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There's a celebration still going on outside; Jaha can hear the laughter and loud chatter from them through the slight crack of the window.
It's only now, mind hazy from alcohol, that he starts to think that being part undead was a pain. Even having to drink blood every so often wasn't so much of a pain considering that it's never been something that he paid any specific attention to. Most of the time, everything that came with it – enhanced senses, rapid healing, enhanced strength when the moon is at its highest, just to name a few – was enough to overlook that little detail.
It isn't now, not when they were working against him right now, as if testing whether he really has everything under control. By all means, he should. Jaha has had more than enough time to learn how to keep his baser instincts at bay.
And yet, here he was. Sitting across from Sungtae in a room in the Plum Blossom Brothel the other man had cleared out for them. Not unlike the first time they’d met and shared a drink. The only real difference was the high spirits they were in today, as evidenced by the empty porcelain bottles stacked neatly to the side and the gentle buzz of liquor in their veins, and those very instincts telling Jaha to sink his teeth into Sungtae’s throat and drink from him.
He can scarcely even recall how they’d gotten here. Most of his clan was still outside, drinking and making merry after a well-deserved victory. All except Jaha, and Sungtae.
It wasn’t often that Jaha faced someone that posed a real challenge, but he had this time, and his muscles ached after that fight. All he wanted to do was retire inside, content with drinking in peace on his own. He didn’t realise anyone had seen him attempting to slip out until Sungtae had caught him and asked if Jaha wanted him to accompany him.
God knows why he always offers when Jaha was always quick to refuse. God knows why Jaha agrees today, of all days. The flicker of surprise in Sungtae's eyes as he'd hurriedly fallen into step with Jaha was worth it, in any case. He tells himself it's pity that lends its hand in that decision– it’s simply because he felt bad for brushing Sungtae off so much.
(Jaha knows it's not; he wouldn't have agreed to anyone else's company at a time like this, no matter how many times they might have offered. He locks that piece of knowledge away for later introspection; the night was still young, the alcohol still flowing, and the company less than miserable – there's no point in poring over what makes Sungtae so different as of yet.)
It shouldn’t have caused him this much of a headache.
Sungtae was paying for everything; drinks and food, and he was more than enough to entertain himself – he could talk for hours uninterrupted. Has probably done so in the past, the vain bastard. All Jaha has to do is hum where it seems appropriate, and otherwise let him carry on with his rant, and the other man has been undeterred by his silence.
This, he supposes, is where the problem begins, because he had no idea when Sungtae had stopped being amusing in the sense of a court jester and had become endearing instead. Had become enticing enough for there to be an ever present ache in his gums whenever he was so much as near the other man.
He's met dozens of beautiful women in this life, and yet still he has not found one who smells even half as alluring as Sungtae does.
Right now, it was, unforgivably, covered with notes of sweet fruit from Dukuang liquor, but he could catch whiffs of it every so often. A faint hint of plum blossoms and citrus fruits, a touch of the tea leaves he so favoured.
Jaha takes a sip of liquor from his glass, wine burning his throat on its way down like repentance. It’s with wary eyes that he watches Sungtae ramble on about something or the other with. All too suddenly, Jaha is made aware of just how enclosed this space is, just how close they are. It's downright suffocating, and heat flickers its way down his robes.
Oh, he thinks, belatedly, this is… going to be a problem, isn’t it?
He's forgotten just how maddening Sungtae can be.
(And, as he's learned now, in more ways than just mere irritation.)
Jaha chances another glance at Sungtae as he pours himself another glass. The other man’s face is flushed a deep pink, his pale skin betraying exactly how much he’s had to drink. It spreads down, across his throat that bobs as Sungtae drinks, and almost certainly across the swathes of skin covered by his robes.
He’s had his fill of blood already, but saliva still pools in his mouth, almost embarrassingly quickly. It is infuriating, utterly unforgivable, completely–
Dizzying. His head spins at the sight, at the thought of the blood rushing under Sungtae's skin.
Unfamiliar emotions coil up around his lungs, holding his breath hostage. All things said, Jaha merely tolerates him most days. Finds himself just as amused and as he is irritated with the other man's antics. He's insufferable, a thorn in his side that he's grown oddly accustomed to with how long it's been there.
So why was it that he couldn't keep his eyes off of him?
Even now, he couldn't pull his eyes away. His silver hair was glinting in the moonlight, and the dim lights cast shadows across the sharp planes of his face. It is entirely enthralling to watch him gesture wildly as he speaks, pink lips curving to form the shape of words.
There's a cut on that same lip; one from not more than a handful of hours ago. Jaha had laughed at his incompetence when he saw it, but he could not muster the same amusement from it now. Not when the cut was reopening as he spoke, blood beading ever so slightly before a soft tongue flicks out to lap it up.
How was he meant to stay focused on whatever Sungtae was saying when all he could think about was that? About how nicely the taste would sit on his tongue?
He curls a hand into a tight fist, digging his nails into his palm in a feeble attempt to ground himself. It doesn't work.
