Work Text:
Chan wipes the last corner of the steel table with disinfectant, the whole place reeking strongly of bleach. Strangely, Chan likes the smell. How it tickles inside his nose and drips lazily down his throat until it settles heavily on his lungs. Bleach. Gasoline too, although that one is a much sweeter smell and it scratches Chan’s throat sometimes. Bleach is something he’s used to, after years and years of using it to wipe the same table that’s in front of him right now. In a strange sort of way only a lonely person can relate to, bleach smells like home.
Chan takes off the rubber gloves with a soft sigh. Even after so long, he still hasn’t gotten used to the feeling of the material: clinging to his hands like a second skin, but one that he wants to claw out of. His hands get clammy and wet, sweaty and when he rubs them together, it’s like he’s touching a dead fish. He throws them into the bin by the table and rolls out the knots in his neck.
There are only a few small windows high up on the walls but Chan can tell it’s a few hours into the night. It’s a night of full moon so the silverish glow seeps into the room and basks it in an artificial white lightning, although not as quite strong as the lights hanging from the ceiling. One of them keeps on blipping, Chan’s noticed that a long time ago, and it emits a quiet whirring sound that feels like shattering glass in Chan’s ears, piercing through the deadly silence of the lab. It’s too late for Chan to try and fix it himself, even though he could. He absolutely could. He built the lab with his own hands, carefully designed the place to fit all of his needs. He knows the place like the back of his hand, he knows it better than himself. If asked, Chan could say the exact perimeters of the room, the height of the ceiling with ease.
Among other things, Chan knows when something is wrong. Something that doesn’t feel right, that doesn’t belong there.
The hair on his neck stands up. A cold sweat washes over him as Chan’s eyes start to flick around the room. Nothing that he could see and point to and say hey, this isn’t supposed to be here, but he can feel it in his bones, in his gut that something.
Something is out of place.
There’s a noise, coming from behind him, that has Chan’s fingers digging into his palms. Heart skips a beat and oxygen forgets to flow through his lungs for a second. Now, Chan doesn’t necessarily have enemies but he could easily point out the people who don’t feel too fond of him and would be much happier if Chan disappeared from the face of Earth. Chan doesn’t like to entertain the thought much, but it’s like a blaring red siren in his head right now.
A clatter. Footsteps. Breathing.
Terrible, terrible fear pools in Chan’s stomach, curling around his insides like a venomous snake. He’s desperate to turn around and see who is the intruder but he feels frozen in place. A long time, Chan wouldn’t be so scared to turn around and face the threat head on. A long time ago, Chan was someone entirely different from the Chan now.
“There you are.”
It’s such a small sentence. Simple 3 words but it spins around Chan’s head and it rings in his ears and tastes like bile at the back of his mouth. Chan’s fingers tremble even if he’s keeping them in tight fists. His knees feel like jelly but he feels paralyzed to move, to do anything.
“I know I’d find you here. You’re so predictable, even after all these years.”
The voice.
It’s the voice that punches all the air out of Chan’s lungs and instead of blood, there is liquid ice in his veins.
It’s Chan’s voice. Except it’s not coming from Chan. It’s coming from the person behind him, who sounds like Chan but couldn’t be more different. It’s the voice of Chan’s worst mistake, of his biggest regret. It was an experiment. An accident that took on a human form, that breathes and lives.
“It took me so long to find you and now you won’t even look at me? That’s a shame.”
Chan thinks he must be dreaming, he hopes this is just a nightmare, something out of the darkest and deepest parts of his brain. Those parts that hide the biggest secrets, things that are too shameful to talk about out loud or even think about in the bright daylight.
A part of him is itching to turn around and see, confirm that it’s who Chan thinks it is. Chan wonders if he looks just the same as he did all those years ago, when it all went horribly wrong and Chan ran away as if his life depended on him. Chan swallows, his throat dry and scratchy. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and he’s grinding his teeth together so intensely his jaw aches. Chan should have left when everyone else in the building did, he shouldn’t have stayed overtime, he shouldn’t have-
Well, it’s too late for regrets now. Chan brought it all upon himself years ago and he has been running all this time in hopes of escaping something he himself created. Something that is 98% himself. He’s running from someone that is his exact copy, except those 2% that got fucked up in the process. The day he would have to face the consequences of his reckless action, a creation that was birthed from the darkest point of his life - a bone-crushing sadness, a darkness so thick Chan couldn’t see how any light could cut through, a loneliness so terrible and heavy it felt like Chan was buried alive - that day would come sooner or later. Chan was pathetic for thinking he could keep running away from it together, when it came from him. When the thing he was running from him has been himself.
“Oh c’mon. I thought you’d be at least a little happier to see me. It’s been how many years? Two? Three?”
It’s been two years and seven months and twenty six days since Chan proceed to carry out the biggest fuck up of his entire life. It’s not like he is counting, but when you become so afraid of something, you become awfully aware of how much time has passed by.
