Archive of Our Own ^beta

The music was loud, the bass pumping in time with Minho’s nervous heartbeat, shaking every atom in his body and poking at his already frazzled nerves. The bodies around him were sweaty, reeking of perfume, sex, alcohol, and undiluted lust. Their eyes were dazed, pupils blown wide, and lips bitten raw, puncture wounds decorating their throats and wrists.

For some, it was drugs or vampire venom rushing through their system that made them wild and euphoric, but for others, it was something much more dangerous, something much more lethal.

Minho walked through the crowd toward the back of the club, where his true goal was hiding behind this pathetic facade meant to lure unknowing mortals into the ravenous grasps of demons and those who were worse . The further he got, the more eyes he felt weighed down on his shoulders, hungry and savage, and few of them belonging to humans. Minho didn’t shiver, didn’t even blink as he kept moving, slipping past the glamor that kept the hunters concealed from the prey. 

He inclined his head at the guard by the door and slipped beyond the human realm and into the limbo between earth and hell, the word of demons, their wicked descendant, and people like Minho who had no place to truly call his home, being neither fully human, angel, or demon. 

Since the very first time Minho had ventured a bit too close to the border between the mundane and the occult, he knew he was made to be hunted and that his neck would be the one a monster sank its teeth into. A vampire, a werewolf, a demon, anything really had the strength to overpower him. 

After all, he had the appearance of a soft, fragile, and squishy human. Under the surface, the power of his blood was weak and pliant, only there to make him a sweeter meal, the true potential of his birthright too far out of his reach to keep him safe. He wasn’t a danger at all, and even the angelic blood running through his veins could do nothing to keep the paranormal at bay. 

Per God’s decree, no child of an angel should have a home, and no Nephilim should ever live in peace, and because of that Minho had been forced to wander, his life like Purgatory on Earth. Minho had no choice but to accept it. He was destined for a life on the edge of humanity, with endless potential but very few ethical ways to achieve it. 

So, instead of running from it, Minho had embraced it all. He rejected his angelic ancestry and turned instead to the other side, becoming one with the dark underworld, corrupting his sweet, heavenly blood and letting the demonic energy seep into him and become one with his core. 

At first, it was for the sake of protection. Most creatures thought twice about sinking their teeth into anything beating even the slightest hint of a mark of Hell. The demonic energy he was fed was borrowed stripes of danger like a milk snake borrowing the colors of the coral snake. Minho used the demotic aura lingering in his blood to hide, to make himself faster, and stronger, his angelic blood changing and evolving alongside Minho’s soul growing more and more corrupted by the touch of a demon.  

Magic, as it would seem, was the side effect of letting himself slip too far into a world that wasn’t his own, but Minho seldom saw it as such. It had been subtle once, a few weak sparks to chase demonic pests away, and eventually Minho learned to harness it better and it hadn’t taken him long to realize that the more demonic energy he bathed in, the stronger he got.

And Minho craved to be the strongest.  

It was his magic that had drawn Chan to him the first time and it was the angelic blood that kept him coming back for more. As Chan feasted on Minho, Minho feasted on him, Chan’s demonic energy sinking into Minho’s blood making him more powerful after every meeting. 

Now Minho was stronger than any other mortal witch. 

He took his hat off the moment he entered the demonic club, whisking it away into the hollow on his ring alongside all of the other things he carried around with him. He did the same with his long jacket after he shrugged it off, not trusting a single person here to not nick his things if he gave it to one of the many pixies offering to bring it to the coatroom. 

He had learned from his first couple of mistakes when visiting an establishment like this one that if he assumed everyone was there on their good behavior when he wasn’t then he deserved to get robbed. Trust was earned, and deceit was to be expected. Demon worked for no one but themselves - just like Minho. The naivety was quickly forced out of him, right alongside his nervous ticks like the twitch of his fingers whenever a demon walked past him, the pitch-black eyes the only thing that gave away the fact that they weren’t human. 

