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Fire crackles quietly. His chest rises slowly as he breathes in deeply, face mushed against the soft furs of the carpet.
A beat passes.
There’s a low buzz somewhere, under the floorboards, in the walls, under his skin. His gums ache, still.
Beomgyu is so, so bored.
When he turns on his back, shirt riding up his stomach and an exasperated groan barely swallowed, he finally earns a chuckle.
“What’s got you so annoyed, darling?”
Piercing eyes glow under the low light of the fireplace, long eyelashes hidden behind the thick frames of glasses. He looks unfairly handsome, Beomgyu thinks, the lines of his face sharper where he stands enveloped in the shadows.
Beomgyu wrinkles his nose, averting his gaze. “It’s very hot.”
His sire, lips red, red, pearly white teeth uncomfortably sharp as he smiles. “Then move away from the fireplace.”
He is pouting, Beomgyu realizes it very well, distantly in the back of his mind, like a sulky child, but he can’t stop it. Not when his blood sings and sings, and his body is still confined in its makeshift prison, too far away from what he needs for comfort.
He barely resists the urge to thrash. “But then I would be cold.”
“Then wear something warmer than a mere shirt.”
He must be enjoying it, that asshole. Beomgyu huffs, petulant. The sofa is softer than the floor, despite how soft the carpet's fibers are, so he settles for it. It’s marginally better for his sore, tired muscles, and conveniently, farther away from the person hell-bent on torturing him.
The backseat covers his body perfectly as well, plush, decorative pillows hiding his face from plain view. Wetness gathers behind his closed eyelids, hot and searing, jaw grinding in frustration. Beomgyu could sob, if he had the energy to — it hurts far too much for him to keep his composure.
If he could gouge out his own eyes, he would. Only, unfortunately so, his sire wouldn’t like that.
A sigh, that would have normally brought him satisfaction at getting what he wants yet again, but not now, not when his nerves are already set alight, a screech of a chair against the wooden floorboards, and the soft padding of feet. Beomgyu remains still, willing himself to stop breathing, until gentle hands weave through his messy hair.
Beomgyu melts, letting the answering chuffs of laughter bounce inside his skull.
“You have been quite miserable today, haven’t you?”
He can imagine the way the light bounces off his sire’s face, his sharp lines mellowed under honeyed affection. If he could blush, if the blood inside his veins still flowed normally, Beomgyu would have done so, bashfully, like a maiden ready to be stolen.
He isn’t far from one, either, because his undead heart thuds inside his chest, an unsteady bump bump that ricochets against his ribs.
“Yeonjunie-hyung…” He is whining like a child, an embarrassing act that should normally bring him shame, but Yeonjun seems to like it nonetheless, as the rumble in his chest grows louder, sweeter. “I can’t help it.”
“I know,” Yeonjun says simply, affectionate as his hand keeps on carding through the tangled parts of his hair. “It hasn’t been long enough for the baby tooth pain to go away yet.”
Beomgyu grumbles. If it could be described as lightly as that, he wouldn’t be moping like this, pathetic and distracting his sire from things he’s still not privy to. Yeonjun doesn’t mind — he knows that very well, because he wouldn’t be allowed to set foot inside his studies otherwise — but it doesn’t make him feel any better. Or any less clingy, for that matter.
“You haven’t eaten today, have you?” Yeonjun says, not unkind.
“I have not.” His lips jut out in a pout; it wasn’t for a lack of choice or choices, or for lack of trying. The servants assigned to him were most dedicated, but he simply couldn’t stomach animal blood.
There are still other options too — ones that he can’t entertain, lest Yeonjun see it as a lack of loyalty. Beomgyu is anything but that; alas, the possibility of him turning to their human servants, or to a fellow vampire, would send Yeonjun into black-eyed rage.
Beomgyu could lie and say it’s only instincts, that Yeonjun didn’t see him as anything more than another fledgling, but he knows better. He had let himself be stolen away like a bride, after all.
“Come here, darling,” Yeonjun urges him gently as he sits down, deft fingers working at the buttons of his dress shirt. “Eat to your heart’s content.”
Despite his reservations and the sparks of pain that dance along his spine as he sits up, settling into Yeonjun’s lap comes to him like second nature. The noise dies down in his head, just for a bit, as Beomgyu lets himself breathe, drinking in the scent of cedar and wine.
His gums continue to ache, and there is still that newfound sensitivity in his still-growing fangs, but Yeonjun’s blood, hot and delicious, soothes it, just for a moment. Beomgyu gulps greedily, Adam’s apple bobbing with each mouthful, until he has had his fill, and his belly is finally full and satisfied.
Broad hands knead at the meat of his waist. “Did you like your meal?” Yeonjun croons, sweet, cloying under the dimmed lights, a soft, delirious smile stretching the lines of his face.
Beomgyu licks his lips and thinks of the golden band on his ring finger, of the life he had left behind not too long ago, already forgotten. When he shifts, there is hardness pressed against his ass, matching the thrumming desire in his veins.
When they kiss, he melts once again, gooey and blood drunk.
“Aren’t you busy?” He mutters, in between tongue and teeth, and purposeful hands cupping his ass.
“It can wait,” Yeonjun shrugs simply.
He can't say he disagrees with that, not when sharp teeth graze against his nipples, a hot mouth leaving marks across his naked chest. Beomgyu can still taste blood, bitter and sweet, as their lips join once again.