Chapter Text
As January came to a close, and February began, not much had changed. The few trees that dotted the outer streets of the city were leafless and topped with powdery snow. People were still bundled up in long black puffer coats and thick scarves, from which red noses and numb ears poked out from. The sky wasn’t quite getting sunnier just yet.
It was one such overcast and chilly day that a trio of men had decided to grab lunch together.
“Hm, see this? The cross section here – see how the pink part is pretty pale?” San nodded at Wooyoung’s observation. “No shade to the chef, but this would be considered more well-done than medium.”
Yeosang’s roommate had taken it upon himself to be a kind of culinary mentor for San, since the other had only just enrolled for his first year in a culinary academy in Seoul. Wooyoung was now in his last year, which meant little meetings like this were few and far between.
Wooyoung rambled on some more about each of the dishes they had all ordered. The restaurant was a warm, relaxed place with smooth chestnut coloured wood everywhere. Yeosang quietly tapped his nails on the side of his bottle, which only had a few mouthfuls of blackberry cider at the bottom.
He was a sweet tooth to his core.
San laughed brightly at something Wooyoung said, bringing his attention a bit more back to the table for a moment. He gazed at both of their faces, cheeks ruddy and smiles full, and a small smile stole over his lips. It might have been bitterly cold outside, but inside this little ground floor restaurant, Yeosang felt a pleasant warmth.
Something kept that warmth from really stretching into each part of him, though, because in his mind and chest he couldn’t help but keep thinking that there was something missing from this moment. Someone who might have tapped their fork on the edge of his plate, someone who might have played footsies with him under the table.
Maybe Wooyoung was right. Maybe he did need to meet more people and fall in love.
But despite the windiness in his chest, the thought of trying to get to know someone made his lips twist sourly. How awful it is to explain yourself like that, to have to tell someone about your hobbies and interests, what you do for work and that no, you don’t really want to go home with them tonight, thanks.
Wooyoung had to admit that Yeosang had at least tried. Once.
Only a few weeks ago, Yeosang had actually been brave enough to ask out one of the guys he had seen a lot at the café he went to sometimes. He had seemed nice enough, but that was all. No substance, no banter, nothing for him to work with. Just nice and polite, almost withdrawn, then right as they walked out of the bar that dreaded question left his lips.
“Hey, so uh, I really liked this,” he gripped Yeosang’s hands, “so I was wondering if you would want to come back to mine and maybe keep this energy going?” he was tugging on his hold, trying to pull the architect closer.
It all felt so gross and wrong. He had no idea what ‘energy’ the guy was yapping on about, but his hands were sweaty, and Yeosang’s stomach churned at the thought of staying another second with this man.
He subtly shook off the other’s hands, “Sorry, I’ve got an assignment I need to work on.”
“Assignment? You didn’t tell me you were studying something,” the man replied in an accusatory tone. Yeosang glanced nervously at the door as a couple squeezed past the guy, who was blocking the door. Yeosang stepped back, expecting the other to realise that he was in the way and step closer. He didn’t move.
“It was one of the first things I told you. Anyways, I don’t think this is going to work out, but thanks for the evening.”
The guy scoffed, “Fucking tease. Whatever, delete my number.”
Yeosang’s eyes widened at the sudden aggressive tone, simply standing as he watched the man turn on his heel and storm off to wherever he had parked.
His mood was downright abysmal when he got home. He had stewed on the sour interaction the whole way, wondering if he had missed something, or if the other guy was just an asshole. It all reminded him how much he loathed people in general, especially people he didn’t know – anyone who wasn’t his thimbleful of friends. Particularly when it came to emotions and expectations.
Wooyoung immediately paused his drama and asked him how the date went when he slipped his shoes off at the door.
“Absolutely terrific,” he mumbled as he rubbed his eyes, “can’t you see me jumping up and down in joy?”
“Oh, Sangie.” Wooyoung made his way over and softly kneaded the student’s shoulder, “It’s just a first date, there’s plenty of other people you could meet, you know? Don’t take this as a sign to stop trying before you’ve even started.”
Yeosang just sighed and nodded, placating his roommate enough for him to allow the other to slink off to his room.
He closed his door and stared at the demon. Jongho was laying on his unmade bed, toying with a cat’s cradle that hovered half a ruler above his actual fingers. He blinked up at Yeosang with his round brown eyes.
“Bad day?”
Yeosang sighed heavily, letting his posture droop. Jongho flicked the knotted string over to the bedside table and laid his arms out. The student flopped onto the bed, resting his head on the other’s bare stomach, allowing the demon to comb his fingers through his green and black hair.
Bad days usually ended like that for him. If he came home feeling like he wanted to kick a rock, Jongho was there, lazing on the architect’s bed, either reading or playing with something he stole from somewhere in the house.
Yeosang’s absent smiled persisted as he thought about what Jongho might be doing while his roommates were out being normal humans.
“Yeosang. Hello? Earth to Yeosang?”
He was snapped out of his thoughts by Wooyoung poking his arm from across the table, “Hm? Yeah?”
San lightly bumped his shoulder, smiling warmly at him, “Wooyo and I thought an arcade might be good, if you were up for that?”
“Oh, nah, you guys go ahead. Take some pictures for me though. And make sure Wooyoung doesn’t waste all his money there, please, San.”