Minho looked like he fit in, his black hair styled and brushed out of his face, his sharp and slightly otherworldly eyes that always unnerved humans on full display, without his fringe to hide behind. 

Something about being unable to hide or even obscure some parts of his vision made Minho feel both vulnerable and stronger than even the worst devil, but it was such a simple thing that he barely wanted to acknowledge it. 

Eyes, the gateway to the soul, were the only proof of Minho’s angelic heritage. His pupils were wide, the irises an iridescent gray that resembled platinum. Humans always stared at them, and demons always hungered for them, so it had been better to hide them behind his hair, but Minho was no longer afraid. 

He could protect himself and he wore his Nephilim eyes with pride. 

Minho was well aware that Chan preferred him with his hair free and messy, perhaps even clinging to his forehead and damp with sweat, but Minho was the one who was in control between them. Chan took what he was given and nothing more, even if he once thought he could force Minho to become a submissive wreck in front of him. 

If Minho had spent hours styling his hair, well, Chan would surely see how little power he truly had over Minho. 

Minho walked through the bar, shoulder out and head held high. He felt the hungry eyes of demons on him, but he was no longer scared of neither the monstrous ones nor the ones who looked like humans. 

The music from the human facade was muted back here, making it quiet enough for conversation but hard to eavesdrop. The room was darker, bathed in red light, and filled with dangerous dark corners. A few humans lingered, some high and delirious as vampires drank from their necks, others undressed and with pupils blown wide while incubuses feasted on their lust. 

Only unlucky souls or idiots ended up here, fewer returned. Minho was the only Nephilim, but he wasn’t the only witch, a few hats poking from the maze of tables. This was the place of outcasts, of the ones longing for more than the human world could suffice, and those who fed on the precious human souls. 

Here you could get everything you wanted - as long as you were willing to pay the right price. 

With the kind of elegance that was built through practice, Minho slipped through the crowd, his lungs filling with fragrant smoke and the sweet soft scent of demonic energy. A few hands reached out towards Minho, but his magic struck at the few who were foolish enough to ignore Chan’s aura clinging to Minho. 

Here, Minho was a regular, a familiar face with a claimed body. 

“Oh, how the tables have turned, Lee Minho,” a sultry voice spoke his thoughts for him and Minho tried not to flinch, but even the minuscule wince he ended up making was caught by Hyunjin’s ever- attentive eyes. 

The vampire smiled, sharp fangs on display, and Minho inclined his head, thankful for the dim and red lighting so he didn’t have to think about if Hyunjin’s lips were glistening from fresh blood or gloss. 

“And here I thought we’d seen the last of you,” Hyunjin grinned, leaning against a pillar. He was beautiful like most of his kind, deadly and pretty, but he lacked the darkness Minho so craved from Chan. “I was so sure you wouldn’t come back with how you ran out of here the last time,” he said knowingly, smirking as he stared at Minho’s throat, no doubt hearing how Minho’s heart sped up.

He hadn’t thought he would be back, had thought he could quit Chan cold turkey, but like humans chasing white lines, Minho craved more. In the end, his body’s desperate longing had been too much and Minho sent Chan a note. 

Like all the times before Minho had sworn this would be the last time. The lie was as sweet as it had always been. 

“Sadly I am not done doing business here,” Minho answered, taking a swift step back when Hyunjin leaned into his space, the smile on his face only widening. “Not that what I have to do with Chan is any of your business,” he added hauntingly. 

This time, instead of moving away, Minho stood his ground, hoping his face remained emotionless even as the vampire continued to grin at him like he knew every single secret in the entire universe. He probably did, the gumiho he kept as his sidepiece sly enough to eavesdrop on all the conversations that were had in the crimson shadows in the club.

Minho didn’t have to see Jeongin to know he was there, hiding in the corners and chasing his own prey while Hyunjin filled his stomach. 