Chan counts to five slowly in his head, and makes sure to take a couple of deep breaths. With shaking fingers, he slips a thin scalpel into the pocket of his white coat and doesn’t really care if the other one will see or not. Chan doesn’t know why the other one is here and he’s given up on life a long time ago to be bothered enough to care.
Chan turns around, slowly. It feels like forever has passed before he is eye to eye with him.
Chris.
Someone who was supposed to be his best friend to save him from the deepest pits of sadness, but ultimately turned into Chan’s biggest fear, his worst enemy.
Chris looks…
Well, he looks just like Chan, although entirely different. Chris’ hair is this weird mixture of purple and gray - something that Chan would never do - and there’s a gnarly, bright pink scar over his right eye. The skin is tender and raw and it looks as if it just started healing. Chris’ right eye is light blue, almost white. Chris definitely changed a lot since the last time Chan saw him, but does it even count when, under all the scars and the scratches and the dyed hair, he is a picture perfect copy of Chan?
The corners of Chris’ lips turn up just the slightest, “It’s good to see you again.”
Chan doesn’t think he can return the sentiment.
“What do you want?” Chan asks, his voice quiet, small with fear and defeat.
Chris crosses his arms against his chest and Chan’s eyes slip to his muscles, to the golden shade of his skin, how it stretches smoothly over the toned parts. He only looks for a second before his eyes are back on Chris’ face.
“As I said, I haven’t seen you in a long time. It’s been lonely, out there, searching for you. I missed you.”
Chan feels sick to his stomach, as his guts turn inside. His mouth tastes sour and for a split second, Chan thinks he might really throw up.
Chris takes a step forward and Chan inches backwards.
Chan's back is pressed to the steel table behind him, the edge of it digging into his lower back. The fingers curled around the thin scalpel tremble. In front of him, a perfect replica of him is standing, a diabolical grin stretched on his lips and his gaze molten black. Chan knows he should be more afraid: there is nothing good hiding behind those eyes, and there’s still fear coursing through his veins and turning his feet into stones. But there is a familiarity behind those eyes, a warmth that hasn’t evaporated even after those years: a hidden, hopeful promise of what could have been, of what should have been.
"Did you miss me?" Chris smiles, a vile and terrifying upturn of his lips, his eyes studying Chan's - his own - face.
It's a horrible, shameful realization that maybe Chan did.
When Chris came to be, Chan felt like a pin in a haystack. Lonely, afraid, on his own: it was him against the world. Chris was born out of pure desperation, out of the last flickering flames of hope that maybe Chan doesn’t have to be this lonely. Chris was supposed to be Chan's friend, a cure to his solitude, a light at the end of the tunnel. When Chan thinks of the few weeks they spent together, the memory tastes like cotton candy on his tongue: light, sugary and tooth-rottingly sweet.
Chan thought he made a perfect clone who would listen to his every word and obey and be a good friend. He can’t tell where exactly it went wrong, where Chris became separated from Chan, where they went from ChrisandChan to Chris and Chan, where he became his own person - something that should have never ever happened.
Chris takes another step forward and the movement startles Chan. The edge of the table behind him digs even deeper into his lower back and he swipes the pad of his thumb across the sharp blade of the scalpel. Chan winces as he quickly pulls his hand out of his pocket. The wound isn’t severe enough to need stitches, but blood gushes out of the slit quickly and starts dripping down Chan’s thumb.
Thin, bony fingers wrap around Chan’s wrist. It’s careful and gentle.
“Always so careless,” Chris comments, eyes focused on the bleeding wound.
Some blood drips down to the floor and Chan follows it with his eyes: one droplet becomes joined by another, and then another. Angry red and warm, the blood is bright even in the dimness of their shadows. The wound pricks a little, but maybe Chan is just so overwhelmed to feel any pain.
Then, Chris brings Chan’s hand closer, a little by little until it’s by his mouth. Chan watches with wide eyes and stammering heart as Chris takes Chan’s bleeding thumb between his lips, his tongue warm and wet against the bleeding wound. Chris presses his tongue against the injury, lips closing around Chan’s thumb, who can only stand as if frozen in place, his brain a barely functioning organ inside his head. Chris closes his eyes and a small pleased noise escapes his throat and something warm, something burning and unwanted and dangerous pools in the pits of Chan’s stomach.
There’s a need somewhere inside of Chan that’s begging him to pull the hand away and to run. To get the fuck away from this place, from this person, as quickly as he can and never look back. Yet, Chan can’t bring himself to move. Chris has his lips around Chan’s thumb, the blood spilling on Chris’ tongue who swallows it over and over again, and all Chan can do is stand there, unmoving, with a breath stuck in his throat and knees that feel like jelly.
Chris pulls Chan’s hand away from his mouth: his thumb is slicked with spit and scarlet blood that’s still gushing from the wound.