His roommate rolled his eyes, “Ok whatever grandma, let’s get you back to the nursing home then, it’s almost your bedtime.”
San giggled as he got up.
They wrestled each other’s cards away from the reader, which just ended in them splitting it even.
As Yeosang waved them off and made his way back to his own car, he breathed deep to feel the cold air in his hot chest. He scuffed patterns in the dirty snow on the footpath.
The drive was a mere five minutes, and soon he was already walking past the open kitchen, past the tv and couch, and into the short hallway. He stopped as he heard something coming through the sliver of space where his door was open.
It was a pleasant, lilting melody that made him lean on the door frame, content to stand and listen for a bit longer. The humming made him want to draw something, fluid and organic in shape, something that would be an engineer’s nightmare.
His lips twitched amusedly at that thought.
As expected, when Yeosang pushed off the frame and went into his room, Jongho was sitting on the end of his bed, still humming away.
“Good outing with thine acquaintances, sire?” he asked in a silly sing-song way.
Yeosang smiled, “Yeah, but they’re going to an arcade for a bit. I didn’t feel like third wheeling that, so I came home.”
Jongho turned his head slightly, peering at the human out of the corner of his vision, eyes flickering up and down his form briefly before turning back to whatever he was fiddling with. “Makes sense.” The hazy black fabric hanging from the chain around his hips pooled around him.
To Yeosang’s relief, the demon did actually have a sort of undergarment beneath the skirt-like item he wore all the time. It wasn’t like Yeosang was intentionally looking – sometimes he can’t control where his eyes go, okay? – but either way, Jongho also wore a pair of tailored shorts made of the same smoky dark material under his skirt thing, which faded out to nothing at the hems.
“So, what’ve you been doing?” Yeosang wandered over and sat next to the demon.
Jongho never really touched stuff directly, seemingly preferring to hold things in the way that the item hovered over his hands. “Little wood sticks, in the shape of a house,” he said, turning to Yeosang and lifting the small structure up.
Yeosang inspected the sticks. “Your singing sounded nice,” he murmured, leaning back from the stick house and going back until he was laying on the soft comforter behind him. Jongho stifled a smile. Yeosang had to hold back a snicker as he saw a touch of pink on the demon’s cheeks and ears. The demon made a fist with his hand, collapsing the house and sending the sticks back to the desk where he pilfered them from.
“You should come out with us next time – although, I’m pretty sure you’d be arrested if you went out in that.”
Jongho frowned, “Well maybe everyone should keep their eyes to themselves.”
Yeosang rolled his eyes.
“Or maybe I could go invisible.”
“That’d defeat the purpose of you coming out with us, Jongho.”
Jongho leaned back on one hand as he played with a piece of his hair with the other. “Human clothes are so restrictive and uncomfortable, though. I don’t get how you’re not itching to be in something more comfortable.”
“You trying to get me naked or something, demon?” Yeosang teased.
The demon blushed again, swatting Yeosang’s thigh as he frowned.
“Maybe I’ll try those sweatpants again, they didn’t seem too bad,” he mused, “but no jeans. I hate jeans.”
Yeosang laughed. “Fine. Whatever, ultra-powerful demon who can’t handle denim, you can wear sweats if you want.”
“Mockery? You dare mock me, puny mortal?”
⛧ ⛧ ⛧
As night fell, Yeosang also fell – into his bed. After a long hard day of scanning people’s items and stocking shelves, his back was screaming at him to hurry and finish his dinner and go to sleep. Wooyoung had whipped up a simple stir fry from the random bits and pieces left in their fridge and pantry (tomorrow’s grocery day), and they ate in companionable silence as Wooyoung left whatever drama he was watching blast from the tv. The guy really had an addiction. He wondered if San knew about it yet.
Jongho usually joined, even if he didn’t participate in the eating part, but he assured both humans that he really didn’t mind, and that just the smell of food is satisfying to him.
Afterwards, as per usual, when Jongho helped with washing the dishes and packing up leftovers, he followed Yeosang back to his room, leaving Wooyoung to his show and phone. Jongho didn’t understand the whole being on your phone while also watching something, and merely nodded sagely when Wooyoung tried to explain it once.
Yeosang closed his bedroom door and changed into his sleep clothes.
To an outsider, he supposed it might have been weird that he couldn’t bring himself to care if the demon looked at him when he changed or showered anymore. They had simply surpassed that level of living together. He certainly wouldn’t go around telling anyone about it, especially since they were both men, which would garner either a raised eyebrow or invasive questions.
It was just an unspoken thing, and that was all it needed to be.
The thermostat ensured that he could keep sleeping in his shorts and oversized t-shirt, blissfully ignoring the power bill.
Jongho did his nightly methodical stretch routine in midair. He had explained that stretching is essential for good health, and implored that Yeosang should do the same for the next week or so, which only ended because Yeosang threatened to sell him at the local markets.
Yeosang knew it wasn’t the demon’s intention, but he still had the sneaking suspicion that the demon just wanted to flex his physique. The guy had muscle, but it wasn’t the first thing you saw about him – that is, until he’s stretching one of his arms, which makes his other arm tense up.
It was frustrating! If this whole debacle had happened about six months before it actually did, Yeosang would have been on the same level. He used to be an avid gym rat, but it wasn’t his fault that university was exhausting, and burnout can make you break good habits sometimes.
