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Even when the blood trails from his lips and drips off his chin, a bitterness lying on his tongue, Jimin cannot shake the feeling of still being unsatisfied. This meal was not enough - one seldom is - and it seems his appetite is quickly being insatiable. Always looking for the dessert after the main course.
Perhaps a pretty little thing in silk clothing, too loose around it’s elbows and knees, eyes flickering from meeting his own with a certain confidence to looking away, a rosy blush covering their cheeks. He wonders what it would be like to taste somebody’s blush; would the blood that gathers in their flesh taste sweeter there? A little stronger? Mm.
Or maybe somebody who doesn’t quite look like they would be so willing to bend under his hold. All it would take from Jimin is a certain look, a click of his tongue before having them on their knees for him. It’s so easy to make them feel special, to make their hearts race in their chests before he plunges his hands into their bodies and pulls it out, leaving nothing but a messy corpse behind.
But he’s done these before. He wants something new.
He pushes his bottom lip between his teeth, the pad of his thumb running over the skin as he surveys what one could call his territory. His space. The club itself is not owned by him - it wouldn’t be so extravagantly obvious if it was - but the pulsing lights and the throes of people that filter into the room itself may as well belong to him. He just has to pick one. Catch their eye, draw them in with the sweet and sultry sound of his voice, before sinking his teeth into their neck. The taste of blood on his tongue is something that can never be replaced, can never be replicated, and nothing can ever come close.
Maybe the look on their faces when it dawns on them, maybe that. The drop of their smiles, the way their eyebrows raise, and lips begin to tremble, ready to spout and vomit all sorts of pleas. The begging is something that has become so routine that it’s almost boring. The same old sayings, the same old bullshit of ‘I have a family’, ‘please don’t kill me’, it’s so fucking boring.
One leg folds over the other, the material of his trousers rippling slightly over his thighs. Tight leather, glossy in the flashing lights and not easy to remove, clinging to every part of him. Certainly not leaving too much to the imagination, but truly, he may as well give those poor little things one last treat before he rips into their flesh.
He doesn’t focus on anybody for too long, not wanting to discourage anybody from thinking they might have a chance with him. A chance, ha. A brief chance, mere moments with Park Jimin, the very best moments of their life, and most likely the very last that they will have.
There is one that catches his eye. Long legs, strong thighs, hair that curls around his jaw and eyes that size of fucking dinner plates. Even as this prey tilts his head in such a sweet way, even as he thinks and keeps to himself, Jimin can't help that overwhelming desire to just sink his teeth into something warm and buzzing with life, to feel that tear against his mouth, that delicious taste drowning his tongue.
He's hungry, always hungry, always needing to eat something, though perhaps that need has gone from sustenance and moved more to addiction. Always thinking he needs that taste, that he's always craving something to eat, but maybe he just wants it, wants to eat, wants it, wants itwantsitwants--
Deep breaths, inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth, keep it together.
Jimin sits up a little, wanting to find something to do, wanting to find some sort of entertainment before he ends up ripping somebody's throat out just for the thrill of it, just to see how the others around would react to the situation. He wonders idly if they'd scream and run, or freeze in fear, and Jimin realises he's not sure what he would prefer more.
That’s how he knows he’s hungry. That’s how he knows he has to make a step sooner rather than later, before he really does become the catalyst for a massacre.
He whistles low, a sound that pierces through the loud music and draws the other’s attention over to him, over to the man sat so languidly in the middle of the room with his legs spread, arms over the back of the couch, far too relaxed for this place.
He is most certainly enjoying the way confusion flitters over his features. Jimin draws small circles on the couch, on the seat right next to him, humming softly as he tries to take in what this little thing is. He guesses human, that seems to be a likely answer, though in the unfortunate situation where he guesses otherwise, maybe he'll get a good fuck out of him, especially if he's as sweet as he looks.
The issue is with humans. They just break way too easily. Toys aren't fun when they snap at the slightest pressure, when they can't withstand his own rather playful nature; they grow boring quickly, and as with most boring things in his life, Jimin deems it fit to eradicate anything he doesn't want. "Want to play with me?"
He’ll taste so good, he knows that already.
The benefit of his kind is this sultry voice, is the way he can lull they along with a simple song in his tone, drawing them to him. Watch their eyes catch on his frame and then they just have to speak to him, just have to know who he is. And of course, when they see who Jimin truly is, they fall hard and fast. Each and every time, without hesitation, without fail.
His prey shuffles forward, heels of his boots scuffling against the floor. Coming forward like a dog on a leash being tugged to its owner, and he sits on the couch without a word, only a subtle tilt of his head.
“Well?”
“Play what?”
Oh dear, oh dear, he’s not supposed to be asking that.
Maybe he's not up to the game, preferring to spend his time doing something else, with somebody else, who knows. He's not fussed - Jimin can certainly handle rejection easily - but he would rather know before he invests even more time into him. There is little point working hard to capture prey that isn't going to be useful to him, one way or another.
