen stared back at him, harsh and unforgiving, as if mocking the hours he had poured into studying. He had done everything like rewritten his notes, memorized equations until they bled into his dreams, even used flashcards like some kind of overly ambitious high schooler. None of it had made a difference.  

And now he was teetering on the edge of failure.  

Beomgyu groaned and flopped back against his chair, rubbing his hands down his face as if that would somehow erase reality. He barely registered the sound of their dorm door slamming open until Soobin's voice cut through his despair.  

“What’s for dinner?”  

Beomgyu didn’t even look up. “The crushing weight of my academic downfall.”  

A second later, a much louder voice followed. “Wait, are we ordering that, or…?” Kai, their ever-enthusiastic roommate, who appeared in the doorway just in time to see Beomgyu’s full-body sigh of defeat.  

Soobin, already making himself comfortable by throwing himself onto Beomgyu’s bed, frowned. “Okay, what’s with the dramatics?”  

Beomgyu gestured weakly at his laptop. “I’m failing Biochem.”  

“What?” Kai perked up. “No way, hyung, you studied so hard!”  

“Tell that to my professor. Actually, tell that to my GPA, because it’s currently in shambles.”  

Soobin sat up, peering at the screen before shaking his head. “It can’t be that bad.”  

Beomgyu turned his laptop toward him, letting the numbers speak for themselves.  

“Oh.” Soobin blinked. “That’s… not great.”  

“Yeah.”  

Kai leaned over his shoulder. “Wait, does this mean you have to retake the class?”  

“Not if I somehow pull a miracle out of my—” Beomgyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No. I just need to do really, really well on the next exams.”  

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Soobin asked, unimpressed.  

Beomgyu opened his mouth, then shut it. He had no idea.  

“See, this is why you need a tutor.” Soobin pointed at him. “Every class has a top student. Find them. Beg for their help if you have to.”  

Beomgyu frowned. “I don’t beg.”  

“You begged me to trade dorm chores last week.”  

“That was different.”  

“How?”  

“I had a headache and didn’t want to take out the trash.”  

“Same energy,” Soobin said, crossing his arms.  

Kai hummed, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “But he’s right, hyung. There’s gotta be someone who can help.”  

Beomgyu groaned, dropping his head back against the chair. He hated that they had a point. As much as he didn’t love the idea of asking for help, he loved the idea of retaking this class even less.  

"Fine," he muttered. "I’ll look into it."  

Soobin grinned and clapped his hands. "Great! Now, about dinner—pizza?"  

Kai pumped a fist in the air. "I second that!"  

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips despite the weight in his chest. "Yeah, yeah. Pizza it is."  

That night, just as Beomgyu was teetering on the edge of sleep, a single intrusive thought jolted him back to consciousness.  

The top student in his Biochemistry class.  

Choi Yeonjun.  

Beomgyu groaned, dragging his hands down his face. How had he not thought of this earlier? He had spent an entire dinner with Soobin and Kai, nodding along to their ridiculous debates about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Kai was a firm supporter; Soobin looked ready to disown him), all while the name he needed had been right there, buried in the back of his mind.  

And now that it had surfaced, Beomgyu wished it hadn’t.  

Choi Yeonjun wasn’t just the top student. He wasn’t just the smartest, most efficient, unfairly gifted person in their class.  

He was also a vampire.  

And not just any vampire. No, Yeonjun had the kind of presence that made you think of ancient castles and candlelit libraries, of whispered secrets and unsolvable mysteries. The kind of vampire you read about in books, except very, very real. Tall and elegant, with an almost unnatural grace. Always in dress shirts and polished boots. His perfect black hair was always slicked back, parted just right, giving him an effortless look of control—sharp, and untouchable. And then there were his eyes—piercing, unreadable, holding a weight that made Beomgyu feel like the other could see straight through him.  

Yeonjun was, in short, intimidating as hell.  

Which wouldn’t have been a problem if Beomgyu wasn’t now in the unfortunate position of needing his help. He flopped onto his side, pressing his face into his pillow with a muffled groan. Maybe he could figure something else out. Maybe he didn’t need a tutor after all.  

A little voice in his head, unfortunately sounding a lot like Soobin, immediately shot that idea down.  

Sure, and then you’ll fail, and I’ll have to watch you cry over your ruined GPA while Kai offers you pity snacks.  

Beomgyu sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling.  

The vampire thing wasn’t even the issue, not really. Vampires had been part of human society for over two centuries now, seamlessly integrated into everyday life. They had laws, government support, even entire social systems in place to ensure peaceful coexistence.  

Yeonjun was a different story.  

The guy was practically untouchable. Not because he was outright rude, Beomgyu had never actually seen him be mean to anyone but because he exuded an air of complete indifference. He didn’t invite conversation, didn’t entertain small talk. If anything, he seemed to actively discourage people from approaching him.  

It was like he had taken full advantage of whatever lingering fear humans still had of vampires and turned it into his own personal shield. No one questioned why he preferred to sit alone, why his interactions were kept to the bare minimum. And now Beomgyu, a person who had perfected the art of avoiding awkward and uncomfortable situations, was supposed to go up to him and ask for his help.  

Just fantastic.  

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling deeply. He could do this. It was just one conversation. Just a few tutoring sessions. It didn’t have to be weird.  

If he kept telling himself that, maybe he’d actually start believing it.  

"Listen, he’s old, right?" Soobin said one morning, leaning back in his chair. "He has to be polite, at least."

Beomgyu frowned. "He’s not that old."

"He’s a vampire," Soobin pointed out. "Which means he’s, what, at least a hundred? Maybe two? Old people love manners. You’ll be fine."

That was Soobin's idea of encouragement when Beomgyu flopped onto the campus café table the next morning, groaning into his arms like his life was over. It said a lot that even Soobin who studied on the other side of campus and had absolutely nothing to do with Biochemistry knew exactly why Beomgyu was in distress.  

The reassurance didn’t do much for Beomgyu nerves, but by the time he sat through his Biochem lecture, he started thinking, maybe he’s right. So, as Mrs. Jung droned on about molecular structures, Beomgyu let himself observe.  

Choi Yeonjun sat in his usual spot with perfect posture, eyes sharp, movements deliberate. Even doing nothing, he radiated an unapproachable kind of intensity, like he had no patience for the world around him.  

And yet… he wasn’t actually doing anything terrifying.  

He wasn’t drinking blood out of a flask. He wasn’t hissing at people. He was literally just… taking notes. Maybe I’m overthinking this, Beomgyu told himself. Then, as if hearing his thoughts, Yeonjun shifted slightly and his gaze snapped toward Beomgyu.  

Beomgyu choked on his own breath and looked away so fast he nearly fell out of his chair.  

Never mind. I’m definitely not overthinking. 

Unfortunately, class ended before he could talk himself out of this plan. And with yet another painful reminder from Mrs. Jung about his grades, Beomgyu knew he had no other choice. So, before he could hesitate, he tracked down Yeonjun in the common area—exactly where he expected him. Sitting on a bench, reading, completely composed, while the rest of the students around him slouched in their seats. 

Okay. Just do it. Just ask. What’s the worst that could happen?

(He says no, and you fail and ruin your academic career forever.) 

Beomgyu squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and approached.  

"Hey."  

Yeonjun barely glanced up. He flicked his gaze over Beomgyu before returning to his book, as if deciding whatever this was wasn’t worth his time.  

Beomgyu cleared his throat. "You’re Choi Yeonjun, right?"  

This time, Yeonjun lifted his head slightly, his brow arching in mild disinterest.  

He nodded once.  

"...Do you ever speak?" Beomgyu asked, because seriously, what was with the unnecessary suspense?  

"Only when necessary," Yeonjun replied evenly.  

His voice was smooth, cool—there was nothing particularly remarkable about it, but it still sent an odd chill down Beomgyu's spine.  

A vampire thing, probably.  

"Choi Beomgyu, right?" Yeonjun asked, his gaze sharp and unreadable.  

Beomgyu nodded, somehow even more caught off guard that Yeonjun already knew who he was.  

"Well?" Yeonjun prompted. "What do you need?"  

Right. The reason he was here. 

"I can’t fail Biochemistry," Beomgyu blurted out.  

Yeonjun blinked once. "That doesn’t seem to concern me."  

Beomgyu scowled. "You’re the top student. I need help. Can you process that, or is your vampire brain too old to keep up?"  

The second the words left his mouth, he regretted everything. Because for half a second—just a half second—Yeonjun's eyes flashed deep crimson.  

Oh.  

Oh, shit. 

Beomgyu stiffened, fully preparing to die.  

But instead of looking offended, Yeonjun let out a quiet exhale, somewhere between an amused sigh and a you’re an idiot sigh.  

"You do realize insulting me isn’t exactly the best way to ask for help, right?" he mused. "Or is your human brain too small to process that?"  

Beomgyu blinked. Had Yeonjun just flipped it back on him? More importantly, why did that feel oddly… impressive?  

"Sorry," Beomgyu muttered, sinking onto the bench beside him. "I’m just—desperate."  

Yeonjun observed him carefully, tilting his head slightly, as if weighing whether this was worth his effort. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled.  

"Fine. I’ll help you."  

Beomgyu sat up straight. "Wait. Seriously?"  

Yeonjun shifted his head to the side slightly, "The next test is in three weeks, right? Two sessions a week should be enough."  

"Uh, yeah," Beomgyu stammered. Then, realizing how unhinged he sounded, quickly cleared his throat. "I mean—yes. That’s perfect."  

Yeonjun nodded, already picking his book back up. "Good. We start tomorrow."  

There was a pause.  

"...Anything else?" Yeonjun asked, raising an eyebrow when Beomgyu didn’t move.  

Beomgyu jolted. "Ah—no, um… thank you, Yeonjun-ssi."  

Yeonjun nodded again. "You're welcome."  

Beomgyu turned and booked it before he could embarrass himself further. It took all his willpower not to trip over his own feet as he left. And as much as that entire conversation had been terrifying, Beomgyu couldn’t even deny the real problem anymore.  

Because somehow, against all logic, that whole exchange had only made him more attracted to Yeonjun.   

Beomgyu could barely focus in class the next day, his fingers drumming anxiously against his desk. More than once, the students around him shot him looks, probably because he was radiating pure stress into the air.  

And honestly, they weren’t wrong.  

Soobin had definitely made things worse when Beomgyu told him he was going to be studying with Yeonjun from now on. Instead of offering any kind of reassurance, Soobin had simply leaned back in his chair, smirked, and said, “So… you’re going to be alone with him. For hours.”  

Like Beomgyu didn’t already know that.  