“You’ll probably need a bandaid,” Chris thinks out loud, his own thumb digging into the flesh around the wound so it can bleed a little more - and Chan feels stupid, everything inside of him is screaming at him to get himself out of there but all he can do is gawk at Chris and the ruby blood dripping all over his hand and think about how nice it felt to have Chris’ tongue pressed against the cut. Chan knows Chris wants to cause him more pain, but it feels as if his body was devoid of any feeling whatsoever.
Chris’ thumb is covered in Chan’s blood now and he licks it off with the tip of his tongue, eyes locking with Chan’s.
“But maybe I want you to bleed a little more to make these injuries all worth it.”
Chan never asked for any of this, never ever. He didn’t ask for Chris to come back or for Chris to look for him or for Chris to get injured while looking for him.
“I never wanted you to come back. I left for a reason.”
Chan’s voice is awfully quiet but at least it doesn’t shake as much.
The sentence makes Chris snicker, a sarcastic grin painted on his face, his hand still gripping Chan’s wrist, “You left because you were scared. I am you, don’t you remember? I know what you need, what you want, how you feel.”
Chan isn’t entirely sure if there is a kind of telepathy going on between them or if it’s a fucked version of a soulmate bond, but even back then, when there was nothing but sunshine and rainbows and they were friends, Chris always knew what Chan was thinking and what he needed at that moment. He always knew what things to say at what moment and what to do to make Chan feel like being on this Earth was worth it.
“You’ve been lonely,” Chris says, eyes burning into Chan’s, voice low and steady, “you’ve always been. That’s why you made me, right, Chan? So you wouldn’t feel so alone, but then you left, and you slipped back into the place you were trying so hard to escape from. Loneliness is the only thing you feel and you’re sick of it.”
The air around them feels static, so thick with tension a knife could glide through it like butter. Chan has never felt so helpless before but he still has a little bit of pride not to admit that.
“That’s why I’m here, Channie. So you don’t feel lonely anymore,” Chris grips the side of Chan’s face gently, fingers digging into the plushness of Chan’s cheeks just a bit. In a way, Chris is forcing Chan to look at him and just the thought alone makes Chan’s stomach all warm and tingly. Chris really came all the way to see him, crossed the whole world for him.
“I might look like you and sound like you, but I’ve always been different, and you know that. I’ve always wanted to protect you, to be there for you. To give you everything you ever wanted. So why did you run away?”
“I was scared.”
Chan’s surprised he can even speak at all. Amid all of this, Chris has gotten closer to Chan, so much so that he can feel Chris’ breath against his nose and his lips when he speaks. Hearing Chan admit that he was scared makes Chris frown, a deep line set between his eyebrows.
“Scared of what? Were you scared of me? You know I could never hurt you, that’s not what you created me for. Was it the thought of having a company that scared you? The fact that you, too, are someone deserving of friends? Were you scared because loneliness is the only thing you’ve known your whole life? Of being appreciated and cherished? Or did you run away because you realized you can’t hide from me? Which of these was it, sweetheart ?”
The nickname feels like a perfectly calculated punch to the stomach. It pushes the air out of Chan’s throat, leaving him gasping. Chan feels warm, so, so warm all over and it’s all because of a small word. The way it rolled off Chris' tongue and slipped past his teeth, the way he looked at Chan like he was someone precious to him. The way Chris has his left arm securely on Chan’s hip, the grip strong just enough to make Chan feel all fuzzy inside, Chris’ right hand still gripping his face.
“All of them,” Chan whispers quietly, brave enough to lock his eyes with Chris’. Something in them melts and a sadness washes over Chris’ face for a second.
“Oh, little one.”
Chan knows Chris is doing this on purpose: to break him down, to make Chan admit that all this time, a part of him wished Chris would appear again and he wouldn’t feel so stranded in the world anymore. The worst thing is that it’s working: the tension inside of Chan’s body seems to vanish more and more every time Chris talks to him, the honey-like warmth of Chris’ voice blowing all the fears away. It’s a little shameful that Chan is doing nothing to stop this. Nothing to stand up for himself, to gain composure, to get his morals back up.
“It’s good that I’m back, isn’t it? You don’t have to feel alone anymore, if you let me. I can make you feel so good, Channie, so loved. Isn’t that what you want too? To feel loved and cared for? To wake up in the morning and know there is someone who would do anything they could to make you happy? Belonging to someone, being theirs, doesn’t that sound wonderful, sweetheart?”
It does. It feels wonderful too, to listen to Chris talk about it, the desperation behind his words as if he would want to be that someone Chan belongs to. Chan doesn’t know what love and being loved means, what it entails. He knows what it means to want physically and sexually, knows what it’s like to be desired but love is a foreign word for him.
“You know that I can give you all that and much more, if you let me. If you tell me to leave, then I will, but just think about how good this could be. After all these years, don’t you think you deserve to be loved?”