Then again, at the end of it all, perhaps he can just eat him. It would be a waste though. He's rather handsome.
Even so, with a tilt of his head at the question, Jimin really thought it would have been obvious. Well, it's not like he was being too obvious but the situation itself must have been screaming the implications to his words, the environment around them, the thrumming in their veins... maybe he's losing his touch, relying too much on those he has already caught in his web before looking for another. Unacceptable. "What do you think?" He asks instead, raising his eyebrow. "Play with me."
There is no response, nothing audible anyway. Only a furrow of his brow.
"I thought I made it obvious," he hums, sighing and leaning his head back, hanging it off the back of the couch. "I'm bored, and I'm finding someone to play with. If you'd rather be boring and not see the surprise, that's up to you." Maybe baiting him would work, maybe that would lead to something easier and better for the both of them to occur. He doesn't want somebody who isn't interested in playing; the game requires all of their effort.
There is a moment, a fleeting one perhaps but still present, and there is a look that crosses his prey’s expression. Briefly, momentarily.
“A surprise?” The words are so soft and gentle that they’re almost missed throughout the music of the club. “What kind of surprise?”
“It’s a secret.”
A secret. How enticing, that’s how Jimin phrases the surely unpleasant surprise for the other. It won’t be pleasant, it will bring a brief pleasure that will run through his veins before cutting off so abruptly that it’s like going cold turkey from a euphoric drug. That’s it. That’s the truth, that’s how it feels when he captures a pretty little thing.
There is a pause. A definitive pause before the new one nods his head, so determined in his expression that Jimin almost misses the ways that his hands tremble a little, the way he rubs his palms against his trousers, breath hitching in his throat. “Show me.” Jimin wonders if he feels the way that he’s being stalked, if he feels the eyes that rake down his frame, taking him in, though this is simply routine to the other. It’s easy for him, it’s standard, it’s a nightly occurrence and he has become so good at this game that he doesn’t even have to try.
And he follows, as expected. Jimin truly expected no less, though surely because he knows the way the human mind works by now, he knows how it works so well. Like clockwork, like routine, no chance of any change or break in the cycle. He would never be so unlucky. “Upstairs,” Jimin whispers in his ear, breath hot against his skin and prompting a shiver from the one, one that wracks his frame so deliciously. He wonders if he writhes against the sheets like he’s restrained, back arching off the mattress and legs tense, squeezing at whatever he can muster. Or maybe he’s calmer, harsh breaths through his nose teeth sinking so hard into his bottom lip to silence any and all sounds that threaten to tumble.
All things he will find out soon enough.
Upstairs must be enticing. Uncharted territory for this one. Jimin stands up slowly, languidly, like he’s nothing but water in a glass and entirely fluid, fingers bent and curling, beckoning him to follow him further. The other’s hand slides into his own, palms pressing together, and he licks his lips, chest heaving and making his shirt ripple.
Jimin can’t wait to rip it with his teeth, amongst other things.
The upstairs is not a place that many get to go to. Jimin doesn’t spend a lot of money to keep it as some sort of playroom for any person to go and play with his toys, for anybody to have access to the evidence of his doings. After all, he doesn’t eat bones or teeth or hair. Someone has to clean up the walls and the floors and the chaos that he makes, because while he’s willing to get his hands dirty in one way, he’s above cleaning his own mess.
Licking blood off his fingers and wiping down his mouth and chin, presentable to the world with no indication of what had happened behind closed doors. Speaking of doors…
Jimin knocks on one, his knuckles rapping against the solid wood in a particular pattern that prompts it to open straight away, Namjoon with his neon green hair shaking hands with him briefly. Another who knows of his intentions and his nature, though never fearful that Jimin would one day turn on him. It just wasn’t possible in his eyes, and while he catches the gaze of Jimin’s latest prey, he smiles. Offers something encouraging and comforting at the same time, hoping to imply that there is nothing for him to be afraid of.
“Come on,” Jimin whispers into the other’s ear. “You need to tell me your name.”
“Tell me yours first.”
A name holds power, and Jimin hasn’t told anybody his true name in a long time. Even so, he provides a sardonic grin and leans in close, cheek brushing against his own, his breath wet. “You can call me Jimin.”
Little one, sweet boy, delicious meal to be picked apart and fleshed pulled from between his teeth, there are many names that Jimin feels like he could give him in turn, but he wants the name. He wants to hear it from his lips, he wants to hear it so he can sing a sweet song to pull him into his trap. It is much more fun that way. Making it personal, like an imprint on his skin, another notch in his belt.
Another name to be checked off the list, though it is certainly more complicated than that.
“Taehyung,” seemingly stumbles out before he can stop it, following Jimin like he’s on a leash, utterly bewitched by things he doesn’t even know, isn’t even aware of. Those big brown eyes look up at him, and Jimin cannot help but think about how utterly innocent he looks. Like a deer caught in the headlights, completely trapped and completely aware of it, yet unable to do anything about it. “My name is Taehyung.”