Like he hadn’t spent the entire night tossing and turning, trying to mentally prepare himself for the fact that he was going to be sitting alone with Yeonjun for the first time ever. First, because Beomgyu wasn’t sure Yeonjun had the patience to deal with someone as hopeless as him when it came to Biochemistry. What if he got frustrated? What if he just gave up on Beomgyu entirely?  

Second, because—no, especially because Beomgyu had absolutely no faith in his ability to function like a normal person while being in such close proximity to him. And Soobin, being the menace that he was, had spent hours grilling Beomgyu until he finally admitted that, fine, maybe he had developed a tiny crush on Yeonjun over the time they shared that one class together.  

It wasn’t a big deal.  

It was not something he would ever act on.  

It was based purely on the image everyone had of Yeonjun with his effortless confidence, his dark, unreadable eyes, the way he seemed to command attention without even trying. They barely knew each other, after all. But Soobin had screamed like the sky was falling, so that was that.  

Now, as soon as Beomgyu left the classroom, Yeonjun was already there, leaning casually against the wall. The way he looked—sharp features, hair falling just slightly into his eyes, the kind of presence that made people hesitate before approaching made Beomgyu feel like he had just stepped into some high-fashion editorial.  

How does he always look like that?  

“Hello.”  

Yeonjun greeted him first, voice smooth, expression unreadable. Beomgyu felt some of his nerves settle—just a little. He seemed less cold than the first time they spoke, at least.  

"You need to eat, don't you?"  

That caught Beomgyu off guard.  

His stomach, apparently having no sense of shame, decided to betray him at that exact moment with a low growl. Still, he tried to weasel his way out of it. “Ah, I can eat after we study—”  

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. “Lunch is important, Beomgyu.”  

Beomgyu didn’t even realize they were in a staring contest until Yeonjun tilted his head slightly, gaze expectant. He held out for all of five seconds before caving. Which was how he found himself sitting beside Yeonjun at a table in the corner of the university cafeteria, nervously sipping his water while Yeonjun, completely unfazed, pulled a bottle out of his bag.  

A bottle filled with deep red liquid.  

Beomgyu knew what it was before he even had to ask.  

"I'm guessing that’s not beetroot juice," he blurted before he could stop himself.  

A single drop stained Yeonjun's lower lip as he took a sip.  

“It is not.” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes. “Does it bother you?”  

Beomgyu hesitated.  

Honestly? No. Or at least, not in the way it should. What did bother him, though, was the way his gaze kept drifting to Yeonjun's mouth. The stark contrast of red against his pale skin was…  

He needed to get a grip.  

Beomgyu shrugged, playing it cool. “Lunch is important, right? You said it yourself.” Then, before he could second-guess it, he added, “What does it taste like for you?”  

Yeonjun was quiet for a moment, like he was weighing whether or not he should answer.  

“It’s sweet,” he finally said, setting the bottle down. “Not as much as human blood, but… good enough.”  

Beomgyu brain barely processed the words because he was still stuck on his lips.  

He needed help. Immediately.  

“The government gives it to you, right?” he asked, forcing his thoughts back on track.  

Yeonjun nodded, though his expression darkened slightly. “Blood bank donations.” Then, with a small, wry smirk, “Not that they’re too happy about it.”  

That snapped Beomgyu out of his daze.  

“Well, would they rather you go out killing people?” he asked, voice slightly louder than intended.  

A few students at the next table looked over. Beomgyu's face went hot. Yeonjun, on the other hand, looked thoroughly amused.  

“We don’t need to kill to feed,” he said, letting the words hang there deliberately.  

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down Beomgyu's spine.  

“No?” he asked, suddenly much more aware of how close they were sitting.  

“Not humans.” Yeonjun held his gaze easily, unaffected by the tension that Beomgyu was definitely feeling. “Your blood is… different. Stronger. One donation is like a full-course meal.”  

“Oh.”  

Beomgyu frowned, processing this.  

It wasn’t like what he had heard growing up. He’d been told so many things about vampires—their bloodlust, their ruthlessness, the way they supposedly needed to kill to survive. None of it matched up with what Yeonjun was saying now.  

Yeonjun gave him a knowing look, like he could see the realization clicking into place.  

“Not quite what they say, huh?”  

Beomgyu swallowed. “No… not really.”  

Yeonjun hummed, tilting his head slightly.  

Beomgyu wondered for maybe the hundredth time if vampires could read minds. Because the way he was looking at him right now…  

Beomgyu felt his pulse spike.  

The way Yeonjun's gaze lingered at his throat for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary made him wonder if he had noticed it, too. 

So Beomgyu eats faster than usual, shoveling food into his mouth with the efficiency of a man on a mission. His goal? To get through this meal as quickly as humanly possible. Especially since Yeonjun finishes his own drink before Beomgyu even makes a dent in his plate.  

It’s not that the silence between them is outright uncomfortable, but it feels… weird.

Like there’s an invisible wall standing between them, built from the fact that they don’t really know each other, and the very obvious fact that Yeonjun is a vampire. Beomgyu spends the entire walk to the library racking his brain for a way to break through it, mentally listing possible topics for conversation.  

The weather? Too basic.  

Assignments? Too depressing.  

Vampire lore? …Possibly offensive.  

He’s still thinking about it when they settle into a quiet corner of the library, his books spread out in front of him as he pretends he’s totally ready to focus. In reality, he’s very aware of the fact that Yeonjun is sitting directly across from him, watching him with that unreadable expression again. So, naturally, the first thing Beomgyu blurts out is, "What are you doing here?"  

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes, unamused by his question. "If I remember correctly, you asked for my help."  

Beomgyu huffs. "No, I mean… in school." He gestures vaguely around them. "Aren’t you, like, immortal? Thought you’d be bored of sitting through lectures by now."  

Yeonjun’s expression remains impassive, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I enjoy learning."  

Beomgyu stares at him like he’s just sprouted a second head. "Who actually likes school?"  

Yeonjun shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  

"Okay, but how many degrees do you have?" Beomgyu asks, half-joking.  

"Thirteen."  

Beomgyu almost chokes on air. "What?" His voice rises, earning him a glare from a student at the next table. He quickly ducks his head and lowers his voice. "You’re messing with me."  

"I’m not." Yeonjun is completely serious. "Excluding post-graduate degrees, of course."  

"Post—wait, wait, wait." Beomgyu waves his hands as if physically trying to stop the conversation from spiraling into insanity. "Are you telling me you have multiple—what, master’s degrees? PhDs?"  

Yeonjun nods. "Five PhDs, to be exact."  

Beomgyu stares at him in sheer disbelief. "Holy shit, how old are you?"  

It’s only after the words have already left his mouth that he realizes how incredibly rude that sounds. His stomach drops—surely, he’s just offended his already intimidating tutor beyond repair. But instead of looking annoyed, Yeonjun actually chuckles.  

And not just a small, polite chuckle. A real, genuine laugh. The kind that makes his sharp eyes crinkle at the corners, that softens the normally icy demeanor just enough to make Beomgyu momentarily forget that he’s sitting across from a centuries-old vampire.  

"Old," Yeonjun answers simply, still looking amused.  

Beomgyu doesn't push further, mostly because his brain is short-circuiting over the fact that he just made Choi Yeonjun laugh. And that’s when he realizes something dangerous.  

Yeonjun might be scary. He might be elegant and distant and way too perfect to seem real. But when he laughs? Yeah. Beomgyu might be in trouble.

As their tutoring sessions continue, Beomgyu gradually uncovers layers of Yeonjun’s personality that aren’t immediately visible beneath his closed-off exterior. Despite his aloofness, Yeonjun has a charm of his own, one that sneaks up on Beomgyu when he least expects it.  

For one, his sarcasm is practically second nature. It weaves effortlessly into their conversations, often catching Beomgyu off guard and making him laugh at the most unexpected moments. Like the time Beomgyu accidentally solved an equation completely wrong, and Yeonjun just stared at him before deadpanning, “Wow. That’s not even in the same universe as the right answer.” It had sent Beomgyu into a fit of giggles, and though Yeonjun rolled his eyes, there was an unmistakable twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.  

But beyond the sarcasm, Yeonjun is patient—well, mostly. Beomgyu has caught glimpses of his thinning patience when he struggles to grasp a particularly tricky concept. There are moments when Yeonjun exhales deeply, rubbing his temples as if physically restraining himself from snapping. And yet, no matter how frustrated he seems, he never lets it show outright. He always circles back, re-explains things in a different way, or abandons his own books entirely to help Beomgyu out.  

"You seriously don’t get this?" Yeonjun asks one afternoon, tapping his pen against the table.  

Beomgyu groans dramatically, flopping back into his chair. "Not all of us were born with a built-in calculator for a brain, okay?"  

There’s a pause before Yeonjun sighs, then scoots closer, their shoulders nearly touching. “Alright, let’s go over it again. This time, actually pay attention.”  

And Beomgyu does though not entirely to the lesson.  

In the two weeks since their study sessions began, Beomgyu notices a shift in Yeonjun’s behavior. It’s subtle but undeniable. The cold, indifferent demeanor he usually wears around others seems to thaw when they’re alone. Yeonjun, who barely spares most people a second glance, actually listens when Beomgyu speaks. He humors his ridiculous questions, even if his answers are often cryptic or teasing.  

“So,” Beomgyu says one evening, twirling his pen between his fingers, “do vampires have, like, a favorite blood type? Or is it all the same?”  

Yeonjun doesn’t even look up from his book. “That’s like asking if humans have a favorite flavor of water.”  

Beomgyu scowls. “That is not the same thing.”  

"Mm. Close enough." Yeonjun finally glances at him, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Why? Worried yours is a vampire delicacy?”  

Beomgyu huffs. “I heard AB is the closest to a psychopath, so... maybe vampires have preferences?”

Yeonjun hums, tapping his fingers against the page. "So, what? You’re checking if your blood is my preference?"

The smirk Yeonjun gives him in response sends an embarrassing rush of heat to Beomgyu’s face, and he promptly decides to shut up. Of course, Soobin is no help in keeping Beomgyu’s emotions in check. Ever since learning that he and Yeonjun exchanged numbers, Soobin has been relentless. He pesters Beomgyu at every opportunity, convinced that something more is brewing beneath the surface.  

“Be honest,” Soobin presses one day, leaning across the cafeteria table. “You’ve totally sent him a nude, haven’t you?”  

Beomgyu nearly chokes on his drink. “WHAT?! No! What the hell is wrong with you?”  

Soobin shrugs. “I dunno, man. You two have been all secretive and giggly. I figured—”  

“FIGURED WRONG,” Beomgyu interrupts, glaring.  

But Soobin isn’t convinced, especially not when he notices Yeonjun staring at them from across the room.  

“See?” Soobin nudges him not-so-subtly. “He’s always watching you. If he wasn’t interested, why would he bother?”  