Anyways, it was only a little bit annoying.
The inexplicable sparks of heat low in his body were just annoyance. That’s all.
Yeosang slid under the covers, flicking the lights off on his way down. Jongho clasped his hands together and did one final upward stretch that made the muscles in his back bunch up. The architect closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come to him.
For maybe an hour, he drifted in and out of a half-asleep state, only adding to his exhaustion. He tossed and turned a couple times, eventually just settling on his side again. Weak moonlight filtered through the open blinds. The only sounds were the cars on the street below, the odd creak out in the living room, and their collective soft breaths.
Yeosang cracked an eye open and watched the slow, almost indiscernible movements of Jongho’s body as he breathed. The demon didn’t sleep, but rather he meditated. He sat in his usual cross-legged way, facing away from the bed, hovering in the air as he rested the backs of his hands on his knees. Perfect posture, as always. Just staying over the end of the bed.
It might have been unnerving to anyone else, but to Yeosang, it was comforting to watch him like this. He looked relaxed. There was just enough moon that night to illuminate the demon’s honey skin, glinting off the fine gold jewellery, being absorbed by his void-black hair but reflecting off his horns. Yeosang wondered how someone could casually look like that. Did he look like that when he was alive, a thousand years ago? Such a shame, Yeosang thought, that the demon had shared that he had never had a lover before.
He felt it should be a shame. No one should have to be alone for all that time, especially someone as ethereal as Jongho – well, in a way he was ethereal, but there was a tangible steeliness to him that the word ethereal simply didn’t cover.
As his friend, he should feel sad about it.
But something dark and slimy within Yeosang felt a sick satisfaction about it.
Not that he would ever indulge that feeling. He wouldn’t acknowledge it or, god forbid, share it with anyone.
No, it was just another one of those weird things that his unruly mind did sometimes.
Yeosang lightly shook the thoughts away, snuggling further into his pillow. He breathed deeply. It was another thing that his mind was weird about – the scent that Jongho left when he lounged on Yeosang’s bed. The warm scent comprised of woodsmoke, which made up most of it, mixed in with cinnamon and cloves, which should have been smells that were overpowering or too heady, but they were just enough to make him search for it through another breath. Just another little thing that he kept to himself, clutched tightly to his chest that he wouldn’t share with anyone else.
Maybe he was more selfish than he thought. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to care if it was selfish.
Yeosang opened his eyes again as he heard the quiet clinking of the demon’s anklets. When he lifted his head slightly to see, Jongho was already looking down at him.
He made a little half-smile, then reached down, “Sleep, Sangie.”
Jongho leaned over to brush his fingertips on the architect’s heel, instantly sending him into a deep slumber.
Of course, his power to manipulate Yeosang’s body persisted even if he wasn’t occupying his body anymore. Nowadays, it was activated via touch, although Jongho rarely used this ability.
⛧ ⛧ ⛧
“Yeah – you can’t even hide your roots now because it’s not snowing anymore; spring’s almost here,” Wooyoung laughed as he pushed off the bathroom door frame.
Jongho piped up from his perch on the counter, “You can still wear beanies, but you’ll have to live knowing everyone around you thinks you’re a freak.”
“Thanks guys, for always being my cheerleaders.” Yeosang rolled his eyes as he tugged a pair of white latex gloves on, “Aren’t you supposed to be going to work right now, Wooyoung?”
The cook deflated a bit. He was usually at least happy to go to work, but he had woken up this morning after only an hour of sleep – courtesy of his staying up all night to binge a new drama that just dropped. ‘But this one’s different!’ he had exclaimed, ‘It’s supposed to be really historically accurate, so now I have to see for myself!’
And now he’s going to work with half a wink of sleep. He’ll probably find a way to finesse an early leave anyway. The cook was likely already formulating an excuse as he was walking to his car right now.
“Feels good to never have to work again,” Jongho said, a languid smile on his face.
Yeosang just glared at him. He picked up the bottle of black hair dye and squeezed some of it into the blue, stained plastic bowl designated for hair dye. As he picked up the brush, he felt off. It was too quiet without Wooyoung filling the air with chatter.
“Can you chuck some music on please? Anything’s fine.”
Jongho hummed and waved his hand, bringing Yeosang’s phone up to his face.
It had been immensely fun for the two humans to tease the demon about his inability to use technology. Jongho was like a boomer, an oldie, a geriatric senior whose words per minute averaged ten on a good day. The demon’s eye twitched whenever either of them brought it up, but Yeosang could at least give him some credit – he had mostly learned how to use a phone at least.
The demon tapped in Yeosang’s passcode and navigated to his playlists. He still wasn’t quite caught up in all the modern genres such as EDM or metal, so he went for something he did know: jazz. it was what Jongho usually heard in their apartment, and it was pleasant on his ears, with the smooth voices and slick instrumentals. Yeosang was soon swaying lightly to the beat as he dabbed the dye on his roots.
Wooyoung was right, too. Spring was almost here.
Yeosang thought about what his final piece might be – he wanted to design something summery and flowery, and even though he had all year to think about it, he was still anxious to get a more solid idea. The dye was cold on his scalp.