“Taehyung the little tiger,” with a quick switch on his heel, Jimin has turned to face him, capturing his chin between his fingers and squeezing so firmly that their gazes are fixated on one another, their eyes caught. “I certainly cannot wait to have some fun with you.”
Taehyung’s eyes widen that little bit more, his eyebrows raising before he runs his tongue over his lips; Jimin takes that as an agreement, as an excitement, and another step in the game that he intends to play.
With the final few steps up the second floor, up to Jimin’s personal room. Nothing too fancy, yet something that is perfectly his style and his taste. Wooden floors that can be so easily cleaned of blood, cleaned of the remains that would be left after what is so sweetly referred to as a session. As a meal.
Nothing beats the way blood beats through your body during sex, somrthing about the endorphins making your flesh taste even sweeter - he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know how, but all he knows is that it is the most delicious thing that he has ever tasted. Like an addiction, it keeps him desperate, it keeps him hunting, it keeps him starving. Never quite satiated, but perhaps this night could be the one time his belly feels full, his hunger calming.
Upon entering the room, they are merely greeted by a large bed in the middle of it, it’s back against the wall, a chest at the end of it, filled to the brim with the various trophies that Jimin keeps, the little reminders. He wonders idly what he would keep of Taehyung’s. His boots, a lock of his hair, a photo of that boxy smile that Jimin can see teasing at his lips, and an imprint of a moan in Jimin’s mind. A call of his name, fingers down his back before teeth rip into the soft and pliant flesh of his throat.
No matter, he gets to think of it later on. There is no rush, no need to. He fully intends to take his time. To unwrap him, to make him moan.
Park Jimin pushes Taehyung against the door, slamming it shut and sending shockwaves through his bones, kissing him in a way that can only be described as fierce. All teeth and tongue, more aggression than love, not that there is anything of the kind here. Lust is what fuels Jimin; is Lust just not a different kind of hunger? Something that can never quite be satiated.
Hands are already pushing at Jimin’s clothes, pushing at his shirt to try and feel the heat underneath, but it only takes a second for Jimin himself to have Taehyung’s wrists in his hands, removing them from his frame and pushing them against his chest. Their kiss breaks, and there is a breathy laugh from Jimin before he whispers, “Not how this is gonna go, sweetheart.”
Imagine Taehyung’s surprise when he kisses him again, hands still restrained. He can’t touch the other, can’t even hold his cheeks in his palms, wrap his arms around his shoulders, bring him close. He must be so needy though, judging by the little whines that sound from his lips , but Jimin bites down on his bottom lip anyway, not hard enough to draw blood. But enough to prompt a sharp gasp. Music to his ears.
“Jimin,” Taehyung whispers his name like it’s a silent plea, twisting his wrists and wanting freedom; Jimin lets go, allowing the younger to wrap his fingers into his shirt and just hold. “Why…?”
“I want to take my time with you,” a hand rests on the wall next to Taehyung’s head. “Is that alright?”
It must be overwhelming, to have such a look directed at you, and Jimin believes he can already feel the heat radiating off his frame, his frame shifting and wanting to curl in on himself, itching to pull Jimin close but knowing he does not have permission to do so. He nods though. Maybe that should be enough for Jimin, who is already looking for an excuse to watch Taehyung writhe with pleasure, amongst other things.
But the game itself is not fun if he forgets the rules so quickly.
“Hm?” Jimin tilts his head, pressing close, tilting his chin up. Their noses brush together, the thumping of the music beneath them matching the way Taehyung’s heart is racing in his chest, pounding away against its boney cage, like it’s straining to be held in the palm of Jimin’s hand. Fingers squeezing. “Use your words, tiger.”
“It’s alright, it’s…” Taehyung wets his lips and nods again. “You can take your time with me.”
Just like that, an open invitation. Jimin cannot help but smirk, the corners of his lips twitching up before he leans in even closer, whispering right into Taehyung’s ear, breath hot on his skin. Like fire itself falls from his lips and dances across his flesh so simply, so easily. Rippling over him. Part of him is tempted to rush, that hunger making his stomach twist, a dull ache before his fingers dance over the collar of Taehyung’s shirt.
Within that same moment. Jimin tears it open, prompting a yelp from the man in front of him.
The loose strips from his shirt hang in scraps, and Taehyung takes such a deep, shuddering breath that his chest rises, lips wet and he looks absolutely delicious. Jimin smirks, the corners of his lips curling up and he pulls back. Just a little bit. Running his thumb across his jaw, admiring the sight in front of him. He can only imagine how much better he will look flustered, though he won’t have to imagine for too long. If Taehyung is reacting like this already, he cannot wait to see him in a mere few minutes.
No doubt with red cheeks and swollen lips, parted with only one name he can say. How exciting. He can practically feel the anticipation make his palms go sweaty, that ache turning into a sharp pain. Not long now before he will have Taehyung so deep in the throes of pleasure that he won’t even realise he’s dying until it’s too late, until he has nothing left. Not even the air in his lungs, not even the blood in his veins, and certainly not the beat of his heart.