Beomgyu groans, refusing to turn around. “Maybe because we study together? Ever think of that, genius?”  

“Or maybe because he wants to eat you—one way or another.”  

Beomgyu chucks a napkin at Soobin’s face, but deep down, he can’t deny that the staring has been more frequent than it probably should be. Still, it’s not enough to convince him there’s anything more to their relationship than just tutoring.  

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

It’s on their second-to-last tutoring session that Beomgyu finally gets proof of just how much he affects Yeonjun. At first, it’s subtle—small shifts in his seat, a stiff set to his shoulders, the way his fingers press against the edge of the table like he’s trying to ground himself. Beomgyu, of course, notices immediately.  

Yeonjun is always composed, always elegant, moving with the kind of effortless grace that makes Beomgyu wonder if he was royalty in a past life (or, well, maybe in this one too, considering his age). So seeing him fidgeting—fidgeting—is practically a flashing neon sign that something is wrong.  

“Are you okay?” Beomgyu finally asks, tapping his pencil against his notebook.  

“Yes,” Yeonjun answers, but it’s… off. His voice is as smooth as ever, but there’s something forced about it, like he’s deliberately keeping it even.  

“You seem a little out of it today.” Beomgyu tilts his head, hoping he can get him to open up. “Are you—”  

“Did you not put on perfume before coming here?”  

Beomgyu blinks. “I—what?”  

Yeonjun is staring at him now, dark eyes sharp, focused entirely on him in a way that makes Beomgyu’s pulse stutter. “Did you?”  

Beomgyu’s brain short-circuits for a moment. “I—no? What does that have to do with—” He suddenly frowns. “Wait. Do I smell bad?”  

The question comes out more horrified than he intended, and Yeonjun—Yeonjun, the unshakable, unreadable enigma of a man—lets out an incredulous laugh. “Do you smell bad…” he repeats, shaking his head like he can’t believe the words even came out of Beomgyu’s mouth. “Quite the opposite, actually.”  

Beomgyu stares at him. “What does that mean—” And then it hits him.  

Oh.  

Oh.  

His blood.  

Beomgyu suddenly feels hot all over, something twisting in his stomach at the realization. “It’s my blood, isn’t it?”  

Yeonjun scoffs, visibly irritated. “Nice to see your brain finally catching up.”  

“Don’t even try changing the subject.” Beomgyu drops his pencil and turns to face him fully, abandoning any pretense of studying. “Are you all bothered because you can smell me? Is that it?”  

Yeonjun doesn’t answer, but his jaw tightens, and that’s all the confirmation Beomgyu needs. A slow grin spreads across his lips.  

“Oh my God.” Beomgyu leans in slightly, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Are you imagining yourself biting me right now?”  

Yeonjun’s eyes narrow. “Beomgyu.” His voice is lower than usual, a clear warning.  

“That’s dirty, Yeonjun hyung,” Beomgyu murmurs, deliberately drawing out the last word. “We’re in public.”  

Yeonjun’s fingers twitch against the table. His gaze flickers to Beomgyu’s exposed neck before he forces his eyes away, exhaling sharply. “You’re insufferable.”  

Beomgyu just smirks.  

He has no idea what’s come over him, where this sudden rush of confidence is coming from but knowing that he is the reason Yeonjun is so unsettled makes something buzz beneath his skin. Yeonjun, who is always so composed, so indifferent, so untouchable, is sitting there looking one second away from losing it over the scent of his blood.  

The knowledge is exhilarating.  

“Now I can’t focus,” Beomgyu says, sighing dramatically as he leans closer. “Now I want you to bite me.”  

“I am not doing that.” Yeonjun’s voice is firm, but his hands curl into fists against his lap.  

“Why not?” Beomgyu tilts his head, fingers dragging absently along his own forearm. “I can see you want to taste me…” His voice dips lower, turning into something almost sultry. “Aren’t you thirsty for me, Yeonjun hyung?”  

Yeonjun’s grip on the table tightens.  

“Yes, I am.” 

The speed at which he admits it makes Beomgyu’s breath hitch. He wasn’t expecting him to agree, not so easily, not without resistance.  

Yeonjun leans forward slightly, voice dangerously smooth. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” His eyes flicker red for a split second. “I want to take you somewhere we can be alone. Crave my fangs on your neck. Marked you in red. Suck your blood until it drips down my chin because I won’t be content with just one drop.”  

Beomgyu’s entire body shivers.  

He knows Yeonjun sees it.  

“Do it, then.” His voice is slightly breathless now, a little unsteady.  

Yeonjun inhales deeply, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Beomgyu… Feeding off humans can be very… intense.”  

“Are you scared you won’t be able to stop?” Beomgyu whispers, fingers brushing against Yeonjun’s wrist. “I trust you, though.”  

Yeonjun exhales sharply. “I wish that was it.”  

Beomgyu watches as he swallows hard, his throat bobbing, like he’s trying to hold himself back. There’s something hesitant in his expression now, something like restraint, and Beomgyu frowns slightly.  

“What do you mean?”  

Yeonjun hesitates. “No, um…” He clears his throat, avoiding Beomgyu’s gaze. “I mean sexually.”  

“Oh.”  

Beomgyu swears the temperature in the room just went up by several degrees.  

“So… what, you get turned on?”  

Yeonjun finally meets his eyes again, and Beomgyu feels the weight of that gaze like a physical thing. “Not just me.”  

And that is when Beomgyu’s brain officially stops functioning. Because now he’s imagining it—Yeonjun above him, panting, groaning, his sharp fangs dragging against his skin. His body pressing Beomgyu down, pinning him. The sensation of teeth sinking in, the heat of his breath against his throat, the sound of his name being murmured between gasps—  

Beomgyu abruptly snaps out of it, realizing that Yeonjun is looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking about.  

“Well, then, let’s fucking go,” Beomgyu says before he can stop himself.  

Yeonjun actually looks startled. “Excuse me?”  

“You heard me.” Beomgyu closes the already small distance between them, hands braced on the table, eyes locked on Yeonjun’s. “You’ve been making me horny since the first time I saw you.”  

Yeonjun stares at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, finally, he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “You are impossible."

Beomgyu only grins. “Come on, you know I won’t be able to get anything done now.” His voice is a low murmur, almost coaxing. “My apartment is so close…”  

A tense beat of silence, then—

“Alright.”  

The walk to Beomgyu’s apartment is tense, heavy with unspoken anticipation. Every few steps, Beomgyu catches Yeonjun stealing glances at him, his usually unreadable expression betraying a flicker of impatience, of hunger. It’s the first time Beomgyu has ever seen him like this—unsettled.

And knowing he’s the cause of it makes his pulse race.  

He unlocks the door and steps inside first, listening for any signs of his roommates. Nothing. Good. The last thing he needs is Kai barging in at the wrong moment with his usual lack of awareness. Yeonjun closes the door behind them. The quiet hum of the city outside fades, leaving just the two of them in charged silence.  

“So…” Beomgyu hesitates, fidgeting as he toes off his shoes. His throat feels dry. “How do we…?”  

Yeonjun doesn’t answer. Just sits down on the couch, legs spread slightly, and pats his thighs.

An invitation. A command. 

Beomgyu swallows. His nerves spike. “Gotta admit, never thought I’d be sitting on your lap outside of my dreams.” He jokes, but his voice isn’t as steady as he wants it to be.  

Yeonjun huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching. “That’s useful information.” His tone is smooth, but there’s something else beneath it, something eager.  

Beomgyu barely has time to process the way Yeonjun pulls him forward, effortlessly maneuvering him into his lap. Their bodies are pressed together, warmth seeping through their clothes, and Beomgyu feels lightheaded at the sheer closeness. His hands find Yeonjun’s shoulders for balance, but his grip tightens when the vampire drags him even closer, their faces mere inches apart.  

“Are you gonna kiss me?” Beomgyu whispers, breath unsteady.  

Yeonjun’s eyes flicker over his face, intense, burning. “Do you want me to?”  

Beomgyu exhales sharply. “Do you really have to ask?”  

Yeonjun doesn’t. He just smiles—that smile. The slow, knowing one that always drives Beomgyu insane. And then he leans in. He doesn’t kiss him right away. No, Yeonjun starts slow, deliberate, dragging his tongue along the seam of Beomgyu’s lips—tasting, teasing, claiming. The touch is barely there, but it sends a violent shiver down Beomgyu’s spine.  

Yeonjun hums, pleased. He catches Beomgyu’s bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it with maddening patience, letting his fangs graze just enough to remind him what he is. A small, desperate noise escapes Beomgyu’s throat. His fingers tighten in Yeonjun’s shirt.  

He needs more.  

Frustrated, he moves first, kissing back with force, with hunger, catching Yeonjun off guard for the briefest second before the vampire matches him, mouth hot and demanding.  

It’s messy, eager, needy.  

Beomgyu moans when Yeonjun licks into his mouth, tasting him like he’s something decadent, something irresistible. Their hands roam without restraint, Yeonjun gripping Beomgyu’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer, while Beomgyu tangles both hands in Yeonjun’s perfectly styled hair and ruins it. 

He pulls back slightly, breathless, and shivers at the sight before him.  

Yeonjun’s pupils are blown wide, his lips red and slick, slightly parted around his fangs. His breathing is uneven, and his hands tighten around Beomgyu’s hips like he’s struggling to hold back. But what really makes Beomgyu’s breath hitch, what makes heat pool low in his stomach, is the way Yeonjun looks at him.  

Like prey.

Beomgyu swallows.  

He loves it.

“Bite me.”  

Beomgyu barely recognizes his own voice—it’s wrecked, breathless, desperate. And the worst part is he doesn’t even care. Yeonjun pauses, eyes dark, lips swollen and slick from their relentless kissing. His grip in Beomgyu’s hair tightens, tilting his head back until his throat is fully exposed. Vulnerable.  

Beomgyu shudders at the slow drag of Yeonjun’s tongue along his jaw, down to the frantic pulse at his neck. He moans, nails digging into Yeonjun’s shoulders over his shirt, his body already burning.  

Yeonjun inhales deeply and groans, his grip flexing around Beomgyu’s waist like he’s restraining himself. His lips press against Beomgyu’s neck, soft at first, then wetter, hungrier. He teases, lets his fangs barely scrape over sensitive skin, and Beomgyu’s hips jerk at the sensation.  

It’s too much. It’s not enough.  

Yeonjun sinks his teeth in.  

Beomgyu gasps—fuck, it hurts, but it’s the kind of pain that makes his entire body tighten, makes his stomach drop with heat. His toes curl as his mouth falls open, struggling to swallow the moan threatening to spill. Yeonjun holds him down, arms locking tight around his waist as he feeds, and Beomgyu swears he feels everything, the pull, the heat, the raw pleasure of it seeping into his bones. His head swims, and he loves it.  