Jongho was humming along to the song, restless fingers playing with the cardboard box that the dye had come in. Yeosang glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
“Come on, you know the words to this one,” he prompted, voice quiet and careful.
The other’s low hum petered out as his gaze flitted to the architect. He did a soft little grimace-pout expression, and Yeosang had to grip the edge of the counter for a moment to stop himself from reaching over and pinching Jongho’s cheeks.
But then he was singing along. His sweet voice followed the woman’s vibrato vocals pouring from the speaker.
All in a few seconds, Yeosang’s throat and chest felt tight – not in the awful constricting way, but rather in the way that there was something trying to burst forth from his body; a feeling too big for him to contain. His hand faltered in the air.
Yeosang very rarely experienced a feeling so big that it felt like his body was physically too small for it. Yet here it was, catching him in such a mundane moment. His skin tingled warmly. He didn’t have to listen very hard to hear his own heartbeat. He wished he could hear Jongho’s heartbeat.
He didn’t even realise he was smiling until he forced his eyes back to the mirror, intending to resume his dye job. Yeosang hastily scooped up the last of the dye and slathered it wherever.
If the Yeosang from six months ago were to see Yeosang right now, he would probably make fun of him for playing exactly right into what Wooyoung had been spouting for years.
Was he playing into that though? He had done it – he had met someone new, but his brain went staticky when he thought about the second part. Love. What even was that? He wouldn’t know, and he didn’t want to know, because he couldn’t have meaningless distractions like that to complicate the final year of his undergraduate. He definitely couldn’t let something like emotions interfere when he started his Master of Architecture next year.
Feelings were exhausting and complicated.
No, he definitely hadn’t fulfilled Wooyoung’s words. Maybe six-months-ago-Yeosang wouldn’t think he was a total loser. Yet.
He tuned out his own thoughts in favour of the demon’s voice as he washed out the dye brush, being careful to not let it stain the white sink.
The underlying knowledge that he was ignoring a simple, awful truth simmered down to a steady thing in the back of his mind, shoved behind boxes of drawings and piles of half constructed buildings.
⛧ ⛧ ⛧
Spring had finally sprung. The ground was thawing, and it was already too warm for more than a layer and half, but to Yeosang it may as well have been summer already. He had the air conditioning set to twenty, but it was making a weird rattling sound every ten minutes.
A knock on his bedroom door startled him out of his half-awake state.
“Hey, I’m gonna go to the supermarket, I’ve already got a list of stuff but is there anything you needed specifically?” Wooyoung yelled through the door. Jongho awoke from his meditation and peered at the source of the noise with interest.
Yeosang stretched his arms up to the headboard, “Mm, I don’t think so. I’ll text you if I think of anything.”
“Ok, does Jongho wanna come this time?”
The demon was already touching his feet to the floor and rummaging through Yeosang’s wardrobe.
“Yeah, he’s getting changed.”
Jongho unclipped his overskirt and just tugged the sweats over his shorts, then picked up a black tank top, glaring at it before begrudgingly pulling it over his head. Yeosang waved at him as he left the room, quietly closing the door behind himself.
The architect’s window was always slightly open, letting in the ambient sounds of a city well into waking up. Cars drove by. Chatter and laughter floated up from the street. The window wasn’t open enough for it to let in cold or hot air, but just so that he could hear the outside world. For a few more minutes, all he did was just lay there and feel the soft bed underneath, breathing deeply. The warmth of his sheets was almost too much.
He definitely had work he needed to do. Ideas to think up, thumbnails to sketch, feedback to read. He was glad he had finally gotten a day off from his job after so long – a whole day to do schoolwork, but that required actually getting out of bed first.
Being human meant you couldn’t be productive every day, he reasoned. He wasn’t a machine. Humans needed rest days if they didn’t want to burn themselves out.
It was so warm, and now he was logic-ing himself out of doing any work. He let his eyes slide shut as he rolled onto his back. The AC shuddered again.
A slow, languid heat was snaking through his body. All his life, he had never really been one to regularly indulge in sexual relief, but now it just seemed like a lot of missed opportunities – it was a warm day, he had nothing else to do, and no one else was home, so why not?
Yeosang sighed as he smoothed his palms over his thighs and belly, rucking up his shirt and shorts. It was weirdly addicting to just feel his own skin. He squeezed his thighs together, rubbing them slightly as he trailed his fingertips up to his chest. The thought of being so shameless as to touch his own nipples made him slip out of the mood for a moment, laughing in embarrassment at himself. Was that something people really did? It seemed so funny and ridiculous to him. Maybe he could work up to doing that seriously.
For now, he just kept going until his shirt was bunched at his collarbones. His other hand rested on the pillow beside his head. That warm buzzing was getting thicker, and he couldn’t help but rub his thighs harder together, hips picking up with the motion intuitively. He kicked the covers off.
Small sighs and noises escaped him as he pressed the bone of his wrist over his shorts, still moving his hips.
Unsurprisingly, this quickly became not enough.
Yeosang stopped for a moment to panic; did he even have any lube? If so, when would he have even bought it? Does lube expire? Surely, he would have lotion or something – he could live with using that, it would be fine.
He reached over to his nightstand and blindly rifled through the second drawer. His fingers closed around something cold and round, so he pulled it out and dropped back to his spot as he read the label on the bottle.