“Hmm, it’s funny because as far I can remember, you said that you had gotten what you wanted from him and yet you’re here again, prim and proper and probably already prepped,” Hyunjin said, eyes flickering down Minho’s body and up again, inhaling deeply and clicking his tongue. “Always so proud yet so needy and ready,” he whispered against Minho’s ear. “You’re a whore, Lee Minho, a whore who’ll let himself get fucked by an incubus willingly.”

Minho bit back the shudder threatening to go through him, but didn’t deny Hyunjin’s words.

“You should stop lying to yourself, little Nephilim,” Hyunjin continued, his voice sweet like honey. “You’re only making it worse for yourself. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look like murder when others seek Chan out. You want him, you need him, so stop playing and make it so no one can take him from you. Jealousy is unbecoming for a Nephilim… and what do you need your soul for anyway? With Chan you would be immortal,” he said, pulling away and staring directly into Minho’s soul. “You want him as much as he wants you, witch, so stop making excuses and bind him to you,” he added, eyes hard as steel as he stared at Minho, a hint of warning in his voice. 

Binding a demon to himself would mean selling his soul, handing over the only part of Minho that had been his, the only part of him not even God could take from him and Minho wasn’t particularly interested in that. Sure, it would ensure that Chan would only have him to feed from, every other person tasting like ash on his tongue. An angelic soul was rare, even as tarnished and cursed as Minho’s Nephilim one was, and Chan would care for it, he would belong to Minho as much as Minho would belong to him.

But for Minho love was dangerous, as dangerous as it was impossible for Chan. Minho could sell his soul, ensuring Chan could only sate his hunger in Minho’s flesh, but it would trap them both for all eternity because, without his human soul, Minho could not die until Chan wished it and couldn’t escape the demonic world.

Without his human soul, Minho would be nothing more than another fallen angel. 

“Did he ask for it?” Minho asked through clenched teeth, his heart beating heavily in his chest. Hyunjin hadn’t been wrong about his assumptions. Minho wasn’t a patient man when he was in the same room as lust incarnated. “Has he talked about my soul?” He added, almost furious that Chan dared talk about them to others, but also curious about what Chan had said. 

Minho had cut the incubus off, keeping him away as he tried to live through the withdrawals until he succumbed to temptation. They didn’t talk between Minho’s visits. It was a rule Minho himself had insisted upon, one he had ended up hating with every fiber of his being. 

“He didn’t have to,” Hyunjin purred and stepped away from him, gesturing to the back of the large room, the smoke only growing denser in that direction. 

Minho swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and when he looked down a wine glass had been pushed into his hands by Hyunjin , red liquid sloshing around inside. Blood, wine, both perhaps. 

“He’s waiting in your usual room,” Hyunjin said, his beautiful smile vicious. “Treat him to something nice. He’s starved himself for you. Oh, how others have begged for his attention now you were finally gone, but Chan did not eat, he did not take what he could. He would rather suffer than risk you. There is nothing he would not do for you, Lee Minho.”

He was forced to take a stumbling step forward, the sound of Hyunjin’s laughter the only thing remaining of him when Minho glared over his shoulder. 

“Have fun, little one,” Hyunjin called after him, making a few look up and stare at them. “I can’t wait to see what tonight will bring,” he added, his laughter haunting Minho as he hurried toward the back, towards the true purpose of this place hidden on the edge of the realms. 

Hyunjin’s words had unsettled him, a las, nothing could keep him from getting to where Chan was hiding, not even wanting to snap back at Hyunjin for pushing him. He stared at the wine, knowing better than to drink it. He placed it on a table and made his way to the golden doors leading down to the below.  

There was only one thing that could make Minho return to a place like this, the smoke heavy and the lighting red from the covered lamps, the air full of all sorts of things any mortal shouldn’t inhale and dark eyes in every corner. It was dangerous, it was heavy and ironically it felt more like home than any other place Minho had tried to settle. 

Minho breathed in deeply, tasting the sweetness of his tongue, and rolled his shoulders, anticipation and need traveling through his body. He ignored the eyes clinging to him from around the room as he made his way through the crowd. 