Fleeting hunger tightens its grip around him. A desire lights a wick in the depths of his chest, liquid want filling his veins and replacing the stolen blood running through it. He wants to taste the blood on his lips himself. Wants to drink and be sated and be truly full for what might be the first time in either of his lives. Jaha wants, deeply, to quell this thirst for good.
His teeth ache insistently, a siren's song. It would be so easy – it would be so easy.
He could smell the blood still, lingering in the stagnant air of his office, tempting him, taunting him. Could see it still, nestled in the cracks of his lips, staining his teeth pink. This, he distantly decides, is a different kind of torture all together. A true test on how strong his willpower was, and it was taking every ounce of that willpower to not push Sungtae down and taste the blood on his lips for himself to see if it really tasted good as it smelled.
(He had a feeling that it did.)
It was one thing the first time they'd met in this life and Jaha had thrown a vase at Sungtae. He had never known he had such self-control until he was trying to hold a conversation with a man whose face was half-covered in what smelled like ambrosia.
It was another when he had Sungtae in front of him, practically defenceless with how loose-limbed he was from liquor. He felt like he'd gone even further back in time, back to when he was a teenager. Unable to keep his hunger at bay at the slightest scent of iron in the air. He'd thought he'd left those desires behind, long forgotten and buried under years of training his self-control.
Evidently not, when Sungtae of all people was able to draw such a reaction from him. Jaha would swear that Sungtae was doing it on purpose if he didn't already know that the other man didn't believe in supernatural creatures.
For a while, all he does is stare. Watching and waiting and starving, and it really doesn't occur to him how long he's been staring at Sungtae in silence for until a pale, elegant hand reaches out and snaps its fingers in front of his face.
"Master?"
Jaha doesn't quite jolt, but he shoves Sungtae's hand out of his face, scowling. Entirely unphased, Sungtae pulls back, oddly compliant as he regards Jaha with a flicker of curiosity in his fox-like eyes. Jaha, for a moment, wonders what he sees before he dismisses it a moment later.
The sly bastard was probably judging him.
"Stop that," Jaha barks out abruptly.
"Stop what?" Sungtae asks, the words coming out more bemused than biting. That desire rears its ugly head again, and his tongue sits like lead in his mouth, heavy and foreboding. He swallows, hunger pooling in the depths of his stomach.
"Nothing," he says, and shoves out his empty glass in Sungtae's general direction. "Pour me a glass."
He can smell the exact moment confusion and irritation washes over the other man, souring the scent he's been craving this whole time. Jaha doesn't know whether that makes him want to laugh or cry, but he is absolutely certain that if he's forced to keep up with thiis small talk, what little composure he's managing to hold onto is going to shatter into a million different pieces.
With a roll of those golden eyes, Sungtae answers, "Yes, yes…"
And then his throat tightens as Sungtae leans across to pour more wine in his glass, baring the back of his pale nape. The vertebrae protruding on his nape, bony and sharp. His gums ache at the sight. He swallows, throat suddenly bone-dry and instincts screaming at him to sink his teeth into the unprotected curve of his neck, to bite and drink and–
Jaha averts his gaze before he can do something as humiliating as giving in to his desires. Takes a deep breath that he immediately regrets because the whole room smelled like him, like his blood. He sends a burst of the Great Absorption Technique to shove the windows open roughly to let more air circulate in the room before something – anything – can happen.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Sungtae asks, and Jaha can hear the rustle of his robes as he straightens up. God, what the fuck is he doing? Jaha runs his tongue over his canines, feeling the itch in his gums to let them drop. Downs the rest of his glass at once.
"Can't I enjoy the fresh air?" Jaha asks in turn. To this, Sungtae rolls his eyes, deeply unimpressed with him. Jaha would scoff at his haughtiness if he wasn't so preoccupied with trying not to lose his damn mind.
"Of course you can," he says smoothly. "I'm just wondering what's wrong with you."
"There's nothing wrong with me," Jaha manages to grit out, curling his hands around the empty glass he's been holding. "You're the problem."
"Me?" Sungtae repeats, incredulous. "What did I do?!"
"You smell like–" and here Jaha pauses for a moment to skim through the dozens of words that come to mind; plum blossoms, tea leaves, ambrosia. Divine. He glances back at Sungtae, sees the sceptical raise of his brows and finishes, lamely, "–shit."
Sungtae's face twists in indignation, scowl firmly in place as he lunges across the table at Jaha, obscenities spilling from between his lips. "I don't want to hear that from the bastard who shit so much even his house smelled like it–"
And Jaha, pulled right to the edge of his patience, shoots up to his feet and launches himself out of the window in his haste to get out of there. He needs... what does he need, exactly?
He doesn't know. Maybe fresh air to clear his mind. Maybe he just hasn't drunk enough blood. Maybe exhuastion was doing something strange to him. He doesn't know, but this, at the very least, helps him make up his mind.
Jaha needs to visit Moyong. The Doctor wasn't a vampire like him, not in this life, considering the fact that Jaha killed the Great Rakshasa before anything could happen to him, but he'd know something. Maybe he could help Jaha clear his mind or, more so he hoped, prescribe a cure.
If anyone could, it would be him, surely.