"Yeonjun..." His voice breaks on the name, shaky hands pushing at the vampire’s chest only to drag him back up into a messy, breathless kiss. The taste of his own blood lingers on Yeonjun’s tongue, metallic and dark, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. If anything, it makes his head spin harder, makes him push forward with reckless need.  

Their kisses turn sloppy, filthy, all tongue and teeth and shared breaths. Yeonjun’s fangs remain extended, sharp against Beomgyu’s lips, and the feel of them only sends another hot pulse of want straight between his legs.  

"Keep going," Beomgyu gasps against his mouth, panting. "Don't stop."  

Yeonjun doesn’t need to be told twice. He dives back in, biting, licking, sucking new bruises into Beomgyu’s throat, and Beomgyu starts grinding down against him, chasing friction like he’s never needed anything more. He moans at the sharp, electric pleasure that shoots through him—better, hotter, deeper than anything he’s ever felt before. His head tips back, fingers yanking at Yeonjun’s shirt, so impatient that the buttons pop clean off in his rush to touch more.  

Yeonjun groans, a deep, wrecked sound, and grips Beomgyu’s hips so tight it borders on bruising. He guides him into the movement, grinding up into him with just as much desperation. Beomgyu’s hands roam everywhere down Yeonjun’s chest, along his abs, nails scraping, leaving marks just to see how he reacts. And fuck, he reacts beautifully. 

Yeonjun suddenly pulls back from his neck, lips slick with blood, dripping. His chest heaves as he stares at Beomgyu, gaze heavy, burning. He licks the excess from his lips and crashes back in, kissing Beomgyu so thoroughly it leaves him dizzy, breathless, ruined. 

And fuck, Beomgyu could drown in this.

Beomgyu is so lost in the kiss, drunk on the taste of blood and the way Yeonjun feels beneath him that he completely misses the sound of the front door opening.  

"And I swear, if that bastard says one more—"

Soobin's voice cuts through the charged atmosphere, making them jerk apart. Beomgyu barely has time to catch his breath before Soobin stops mid-step, eyes widening. Next to him, Kai looks downright horrified.

“What the fuck,” Soobin blurts, taking in the scene before him of the mess of ripped shirts, swollen lips, and way too much blood. “You guys couldn’t wait for a locked room?"

Kai makes a small, strangled noise, but Soobin just shakes his head. "Never mind, I don’t even wanna know. I hope whatever weird ass vampire kink this is was worth traumatizing us."

With that, he grabs Kai by the wrist and drags him away to their room, muttering something about needing brain bleach. Beomgyu blinks, slowly coming back to his senses. The heat in his body hasn’t faded. If anything, the interruption makes him want Yeonjun even more. He shifts in the vampire’s lap, frustrated, needy. 

“…We should clean up,” he mutters, feeling the tightness in his jeans becoming unbearable.  

Yeonjun doesn’t move. Instead, his dark gaze traces Beomgyu’s features before tilting his head slightly to examine his handiwork—the fresh bite at the curve of his neck, the swollen lips, the mess of sweat and blood on his skin.  

“How’s your neck?” Yeonjun finally asks, voice still rough with want.  

“It’s fine,” Beomgyu breathes out, though his thoughts are still fogged over with heat. “Though, you could probably—”  

His words cut off into a sharp, choked moan when Yeonjun leans in, tongue flicking over the bite to clean up the blood that’s dripped down. The sensation sends a shudder through his body, his fingers gripping onto Yeonjun’s biceps for support.  

“Yeah, like that,” he gasps, hips shifting instinctively, seeking more. 

Yeonjun stills him with a firm grip, holding him in place. He doesn’t pull away.  

“Yeonjun…” Beomgyu whines, desperate, impatient. He needs more. Needs to finish this.  

But Yeonjun only continues what he was doing, licking over the remnants of blood with slow, deliberate strokes. His tongue traces along Beomgyu’s throat, his chin, until he reaches the corner of his mouth. Beomgyu feels like he should be embarrassed of a mess of saliva and half-dried blood but he only craves more of Yeonjun, the sensation of his kisses intoxicating, addictive.  

“Finish what you started,” Beomgyu whispers, commanding. His fingers thread into Yeonjun’s hair, trying to pull him closer, hungry.  

Yeonjun smirks against his lips, voice husky when he murmurs, “I came here to bite you, and I did.”  

Beomgyu pouts. “I want more.” He moves, kissing down Yeonjun’s neck to his collarbones, exposed by the ripped-open shirt. His teeth graze the skin, his tongue flicking out to taste. “I want you.”  

Yeonjun lets Beomgyu push him back against the couch, lets him devour his lips again, but still holds him down, keeping him from grinding forward. Torturing him. It doesn’t take long before Beomgyu whines against his mouth, needy and impatient. 

“We’re not alone anymore, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun’s tone is firm, but there’s something else there, something that makes Beomgyu shiver. It’s possessive, as if the bite mark on his neck is proof of ownership—a warning. 

The realization burns through him, and his fingers twitch where they rest on Yeonjun’s chest. He’ll have to walk around with this undeniable evidence on his skin, the bruise deepening with time, and everyone will know exactly who put it there.  

Fuck. 

Yeonjun finally moves him aside, pushing him gently off his lap before getting up. “Let’s get cleaned up.”  

Beomgyu follows him into the bathroom, standing side by side in front of the mirror. The moment he catches his reflection, he gasps. Yeonjun doesn’t even look surprised, if anything, he looks amused. Beomgyu stares at himself. His lips are swollen, his neck smeared with half-dried blood, the bite mark already darkening. His shirt is disheveled, his hair a mess from Yeonjun’s hands. He looks utterly wrecked.  

But Yeonjun… Yeonjun looks even worse.  

His hair is ruined, strands falling over his forehead where Beomgyu’s fingers had pulled and tugged. His mouth, chin, and even the exposed skin of his chest are stained red, and Beomgyu’s stomach clenches at the sight of the thin streaks of blood that have dripped down his abs. His white shirt hangs open, useless, buttons torn off in Beomgyu’s haste.  

Beomgyu licks his lips, suddenly feeling like he could devour him all over again. 

“You owe me a new shirt,” Yeonjun says, turning on the faucet and casually wiping the blood from his skin, running damp fingers through his hair as if he hadn’t just been caught in the middle of something filthy.  

Beomgyu barely hears him. His eyes are locked on the muscles shifting under Yeonjun’s skin, the way water slides down his collarbone. He shifts, heat pooling low in his stomach again.  

Then, a thought hits him.  

He doesn’t want anyone staring at Yeonjun when he walks around campus like this. Not with the mess Beomgyu left on him.  

“You know what, you’re right.” He nods, tearing his gaze away. “I’ll get you something to wear.”  

Yeonjun watches him with that damn smirk, like he knows exactly what’s running through Beomgyu’s head. His gaze lingers, intense, teasing. Beomgyu huffs and pushes him away from the sink, finally focusing on cleaning himself up. But even as he splashes cold water over his face, he can still feel Yeonjun’s presence behind him. Can still see his smug expression in his mind, can still taste his lips, can still feel the weight of his bite.  

And it drives him crazy.

Because Yeonjun never gives anything away. He keeps himself carefully unreadable, a mystery that Beomgyu is dying to unravel.    

"You can smell everyone else though, right?" Beomgyu asks suddenly, towel still in hand.  

Yeonjun freezes. His expression barely changes, but Beomgyu sees the flicker of tension in his shoulders.  

"What do you mean?" Yeonjun asks, but his voice is guarded. Stalling.  

"You can smell people when they walk past you," Beomgyu says, watching him closely.  

Yeonjun exhales through his nose. "If there isn’t anything too strong masking their scent, yes."  

"And it doesn’t bother you," Beomgyu presses, stepping into his space again. “What makes me so special, hm?”  

Yeonjun rolls his eyes but doesn’t back away. "You just had to ask, huh?"  

"Of course.” Beomgyu grins. Lethal. “What makes you want my blood instead of anyone else’s?” His voice drops. 

Yeonjun swallows. His jaw clenches, eyes flicking away, hesitating.  

"You’re really gonna make me say it," he mutters.  

Beomgyu leans in. "Obviously."  

Yeonjun sighs, but after a moment, his hands find Beomgyu’s waist again, fingers curling just right.

"I like you,” he admits. “It fucks with my head—makes your scent stronger. More… addicting.”  

Beomgyu’s heart stumbles.  

"Oh.” His arms loop around Yeonjun’s neck, pleased, smug. “Yeah, I definitely enjoy that.”  

Yeonjun pulls him in again, this time into a slow, lingering kiss. 

It feels different. 

Like something dangerous. Like something that’s only just beginning. 

“You’re insufferable,” Yeonjun murmurs against his lips.  

---

Yeonjun wakes up feeling like absolute shit.  

The rims of his eyes are tinted red, his skin sickly pale, and his head throbs with a dull, unrelenting ache.  

“You look like shit,” is the first thing that tumbles out of Taehyun’s mouth, and Yeonjun growls lowly in response.  

Not like he doesn’t already know that.  

“Shut the fuck up.”  

Taehyun only laughs, cupping his cheeks mockingly. “You can’t scare me in this state, hyung.”  

And as much as Yeonjun hates to admit it, he’s right. They’re both pureblood vampires, but Yeonjun has always been the stronger one, at least, when he isn’t starving. Without his usual supply of hospital blood bags, Taehyun could easily take him down right now.  

“That’s why you shouldn’t try to escape what you can’t, my dear,” Taehyun chimes, grinning.  

Yeonjun groans, dragging a hand down his face. His body feels unbearably sluggish.  

“Feels like my head’s gonna burst.”  

Taehyun’s teasing expression shifts into something more serious, eyes narrowing.  

“How long has it been?”  

Yeonjun shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant. “Four and a half?”  

A sharp smack lands on his shoulder.  

“You’re a fucking dumbass, Choi Yeonjun.” Taehyun’s irritation is evident in the sharpness of his tone. “If you just told your human boyfriend that vampires can’t go five days without human blood, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.”  

Yeonjun ignores him, glancing at the clock instead. Beomgyu must be retaking his Biochemistry exam right now.  

“You think I’ll last another half?” Yeonjun mutters, wincing at the thought.  

Taehyun shakes his head weakly. “You can’t do this, hyung.”  

This was all Beomgyu’s fault—well, not entirely, but still. Yeonjun replayed the events in his head, every moment leading up to this unbearable hunger clawing at his insides.  

It all started with a simple agreement.  

Or maybe, it started before that.  

Maybe it started when Beomgyu pulled him into the bathroom of his shared dorm, both of them breathless and disheveled after getting caught making out on the couch by his dormmates. Maybe it was the way Beomgyu had grind above him, needy and flushed, as if he wasn’t at all embarrassed, like it didn’t matter that someone had walked in on them because Yeonjun was all he could think about.