Maybe. Probably not. Chan has done some awful, some terrible things, ones that shall remain unforgiven until the day he takes his last breath. He doesn’t think he’s deserving of love from people who would never bother understanding what goes on in the depths of his mind. There’s no one else who would understand anyway, no one who would have enough patience and courage to love someone like Chan.
There is Chris though.
He’s always been, as Chan realizes embarrassingly too late. Chris has enough courage to love someone like Chan because he knows him and understands him. Chris understands the things Chan has done in order to survive. Chan doesn’t have to go into the world and seek out a person who is entirely as fucked up as he is because the perfect person has been handed to him on a silver plate. He created himself the perfect person.
“I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t want to run away either,” Chan whispers, his face just a few inches from Chris’ whose grip around his hips tightens, as if to make sure Chan won’t slip away from his hold.
“Those years after you left, I spent every waking moment trying to find you. I was scared I’d never find you again but I know we were destined to be together after all. And now you’re here and you look just as you did when I saw you for the last time.”
There’s an unspoken sentence hanging in the air. Chan doesn’t know what it is but he can feel the presence of it, he can see that that’s not all Chris wants to tell him.
Chris leans his face closer to Chan’s, his breath fanning acros Chan’s nose and cheeks. Chan’s eyelashes flutter close and he simply waits.
“Just as pretty. Maybe even prettier.”
The muscles in Chan’s belly tighten and he stops breathing for a second. It should feel weird being called pretty by someone who looks exactly the same but all those words do is send a shiver down Chan’s back and make him lean into Chris’ touch even more.
Maybe it was a mistake to label them as friends, maybe Chan should have chosen a different term. Even back then, they couldn’t be labeled as friends. Friends don’t kiss each other in the depths of the night where no one can see and they don’t touch each other’s bodies like they are made up of galaxies and stars and milky ways. Maybe they were always a little more than that, but it was way too easy to slap that label on them so Chan didn’t feel any more guilt after he left.
“I’m sorry,” Chan ends up saying. It’s true, he feels regretful about the way things ended and he wants Chris to know. Judging by the small smile that appears on his lips, Chris already knows.
“I know you are. You’ve looked close to tears this whole time. It’s okay, I understand. You don’t have to feel sorry anymore. Just let me try to do something, okay?”
Chan jerks his head yes and before he knows, the tip of Chris’ nose is brushing against his. A second after, there’s a pair of warm lips against his, a kiss so soft and gentle it’s easy to miss. Something inside Chan slots together like missing puzzle pieces. Chris pulls away for a moment, to give Chan the space to change his mind, but when Chan lets out a throaty whine, Chris’ lips are back on his in a firm kiss. Chan settles his hands on Chris’ shoulders, his grip tight enough to signal Chris not to stop, not to move away.
Chris tilts his head slightly to kiss Chan at a better angle, although his nose presses against Chan’s cheek a little awkwardly. Chris nips at his bottom lip with sharp, curious teeth and Chan gasps into his mouth, pressing himself closer to Chris. It’s wonderfully warm and familiar, a sweet ache settles inside Chan’s bones and he realizes how much he missed feeling like this:
Small. Safe. Wanted.
At the end of the day, it’s all Chan ever wanted and he was stupid enough to deprive himself of this when it has always been within a finger reach from him.
Chris licks up into his mouth, tongue grazing against the roof of his mouth, and it has Chan stumbling forward, Chris’ arms coming to circle around his waist and hold him, impossibly close. Chan can feel Chris’ heartbeat against his, two hearts beating the same rhythm. The kiss is heady and hot and wet and it sends Chan whining into it, these desperate little noises coming from the back of his throat.
“I’ve been dying to hear the little sounds you make, “Chris whispers against his lips, his words slurred as if he was drunk, drunk on the feeling of kissing Chan breathless, “I almost forgot how pretty you sound when you’re getting worked up.”
At that, Chan whines again, like a puppy in heat, the compliments going straight to his cock. It was always too easy to get Chan’s cock to fill up and swell: every time he fooled around with Chris, all it took were a couple of kisses and a few pretty words before Chan was rutting against Chris’ thigh, grinding his clothed cock against the fabric, desperate to get any type of friction, whining and whimpering against his shoulder.
Chris slides his hands down from Chan’s hips to grip at his ass, fingers digging into the flesh and his lips back on Chan’s, working his mouth open little by little. When Chris holds Chan by his ass and presses him closer, chest to chest and cock to cock, Chan’s head starts to spin. The heat has made a permanent home out of the pits of Chan’s stomach and it’s slowly slithering all over him. It feels like Chan can’t breathe but at the same time, he can’t stop licking up into Chris’ mouth, chasing his lips with his and pressing into him, his cock swollen and straining against the front of his pants.
Chris pulls away from Chan’s lips for a moment, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded with unmistakable want, “One thing I didn’t forget is how easy it is to get you riled up. You’ve always been so easy to tease, so easy to get turned on. I’m happy nothing has changed.”