The noise grew louder the further he got from the entrance, conversation slipping into moans and howls, the hands reaching for him also getting riskier, caressing his arms and silently asking for permission, coyly trying to steal him away despite Chan’s claim clinging to his skin even after weeks of separation. They wanted him, his body, his soul, his powers . 

All things he would never give no matter how much they asked. 

Even though he hadn’t sold his soul, Minho still saw himself as being something only Chan could defile in the darkness of the night. They had made no promises to each other, yet he wanted it to remain Chan’s in any way he could for as long as he could. They were nothing except an agreement, a mutual understanding, or so they had been until Minho had grown greedy. Their arrangement should have been over ages ago, Minho more than powerful enough to take care of himself from hours of soaking up Chan’s demonic energy, but he had wanted more. 

He had wanted Chan despite knowing it was dangerous. 

Regardless of how he had sworn Chan off the last time they saw each other, there was just one downside he hadn’t thought much about when he had bumped into Chan in the very bar, lured in by his dark eyes and dimpled smile. 

One stupid mistake.

The touch of an incubus was addictive. Once you had gotten a taste, it was impossible to not return for more, more, more, until you were nothing but a plaything in their hands. Once you tasted pleasure with them, nothing else would compare, nothing else would ever feel as heavenly. 

Minho didn’t intend to become a plaything, never expected to become addicted, but he couldn’t deny the heightened sensation of the plug nestled in him the closer he got the the room Chan had gotten for them their first time together. The promise of getting the real thing inside of him soon forced him to swallow down a moan as he slipped through the golden doors and down to the heart of the place.

He kept his steps careful down the short flight of stairs, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from panting, the heady scent in the air forcing Minho to plant a hand against the wall. The place smelled of lust, incense, and candles burning, filling the hallway with magic. He was already lightheaded and walking straight wasn’t exactly easy when he was so pumped on the arousal flowing in his veins, his entire being begging for the sinfully sweet touch of the incubus.

The magic in the air did not help, Chan being far from the only incubus hiding down here among the vampires and the other demons. The hallway was full of people coming and going from the rooms, some dressed, others not. Minho didn’t blink an eye, too used to the freedom and carelessness of the demons to think about human shame. Some of the doors were left ajar, proudly showing off the actions of their inhabitants - and inviting anyone willing to join - while others were shut tightly. 

Minho didn’t look at anything, but the door at the end of the hall, the sounds of skin against skin, of moans and whimpers, barely making him react. What everyone else was doing had nothing to do with him and considering the amount of times he had been by, Minho was well aware of what the main reason for showing up here was. 

His skin was prickling, the plug keeping him open and ready doing nothing but keeping him on edge. He was shivering with need, blind with the need to feel Chan again, to be stretched open and torn apart only for Chan to put him back together with his gentle touch. 

Truthfully, Minho had been terrified the first time, but Seungmin had sworn that this was the only place where a weak and battered incubus would seek out in desperation. The weaker the better because Minho would never have won over Chan if he had been recently fed, would never have been able to overpower him if he hadn’t been weak to begin with, and Chan would never have accepted a deal so favorable for Minho if he had not been starving, willing to agree to anything as long as Minho had allowed his hands to slip down his pants. 

Minho wondered what state Chan would be in this time. 

Hopefully not too vigorous despite their long separation. 

The metal of the doorknob was unnaturally chill against his skin. It should have concerned him more, a sign of Chan’s mood, but Minho was dying to have someone else’s hands against his skin, dying to feel the high of getting lost in Chan’s body, the incubus drawing pleasure like no other from Minho’s body.

His clothing felt tight and restrictive as he opened the door. E ven the soft blazer he had thrown over the thin and flimsy fishnet shirt did nothing but irritate his skin and Minho wanted it off sooner rather than later. He needed to be naked, to be free and lose himself for a brief moment in Chan’s addictive euphoria. 