Or maybe it was the way Yeonjun had finally admitted that he liked him, words slipping past his lips in a moment of vulnerability.  

Yeonjun never gave anything away. He had spent decades building an impenetrable wall of indifference, a carefully crafted mystery that no one had ever managed to unravel. But Beomgyu—somehow, Beomgyu had slipped past every single one of his defenses.  

And now, Yeonjun was suffering for it.  

They had made a deal.  

"If you ace your biochem retake, I’ll take you on a date,” Yeonjun had said, mostly to distract Beomgyu from sulking over their embarrassing interruption. He didn’t expect Beomgyu to take it so seriously.  

Yeonjun didn’t need a retake, his score was already high enough. The exam was only for those who failed or wanted to improve their grades, but there was a risk. If someone scored lower than their original grade, the new score would replace it. Yeonjun wasn’t willing to gamble his near-perfect marks. Beomgyu, on the other hand, had no choice. He needed to retake it, and suddenly, Yeonjun had given him even more motivation to succeed.  

He hadn’t thought much of it. Not until Beomgyu, over lunch in the cafeteria, had blindsided him with an entirely different conversation.  

"Where do you get your blood?"  

Yeonjun had barely registered the question at first, focused opening the lid on the blood's bag in his hands. “What?”  

“The blood you drink,” Beomgyu repeated, staring at him with something dangerously close to suspicion. “Where does it come from? Do you—” He hesitated, swallowing. “Do you sink your fangs into other humans? Like you did with me?”  

Yeonjun had blinked. Then, slowly, a smirk curled at his lips.  

Beomgyu was jealous.  

The realization was both amusing and oddly endearing. He could see it all over Beomgyu’s face. The faint pout, the furrow of his brows, the way he picked at his food. 

“I haven’t bitten anyone in years,” he admitted, propping his chin on his hand. “I don’t even remember what it was like. The blood I drink comes straight from the blood bank.”  

But Beomgyu didn’t look satisfied. If anything, he looked more annoyed.  

“So other people’s blood is still in you.”  

Yeonjun nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. “That’s kind of how it works, Beomgyu.”  

Beomgyu sulked. The way his lips jutted out, the way his fingers curled tightly around his fork—it sent a thrill of something dangerous through Yeonjun’s veins. He was so easy to read, so terribly transparent. And no, Yeonjun couldn’t read Beomgyu’s mind, telepathy was a gift only purebloods shared but in moments like these, he didn’t need to because Beomgyu’s thoughts were written all over his face.  

Yeonjun had never met anyone like him before. Someone so unafraid to wear his emotions so plainly, someone who didn’t treat him like something to be feared. Beomgyu looked at him with wide, searching eyes, like he was trying to figure out the puzzle that was Yeonjun. And for some reason, Yeonjun wanted him to.  

So he had said something stupid.  

Something ridiculous.  

“I won’t drink blood from now on,” Yeonjun told him, voice smooth and certain. “I’ll only drink from you.”  

Beomgyu had gone wide-eyed, gaping at him in stunned silence.  

“But before that,” Yeonjun added, leaning in with a smirk, “you really have to pass your exam.”  

That was how it all started. They had six days before the test.  

The first few days passed in a blur of heated touches and breathless kisses. It was like something had snapped between them, some unspoken restraint finally breaking. They made out in the dark corners of the library, in the empty club rooms, in the locked stalls of the bathrooms.  

Yeonjun had Beomgyu pressed against every available surface, lips dragging down his throat, fingers slipping beneath his shirt. He was careful—so careful—but the hunger was already beginning to build. The scent of Beomgyu’s blood, the heat of his skin, the way he shivered whenever Yeonjun’s fangs so much as grazed him, it was all driving him insane.  

By the third day, Yeonjun was losing control.  

He was on edge.  

His body screamed for something it couldn’t have, his restraint stretched thinner with each passing second. He was a man of his word, but fuck—Beomgyu was testing him in ways he wasn’t prepared for. The proximity, the temptation, the sheer need, it was too much.  

So he made a decision.  

“We shouldn’t see each other until the exam is over,” he told Beomgyu, voice tight.  

Beomgyu raised a brow. “Why?”  

Yeonjun exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Because if I see you again, I might not be able to stop myself.”  

Beomgyu grinned. The little shit actually grinned.  

“You can’t resist me, huh?”  

Yeonjun wanted to wipe that smug look right off his face. He wanted to drag him into the nearest empty room and kiss him until he forgot how to breathe. But instead, he turned on his heel and walked away. And now, as he sat in his apartment, body trembling, head pounding, hunger tearing through him like wildfire, he was paying the price for his reckless promise.  

Outside, humans laughed and chatted as they passed by. The scent of their blood hit him like a bullet.  

Yeonjun’s entire body went rigid, instincts roaring to life.  

Fuck.  

Pain arced up his spine, his fangs ached, and his vision blurred at the edges. The hunger was no longer just a dull throb, it was unbearable.  

Taehyun’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent.  

“Hyung? Yeonjun hyung!”  

Yeonjun barely registered him.  

All he could hear was the steady pulse of human hearts. All he could feel was the overwhelming need.  

And then—darkness.

Yeonjun must have blacked out.  

One second, he was drowning in hunger, his body collapsing under the weight of it, and the next, his senses sharpened, instincts roaring back to life, and he was inhaling the one scent that shattered every last shred of his restraint.  

Beomgyu.  

His breath hitched. His fangs ached, pulsing with a hunger so deep it made his entire body tense. The scent was overwhelming—warm, intoxicating, alive. His vision blurred at the edges, colors bleeding into red, the world narrowing down to the one thing he wanted.  

Needed. 

Yeonjun swore he felt his fangs grow an inch. His body moved before his mind caught up, already on his feet, already reaching for the door. The only thing separating him from the object of his hunger. His fingers curled around the knob, twisting—only to be met with resistance.  

His head snapped up, a snarl curling in his throat.  

Someone was stopping him.  

Then Taehyun spoke.  

"Hyung, you need to calm down before I let you see him. You might kill him in that state."  

The words barely registered, drowned out by the sharp drum of Beomgyu’s heartbeat. So close. Yeonjun could hear it, the quick, unsteady rhythm hammering in his ears, pulling him in like a predator drawn to prey.  

His fingers tightened on the knob.  

"Taehyun," he growled, voice rough, strained. "Move."  

No response.  

He yanked at the door, harder this time, but it wouldn't budge. A deep, aching frustration built in his chest, primal and restless. He pressed against the wood, nails digging into the surface, breath ragged.  

"Open the door," Yeonjun nearly pleaded, though it came out more like a threat.  

Still, Taehyun didn’t move.  

Yeonjun clawed at the door, restraint slipping further and further from his grasp. He wasn’t thinking anymore, only feeling, only needing. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to move, to get to Beomgyu, to sink his fangs into that warm, beating pulse and finally—finally—quench the unbearable hunger consuming him.  

"Hyung," Taehyun's voice was sharper now, unwavering. "Control yourself."  

Yeonjun let out a sharp breath, his forehead pressing against the door. Control. What fucking control? He had lost it the moment he smelled Beomgyu. Behind the door, Beomgyu was speaking now. His voice was muffled, but Yeonjun heard it. Low, steady, insistent. Pleading.  

“Let me in.”  

Taehyun muttered something back, but Yeonjun wasn’t listening.  

Beomgyu wanted to come to him.  

Despite the hunger, despite the danger, despite the very real possibility that Yeonjun could lose himself the moment they were in the same space, Beomgyu still wanted to come to him. Something inside Yeonjun twisted, an unbearable tightness settling in his chest. He let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head.  

“How the fuck did I end up with someone like you?” he muttered to himself, voice hoarse.  

Someone so willing. So trusting.  

So unafraid.  

He clenched his jaw, fingers pressing harder against the door, battling the conflicting urges raging inside him. The need to devour, to claim—to ruin. But also the need to have, to hold—to keep.  

Beomgyu’s voice was clearer now, insistent. "I can take it. Whatever you do—I can take it."  

Yeonjun squeezed his eyes shut.  

Fuck.  

The desperation in his voice. The blind, reckless devotion.  

Yeonjun wanted to rip the door off its hinges.  

Silence stretched between them. Then—slowly, hesitantly—Taehyun exhaled.  

The lock clicked.  

The door creaked open.  

Yeonjun barely registered Taehyun stepping aside, their eyes meeting for the briefest moment. A silent warning. A silent understanding. Then, without another word, Taehyun turned and shut the door behind him, leaving them alone.  

The second the door shut behind Taehyun, Yeonjun barely had time to register Beomgyu’s presence before he was pulled forward—hands gripping his collar, yanking him down, forcing him to stumble, and then— impact.  

His back hit the mattress.  

Beomgyu was on him before he could react, straddling his hips, fingers curling into his hair as their lips crashed together in a mess of heat and teeth. The kiss was filthy, all tongue and desperation, nothing like their usual teasing or slow burn. No, this was something feral. A collision of want and need and danger.  

Yeonjun groaned into Beomgyu’s mouth, his grip finding Beomgyu’s waist, fingers digging in. He could feel the human’s pulse hammering beneath his skin, every beat vibrating against his own. He was burning up, drowning in sensation of Beomgyu’s body pressing down on him, Beomgyu’s scent filling his lungs, Beomgyu’s hands tugging at his hair, making him feel—  

The taste of blood.  

It hit his tongue like lightning, sharp and metallic, a sinful tease of everything he had been starving for. Beomgyu had bitten his own lip in the heat of it all, and Yeonjun felt the warmth of it smear across his mouth, mixing with their kiss.  

His entire body froze.  

His eyes, already dark with hunger, bled into something deeper, red seeping into his irises, overtaking all sense of control. His fangs throbbed, ached, his body locking up with restraint he barely had left. Beomgyu must have felt it, must have sensed the way Yeonjun suddenly tensed beneath him, how his hands clenched against his waist.  

Instead of pulling away, Beomgyu did something entirely reckless.  

He pulled back just enough to breathe, their lips slick and red-stained, eyes locking.  

Then, he whispered, “Drink.”  

His fingers smoothed over Yeonjun’s forehead, a gesture so tender, so trusting and so foolish. But that was all the permission Yeonjun needed.  

The last shred of restraint snapped.  

His grip tightened, flipping Beomgyu onto his back in a swift motion, pinning him beneath him. Hunger roared in his gut, a beast unleashed, no longer content with mere drops of blood on his tongue. The moonlight spilled in through the window, painting Beomgyu’s flushed skin in silver and shadow. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his pupils blown wide, lips parted in anticipation.  

So beautiful. So fragile.  