Chris places his lips on Chan’s ear, his hot breath hitting the cold metal of Chan’s piercings. His left hand travels from his ass to his hips, ghosting against the taunt muscles of Chan’s stomach, before he grips his hard cock through the fabric. Chris mewls into his ear, pleased.
“Just as I said. I only kissed you for a few seconds and my sweetheart is already so hard, so eager. It’s all for me, isn’t it?”
Chan feels his cock swell even more and he knows Chris can feel it too, going by his eyes growing impossibly darker. Chris’ cheeks are flushed with a rosy shade of pink, a little splotches on the tops of his cheeks, Chan’s face is tinted the same shade of pink. When Chris pulls him closer by his waist and slots them together, Chan can feel Chris’ hard cock against his stomach, and lets out a quiet gasp. Chan didn’t want this at first, only felt resentment and anger when he first saw Chris standing there, but now.
Now, he wants, he wants more than he’s ever wanted before. Chris was right when he said this is what Chan missed, what he longed for: to have hands touch his body in a way that makes his head spin, to have another body pressing into him like they can’t possibly stay away from him. Chan is a human, after all, and at the end of the day, humans long for this. They need this.
Chris’ fingers gently frame Chan’s face, his eyes skipping over all Chan’s features: the slope of his nose, the faint freckles all across his cheeks, the wet and raw lips. Chris swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“All these years, I couldn’t touch you, couldn’t kiss you. It was driving me insane, sweetheart. And now I have you here and I know you want this just as much as I do. How about you make it up for me, darling?”
Chris’ voice spills past his lips slowly and thickly, like molasses. It coats Chan from the inside in warmth and fuzziness, the tips of his fingers tingling with sensation. Chan nods eagerly, eyes half closed and lips partially open, inviting.
“Okay, baby,” Chris mewls quietly, his thumb brushing Chan’s bottom lip before it slips inside his mouth for a second, the pad of his thumb pressing against Chan’s blunt bottom teeth. Chan closes his lips around the digit, his tongue licking at Chris’ thumb softly.
Chris giggles seeing Chan so eager, so desperate to please, to do what he’s been told.
“Deep down, you’re still just a dumb puppy who just wants to be good, aren’t you?”
Chan whines with Chris’ thumb still between his lips and paws at Chris’ chest. Chris slips the thumb out of Chan’s mouth and wipes the spit all across his cheeks. Chan lets a small drop of spit spill trickle down the corner of his face and Chris tuts softly, smearing the spit all across his chin and around his mouth. It feels as if Chan’s blood was replaced by a molten lava. His skin must feel feverish, judging by the sticky thin layer of sweat across his whole body.
“Take your clothes off, sweetheart. Keep the coat on though. I’ve always thought you looked so sexy all in your element like that. Who knew a fucked up scientist could be so hot?”
Chan whimpers at those words, but he starts to unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers. Chris’ eyes never once leave his face or his body, watching Chan’s movements with hawk eyes. Chan takes the lab coat off and puts it to the side and shrugs his shirt off. It falls to the ground and pools around his feet. Chris makes a quiet pleased sound at seeing Chan’s half naked body.
Chris’ fingers trace small patterns across Chan’s chest, scratching gently around his collarbones. When they brush against Chan’s nipples, Chan breaths out a shaking exhale and his eyes flutter close. It pulls out a groan out of Chris who drops to his knees in front of Chan, mouth already on Chan’s exposed stomach, biting into the soft skin around his belly button. Chan’s abdominal muscles tense when Chris’ teeth sink particularly deep, along his fingernails that dig harshly into the skin on his lovehandles.
“God, I love your stomach,” Chris whispers against Chan’s skin and there’s a thin string of spit connecting them from how much Chris licks and bites and sucks at Chan’s skin.
“Remember the time I fucked you so full of my cum your tummy got all round ‘n’ cute? Fucked my pups so deep into you you had a belly bulge. I wanna do that again, will you let me do that again?”
God, does he want.
Chan’s cock swells even more in his pants, rock hard and aching in his underwear that sticks to his skin with how wet he’s gotten. Chan wants to touch himself so badly, he would give up his soul to wrap his fingers around his cock and stroke himself to an orgasm, but he knows he can’t. He wants to be deprived of that feeling, the desire to be overstimulated because he deserves it making his head spin. Chan knows Chris knows he deserves it, for running away from him and for not giving him what he needs. Chris has all the rights to take whatever he wants from Chan, for the things Chan put him through.
“You know,” Chris whispers against Chan’s skin, his lips pressed against his hips, chased by something different, by something cold and metal and sharp, it’s a knife, the blade pressed to his skin, not enough to cut through but enough for Chan to feel the pressure of it.
“When you left, I was so angry. I thought, how could he do that to me after all the things we did together. For a long time, all I thought about was chasing you down and killing you. Chaining you to a table and slicing that pretty body of yours in half.”