By God, Chan was like a drug, crafted especially for Minho. His own personal brand of heroin. 

He disregarded the part of him that yelled in alarm at the waves of angry demotic energy that emitted from the room when he drew open the door eagerly , prying inside with unseeing eyes and yanking it open fully.

“Finally,” Chan growled from within the deep. 

Minho’s breath hitched, his knees threatening to buckle under him, all of it due to the sweet and gravelly voice that lured him inside like a siren’s song. His lips parted and Minho stepped inside fully, the door sliding shut behind him with a loud thud, but Minho didn’t flinch or give a hint that he had heard the sound. 

No, he was too busy staring at Chan sitting by the foot of the bed, legs crossed and the buttons of his jacket popped open, his chest on full display.

Chan was beautiful, but to use such an inadequate word was a dishonor to him. He was more than just merely beautiful. He wasn’t like a vampire with beauty immortalized in a perfect hunter, a pretty lure to capture your attention, no, Chan was captivating in the same way sharks were terrifyingly quick and vicious, the way tigers were when they stalked their prey slow and patient, and how snakes shone brightly before they would strike, delivering a killing bite. 

Chan was beautiful in the same way thunder shook the earth and created symphonies, the same way water tumbled wildly and viciously through mountains, and lightning pierced the skies, slamming in the ground like deadly spears. He was nature, evil and rough, but also merciful, killing trees to let the forest floor bloom, soaking desserts, and bringing life back from death.

He was death, he was life, he was… everything. 

Chan’s skin was colored red from the lighting and Minho almost wanted to activate his magic and eradicate the spell that hid the true color of Chan from him, but at the same time, he knew that it was there to keep him safe. The red light was a veil, keeping them in this realm, keeping both their power subdued. Minho breathed in, the ancient magic bitter on his tongue, hungry for the scent of Chan’s naked skin. 

In this room, Chan couldn’t take more than what was given. 

In this room, Minho could discard his humanity. 

Everything was to keep him safe, to lower the risk of him losing himself fully to the incubus he was to meet, and it had usually worked. Minho took what he wanted and Chan sat there and allowed himself to get used to it, feeding on the sexual energy from Minho while being restrained and unable to take anything for himself. 

Minho usually would find Chan already tied to the bed, ready like a white line on a mirror. Laid out for Minho to consume, to corrupt him and blind him, to fill Minho’s blood with ecstasy and bring him a high like no other. 

Contrary to the terms of their agreement, Chan wasn’t restrained like he should be, nor did it feel like he intended to be. The air was crackling with power, Minho’s skin pricking as it slid over him. He supposed he should have been afraid, but he could only shiver, Chan’s presence enough to make his blood heat, a soft taste of what was to come. 

“You’re late,” Chan noted after the moment of Minho’s stupor-induced silence had stretched on for far too long. “Didn’t I tell you to arrive on time?” He asked, his voice tight and his dark eyes trained on Minho, the power in the room crackling along with his words. 

“Hyunjin held me up,” Minho quickly sputtered, staying frozen by the door as if he were waiting for Chan to permit him to move. He shouldn’t be and yet when he tried to move his foot, it didn’t listen to him, Chan’s gaze resting so heavily on him that he couldn’t move an inch. 

“Hyunjin doesn’t speak that much,” Chan said, his voice taking on an amused tint, and he leaned back, his jacket parting and revealing more of his toned chest. Minho swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes to remain locked with Chan’s, the odd-eyed stare seeming much more pronounced now than it usually did, one white iris and one black. Not for the first time Minho wanted the red light to disappear, for him to finally see Chan’s eyes fully, his soul be damned. “And even if he did, it wouldn’t explain being almost an hour late, Minho, so what is your excuse for that?”

“My excuse? I don’t owe you being here on time,” Minho snapped, but the bite in his voice was softer than it usually would have been. It sounded almost pathetic, ending on a note of uncertainty as if Minho wasn’t fully convinced of what he was saying. Did he owe Chan anything?