Taehyung reaches forward, his fingers brushing against Jimin’s cheek, and he doesn’t fight it. Well, he tries not to. The feel of fingertips against his face make him tense, but he tries his best to not flinch or pull back, instead allowing the other to lightly touch his skin, giving him something that he doesn’t typically allow. It’s just a touch, but a touch that leaves him vulnerable, a touch that makes him feel like the walls Jimin uses to keep himself safe and in control.
Control is important. Able to control the way that he feels, able to control his actions and the choices that he makes, it’s something he’s always tried to keep regardless of the interaction. Regardless of who he is speaking to.
To allow this is a big step. It’s something he doesn’t usually allow, something he doesn’t usually like, but he tries his best. That’s all he can do, and Jimin hopes that Taehyung doesn’t notice the way that his breath catches in his throat, and that he tries to cover it with a languid smile. Leaning into it, like that is a good enough trick to keep Taehyung all pretty in the palm of his hand. Oh, he doesn’t need to hope; he can already feel how needy the other is judging by a certain pressure pushing into his thigh.
It’s that obvious.
“Can I…?” Taehyung’s silent question is answered with a nod, and their lips meet once again, teeth tugging on them and tongues clashing and Jimin pushes the remains of his shirt off of his shoulders just like that. Leaving his top-half entirely bare.
Hands travel over his hips, thumbs almost gently tracing over the skin before Jimin's grip tightens around the waistband of his trousers, tugging the tight material down his thighs. Tanned skins with soft skin, and Jimin wants to bite them, wants to leave his marks in more ways than one, but he knows there won’t be long before he will be able to feast on a lot more than just those thighs.
“Little tiger is so needy, hm?” Jimin comments so idly, his voice like a breath as his hand trails from his hips to the backs of his thighs, cupping his legs and tugging him close; Taehyung stumbles closer, his trousers still wrapped around the bottom of his legs and his shoes, leaving him unable to stop himself before he gulps audibly. Jimin presses the tip of his tongue against the point of his canine, thinking. “And here I thought he wanted to play.”
Taehyung’s eyes follow his tongue, and he nods. Just nods, nodding again and again like his words escape him and he wants to pull at Jimin’s clothes. To pull them off, discard them on the ground.
"Jimin-"
"You know this, right?" Jimin steps closer, crowding him against the wall; Taehyung shivers. "Want me to play nice?”
“No.”
No hesitation, no pause, no need to think. Confidence practically drips off Jimin’s frame, like some dark ooze that sticks to everything he touches, everything that it touches. It pours from him, latching onto Taehyung, who can’t even find it in himself to look away from Jimin like a split second. Eyes utterly transfixed, almost like he’s hypnotised. Perhaps Jimin’s gaze is hypnotic, perhaps it’s the lull of his voice that entices his prey, draws them close and makes them feel comfortable in his arms. How funny that they willingly push themselves into his trap thinking that he is safe when he is truly anything but.
Jimin steps back, bringing some distance between them before he gestures toward the bed with his head, raising his eyebrows. “Go on then,” so nonchalant, beginning to unbutton his shirt until the skin of his chest down to his navel is peeking through the gaps in his clothes. “On your knees.”
He doesn’t want to ruin his favourite shirt with Taehyung’s blood.
And Taehyung himself kicks off his shoes, peeling those tight trousers from his legs, going entirely bare to the bed in the middle of the room. Once again with no hesitation, which is not something that Jimin clocks onto immediately. Too busy lusting over the meal that is plating himself up for him, presumably. That excitement is keeping him distracted.
Jimin remains most dressed, only his shirt unbuttoned and his fingers rolling his sleeves up to his elbow, only then reaching to his back pocket.
A being of his experience and his nature is always prepared, of course, though perhaps it’s entirely redundant.
Taehyung is already on his knees, his long fingers very lightly pressing into the mattress, and there is one thing that catches Jimin’s attention. Just how pliant Taehyung is, just how easy Taehyung was to command, and the way he does exactly what Jimin says without a mere question, without a single question. He cannot recall ever having somebody who is so eager to please, who allows for themselves to be so easily told what to do.
This is not some complaint, let’s get that clear. He’s just surprised, pleasantly, though he is certainly keeping his eye on him. Last thing he needs is somebody throwing a wrench into his plans and he goes home with an empty stomach. Lord knows it would only make him more and more irritated, make him angry, and no doubt would only open up for him to make further mistakes. More fuck-ups, and more empty bellies.
Lips pressed together, tilting his head back, a hand planting itself on Taehyung’s upper back and pushing down. Pushing his chest to the mattress, his ass still raised up. Total submission, with Taehyung actually looking to the side to meet Jimin’s eye, to look at him. Brown eyes softened slightly, though hazy and no doubt filled with lust; this time, it is Jimin that finds himself enticed, finds him hooked and caught like a fish in a net. No other choice, no other decision needed - Jimin kneels on the bed too, joining him without another word.