Chris presses the knife to Chan’s skin with more force. The skin tears, just a little, it’s more of a scratch than a cut, and the slit skin turns bright red. It stings, deliciously so, and Chan involuntarily thrusts his hips forward, right in Chris’ face. Chris tuts at him, the knife still in the same spot on his hip. It’s a warning for Chan: not to try anything if he doesn’t want the knife to sink in deeper.
“You know, sweetheart, you are me and I am you, but we are so different. I couldn’t understand why you would run away after everything I gave you. Time helped, and I realized that you were just scared. That’s okay, darling, but you don’t have to be scared anymore. You know I would never ever hurt you.”
The blade of the knife sinks into the skin and a gush of blood spills from the wound. Chan gasps, the sting of it dulling out all of his coherent thinking. Chan has never felt this good, this wanted, this needed. This loved.
Chris chases the droplets of blood with his tongue, licks them all up and presses his lips to the wound. It isn’t much, Chan knows Chris could mess him up even worse, could give him slashes and bruises and broken bones, if he wanted. Chan wants, and Chris wants too, but they have time. They have all the time in the world.
“You look so pretty, so gorgeous in red,” Chris whispers with his lips painted bright ruby, chasing down the small drops of blood. He makes a small sound at the back of his throat, similar to Chan’s little whines and whimpers, and presses his mouth against the slash again.
Chan feels precum leaking from the tip of his cock and down his balls until it pools in his underwear, the piece of fabric impossibly sticky and uncomfortable against his skin. Chris drops the knife to the ground next to them before he presses a kiss across Chan’s belly button, the sensation tickling. It makes Chan squirm in Chris’ hold when he does it again and again.
Chris raises himself back to his feet, eye to eye with Chan. The corners of his mouth are tinted red from where he didn’t lick up all the blood.
A hand around Chan’s throat, Chris’ fingers are calculated and careful, yet forceful and strong. He wraps them around Chan’s throat and squeezes, tilts his head simultaneously back and closer to his. This way, Chris is looking down on him and all Chan can do is watch him with half hooded eyes and lips parted into a desperate O. Chris tightens his hold and Chan gasps for breath, feels his heartbeat in his ears and the pulsing in his cock.
Chan knows Chris has what it takes to strangle him. When Chris came to be, Chan made him purposefully stronger than himself, with more muscle and strength in his arms and hands.
Chris chokes Chan a little more until Chan’s mouth falls open completely. Chan sticks his tongue out and allows Chan to spit into his mouth, lapping up the saliva eagerly. Chris' face splits in a pleased grin.
“Good boy, such a good puppy for me. I love you, you know? I love you so much it feels like I can’t breathe. Do you love me too, sweetheart? I know you do, c’mon, puppy. Say you love me.”
Chan gives a choked off pathetic whimper, “I-I love you, Chris, I love you.”
Pleased enough, Chris releases the tense grip he had on Chan’s throat. He wonders if Chris’ fingers left a trail of bruises on his neck. There’s a part in Chan that wants to ask, to beg Chris to bruise him up but he knows he isn’t in a place to ask for anything. He’s there to obey, to make up for the things they’ve missed throughout the years, to supply Chris of the things he truly needs. Chan is happy to do that, but he thought bruises always looked pretty on his pale skin.
With a small help of Chris, Chan manages to pull off his pants and his underwear. His cock, swollen and deep red at the tip, is exposed to the chill air around them and it sends shivers all across Chan’s body. The white coat hanging around his frame isn’t doing much to bring Chan a little bit of warmth.
Chris circles his fingers around Chan’s cock and tugs, pressing his lips over Chan’s ear, “God, you’re just begging to be fucked, aren’t you? Look at you, so swollen and needy and wet. Nothing’s changed, I see, you’re still as desperate to get your tight little hole stuffed with cock as you were before. Isn’t that why you made me, sweetheart? So you can get fucked whenever and wherever you’d like, have someone fuck you so hard they almost split you open and then have them fill you up with their cum and breed you like the puppy bitch you’ve always been?”
Chan cums, untouched and seemingly paralyzed in Chris’ arms, with his back arched and hands clawing at whatever part of Chris he can reach. The moan he lets out is close to a silent scream as he paints his belly and Chris’ hand white. Chris strokes him through the orgasm, his breath heavy and ragged against Chan’s ear, and Chan can taste how aroused Chris is. It’s heady and thick and impossibly warm. Chris spreads the cum all over Chan’s softening cock, his fingers sticky and a little rough, just like Chan’s.
“I missed seeing you cum. You always look the prettiest when you cum, all rosy and soft. You get this dumb look in your eyes, puppy, it makes me want to fuck you within an inch of your life.”
Chan has a vague idea of what he looks like when he comes. Chris fucked him in front of a wall-length mirror once and made him watch as he railed his insides and milked his cock until it hurt too much to even touch it. Chan watched Chris cum too, with Chan’s mouth around his cock as Chris fucked his throat and his vocal chords. At first, it was a little weird to watch yourself in angles a normal human being won’t be able to, but after a while, Chan started to crave it. He still does, because no one else is better for him than Chris. There’s no one else for him.