He didn’t know, but Chan was right. He was late and it wasn’t because of Hyunjin.

Minho had been hovering outside in the club, sipping human cocktails that tasted of ash - like everything had begun to taste like when Minho stayed away from Chan for too long - trying to convince himself to go home, to be stronger and not give into his addiction. Minho as it was, had failed, the lure and promise of Chan’s touch too much for him to resist.

To admit to it felt like defeat, so Minho bit his tongue, swallowing the words back down. He was here to get what he wanted, to feed his needs and calm his body, once Chan’s touch had nursed his addiction, Minho would go home and he would promise himself it was the last time. 

Like he had done every night before.  

“You don’t owe me ?” Chan asked, tilting his head to the side in what Minho couldn’t decide was confusion or simply a mocking imitation of it. “Why, Minho, I happen to disagree with that,” he said, pushing up from the bed and shortening the distance between them until he was standing right in front of Minho, a smile playing on his plush and tantalizing lips . Minho wanted to kiss him, to drink pleasure right from his mouth, and soothe the painful thirst in his throat. “Weren’t you the one who told me something last time? Something sweet, tender, and, how do I put this, loving ?” 

Minho blinked rapidly at the incubus before him , trying and failing to keep his breathing under control. Chan was standing so close to him, the strong and earthy scent of cedarwood mixing complementary with the rich and sharpness of jasmine. 

Under it, Minho could pick up on notes of vanilla, the sweetness on his tongue addictive in ways it never had before. 

It was only there because of the way they had shared energy, Chan feeding off Minho’s sexual energy while Minho stole parts of Chan’s pure demotic force. They had taken parts of each other, arranging an exchange in the most unsafe of ways, unprotected and for hours on end. 

It had been terrifying, exhilarating, and addicting. 

Minho had never felt pleasure like he had when he was above Chan when he fed the demon his lust, his desire, and rapture. In turn, Minho drowned in Chan’s demonic powers, drank up his excess, and swallowed it down like fine wine, allowing it to change him from within, mingling with his angelic blood. From their very first time together, Minho knew he had changed, had known Chan would be the end of him, but he had kept coming back, his powers evolving, changing, lifting him above all other Nephilim and Minho had never been happier. 

He had finally felt safe. 

But with his cursed soul, it couldn’t last. Nothing good in Minho’s life ever could. Such was the wrath of God, such was the curse he placed on the offspring of his angels. There was no place Minho would be able to call home, not for long at least, there was no place he would belong, no place he would ever be welcome. 

Minho knew he would have to move on and leave Chan behind one day, but he had been foolish, too intoxicated by pleasure, and he hadn’t realized what he was doing, He lost himself in their secret world inside the scarlet room, two colliding stars blasphemously creating whole universes between them, and Minho had messed up. 

The last time they had met, Minho had crossed a line he should have been clever enough to stay behind.

“I didn’t mean it,” Minho said quietly, his eyes fluttering closed so he didn’t have to see the victorious look on Chan’s face when he leaned into the soft caress of his hand on his cheek. In front of Chan, Minho had always been weak. “It was an accident. A slip of the tongue, ” he lied, trying to burn the feeling of Chan’s warm and soft skin into his mind so he could carry it with him when he had to leave. 

He was already pushing it. This city was the one he had stayed in the longest. He would have to get going soon before chaos caught up to him and ruined the small semblance of normality he had been able to craft outside God’s sharp gaze.

“Accidents don’t happen to witches of your caliber, Minho, nor do Nephilim lie, ” Chan mercilessly reminded him, stroking the pad of his thumb over the apple of Minho’s cheek. “And you forget that you’re a terrible liar, even among your kind, you’re horrible. It’s adorable when you try, but it’s atrocious, really, ” he whispered, his breath fanning over Minho’s face, sending a shiver down his spine. “You and your Nephilim kin aren’t equipped to deal with those of us stemming from Hell. You’re too kind, too innocent, too sweet,” he continued, his arms sneaking around Minho so he could pull him into his chest, embracing him tenderly like he was his beloved. As if Minho was more than a willing and fulfilling meal. “Too tempting for someone who has only known shameless indulgence.”  