Safe for use on the body! Well, he didn’t know a moisturiser that wasn’t safe for the skin.
It was creamy but cold on his fingers. A brief flash of embarrassment at what he was about to do shot through him, but he powered through it and nudged his pants down enough to get his dick out. The cold lotion proved to actually be nice on his red-hot skin. He whimpered at the feeling.
It had been a while, so he only felt a little bit awkward at the start, but soon the awkwardness was lost to the feeling of his hand. He could even work past the mental barrier of not wanting to be too loud – no one was home, so he allowed himself to be vocal, especially when he tightened his fist on the upstroke.
His eyes shut, chest moving erratically with his panting, which was punctuated by moans and whimpers.
But again, he was only human, and his mind had slipped its leash long ago, so it didn’t take long for the wrong sort of thoughts to start creeping in.
He gripped the side of his pillow as he imagined Jongho being the one jerking him off instead. Biting his lip, he thought about what the demon would look like looming over him, holding him down and having his way. His hips kicked. Would the demon like him to hold onto his horns? Would he leave marks on Yeosang’s neck and stomach, hips and thighs?
Oh, then he really stumbled into dangerous territory – would Jongho use his ability to control Yeosang’s body? He could easily use that power in surely mind-blowing ways. Yeosang moved restlessly as the thoughts and imaginations consumed his mind. He was hurtling towards the most intense orgasm he had ever had, and it was all because of a silly little imp that had barged into his life.
His body locked up, gasping a couple more times before coming into his fist embarrassingly quickly. The white static took over everything, sizzling his senses and leaving him boneless. When Yeosang recovered from the high, he peeled his eyes open and stared at the ceiling, wondering just how much of those thoughts could really be blamed on the heat of the moment. He sighed as he lazily rolled over and got up to shower.
The water was even warmer on his heated skin, and it only made it all worse. After he had finally given in to the horniness, the previously inconspicuous, almost unnoticeable daydreams had turned into full force yearning.
Maybe he did want to wake up to the demon at the end of his bed forever. Maybe he did want to raise a cat with him one day. Maybe he did want to see that gummy smile and hear his gentle voice every day.
Maybe Wooyoung was right.
If Yeosang had to guess, standing in the middle of the bathroom as he held his towel in his wet hands, maybe love was this. If someone were to have asked him to describe love almost a year ago, he would’ve said something stupid like kissing or blushing.
Now, he’d say love was in the way Jongho’s cheeks looked even squishier when he smiled. Love was in the way Jongho calmly stroked his fingers through Yeosang’s hair after a bad day. Love was working through things together and coming out the other end stronger and closer. Love was that feeling that was too big for his body, but also something that fit him like an oversized sweater, snug and reassuring.
The thing that surprised him the most was that it felt easy. This wasn’t complicated – loving Jongho came naturally, a simple truth that sat peacefully in his chest and didn’t work against him.
Misery might catch you on a sunny day under the trees, just like how love might catch you on the floor of your bathroom as you lean against the cold cabinets in an empty apartment.
Yeosang just hoped the demon could find love in him too.
⛧ ⛧ ⛧
Creativity was an elusive, fickle, and frustrating creature. It came to you like an overeager dog one moment, then slipped through your desperate fingers like sand the next. Yeosang groaned into the surface of his desk.
July was the prankster friend hiding behind the door, waiting to jump out and scare him.
Yeosang leaned back and brought his knees up to his chin, chair squeaking under the movement. Realistically, he still had ages to formulate and construct his final piece, but the thought of not having it done early made him want to vomit.
Jongho leaned his forearms on the top of the chair back, “Still feeling blocked?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, “I just don’t like any of these ideas. I mean, I like some aspects of them, but when I try to combine them, I end up hating it. It’s so annoying.”
The demon hummed lowly. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked at the thumbnails and larger sketches littered all over the architect’s desk.
“Would your dreamscape pavilion be something you’d want to see in real life? What if you use some of these ideas with that?” he said simply, and it was such an obvious idea that Yeosang had to smack his own forehead.
The pavilion! He still dreamed occasionally about it, so the image came easily to him as he snatched up a pen and began drawing it.
“Jongho, you’re actually kind of a genius,” he murmured.
The demon giggled, “I’m always a genius. You’re just too stressed to notice it most of the time. Lower your shoulders from your ears, then you might hear me better.”
He ignored the man, opting to lock in and get every new sprout of thought onto the paper as quickly as possible, before they blew away like smoke on the wind.
Yes, it could be something with ancient influences and modern splashes. Polished wood pillars, carved limestone, painted frescoes. Silk screens? Colour!
Jongho smiled softly as he watched the architect. He played with a piece of Yeosang’s hair at the base of his neck, choosing to actually feel it with his fingertips instead of the usual distant way he interacted with the world.
“S’like you don’t even know how smart and creative you are, Yeosangie.” He says it quietly, as if he didn’t intend for the other to hear it, and Yeosang hears it distantly but doesn’t register the words. All Yeosang takes in is the steady, comforting presence that Jongho provided.
⛧ ⛧ ⛧
It’s only a week later when Yeosang’s routine of working, coming home to do university work, and barely eating outside of dinnertime all comes together to manifest into sickness.