Just by the look in his eyes.
“Jimin,” he says again, and Jimin doesn’t interrupt him. “Come on. ”
The stress on the word prompts Jimin himself to tilt his head, hands smoothing over his hips and down to the curve of his ass, wordlessly just brushing his touch over him. Goosebumps rise behind him on his path, and he licks his lips, silently pressing against him. The pressure of his arousal against his trousers and now Taehyung’s ass is enough to make him almost purr, head falling back with a throaty laugh. So simple. Such a good feeling, the whole experience is enough to make his heart jump up to his lungs, pulsing in time with his breathing in a way that is surprisingly overwhelming. There are not enough highs in the world to even come close to the way that this makes Jimin feel.
Light, airy, dizzy, breathless, needy, hungry, hungry, hungryhungry hungryhungry--
Not long now.
“You want to rush?” He asks, laughing again. “I thought I told you I wanted to take my time with you, little tiger.”
“I want now,” he mumbles, shifting his weight back to only give Jimin more pressure, and with it more pleasure. “ Jimin. ”
There is a pause. Just a little one. So brief before Jimin reaches with one hand to wrap his hand into Taehyung’s curls, pulling his head back, and arching his spine. “Say please.”
It seems he really is taking the time to enjoy these last few moments with this one. That little request may as well be enough to twist up his insides, coil them around Jimin’s hands and leaving him entirely up to the other’s control. Taehyung pauses, deep breaths, deep heaving breaths.
“Please.”
It’s only one word, and it shouldn’t have the effect on him that it does; Jimin has never been affected like this. Never hungered over a particular individual, never felt so eager and impatient to chase that euphoric feeling, and it should worry him a little bit more than it already does. He ignores it, he ignores it as best as he can, and focuses instead on the situation in front of him. On Taehyung. Focus on Taehyung, focus on the meal that he is preparing, focus on what he is doing instead of things that won’t matter soon enough.
Because this is temporary, Taehyung is temporary, so anything else associated just isn’t relevant right now.
Jimin pulls a packet of lube out of his back pocket. It’s crumpled with perforated edges, something that must look like it was stuffed into his trousers out of haste, and not showing just how much Jimin has planned this. Each interaction is planned, each prey is planned, each meal is vetted and plucked from a list, ripe for his picking. Yet here he is, losing his resolve, wanting to hurry up and feel that heat around him. To listen to sweet sounds, to sink his teeth into his neck and pull away in a mess of flesh and blood and unadulterated gore.
Strips of muscle and skin, blood falling down his chin and dripping down his chest onto the bed beneath him. Staining his lips, his teeth, his tongue, licking his fingers and down his arms, like rivers going down his body, breaking off like veins on top of his skin instead of underneath.
He rips open the packet with his teeth, tearing it open and pouring lube onto his fingers. It’s cool and sticky, almost slimy over his fingertips before he pushes the tip of his index finger in. No warning, utterly wordlessly, Taehyung hissing a little at the cold substance pressed into him but otherwise, an almost methodical movement.
Jimin himself exhales, like a deep sigh, his free hand wrapping around Taehyung’s torso and tugging him closer, holding him against him. “Relax, little tiger,” Jimin whispers, leaning down to press a single kiss against the base of his spine. “You want this, hm?”
Taehyung gives a breathy little sound, head falling back and showing the column of his neck as he leans back as best as he can. Hands twisting into the sheets, creasing them between his fingers. A shaky gasp as Jimin pushes in a second, curling them immediately. His frame shakes a little, perhaps from how much he is tensing, and Jimin tries shushing him again.
“Taehyung?”
“I want it,” his voice is a whine, so different from the look he had given him mere moments ago. His cock hangs full between his legs, arousal making his skin flush pink. “I can’t… can’t make it more obvious, I want it…” And his voice then pitches, cracks a little, and Jimin coos very softly, very quietly, like a thrumming purr instead of anything else. Like a vibration right in the middle of his chest, and he pulls Taehyung up, pulling him up to press against him. Those hands unwind from the sheets, Taehyung balancing only on his knees. Back arching at the new position, the subtle change in of itself prompting his head to fall back and his lips to part. A silent moan, and a silent beg for more.
Jimin presses a third finger in, his lips ghosting against Taehyung’s jaw. Whispering all sorts of sweet words and quiet encouragements into his skin, how pretty he is, what a pretty slut he is for Jimin. With word makes the other choke on a sound, trying to stifle the noises that want to fall from his lips, though he bites his tongue.
How frustrating.
He spreads his fingers a little, biting down so very gently on Taehyung’s neck, the itch and desire to dig his teeth deeper so beautifully overwhelming, but he tries to hold back. Focuses on the bass of the music beneath them, of Taehyung’s heart racing so loud he can feel it, of his arousal pressing up against the other’s thigh.
“Are you ready?” He coos again, grinning and pressing their cheeks together, arm still wrapped around his waist, pulling his fingers out. And it’s with great pleasure he catches Taehyung’s whispered ‘yes’, grinding against him. “Good boy.”