“I didn’t mean to say it,” Minho murmured, fighting the instinct that begged him to feel the taut skin of Chan’s stomach that was within his reach. He was so close, everything Minho had ever wanted, rolled up in one demonic creature. “It just slipped out.”

“Hmm, but you meant it,” Chan said, disregarding Minho’s feeble lies. His fingers ran through Minho’s hair, undoing the work of Minho’s spell in a matter of seconds and making the strands fall over his face in messy streaks. “It’s a dangerous thing, you know, to love someone like me, to love a demon who feasts upon your deepest and most sinful desires, don’t you think? It’s an even more dangerous thing to tell me such a thing,” he added in a dark whisper, his breath like a teasing kiss against Minho’s flushed skin. “I know all of your desires, Minho, all your wishes, all you lust and yearn for. I know you.”

Minho didn’t have a single word to say in his defense anymore so he stayed quiet, letting himself be held in Chan’s arms and pretending he wasn’t an incubus with the ability to kill him if he wanted. Minho might be strong, but unrestrained, Chan would always be stronger. 

Maybe Minho wouldn’t even be able to fight him. Maybe he didn’t want to. 

“It’s rude to be late regardless of what your excuse might be,” Chan said, his hand like fire down his spine as he petted him, drawing Minho close to his chest without even forcing him to move. Minho did all that on his own. “You should apologize,” he urged him, words pressed into the sensitive skin of Minho’s throat.

“But I’m not sorry,” Minho replied with a smile, laughing a bit at how stupid he had been to let his grandiose ideas about himself and his capabilities lure him into thinking he could ever take on a demon, that he could ever quit Chan, that coming back here had been a good idea. 

Minho was a fool. 

“I did it on purpose. Waited outside for an hour before going inside,” he admitted, his breath hitching when Chan’s hand froze on his back, the soothing caress turning cold. “I wanted you to be weeping for me by the time I arrived. Tied to the bed and straining for me, desperate and begging for so I could take what I needed and then leave. I wanted you to go insane for me, driven completely deranged by me. And only me.”

Resembling how Minho was lost for Chan, only for Chan, an echo of each other’s mania.

“How did it go?” Chan asked darkly, the allurement in his voice sending a shudder through Minho, his head lolling to the side and baring his throat fully for the incubus. 

Silly mistake. One of many Minho had made since getting to know Chan.

Chan’s lips were warm against his pulse point when he finally pressed closer, the drag of his tongue over Minho’s feverish skin satisfying in a way it never had been before, salvation and damnation in one heated touch. His body was overly responsive to Chan’s touch and he slumped against Chan, fully at his mercy. 

“Did you succeed in making a crazed beast out of me?” Chan asked, voice teasing as he kissed the words onto Minho’s heated skin.

“I think I might have become the one who lost his senses,” Minho admitted breathlessly, his eyes fluttering open. His body was nothing but a sack of bones in Chan’s strong embrace, soft clay for Chan’s creations. “You have consumed me, Chan,” he breathed, body trembling, and the hand not holding Minho’s face found anchor on his hip, the tips of Chan’s fingers sliding through the many gaps in his fishnet shirt, the contact burning into Minho’s skin and branding his defenseless soul for eternity. 

Chan continued to litter small kisses down his throat, biting into the tender skin, teeth sharp and punishing as he tasted Minho on his tongue, all the while making sure Minho stayed under the static haze Chan’s powers had put him under. 

Surely, all of this was Chan’s doing and not just Minho permitting himself to be toyed with. 

Surely.

“Are you certain that’s the case?” Chan asked with a low chuckle, holding Minho with a sense of reverence, of adoration as if Minho hadn’t admitted he wanted to use Chan for his own pleasure and give nothing in return. Perhaps Minho wasn’t just another conquest, another meal to satisfy the demon’s endless hunger. “Maybe we’re both insane,” he said into his skin, like a secret, like a promise. 