There’s an old grocery bag next to him on his bed, stuffed with used tissues. His head feels sluggish and thick, filled with endless fog and tension. His stomach aches from all the coughing he’s been doing.
Jongho’s sitting next to him, frowning as he pats the other’s burning forehead with a cool cloth.
“I feel like shit,” Yeosang groaned for the fiftieth time that night. It was a wonder that Jongho hadn’t taped his mouth shut yet. Wooyoung had diagnosed him with a mild fever and a cold, then strongly instructed him to stay in his room and not spread his sickness, ‘I can’t get sick! I work with food!’ he had screeched. Yeosang just wiggled his illness-ridden fingers at him and laughed.
Fortunately, his job was kind enough to give him as many days off as he needed to recover, which shouldn’t be any more than a few since he prided himself on his solid immune system.
The fever swelled and ebbed. Sometimes he’s lucid and feeling well enough to get up and go for a jog, and other times he’s not sure what was real and what was false memories from half-dreams conjured by the sickness.
It’s these dreams that aren’t quite dreams (because he knows what it looks and feels like to be in a dream now) that frustrated him the most – they were nonsensical and only a few seconds long, scenes that melded with reality, occurring in his room but in a weird version of it. Everything was hazier, less defined. In one of them, he thinks he sees the buildings that he drew popping up in every corner of his room, fully realised and seemingly tangible, if only he could reach his hand out. In others, he thinks he feels the pressure of Jongho’s lips against his forehead, restrained and featherlight, not nearly as hard as he wants it to be. He doesn’t remember if he ended up leaning into it or not.
He does know that he reached out and clasped the demon’s hand, feeling the other intertwine their fingers in response. That was real, because when he opened his eyes, his room looked exactly how it was supposed to. The time displayed on his phone was correct.
Holding Jongho’s hand healed something in him that he wasn’t even aware needed healing. He looked up to his round face, which was twisted in concern, and held back a sigh.
This part must be what made people afraid of love – the uncertainty of wondering whether you were the only one who felt it. Could he really live normally again if Jongho confessed he didn’t like Yeosang in that way, expressed his disgust, or worse, found somewhere else to live, leaving Yeosang scrambling to pick up the broken shards of his soul.
He was definitely being dramatic. Maybe.
It didn’t matter though, not when Jongho was poking Yeosang’s cheek, rearranging his sweaty hair out of his face, and making sure he was eating properly. The demon even ventured out of the house to get medicine for him.
All through it, one constant remained. The AC was still ticking and shuddering every so often.
⛧ ⛧ ⛧
Turns out, you actually shouldn’t ignore when your air conditioner makes funny noises.
The July heat came quickly and unforgivingly. Hot air filled every space and crack of the country it seemed, because both Yeosang and Wooyoung couldn’t even remember what a pleasant temperature felt like anymore.
The AC had died forever a few days ago. They held a short, sweaty funeral for it, after having called an electrician to have a look at it. The electrician had taken it apart and pronounced the little machine dead on the scene. No one wore black, but the pieces of the AC were thrown in a black bag and taken on the back of the electrician’s crusty white pickup truck.
Summer was supposed to be a time where you went to the beach and enjoyed icy treats, not sit in a puddle of your own sweat and tears. Tears that were shed because how on earth could Yeosang do any kind of brain work in this heat! It was ridiculous how fast it came on, kicking spring out and ungraciously taking its place.
Despite the sad day, the world kept turning, and soon the sun had sunken below the horizon. The moon was a thin silver rind in the vast blackness. Too much light pollution made the stars mostly invisible, but that’s just what comes with city living.
Yeosang stared up at his dark ceiling. He had long since started sleeping with nothing over him, just the usual shorts and t-shirt. Jongho was levitating at the end of his bed like always, silently meditating. Before, it had always been a constant, dependable routine that he thought nothing of. Now, though, the vision of the demon at the end of his bed felt akin to having a personal bodyguard, and that thought was unreasonably hot.
He swallowed, feeling a drop of sweat sliding down the side of his neck towards his sheets. Even the pillow had soaked up as much warmth as it could.
Just like last time, it was something about the heat that just got him going. The hot air was just laced with something that made his brain turn into a pile of horny mush. Yeosang bit his lip and subtly rubbed his thighs together slowly.
What would Jongho’s horns feel like? Were they sensitive? He briefly imagined holding onto them while riding the demon. Then his thoughts shifted to what they always do; Yeosang thought about Jongho using his manipulation power. He had to bite his lip hard to stop from whimpering out loud as he thought about the demon just immobilising him as he wrought orgasm after orgasm from his body.
Some sort of noise must have slipped out, because Jongho broke his meditation to look behind him.
“You alright back there?” he asked quietly, voice tinged with concern. He was concerned, and all Yeosang could think about was getting fucked into the mattress by him. The architect couldn’t even scrounge up any embarrassment at that.
He sighed, “S’too hot. Can’t fall asleep.”
Jongho lowered himself to the bed and faced the human. “You want me to put you to sleep?”
A response question appeared at the forefront of Yeosang’s mind in an instant, clawing at his throat to get out. It was a loaded question, something that he might not be able to take back if he asked. But it was a hot night, and his resolve was weak.
“Would you ever use that power for something else?”
Silence. It was too dark to see Jongho’s expression.
“Like what?” he said slowly, and if Yeosang were to let his delusion take over, he could imagine a hopeful undertone to it.