Part of him reckons he’ll miss Taehyung. Once he’s eaten him, of course. Picked the meat out from between his teeth, licking his fingers clean. The way he reacts is beautiful, those big eyes drawing him in, and he can certainly picture all of the fun he would have with him given the chance and the opportunity.
The only issue is that partners don’t last more than one night with Jimin. Do with that what you will.
He has to pull his arms away for a split second, just to pull the condom out of his other pocket, pushing down his trousers to his knees as he does so, shrugging his shirt off and dropping it unceremoniously from the side of the bed with a slight hope it doesn’t end up too creased or drowning with blood.
Some stains really don’t wash out, he’s learnt that the hard way.
A little nip on his ear as Jimin rolls the condom onto his cock, using whatever lube is still glistening on his fingers to cover himself before he stops. Pauses. Takes a deep breath to try and ground himself before his hand moves to wrap around Taehyung again. But instead of stopping at his waist, instead of pulling him to press against Jimin’s chest, his hand trails up to his neck. To the long column of his throat and his fingers dig into the sides, squeezing ever-so-gently. Not enough to crack, not enough to break his neck, but that death is not worthy for Taehyung.
No, he has a better idea for that.
Steadying himself, Jimin wraps a hand around his own arousal, pressing the head against Taehyung’s hole. Barely pushing in, barely there, but teasing him. Tempting him. Telling him what he could have but not quite giving it to him. He has to try and stifle his smile, to stop that absolutely shit-eating grin that slowly inches its way onto his features.
Taehyung is already gasping for breath, lips parted and shiny from spit, eyes half-lidded. He reckons if his eyes were open, Jimin would see nothing but a haze, cloudy and dark eyes that can’t focus, far too lost in pleasure. Only at being teased, not even receiving exactly what he could have.
“You’re already a mess,” he mumbles, thumb running over the curve of Taehyung’s jaw. “Should see the state of you, so messy.”
Taehyung takes a deep breath, wetting his lips with his tongue. “Says you,” he whispers, a singular laugh sounding. “Don’t you know how desperate you sound?”
Now that is certainly not something that he anticipated. Such a potty mouth, absolutely vulgar, and Jimin wants to kiss him again, to taste him. To taste those words, to see if his tongue has a distinctive taste. Instead, he just scoffs, and pushes into him, right until the flat of his hips meets the curve of Taehyung’s ass; it certainly shuts him up. A loud gasp sounding from the other and his whole body tensing, practically squeezing the very life out of Jimin too. He doesn’t gasp, though. He doesn’t react as wildly as Taehyung, instead just managing to churn out one more laugh, tightening his grip around his throat.
“Say that again,” he whispers. “I dare you.”
It’s a challenge that certainly goes ignored; Taehyung doesn’t even respond beyond a long and drawn out whine, arms moving behind himself and fingers itching to grasp at Jimin’s thighs, at his trousers pushed to his knees, anything to draw him close. Surely the more desperate of the two.
“Say it again, Taehyung,” his voice drops to a growl. “I’m waiting.”
Just as the other opens his mouth, just as he may be gathering the ability to talk back to Jimin once again, another moan sounds from Taehyung’s parted lips, eyes rolling back as Jimin pulls out and thrusts back into him with such abandon that he’s surprised he can breathe at all.
Jimin moves fast. Hand pulling Taehyung back a little more, arching and bending and moving this little pliant thing into a position that makes him happy, a position that pleases him, and a position that places this little human in the perfect place for teeth to rip into his jugular vein. Tearing it open with a spray of blood sealing the deal, confirming his choices; there will be no going back after that, though it is not like he wants to.
All it takes is the tiniest movement to make him moan, to make Taehyung arch his back and shiver, for Taehyung to moan oh-so-loudly that he would have been worried that others would hear if it weren’t for the loud music below. Not only does the club provide such a pretty bunch for Jimin to pick from, it’s a wonderful cover for those who just got missing, easier to find somebody looking for a quick hookup, though it’s not like they ever go to do much beyond this night ever again.
He should feel guilty, he used to feel guilty, but after more than a hundred years, he figures he must have become desensitized to all of this.
It’s not a good way to be, but it’s the way that he is, with or without Taehyung.
Jimin moves his hips forward once, thrusting into Taehyung so roughly that the other almost topples over onto the mattress again, head dropping forward and hair in his eyes, though he doesn’t have to see to know just what Taehyung looks like right now. He can picture it perfectly. Tanned skin glistening with sweat, curly hair in his eyes and framing the shape of his face, the cut of his jaw, the plush skin of his lips red and irritated, bitten to hell.
So quickly falling apart, unable to hide the way that Jimin makes him feel. A hand wraps around his shoulder, and he pushes Taehyung down, chest against the mattress, and he goes faster.