“On your knees, baby. Open your mouth, nice and wide,” Chris orders him in a gentle voice, pushing at Chan’s shoulders just a little.
Chan sinks to his knees, hands slotting together on his lap as he opens his mouth, his eyes desperate and round. Chan sticks his tongue out and waits.
Chris undoes the buckle on his jeans and lets them fall down to his ankles, along with his underwear. Chan’s senses get hit with the familiar smell of Chris, dizzying and strong and so him, it nearly brings him to tears. It’s been so long. Chris’ cock is almost the same as Chan’s, except it’s a little longer and a bit thicker. It’s perfect, Chan still remembers the feeling of Chris’ cock sliding against his walls or pushing past his gag reflex. When the tip of Chris’ cock hits Chan’s tongue, the heavy weight of it is so familiar, Chan’s level of desperation gets even higher. He wastes no time in taking a deep breath before he opens his mouth as wide as possible and slides Chris’ cock all the way down his throat. Above him, Chris pushes his shirt above his belly and bunches the fabric between his fabric, letting out a quiet hiss.
“You look so pretty like this, so beautiful with your mouth around my cock. I wish I could take a picture, keep it with me forever. I wish everyone could see you like this.”
Chris’ fingers are soft and careful as they brush a loose strand of hair away from Chan’s face. They’re just as soft and careful as Chris grips Chan’s hair and starts fucking his mouth, pushing his cock so far down his throat Chan lets out a gurgle. That noise is like a music to Chris’ ears and he does it again, just to hear Chan gagging on his cock, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes already.
“Missed your mouth, missed this, missed you so much, puppy,” Chris chants, almost breathless, as he grips his shirt until his knuckles are white.
Each word is punctuated with his cock shoved deeper into Chan’s throat, until Chris rails his hips so deep Chan’s nose ends up being squished against Chris’ pubes. Spit drips down Chan’s lips and his chin, pooling on the floor. Chan loves being messy, covered in spit and lube and cum. He doesn’t wipe the spit from his chin, instead lets more of it spill past his lips.
“What a messy puppy whore, aren’t you? Did I fuck your throat so hard you can’t even swallow anymore, sweetheart?”
Chan nods his head yes and mouths at Chris’ hard cock, even though he could take more. He could take his throat getting completely ruined, lips splitting open and vocal chords being torn. Maybe one day. There will be more days now that they’re together again.
Chan’s cock aches again, fully swollen and sensitive and wet. He just wants to cum again, however Chris wants him to.
“Get up, puppy. Turn around, bend over the table for me. Want to see your cute little hole, just asking to be fucked.”
Chan’s knees feel like jelly when he stands up from the ground. He more so collapses against the steel table, the coldness of the desk feeling like ice against Chan’s heated and flushed skin. Chan perks his ass up and spreads his legs, his head propped up by his arms. Chris traces a gentle hand along Chan’s spine, his touch as tender as ever. As if he was scared Chan would break under his fingertips.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” Chris preens, his hand sliding down to grip at Chan’s ass, “how many people had you like this while I was gone? Fucked you open and dumb with their cocks or let you push your little cock into their wet pussy?”
The question is punctuated by Chris’ hand slapping Chan’s ass harshly. Chan jolts at the movement, as the table shakes underneath him. Chan whimpers, a small pained sound, and his cock twitches as more precum dribbles on the floor.
“I hope no one, puppy, because you belong to me, alright? You’re all mine, all mine, for me to love and touch and use. Tell me who fucked your little hole sloppy so that I can find them and kill them for touching something that belongs to me.”
Chan moans at the words, shameless and desperate, as he grips the edge of the table, “N-no one, Chris. I wasn’t with a-anyone since… Since I left.”
Chris as much as growls into his ear, his cock pressed against Chan’s ass, and it’s enough to make Chan feel dizzy, pushing his ass against Chris’ cock in a failed attempt to grind against him.
“Okay, little one, I believe you. Don’t you dare to lie to me, ever. I’ll ruin you if you ever dare to lie to me, and neither of us want that, alright? I don’t want to destroy the things I love.”
Chan’s hole clenches against nothing and he is so close to begging. The words are right there, at the tip of his tongue, all he has to do is to just open his mouth. All he wants is Chris to finally fuck him, use him, shape him into his own personal fucktoy.
Chan gives a small dumb nod, eyes squeezed shut. His cock hangs heavy between his legs and there isn’t even anything he could rut against to release some of the pain.
“Put your leg on the table, sweetheart,” Chris whispers sweetly into Chan’s ear, pressing a small kiss against the freckle on his cheek.
Chan does as he’s told, even though it’s a little difficult with how sluggish and heavy his limbs feel. Chan pushes himself further up the table, ass perked up and open and waiting.