Yeonjun could hear everything, the quick, unsteady heartbeat, the rush of blood beneath his skin, the slow inhale of breath as he tilted his head back ever so slightly, exposing the line of his throat.  

An invitation.  

Yeonjun’s hand slid up, fingers wrapping around Beomgyu’s neck, feeling the pulse race beneath his palm. Beomgyu shivered under the touch, but he didn’t resist. Instead, he leaned into it, pressing his throat closer, surrendering completely.  

Yeonjun exhaled, lips parting as his fangs ached with anticipation.  

And then, he bit.  

Beomgyu gasped, body jolting beneath him. His fingers curled into the sheets, breath hitching as Yeonjun’s fangs pierced skin, sinking into the soft flesh of his throat.  

Hot.  

The first rush of blood hit Yeonjun’s tongue, and he nearly groaned at the taste, pleasure spiking through his veins. So good. So fucking good. He sucked, slow at first, letting the rich, warm copper flood his senses. His tongue pressed against the wound, coaxing more blood to the surface, dragging out every drop he could take.  

Beomgyu trembled beneath him, his body arching slightly, mouth falling open in a silent moan. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, his fingers digging into Yeonjun’s back, holding on.  

Yeonjun didn’t stop.  

Couldn’t stop.  

He sucked harder, greedy now, hunger consuming him whole. Beomgyu’s taste was intoxicating, sending a rush of fire through his limbs, a dizzying warmth that made his grip tighten, made him press closer, made him want more. Beomgyu whimpered, his hands twitching, body slackening slightly. Yeonjun barely registered it, too lost in the euphoric pull of feeding, the primal satisfaction of finally drinking straight from the source.  

The heartbeat beneath his palm started to slow.  

Faint.  

Yeonjun’s eyes snapped open.  

Stop. 

He had to stop.  

But fuck—it was so hard. His body screamed at him to take more, to keep drinking, to drain every last drop because Beomgyu tasted like everything he ever wanted. But he wasn’t some fledgling. He wasn’t an animal.  

He was Yeonjun. 

With every ounce of control he had left, he tore himself away. His fangs slipped from Beomgyu’s skin, blood trailing down his lips, a final taste of warmth before it was gone. Beomgyu exhaled a shaky breath, his body limp against the mattress, his pulse fluttering weakly.  

Too much.  

Yeonjun cursed under his breath, guilt slamming into him all at once. He had taken too much. He leaned down, running his tongue over the puncture wounds, sealing them closed with careful, slow strokes. He could still taste him, still feel the lingering buzz of human blood in his system, but all he could focus on now was Beomgyu—his shallow breathing, the way his fingers twitched against the sheets, the way he still trusted him, even now.  

For a moment, Yeonjun just hovered there, his forehead resting against Beomgyu’s temple, breathing in his scent, grounding himself.  

He almost lost control.  

But Beomgyu was still here. Still warm beneath him. Still his. Yeonjun swallowed thickly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Beomgyu’s temple.  

“You’re insane,” he muttered against his skin.  

Beomgyu let out a breathy, exhausted laugh. “You love it.”  

Yeonjun sighed. Yeah. He really fucking did.

His hunger was satisfied, but not entirely. A different kind of hunger remained, burning just beneath his skin. Beomgyu must have felt the same because, minutes later, they were all over each other again—greedy, impatient, still tasting of blood and heat. Hands moved without restraint, undressing each other with a feverish urgency, not wanting to waste a second. The air was thick with anticipation until—  

A door opened and shut somewhere in the apartment.  

Beomgyu, still dazed, instinctively sat up, but Yeonjun pressed him back down, frowning. His touch was firm, possessive, as if silently asking, Where do you think you’re going? With a quick flick of thought, Yeonjun sent a telepathic message to Taehyun:

You can leave now. I’m fine. 

Taehyun had stayed behind just in case Yeonjun lost control, but now, there was no need. Yeonjun could feel the moment Taehyun acknowledged his words and left. The sound of retreating footsteps was faint but unmistakable.  

Finally, they were alone again.  

Yeonjun took a moment to admire Beomgyu beneath him, stretched out against the sheets. His body was lean but soft in all the right places, a contrast that only made him more enticing. There were marks, too. Fresh bruises blooming along his skin, evidence of Yeonjun’s hands, his mouth, his hunger.  

Yeonjun traced a slow path up Beomgyu’s stomach, fingers skimming over the smooth, flushed skin. When his touch reached Beomgyu’s throat, the younger man shivered, eyes hazy with need. Yeonjun smirked, voice low and teasing. “Do you want me, Beomgyu?”  

Beomgyu nodded eagerly, then caught himself and rasped out, “Yes! Always, yes.”  

Yeonjun spread Beomgyu's legs wider, dragging out the moment. “How do you want me?”  

Beomgyu, desperate and impatient, didn’t hesitate. “Fuck me.”  

Yeonjun’s cock twitched at the demand. His boxers did little to confine the growing heat, and when he adjusted himself, he caught the way Beomgyu’s gaze darkened, locked onto the movement. But Yeonjun only chuckled.  

“No.”  

The devastation that crossed Beomgyu’s face was exquisite.  

Yeonjun leaned in, murmuring against his ear, “I got you a gift, though.” He reached toward the nightstand, retrieving a bottle of lube and a small, sleek box. Opening it, he revealed the black plug nestled inside. “I think you’ll like it.”  

Beomgyu’s breath hitched.  

Yeonjun took his time preparing him, working him open with slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers pressed against Beomgyu’s prostate before retreating, teasing him again and again.  

Beneath him, Beomgyu was wrecked—body twisting in the sheets, hands clutching the fabric so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His breath came in sharp, broken gasps, whimpers spilling past his lips. Yeonjun’s fingers pushed deeper, scissoring inside him. Beomgyu clenched around them, his hole pink and glistening, slick with lube.  

“Yeonjun hyung,” he keened, his hips jerking.  

Yeonjun hummed, smirking. He withdrew his fingers before pressing them back in, watching the way Beomgyu’s body swallowed them so easily. “See? So open.”  

A third finger joined, stretching him further. Beomgyu’s breath hitched.  

Yeonjun pulled his fingers out and reached for the plug, coating it liberally with lube before pressing the tip to Beomgyu’s entrance.  

“Think you’re ready?”  

“Yes,” Beomgyu hissed, voice strained with need. “Fuck, just do it already.”  

Yeonjun didn’t make him wait.  

The widest part of the plug stretched Beomgyu open, drawing a broken moan from his throat. He trembled, panting, but took it so well.  

“Good?” Yeonjun tapped the base of the plug.  

Beomgyu, still shaking, managed a nod.  

Yeonjun waited for him to settle before reaching for his phone. A single swipe of his thumb and the plug vibrated to life. Beomgyu jolted, mouth parting in a wordless cry. His eyes flew open, wide and wild, his body jerking against the bed. Yeonjun grinned, watching every reaction with fascination. This was only the lowest setting. Yet, the sight of Beomgyu writhing, gasping, twisting helplessly against the sheets was almost too much.  

Debauched abandon did suit his human so well.

In the end, though, Yeonjun set his phone aside and reached down to remove the last of his clothing, finally baring himself completely.  

“You’re going to have to beg if you want me to fuck you, Beomgyu. Afterall, you fangblocked me for five days.”  

Beomgyu let out a long, drawn-out whine.  

“Words, darling. I know you’re not that far gone yet.”  

Beomgyu shot him what might have been a weak attempt at a glare, but Yeonjun only smirked, unbothered and utterly amused. He looked perfect like this—flushed, trembling, and entirely his.  

“Fuck you,” Beomgyu muttered petulantly, eyes slipping shut. Then, quieter, “Please.”  

“Please what?”  

“You’re driving me insane, Yeonjun-hyung.”  

Yeonjun chuckled. “But sweetheart, you look so cute like this.”  

The sound Beomgyu made was somewhere between frustration and pleasure, but Yeonjun only had to glance down to see the evidence of the latter, his cock resting against his stomach, hard and leaking.  

“You’re beautiful.”  

Beomgyu opened his eyes, dark and pleading, and met Yeonjun’s gaze.  

Yeonjun kissed him.  

Beomgyu gasped against his lips, opening up for him instantly, letting him take without hesitation. Yeonjun drank in his sounds, mapping the warmth of his mouth with his tongue, sucking and nipping until Beomgyu whimpered. He bit at Beomgyu’s already kiss-swollen lips, drawing out a shudder, then pulled away with a soft peck to his chin. Beomgyu chased after him instinctively, only to fall back onto the mattress with a quiet thud, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.  

Yeonjun took his time admiring him, then leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his throat. He sucked a deep bruise into the pale skin there, leaving a faint imprint of his lips.  

“Pretty.”  

Beomgyu cursed, voice hoarse.  

Yeonjun trailed kisses down his body, working slowly, methodically, as if savoring every inch of him. He ignored the way Beomgyu gasped and pleaded when his lips or hands accidentally brushed against his cock. He also paid no mind to his own aching arousal, focusing only on reducing Beomgyu to a panting, whimpering mess beneath him. By the time he reached his stomach, most of his torso was a slick, shining testament to Yeonjun’s mouth.  

Beomgyu was breathtaking. No words could do justice to the sight of him, sprawled out on Yeonjun's own bed, watching him with naked, desperate want.  

“Fuck, Beomgyu.”  

“Yes, please,” Beomgyu replied instantly, shifting restlessly. “Let’s fuck.”  

Just for that, Yeonjun turned the vibrations up. 

It was beautiful. The way Beomgyu’s body went taut, his back arching as a strangled cry tore from his throat, only for him to collapse back into the sheets moments later, a broken whimper following in its wake.  

“Yes,” Yeonjun rasped, groaning at the sight. “Let’s.”

Yeonjun pulled the plug from Beomgyu’s ass and tossed it aside, not even bothering to turn it off. He settled between Beomgyu’s spread thighs, their cocks so close that the slightest movement had them brushing together. Wrapping a hand around both, he carelessly smeared Beomgyu’s precum over their swollen tips, never once looking away from the way Beomgyu’s face twisted with tortured pleasure.  

Reaching for the lube with his free hand, Yeonjun slicked them both generously. Beomgyu looked torn—half appreciating the smooth glide of Yeonjun’s palm, half mourning the loss of their cocks pressed flush together. Yeonjun merely smiled, spreading a fresh dollop of lube over his own cock before shifting into position.  

Beomgyu already looked wrecked, on the verge of release, when Yeonjun aligned himself, nestling his length snugly between the plush cleft of Beomgyu’s ass. He rocked forward, rubbing against him deliberately.  