Taehyung squirms in place, chest heaving and the only word that falls from his lips is Jimin’s name. Over and over and over again, something that he just cannot help. Just Jimin, only Jimin, nothing else he can even think of, completely lost.
He loosens his grip on his throat, and wraps his fingers into his hair again, tugging hard; Taehyung hisses, mouth falling open and his eyes screw shut. It won’t be long now, judging by the way his cock weeps between his legs and Jimin feels him tighten around him routinely, almost in time with the way his heart races in his chest, and he gulps, Taehyung gasping for air. He can never quite breathe, he cannot fill his lungs enough.
The very moment that Taehyung cries out, his body tensing, Jimin remembers the purpose of this. So close to his own climax, so close to pushing himself over that edge, but the feeling dies away so quickly when he remembers what he has to do. The human comes loudly, spilling over his stomach and Jimin’s fingers, leaving them both sticky, and Jimin shifts. Almost like he’s going to kiss him, almost like he’s going to tell him how good he was, almost like he’s going to show that he cares for him--
Instead, he turns, tugging Taehyung up to him roughly and biting down especially hard on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, ready to taste him. To fill his mouth with the taste of flesh and fill his body until he is absolutely satiated. Yet his teeth don’t break through that soft and pillowy barrier, he doesn’t feel blood fill his mouth, and he tenses, anxiety coursing through his system so rapidly that he shoves Taehyung away before he can even think about it.
Taehyung isn’t a human.
Taehyung isn’t human.
He redresses himself quickly, pulling up his trousers and discarding the condom as fast as he can, though leaving his shirt unbuttoned, hands shaking a little too much to deal with the little buttons right now. Jimin stares at him, curling and uncurling his fingers over and over, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to think of the words, as he tries to understand exactly what this means. He feels like his heart is going to burst, all the pressure in his sinuses bringing him close to passing out, and Jimin has never felt so fucking vulnerable. He has never felt vulnerable before in his life, and he is quickly learning that he does not like this feeling. Being the prey is not a position he enjoys, yet he finds himself caught between this and his typical predator mindset, his own victim being far stronger than he expected. And it’s thrown him for a while. Left him unsteady.
That music that is still going on really hasn’t helped, really isn’t helping, but he just bites his tongue regarding that.
“What the fuck?” Jimin asks, his eyes narrowing.
Taehyung is still trying to catch his breath, “you’re not human.”
“And neither are you.”
It seems they reach a stalemate quickly, Taehyung sitting there, still completely naked and his stomach covered in his own cum, and it’s only now that Jimin notices the similarities, only now that the little details click in his mind. The voice, his eyes, his look, all the same attributes he has, all products of the evolution of his kind, used to draw in their victims and make him feel comfortable before the trap snaps them up. The hypnotic look from Taehyung was him trying to hypnotise Jimin, and he had almost fallen for it.
Perhaps gotten too arrogant in his own abilities, and his own decided loneliness as the only one of his kind that he knew. Seems he was wrong.
Which he isn’t sure is a bad thing or not yet.
The silence soon turns suffocating, and even Jimin doesn’t know what to say at this point; he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply through his nose, all that tension in his frame making breathing difficult, standing difficult, not running out of the room difficult. But he still has his pride, his confidence, and he is not about to flee with his tail between his legs like a dog.
He feels his stomach twist, and he is bitterly reminded that he’s so fucking hungry and now he has to go through the hassle of finding another meal all over again.
“Did you know?” He asks, seemingly out of the blue. “Did you find a joy in wasting my time like that?”
Taehyung frowns. “Oddly enough, it wasn’t exactly planned to meet another-”
“ Shut up, ” Jimin hisses, low but sharp and stepping closer to the bed, enough to make Taehyung unwittingly flinch. “You should know better than to say that.”
“ I should know better?” Taehyung scoffs. “You tried to eat me.”
“And let me guess, you were just looking for a good time, huh?” Jimin laughs quite bitterly, his shoulders shaking and he tilts his head back, rolling his eyes. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, you were fully intending on doing the same as me.”
That doesn’t receive an argument, and that is when he knows he has hit the nail on the head.
What a waste of fucking time.
Jimin picks up Taehyung’s clothes and throws them at him with no hint of compassion or kindness in the action. At all. Only an underlying anger, only annoyance and distaste and frustration written all over his features. Head tilted up, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, tension in his shoulders and his posture impossibly straight, annoyed. “Well, now we’re both going hungry.”
“That’s not just my fault,” Taehyung pushes his clothes off his body and into the bed, standing up. Standing his ground. “You think I wanted to waste an evening hunting somebody I can’t even eat?”
“You think I did?”
“I’m not saying that,” Taehyung huffs, pouting a little. “What I am saying is that I know I’m starving, and I think you are too.”
Jimin casts him a lot, raising an eyebrow, tilting his head a little. “And what about it?”