Yeosang swallowed thickly. His dick was already embarrassingly half hard. It was a hot night, and he was feeling shameless. When he had pulled Jongho out of his body, he must have pulled all his inhibitions and sense out with him.
“Like… would you be able to control my whole body? At once?” he knew he sounded suspiciously breathless. There was enough light for him to see the silhouette of the demon, and he saw him look away for a moment. Then he was getting up and switching on the dim lamp that sat on the nightstand.
Jongho stayed there, looking down at Yeosang’s surely pathetic form, “And why would I need to do that, Yeosang?”
He hadn’t actually planned this far, so instead of saying something sexy, he just stretched his arms up to the headboard and arched his back a bit, keeping eye contact.
“Maybe if I’m being a little… bratty?”
Christ. He wanted to vomit and slap himself in the face. What on earth.
Fortunately, Jongho did not burst out laughing at his corny reply.
He just narrowed his eyes and slowly moved to sit next to him on the bed. “You’re always bratty. Should I keep you restrained all the time, then?”
The demon brushed his knuckles against Yeosang’s ankle. The human’s body stayed still, his eyes the only thing he could move. He was definitely fully hard now.
Jongho raked his eyes over the other’s form, then chuckled.
“Maybe next time, if you act bratty enough,” he winked. He released his hold on Yeosang’s body.
Immediately, the architect yanked him forward and kissed him.
As they pulled apart after a few moments, Yeosang breathed against his lips, “Sit against the headboard.”
The demon obediently did just that. He pushed himself over to the pillows at the headboard and leaned back, waiting for the other to move. Yeosang didn’t waste any time; he scrambled onto his lap and fiddled with the clasp of his overskirt, throwing it to the floor and sitting right on the demon’s lap.
He laid his hands on the demon’s chest and kissed him again. This time, it was a messy and desperate dance of tongue and spit. From an outside perspective, he was sure it would’ve looked gross, especially when they just kept going and spit was running from the corner of his mouth. Along with the rhythm of the kiss, he ground his hips down.
They broke apart frequently, briefly, just to gasp or whine from the friction. It was kind of annoying, because the pillow actually didn’t allow Yeosang to be as close to Jongho as he could be – he could only get as close as digging his knees into the softness of it.
He broke the kiss and huffed, “Flip us over.”
Jongho nodded and gripped Yeosang’s hips, which made the human whine. He flipped them over and moved his palms to the backs of Yeosang’s thighs, positioning them more comfortably over his own legs, then dove right back into the kiss again.
Yeosang held the back of his neck, played with his dark hair, all while trying to keep up with the sloppy kiss.
And god he was sweating. They both were. They were both sticky and slick with it, the moment only making the air between them hotter. All it did was turn him on even more.
Jongho slid his hands up Yeosang’s shorts, kneading his thighs. He leaned back a bit and started leaving open, wet kisses on the other’s neck, deft fingers tugging at his waistband.
Yeosang whined and nodded fervently, tangling his fingers in the demon’s hair, “Please.”
He hissed lightly as his shorts were stripped off and thrown somewhere. His shirt came off right after. He laid his hands uselessly beside his head on the pillow.
“Please,” he repeated, tone making it more of a moan than an actual word.
“Patience, I’m getting there, pretty boy.”
Yeosang whined again at his words, almost hiccupping at how hot the simple compliment was. His dick was throbbing.
Jongho leaned over and opened the first drawer, then closed it and opened the second one, making a satisfied little noise. He smiled and cheerfully jiggled the bottle at the man laying under him. Yeosang rolled his eyes and nudged the demon’s hip with his knee.
Just like when he was on his own, the moisturiser was cold, but unlike last time, it was someone else’s hand jerking him off.
“Fuck, faster please? Please.”
Jongho was back to sucking kisses on his skin as he squeezed and rubbed and then swiped his fingers over the tip. Yeosang hoped Wooyoung wouldn’t be inviting him to any pool activities, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bear the relentless teasing he would get from the marks Jongho was leaving.
The demon slowed down, getting more of the cream on his fingers before moving lower.
It was a fortunate thing that Yeosang had conveniently decided to skip dinner than night, and that he had been drinking plenty of water lately.
It was, however, an unfortunate thing that he had only tried fingering himself twice before, and it hadn’t been very good. He hoped Jongho knew what he was doing.
The demon circled his fingers for a slow moment.
“Wait, not yet hold on.” Jongho looked up in confusion and concern, wondering if he had done something wrong. Yeosang smiled and patted his sweaty hair, then fumbled for his phone and tapped onto his sex playlist.
Well, it wasn’t made for sex, but he figured slow, raunchy sounding music was good enough.
“Okay, keep going.”
Jongho huffed a laugh and dipped his forehead to Yeosang’s stomach.
Yeosang’s smile got wider, “What? It’s to set the mood.”
Jongho’s shoulders shook with a giggle, “No, no, it’s–”
“It’s what?” Yeosang demanded, laughing a bit now too.
The demon giggled harder, rolling his head to the side and smiling up at the other. “It’s good. Now stop saying words and go back to making those cute noises from before.”
Yeosang scoffed lightly.