The sound it pulled from Beomgyu—sharp, sweet, and shuddering went straight to Yeonjun’s dick. So he did it again, pressing harder this time, sliding wetly between Beomgyu’s cheeks, teasing them both with what was to come. A subtle shift in angle had his tip catching against Beomgyu’s rim with every slow roll of his hips, tearing out more and more desperate sounds, some of them mangled versions of his name.  

“Come on,” Beomgyu finally gasped, voice barely coherent. “Yeonjun hyung—”  

“Hm?” Yeonjun hummed, pretending he wasn’t just as desperate. “What do you want?”  

Beomgyu grind down, and Yeonjun sucked in a sharp breath as his cock pressed hard against Beomgyu’s entrance. He recovered quickly, pinning Beomgyu down with firm hands and unrelenting hips, pressing him flat against the bed—flushed, marked red, and utterly helpless.  

“No, no, not like that, Beomgyu. Use your words.”  

Beomgyu didn’t even try to glare. He just threw his head back, panting, and obeyed.  

“Put it in. Hyung, Yeonjun hyung, fuck me.”  

Yeonjun bit back a pleased moan and rewarded him with a shallow thrust, the motion ripping a wordless cry from Beomgyu’s throat.  

“Beg.”  

“Wha—”  

“Beg, Beomgyu.”  

Beomgyu gaped at him, eyes wide, the deep blush on his cheeks making him look almost innocent. The surprise was fleeting, though, dissolving into something softer, sultrier.  

“Hyung?” he murmured, voice laced with need. “Please fuck me?”  

Yeonjun exhaled sharply. He should’ve known this would be easy. This was Beomgyu.  

“Again,” he ordered, gripping the base of his cock and pressing it more firmly against Beomgyu’s slick entrance. “Say it again.”  

“Please,” Beomgyu begged, struggling not to rock his hips. “Yeonjun, fuck—please, put it in. I’ll make it good, you’ll feel so good, please—”  

Yeonjun pushed in, gritting his teeth at the impossible tightness. He had spent so much time opening Beomgyu up, and still, the stretch burned. The pressure alone cut off Beomgyu’s frantic pleading, his voice dissolving into a high-pitched moan as he clenched down around the thick head of Yeonjun’s cock.  

Yeonjun groaned, shoving in deeper, gripping Beomgyu’s hips as warmth swallowed him whole.  

“Oh,” he breathed, shuddering. “Oh, god, Beomgyu.”  

Beneath him, Beomgyu whimpered and thrust down, every muscle in his body tense with raw desperation. Yeonjun pulled back, dragging himself nearly all the way out before slamming in again, his nails digging into Beomgyu’s thighs—just shy of breaking skin.  

“Be still,” he growled when Beomgyu tried to move again. “Be good for me, Beomgyu.”  

Beomgyu whimpered like holding still might actually kill him, but he was sweet, obedient, and he listened. Flattening himself to the bed, he met Yeonjun’s gaze with pleading, glassy eyes, silently begging for more.

Yeonjun pressed a soft kiss to Beomgyu’s chin before drawing back, positioning himself at Beomgyu’s entrance again and allowing his body to adjust. It was easier this time, he had already taken three of Yeonjun’s fingers earlier, stretched and prepped from the way Yeonjun had worked him open.  

Bracing himself with a firm grip on Beomgyu’s thighs, Yeonjun thrust forward again and again. “You feel so good,” he gasped between movements, each stroke stealing his breath. The way Beomgyu took him, clenching around him so perfectly, sent shudders through his entire body. “My Beomgyu.”  

“Won’t last,” Beomgyu admitted, voice breathless and laced with apology.  

Yeonjun could see it, his body trembling beneath him, hands fisting the sheets, back arching as he writhed under the relentless pace of Yeonjun’s thrusts. He didn’t slow down. Instead, he fucked into Beomgyu harder, savoring every breathy moan, every broken cry that tumbled past his lips.  

Beomgyu came apart first, his muscles locking tight around Yeonjun’s cock as his back arched off the bed. Yeonjun groaned and thrust through it, matching each convulsion with deep, desperate movements of his own.  

A weak murmur of his name was the only warning before Beomgyu tensed, his cock pulsing as white cum spilled across his stomach. He shuddered through the aftershocks, hips twitching with little, involuntary jerks. Yeonjun followed, matching his movements with erratic thrusts, prolonging Beomgyu’s pleasure until his body finally sagged, spent and trembling.  

Beneath him, Beomgyu was gasping for air, his lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. Yeonjun reached forward, sliding two fingers past his lips. Beomgyu accepted them without hesitation, his mouth soft and warm as he sucked lazily, as if in a trance. Yeonjun watched, his breath catching in his throat.  

“Open your eyes, baby.”  

Beomgyu obeyed, and the sight made something deep in Yeonjun tighten. His face was flushed, pink with pleasure, his limbs slack in utter bliss. A soft shiver ran through him.  

“You came so fast, Beomgyu. How do you plan to satisfy me now?”  

Beomgyu tried to pull off Yeonjun’s fingers to respond, but Yeonjun hooked them deeper into his mouth, pressing down just enough to keep him quiet.  

“I’m still so hard, Beomgyu-yah.”  

To emphasize his point, Yeonjun drove his hips forward, plunging back into Beomgyu with a rough thrust. The reaction was instant—Beomgyu screamed, his back bowing off the bed in a beautiful, sharp curve. The sound sent a fresh wave of arousal through Yeonjun, making his cock throb inside him.  

He finally withdrew his fingers, wrapping them around his own shaft, stroking himself in slow, measured movements even as his body begged for more.  

“Answer me.”  

“Anything,” Beomgyu gasped, voice hoarse, utterly wrecked. “Take anything—my mouth, my ass—it’s yours, all yours. You can use—fuck, please—you can use me—ah—”  

Yeonjun silenced him with a firm stroke to his cock, drawing out a fresh spill of warm cum.  

“I will,” he murmured, voice low with promise.

“You can take me again, can’t you?” Yeonjun murmured, pressing Beomgyu’s legs toward his chest and positioning the head of his cock at his entrance. “Just like this, hm?”  

Beomgyu nodded eagerly.  

Yeonjun thrust into him in one swift, unforgiving stroke harder than he had all night. He wasn’t sure who cried out first, whether it was him, overwhelmed by the slick, pulsing heat around his cock, or Beomgyu, still trembling from the aftershocks of his last orgasm. Either way, he didn’t give either of them much time to adjust. He wanted to drive Beomgyu completely out of his mind, until he could think of nothing but Yeonjun.  

Beomgyu didn’t seem to mind, his voice breaking into desperate cries, syllables dissolving into a lewd, wrecked mess. Yeonjun could hear his name buried in hoarse moans, entangled with whispered curses and breathless pleas, a raw, needy mantra that only pushed him to fuck him harder. His fingers dug bruises into Beomgyu’s pale skin as he bent him nearly in half, taking him without mercy.  

His orgasm came without warning, a slow-building pressure that suddenly crashed over him like a wave, sending him plunging deeper, desperate to chase the last of his pleasure. Beomgyu’s ragged moans were the sweetest sound as Yeonjun rode out the high, his movements only slowing when he was utterly spent.  

He pulled out, leaving Beomgyu empty once more.  

Yeonjun didn’t regret much in life, but this—not being able to mark Beomgyu from the inside out—was the worst of it. Beomgyu let out a faint, choked noise. Yeonjun blinked away the stars dancing in his vision and focused on him, finding him staring up with half-lidded eyes, a small, dazed smile curling his lips.  

“Ah… Did I say that out loud?”  

Beomgyu barely had the strength to nod.  

Yeonjun collapsed onto him, pressing a kiss to his mouth. He tasted blood, sharp and intoxicating, and licked up each lingering drop. When he pulled away, Beomgyu was already tilting his head, baring his throat in silent invitation.  

His fangs ached.  

But Yeonjun resisted.  

“Not this time,” he whispered, catching the flicker of confusion and slight hurt in Beomgyu’s expression. “I drank enough earlier. I want you to lose yourself in me. Just me.”  

“It’s always you,” Beomgyu murmured, shifting as if to reach for him.  

Yeonjun leaned in, letting Beomgyu’s arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that sent a jolt straight through his slow-beating heart. They kissed lazily, deeply, as Beomgyu’s hands roamed freely over Yeonjun’s body, tracing every muscle like he was memorizing him.  

“But you’re not lost, are you?” Yeonjun asked when they broke apart, resting his forehead against Beomgyu’s.  

Beomgyu huffed, his breath warm against Yeonjun’s lips.  

“Hyung, you’ve wrecked me.”  

“No.” Yeonjun pressed another kiss to his lips, then trailed his mouth down his throat. “Not yet. You’re still speaking.”  

Beomgyu murmured a weak protest when Yeonjun pulled away, but he ignored it. He knelt between Beomgyu’s legs again, gripping his hips and pulling him forward until he was resting on Yeonjun’s thighs. His hole was slick with lube and his own cum, still stretched open. Yeonjun slipped a finger inside effortlessly.  

Beomgyu let out a muffled sound.  

When Yeonjun glanced up, he found him propped on trembling elbows, eyes locked on the space between them, wide with wonder.  

“You’re still hard,” Beomgyu whispered.  

Yeonjun’s only response was to press back inside—slow, steady, relentless—until Beomgyu’s ass was flush against his hips, his legs draped weakly around Yeonjun’s waist. Beomgyu’s mouth fell open in a silent scream.  

“Ssh, Beomgyu. Look at me.”  

Yeonjun smoothed a hand over his thigh, rubbing slow circles into sweat-damp skin. Beomgyu shook his head, biting down on his already bruised lips.  

“Beomgyu, love. Come on.”  

The first thing Yeonjun noticed was the tears, clinging to Beomgyu’s lashes before slipping down his cheeks. The sight made something in him tighten, and he pushed forward just a fraction deeper, wrenching a broken moan from Beomgyu’s throat.  

“This okay?”  

Beomgyu gasped for breath, his fingers clutching the sheets in a death grip. Yeonjun forced himself to stay still, focusing on the erratic beat of Beomgyu’s heart to keep himself grounded, to stop from losing control.  

Eventually, Beomgyu nodded, deliberately relaxing his body.  

Yeonjun lifted him slightly and started moving again, pulling out just enough before pressing right back in, never letting Beomgyu be anything less than utterly, suffocatingly full. His thrusts were deep, measured, drawing out low, desperate moans that sounded like they were being torn straight from Beomgyu’s soul.  

His cock was half-hard again, twitching faintly against his thigh, but Beomgyu seemed to have no interest in his own pleasure anymore. His gaze stayed fixed where their bodies met, occasionally blinking to let fresh tears slip down his cheeks.  

Yeonjun wanted to drink up every single one.

First, though, he wanted something else.  