Even he feels like this is just weird. Mere moments ago, he had been thinking about Taehyung in a far sweeter way, picturing the next time and the next time and the time after that, something he just doesn’t do, and there had been a regret in eating him, if only because of what he believed he would have been missing out on. Now all he feels is annoyance, fuelled by the hunger pains, and perhaps having a hope of what Taehyung is saying. He thinks about it, he thinks about offering it himself, but he waits, waits to see what this little tiger will suggest and if it’s up to Jimin’s standards.
He’s starving, he’ll listen to any idea that stops him committing a massacre at this point.
Taehyung looks sheepish; he fidgets a little, those wide eyes still looking at Jimin’s, who looks away the minute they make eye contact. Cautious, more cautious than he had been before; he knows now that he should have kept a step back, that he should have been more careful. Looked at the signs beforehand or else he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.
He could be eating, he could be feasting on the meat surrounding someone’s rib cage, pulling it off the bone with his teeth and the only sound in the room the obscene tears of flesh. Instead, his arousal presses against his trousers and a sharp ache in the pit of his stomach. In other words, a lot worse than he already was beforehand.
“Let’s get something to eat together.”
Jimin rubs at his jaw with his thumb and forefinger, eyes downcast to the pile of clothes right by the bed before he hums. He just hums in thought, pursing his lips, trying to figure out whether or not this is what he wants. Sharing a meal means less food, but it means a higher chance of a catch. Taehyung is not ugly, not even a little bit - Jimin himself had been utterly enticed by his appearance. It’s not something he’s completely against, it’s not something that he’s not sure he wants to avoid, but he finds himself wanting to do anyway. It’s risky. Everything with Taehyung seems to be risky and doing him more harm than good, but he’s not sure he wants to say no, either.
Decisions, decisions.
“Together, as in…” his eyes trail down Taehyung’s chest again, down past his navel and catching between his legs before he squares his shoulders back.
“Together.”
Jimin runs his thumb over his lips before he scoffs, reaching down to unbutton his trousers again, tugging them down to his knees again. “Might as well put us on a level playing field,” he answers, wrapping a hand around his cock, thumb running over the tip of his arousal. To bring himself a quick pleasure, because Taehyung has, and if they’re going to be playing for the rest of the night, the last thing he needs is for frustration to cloud his vision even further, for him to make messy moves and stupid mistakes. He doesn’t have the time for that.
He focuses himself, but when Taehyung’s hand replaces his own, he does not fight it. Instead, he leans into his warm palm, onto those long fingers, and weaves his own into Taehyung’s hair, running through his curls before tugging him close into another messy kiss. Fuelled by hunger, fuelled by desire, fuelled by a lust that Jimin knows he hasn’t felt before.
And when he gently pushes Taehyung onto his knees, the action is done so eagerly. It is a smirk that covers his features when the little tiger’s lips part, and he figures he made a good choice.
Jimin catches Taehyung’s eyes. Their gazes meet, and a smirk flitters across his features again, a hand weaving into the head of hair of the man on his knees in front of him, pushing him further onto his cock as Taehyung pushes into him from behind.
Min Yoongi had been an easy catch. All sharp eyes but soft cheeks and pillowy lips, breathy little moans that spill from the depth of his throat, drooling down his chin. But mouth full of Jimin, allowing the other to move him and use him in every way that he deems necessary.
In every way that Jimin wants.
Hunting with Taehyung had been easy, it had been so simple to lull this one into their trap with Jimin’s honey voice and Taehyung’s eyes, pulling him from his bubble of safety and luring him into their arms with silent promises of pleasure. Whispered sweet-nothings that would be so hollow they would almost echo against Yoongi’s skin, tongue running across his jaw, hinting at a taste of what the two of them will be swiftly enjoying.
Plush and pale skin, flushed cheeks and already marked by the two monsters holding him. Touching him. Fucking him. Taehyung huffs, his chest heaving before he pulls him up, pulling Yoongi off Jimin and showing his face to the older of the two. And Jimin reaches forward to hold his chin in his hand, squeezing his cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, and he coos, turning Yoongi’s head to look down at him almost critically, like he is evaluating him. Looking for flaws in his appearance, for anything he wants to fixate on and focus on, obsess over, what part he wants to bite first. “Look at him, Taehyungie,” he hums, tilting his chin back, and finding his favourite spot. “Such a mess.”
Taehyung gives this little breathless chuckle, stilling inside of Yoongi and looking up at Jimin also, curls sticking to his forehead. He grins, his smile boxy and his shoulders squared back as he runs his hands down Yoongi’s sides, lightly dancing acrossing his skin before he leans in, pressing his lips to the side of Yoongi’s neck. Dragging down his throat, dragging his teeth down his throat, hands subtly moving to almost present Yoongi to Jimin. Like an offering given to a deity.
“What are you going to do about it, Jiminie?” Taehyung asks, breath hot against Yoongi’s skin, prompting the other to shiver before Jimin hums, answering so simply. Suddenly so close to Yoongi that when he opens his eyes, he sees the lack of irises in Jimin’s own, he sees the elongation of his teeth, and he sees the utter animalistic nature in his expression.
“Make an even bigger one.”