Contemplating changing the title to Jaeyong or Jaehyun ships at this point lmfao
Title: Thirst
Theme/Genre: Vampire Romance
Notes: Kinda dark loool
Word Count: 2.3k
When Taeyong steps into the room, it is silent - there is nothing but the careless whisper of his almost ragged breaths. And it is as if Jaehyun is magnetic, Taeyong's feet drawn forward and eyes burning holes into the man who is perched upon a throne. There is something awfully sinister about the way he sits, Taeyong thinks - legs spread and hands by his sides, a finger tapping against the blood red throne handle inaudibly. Or maybe it isn't the way he sat at all, maybe it is the look in his eyes.
Taeyong feels compelled by them - by the darkness he yearns to lose himself to and by the flames flickering within them when he enters the room. He knows he hasn't cleaned himself properly when Jaehyun's nose flares almost unnoticeably, and it means that the blood that has tainted his flesh hasn't been properly washed off. He can feel it soak into his skin as a physical remembrance, and under his nails to remind him of his sins. But he is too far gone to stop now, and it would be a waste. He can hear Jaehyun say it in his head like an earworm; a waste and a shame.
He stops in front of where Jaehyun is seated, licking over his cherry lips whilst something warm pools in the depths of his gut; it is want, it is familiarity, it is the need to touch a man so intangible that it causes him physical pain. But he spends a second too long admiring a man that he knows cannot be his because Jaehyun's stare turns hard, and only then does Taeyong remember to kneel. His palms splay across the cold chamber floor, and he lowers his head as a sign of respect to their king - his king.
"I.." Taeyong starts, but his words are lost in the noiseless room.
He shuts his eyes. He's been with Jaehyun like this many times - alone and left with nothing but his own resolve to ensure that he doesn't falter - and yet, he still has his days. He still has the days where he trips over his sentences, where each word falls like merciless soldiers and flattens upon his tongue, and where the simple sight of a man so great leaves him speechless. But Jaehyun is not a man who appreciates such things, and so Taeyong is forced to search for lost thoughts in the dark.
"I did it," he continues. "They're gone. All of them. The blood of their village has been saved for our people in times of famish and feast."
He feels breathless after his says it, body spent as he lowers his head even more. But it is not the action of speech that has him drained, it is the energy he lost when taking the lives of humans. And in some ways, it's funny, he thinks, how he has forsaken his humanity and his people for a man like this. But Taeyong doesn't regret it. There isn't room for regret. And he will hear the screaming of innocent children blaring in his ears at night for years to come.
"Stand," Jaehyun says, voice low but coated with so much command that it feels as if a knife has pierced his skin.
He, too, is bleeding somewhere, somehow, internally. And he is not one of them no matter how much he wishes and cries for it - his blood moves, he can feel the thrum of it through his veins as he stands, dizzying him. And he can hear his heart pound when Jaehyun stands; it is slow, it is irregular, but it is there. It is a constant reminder that he and Jaehyun will always be worlds apart, if not in status, in the way they were born from womb and flesh.
Taeyong wills his body to solidify as Jaehyun steps forward. There is something around the man, and he is glowing, an aura of darkness emanating from within him. His stance is powerful, his eyes are harrowing, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smile. It is all pretend, Taeyong knows, and he also knows that Jaehyun chooses to walk because Taeyong could blink and he'd be behind him, warm breath sending bolts of electric shivers down his spine. Or he'd be in front of him, or beside him, or hovering above him like a ghost, soundless and airy.