Yeonjun stilled, keeping himself buried deep inside Beomgyu. The frantic pace of the night had faded, leaving him free to slow down, to savor this, to take Beomgyu apart the way he had wanted to since that first desperate makeout session in Beomgyu’s dorm. He let his hands wander, caressing Beomgyu’s thigh, massaging the tense muscle there before trailing upward to cup his balls, rolling them gently in his palm. He hesitated, glancing at Beomgyu’s softening cock and the dazed look in his eyes.  

He had been so good. But he wasn’t ruined yet.  

And Yeonjun wanted that—wanted to unravel him completely until Beomgyu was wrecked for anything and everything that wasn’t Yeonjun’s touch, Yeonjun’s presence, Yeonjun’s love.  

Love?  

The realization hit him like a strike of lightning.  

He wanted to mark him, to claim him in every way possible but he forced himself to hold back. The last thing he wanted was to scare Beomgyu away. That could wait. Right now, all that mattered was making Beomgyu crave him, need him, choose him above the fleetingness of life and the certainty of death.  

Yeonjun clenched his jaw, pushing the thought away. He had to focus on what he could control.  

“Beomgyu, touch yourself for me.”  

Beomgyu blinked, his dazed eyes trailing from Yeonjun’s face down to his own cock. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing enticingly.  

“I… I don’t know if I can. It’s so—I’m so—”  

Yeonjun released his balls, wrapping a loose fist around his cock instead. Even the lightest touch had Beomgyu keening, a soft, helpless sound.  

“I want to feel you,” Yeonjun murmured, voice dark and heavy with everything he couldn’t say. “I want you clenching around me. I want to feel every second of your pleasure. Will you let me?”  

Beomgyu’s pupils were blown wide, his breath coming in short gasps.  

“That’s not fair,” he choked out, voice thick with arousal. “Hyung, you can’t just say things like that.”  

But before Yeonjun could respond, Beomgyu was already reaching between them, his fingers brushing over the back of Yeonjun’s hand before wrapping hesitantly around his own cock.  

Yeonjun started moving again, slow but deep, pushing into Beomgyu as he tried to match the rhythm with his strokes. But after only a few attempts, Beomgyu’s hand faltered, and he let out a broken cry that made Yeonjun freeze.  

“Can’t,” Beomgyu gasped, looking up at him, desperate. “It’s too much.”  

“Ah, ssh, it’s okay. We can just—”  

“Help me.”  

Yeonjun’s grip on his thighs tightened, fingers pressing into soft flesh, leaving fresh bruises.  

“You just said it’s too much.”  

Beomgyu made a noise—half frustration, half raw need.  

“I can take it.”  

Yeonjun was on him in an instant, folding him over and driving in deep. He held Beomgyu’s gaze, letting the strange power coiled inside him slip into his voice.  

“Then take it. Touch yourself. Don’t stop until you come.”  

He kissed him, swallowing his shocked gasp.  

“And I’m going to fuck you through it.”  

And he did.  

And Beomgyu writhed.

Yeonjun could overpower him effortlessly and he did, pinning Beomgyu down as he screamed and thrashed beneath him. He bucked into his own fist, helpless, babbling filth in broken, incoherent pleas that only made Yeonjun fuck him faster, snapping his hips with just enough restraint to keep from breaking Beomgyu’s fragile human body. But Beomgyu took it while crying, gasping, keening yet keeping his legs wide open for Yeonjun, clenching down on him whenever his cock hit that perfect spot that sent him arching off the bed.  

“Come on,” Yeonjun whispered against Beomgyu’s sweat-slick skin. “Come on, come on, Beomgyu, darling, let me have you, let me feel it, come on.”  

Beomgyu choked out a desperate cry, body seizing as he spasmed around Yeonjun, warmth spilling between them. There wasn’t much, he’d already come multiple times but it still made Yeonjun groan, thrusting harder as he pressed Beomgyu down into the mattress.  

Now, Beomgyu was shouting with every stroke, his come-streaked hand clawing at Yeonjun, nails biting into his arms.  

“Just a little more,” Yeonjun rasped, meaning to soothe but failing, his voice rough with hunger. Beomgyu felt too good, too hot and tight around him. “Just a little more, Beomgyu.”  

Beomgyu sobbed, clinging to him, shaking.  

Yeonjun slid his hands under Beomgyu’s shoulders and lifted him effortlessly, settling back on his knees and pulling Beomgyu into his lap. He fit so perfectly like this, spread open on Yeonjun’s cock, utterly pliant in his arms.  

Yeonjun gripped his ass, keeping him steady as he thrust up into him.  

“Yeonjun, Yeonjun, I can’t, this is too—oh god, you’re gonna kill me, you’re—”  

Yeonjun landed a light slap on Beomgyu’s ass, and his words cut off in a jagged groan.  

His breath was hot against Yeonjun’s shoulder, whimpers tumbling right into his ear. His nails dug into Yeonjun’s back, raking deep, leaving trails of pain and blood. Then his teeth followed, sinking into Yeonjun’s shoulder, biting deeper, harder until the skin gave way.  

Yeonjun shuddered, spurred on by the sharp sting of pain.  

“Please,” Beomgyu begged, lips brushing wetly against his cheek, hands scrabbling against his bloodied back. “Come on, just—just come in me.”  

Yeonjun turned his head, catching Beomgyu’s mouth in a fierce kiss as he thrust into him, harder, faster, fire curling tight in his gut. The scratches down his back healed too quickly for him to savor them, but the ache lingered, feeding the pleasure.  

Beomgyu kissed him back between desperate, shuddering sobs, his lips slick with Yeonjun’s blood.  

The taste of himself in Beomgyu’s mouth sent Yeonjun over the edge.  

His teeth sank into Beomgyu’s lip as his hips slammed deep one last time, holding him still as he came, his entire body shaking with the force of it. Beomgyu moaned, a wrecked, broken sound, then slumped against him, gasping for air. Yeonjun licked the blood from Beomgyu’s mouth, nuzzling his cheek as the aftershocks faded into a hazy, sated lull.  

When he finally pulled out, Beomgyu whimpered soft, almost soundless. Yeonjun pressed tender kisses to his face, wiping away his tears with his lips.

Yeonjun laid Beomgyu down gently, cooling his overheated skin with his own cold hands. Beomgyu blinked up at him, exhaustion etched into every inch of his face.  

“I’ll get a washcloth.”  

Before he could move, a weak touch to his leg stopped him.  

“Stay. Hold me.”  

Yeonjun obeyed without hesitation.  

Beomgyu melted into his arms, nestling against Yeonjun’s chest with a contented sigh as Yeonjun pulled a blanket over him. He didn’t seem to care about the mess they’d made, and Yeonjun had no intention of disturbing him after everything.  

“Was it good?”  

Beomgyu mumbled something incoherent and swatted at him, a lazy, affectionate pat.  

“Uhh…”  

“You’re gonna kill me,” Beomgyu murmured, voice thick with drowsiness. “But I’ll die happy.”  

Yeonjun tensed.  

Beomgyu didn’t seem to notice.  

“Beomgyu?”  

There was no response. His breathing had already slowed, deep and steady with sleep. Yeonjun’s voice softened as he pressed lingering kisses to Beomgyu’s face.  

“That’s not what I want,” he whispered.  

“Stay with me.”

The next day, Yeonjun was the one who picked up Beomgyu’s exam results. Mrs. Jung gave him a skeptical look when he claimed that Beomgyu had fallen sick from overstudying. She narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced.  

“He studied that hard?” she asked, eyeing Yeonjun as if she could catch a lie slipping through his teeth.  

Yeonjun only nodded, feigning concern. “Yeah. He completely exhausted himself.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie.  

Mrs. Jung hummed but didn’t press further, too fond of her top student to pry. She handed over the envelope with a sigh. “Tell him to take better care of himself. He’s lucky he has someone looking out for him.”  

Lucky. Yeonjun smirked at that, tucking the results into his pocket. If only she knew.  

By the time Yeonjun returned, Beomgyu was still curled up in bed, wrapped so tightly in the blankets that only his disheveled hair peeked out. He groaned when Yeonjun nudged him.  

“Go away,” Beomgyu mumbled, voice muffled. “I’m dead.”  

Yeonjun snorted, sitting on the edge of the bed. “That’s my thing. And you’re not dead. You passed.”  

There was silence. Then, Beomgyu peeked out, eyes squinting. “…You’re not messing with me, right?”  

Yeonjun waved the envelope in front of him. “See for yourself.”  

Beomgyu snatched it, tore it open, and stared at the paper for a long moment. Then, his lips stretched into a wide, triumphant grin. “I fucking passed!”  

Yeonjun barely had time to react before Beomgyu launched himself at him, blanket and all, nearly knocking them both off the bed.  

“You’re welcome,” Yeonjun said, amused, as he steadied them.  

Beomgyu pulled back just enough to look at him. “I told you I’d pass.”  

“You also told me you’d kill me if you didn’t.”  

Beomgyu gasped dramatically. “I would never threaten my beloved tutor like that.”  

Yeonjun raised a brow.  

“Okay, maybe I would,” Beomgyu admitted, laughing. “But still! I passed! And that means…” He poked Yeonjun’s chest. “You owe me a date.”  

And Yeonjun, always one to keep his promises, delivered.  

They spent the day together, indulging in everything Beomgyu wanted—a cozy café, aimless wandering through bookstores, a sunset walk by the river. It was simple but perfect, the kind of date that felt so normal that it was easy to forget Yeonjun wasn’t.  

But by nightfall, normal no longer mattered.  

Yeonjun had barely closed the door to his apartment before Beomgyu was on him, fingers clutching at his jacket, pulling him into a desperate kiss. They stumbled toward the bed, lips never parting, hands wandering with a hunger that had nothing to do with blood.  

Beomgyu had only wanted a tutor. Yet somehow, he ended up with a vampire boyfriend—one insatiable enough that, by the time the night was over, Beomgyu lay boneless against the sheets, his body spent and his mind dazed.  

Yeonjun hovered over him, pressing lazy kisses to his shoulder. “You okay?”  

Beomgyu groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “I take it back.”  

Yeonjun tilted his head. “Take what back?”  

“That stupid challenge,” Beomgyu muttered. “The ‘only drink from me’ thing. I was an idiot.”  

Yeonjun smirked, brushing a thumb over Beomgyu’s cheek. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”  

Beomgyu peeked at him, looking adorably exhausted. “You’re really never full, huh?”  

Yeonjun leaned in, nipping playfully at Beomgyu’s neck. “Not when it comes to you.”  

Beomgyu shivered but sighed, defeated. “Fine. Just… don’t starve yourself again. That was a nightmare.”  

Yeonjun chuckled, kissing him again—slow, lingering. “I promise.”  

And as Beomgyu melted into him, neither of them cared that the night was only just beginning.