That scoff immediately devolved into a whimper as Jongho slid one finger in slowly, moving carefully and watching the human’s face for any sign of pain. This was the unsexy part – going through the motions of stretching his ass enough for the fun part. Jongho kept an eye on the other, but otherwise resumed the distracting kisses and the warm hand sliding over his dick as one finger turned into two, then three.
It was going agonisingly slow. Sweat rolled down the edges of his body. Sweat dripped from Jongho’s hair and landed on his tummy. The music flowed softly from the little speaker on the nightstand. He knew Wooyoung was a deep sleeper, but he was still kind of anxious about being too loud. Next time, he wanted to do this by candlelight.
Jongho slipped his fingers out and moved up to capture Yeosang’s lips in a delicate kiss, smiling as he pressed one more to his cheek and sat up to get his own shorts off.
The architect felt close to bursting already. His chest heaved, barely getting any breath from the thick, muggy air.
“Not to sound impatient, slutty, or desperate, but could you please hurry up and fuck me?” He brought his knees closer to his chest.
Jongho finally got his pants off and raised a brow at Yeosang’s words. “Who knew you’d be so needy,” he teased, skating his nails up and down the other’s thighs. “Thought you were a nerd who only cared about drawing. Where’d that Yeosang go?”
“Who cares? Hurry up.”
“Now you just sound like Wooyoung when someone else is using the tv.”
“Stop talking about our roommate when we’re about to have sex!”
The demon burst into giggles again, but nonetheless positioned himself between Yeosang’s legs, slicking himself up with more moisturiser. They would really need to just suck it up and buy actual lube after this, because there was no way he would be doing this with lotion like a teenager and his hand again.
The mood was quickly brought back as Jongho slowly slid himself in.
Yeosang supposed they wouldn’t need a condom – Jongho had already sort of alluded to demon biology being a lot more different to humans. It had been a little awkward at the time when he had insinuated that demons don’t really get those types of diseases, but now he was grateful for the knowledge.
Any wandering thoughts were swiftly blotted out by pleasure as the demon started to move. His strong hands were gripping Yeosang’s hips again, hopefully leaving bruises, as he set a merciful pace. Yeosang held onto his shoulders.
“Shit – what the fuck,” Jongho panted, “stop – fuck! – stop squeezing like that, it’ll be too embarrassing if I come really quickly.”
Yeosang could barely hear him over his own moaning and the slide of sticky, sweaty skin. Jongho was going faster, making sweet little noises in his ear, occasionally pressing a kiss to his neck. The bed wasn’t squeaking, but he was fucking the architect hard enough now that he was almost hitting the headboard. Jongho saw this and stopped for second to move back and yank Yeosang down again, then resumed.
The demon peeled one of Yeosang’s hands off his shoulders and brought it down to his abdomen, pressing his hand over the other’s, making him feel the movement inside. Yeosang arched his back a little and tightened his legs around the demon’s hips. He was getting close, the muscles in his body were locking up.
Only tiny, punched out and breathless noises left his mouth as he thrashed uncontrollably. Jongho’s rhythm had gone sloppy and stuttered as he heard Yeosang’s whimpers go up in pitch and urgency. He pulled back slightly to see the other’s face scrunch up as he came all over his own stomach, back arching even more, nails digging into Jongho’s back.
Jongho followed soon after, hips jerking a few more times as he rode out the orgasm.
The night was silent again, save for the quiet stream of music that had been quickly forgotten.
The demon held himself up on his forearms, panting into Yeosang’s chest.
“Mm, fuck I’m tired. That was insane though. You’re insane,” the architect huffed from his dry throat, “Insane in a really good way. I don’t think I can move.”
Jongho laughed again and looked up.
They just gazed at each other then, basking in the afterglow. Yeosang carefully moved one hand to cup the other’s cheek, poking his thumb into it.
“As beautiful and romantic as this is, Sangie, I’m so fucking sweaty right now and you need a shower.”
Then it was the human’s turn to laugh.
After a tall glass of cool water, some food, and a good scrub down, they were back in bed. This time, Jongho didn’t go back to meditating. He laid next to the human, facing him as they just looked at each other again.
Jongho broke the silence, “Remember when you talked about taking me to see all the modern human stuff like cafés and movie theatres? I wanna do that with you.”
A slow smile stretched over Yeosang’s face, “And get a cat together?”
“Of course.”
And it was easy. He wasn’t sure what all the previous fuss was about. Love wasn’t complicated or exhausting; love was easy and comforting.
He couldn’t believe how he had lived so long without it.
He definitely couldn’t go back now that he was surrounded in it.
⛧ ⛧ ⛧
Yeosang stretched his arms out and breathed deeply.
There were still boxes waiting to be unpacked everywhere, but he just wanted to be still for a moment.
“Hey, I just off the phone with Woo, he says hi and that he’s out with San right now, so he’ll call back later.” The demon curled his arms around his lover, leaning his cheek on his shoulder.
Yeosang shook his head, “Fake friends. Can’t believe that kid.”
The demon lightly pinched the other’s sides, spinning him around and kissing him. Yeosang lopped his arms over Jongho’s shoulders.
“Love you,” he murmured, rubbing the tip of his nose against the demon’s
“Love you too,” Jongho replied, before pulling him into another kiss.
How time flew when life becomes bigger than your next assignment, bigger than university.
How time flew when you had someone to share your soul with.