Chris’ lips are by Chan’s ear again, his thumb tracing Chan’s bottom lip, “Open up your mouth, sweetheart. Make them all wet for me.”
Chris shoves three of his fingers down Chan’s throat, pressing on his tongue. Chan feels a bile rise somewhere in there but he swallows past it, allowing Chris to slip his fingers even deeper. When Chris pulls them away, they’re coated in Chan’s spit and he forces Chan to spit the rest of it into his hand.
The first push of Chris’ cock into Chan’s hole is dry and painful. Chan lets out a gasp and tries to relax his muscles, breathing deeply through his nose.
Chan doesn’t know what it’s like to take it slow: the only person to ever fuck him is Chris and Chris doesn’t do that. Chan thinks there’s no fun, no pleasure in being slow and careful anyways. He revels in the way Chris’ cock drags painfully against his walls, the excessive amount of spit not enough to make the slide smooth.
“Still so fucking tight, puppy, aren’t you? You really didn’t lie when you said no one else fucked you. Otherwise you’d be all loose, wouldn’t you?”
Chris pushes and pushes until his cock is buried deep in Chan’s ass who writhes beneath him, hips grinding against the air, doing absolutely nothing to his aching cock. Chris spits some more onto his cock before he’s sliding his cock all the way out. Chris doesn’t waste a second before he rams his cock back into Chan’s hole, the boy beneath him gasping and whimpering.
“My pretty little puppy, so useless, only good for taking my cock and getting pumped with my cum.”
Chris' voice is teetering on the edge of growling as he rails Chan against the table, hips snapping in a brutal pace that sends Chan slamming against the steel table. Chan’s ass already feels numb from the force of Chris’ hips, his balls slapping against the skin and creating obscene sounds. Chris sinks his teeth into Chan’s shoulder and Chan gasps out loud, both from the pleasure and the pain that make him feel like he is a fizzy drink threatening to explode.
“You feel so good around my cock, puppy, all tight and warm. Can’t wait to fill you with my cum, give you so many of my pups your belly will get fat. Would you like that, baby? Want me to breed you like the bitch you are?”
Chan mhhhmmssss in response, hoping Chris will take that as yes. Chris finds his prostate soon after, aims his cock so it hits Chan’s prostate with each thrust and returns back to his brutal pace. The abuse on Chan’s prostate is almost too much for him, too much for him to cum, but his blood feels like a molten lava and there are stars swimming behind his eyelids.
Chris forces his cock so deep into Chan he can feel him in his tummy. Chris presses his fingers vaguely where Chan’s bladder is and Chan squirms on his cock.
“Just imagine that… You would be so pretty, full of my pups, all round and swollen and beautiful. Maybe your tits would get big too and I could fuck them, would you let me do that? Fuck your pretty tits until they’re all red and raw?”
Chris pinches Chan’s nipples and any thought of being careful, of being slow has left the window. Chan loves to be in pain, loves to be bitten and bruised and slapped around and fucked so hard it feels like the cock will end up in his stomach, and Chris is perfect, so, so perfect, because he loves to do all of those things to Chan.
Chris pants into Chan’s ear, breath hot and wet, “I think I’ll do that. I’ll breed you, fuck my pups into you and then plug you so you can stay nice and full. Gonna give you my pups so you can never leave again. You’d be such a pretty mommy, baby, don’t you think so?”
Chan mewls in agreement, fingers gripping the edge of the table as Chris keeps on abusing his prostate with his cock. His cock is begging to be touched, aching so much Chan feels wet tears on his cheeks.
“P-Please, touch me, Chris, I’m-so-close.”
Each of Chan’s words is punctuated with a brutal trust as Chan fucks him sloppy and silly and it’s a wonder Chan’s brain can come up with coherent thoughts.
Chris obeys without saying anything, wraps his rough fingers around Chan’s swollen and aching cock and strokes him. With the way Chris is railing his prostate, all it takes is a few quick strokes before Chan’s cock is twitching in Chris’ fingers and he’s coming, hot white cum coating Chris’ fingers and the table in front of them.
Chan swears he blacks out for a second, his entire body spasming in Chris arms who fucks him through the orgasm, until he himself is coming inside Chan, pressing his cock as deep as he can, panting wetly against Chan’s ear and biting at his shoulder.
Chan’s whole body shakes as Chris holds him close to his body, heartbeats erratic and fast.
“So fucking good to me, little one, I love you so much.”
Chan feels so warm, so fuzzy.
Chris presses his fingers into the thin wound on Chan’s hip, just enough for Chan to be reminded that it’s there. He kisses the teeth marks on his shoulders, the ache so tender and sweet. When Chris pulls his softening cock out of Chan, he gathers the small bit of cum that’s leaked out and fucks it back into Chan, sloshing the cum inside Chan’s hole and mewling quietly into his ear.
So loved.
twitter ! let's be friends