“And what makes you say that?” Minho countered, a small noise of complaint leaving him when Chan’s lips left his throat and he pulled away far enough to look at Minho. His hand stayed on Minho’s face, the tips of his fingers feeling the softness of his cheek and the plushness of his lips. 

Chan’s thumb ran over his bottom lip, the look in his eyes only becoming more focused when Minho parted his lips slightly , granting him permission to push his finger inside if he wanted to.

Predictably, Chan didn’t waste a single moment and watched transfixed on where his finger disappeared into Minho’s mouth, slipping through the weak seal of his lips and pressing against his wet tongue. He tutted at Minho when closed his lips around it, a soft order for Minho to behave . Immediately Minho opened up again, jaw relaxing and he went pliant under Chan. He smiled, the sharp canines peeking out, a small hum of appreciation reverberating between them where their chests were pressed close, his hand twitching around Minho’s hips. 

“I think you succeeded in a way, Minho,” Chan said, slowly retracting his finger and wiping Minho’s saliva over his lips and down his chin, looking overly proud of the effect he had on Minho. “I don’t recall ever having someone in front of me who I wanted to ruin more. The only question is if you’ll let me?” He asked, his smile growing wider. 

Minho trembled in his hold, longing for more of Chan’s touch, aching to be filled and torn apart from within. Each need clouded his mind and made his knees feel weak.

He feared that if Chan hadn’t held onto him, he would already have slid to his knees in worship. 

“Do I have a choice?” Minho asked, his voice hoarse from desire and lust. “I don’t think I have.”

“You always have a choice, Minho,” Chan said, taking his thumb into his mouth and smirking at Minho around it. Minho imagined his lips wrapped around something else. “ God might have been cruel to your kind, but free will is the inheritance from your human parent. T he problem is that you’ve already answered that question the first time you ventured in here and offered yourself to me. You could still have said no, could have walked away and left me behind, but not anymore. Not when denying this means losing yourself and the thing you can’t cease fantasizing about. You had the opportunity to run all the way up until you uttered those pretty three words,” he said, teeth sharp as he smiled at Minho, his thumb heavy against Minho’s bottom lip. 

The caress was like fire and stole Minho's breath away.

“I was ready to let you go, to let you slip out between my fingers, but now…” Chan trailed off and shook his head in faux sympathy. “Now you can no longer leave me. You’re mine, sweetheart.”

Minho blinked at him, slowly piecing together the clues he had been given. His eyes widened when he realized what Chan was implying. 

“You said you’d never sell your soul, but, Minho, you already have,” Chan said, head tilting to the side as he studied Minho, mismatched eyes filled with greed and hunger. 

His magic reacted before he did, springing to life and pushing Chan backwards. Smoke filled the room, Chan’s powers burning under the touch of Minho’s magic, sparks flying and Chan lost his balance and fell backwards, grunting when his back collided with the bed . His knees buckled when he collide with the end of the bed and lost his balance, bouncing along with the mattress. 

His heterochromatic eyes found Minho’s in a split second, but before he could stand up and reciprocate the favor, the restraints at the end of the bed meant for his feet moved, strapping Chan to the bed like he had been so many times before.

Minho panted harshly, staring down wide eyed at Chan. 

Chan, whose wrists were tied to the bed, and who was just sitting there, his cock already hard between his legs, the tightness of his slacks hiding nothing from Minho.

“I-” Minho tried, but his eyes were trained on Chan’s crotch, his clothes too tight and too hot and too much for him. His mouth watered and suddenly he felt so empty, the plug nestled within him a laughable mockery of what Minho had been longing after for weeks. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Minho had already thrown his jacket on the ground and was roughly pulling off his fishnet shirt, leaving it on the floor before he got to work unbutton his pants, hands shaking with urgency to get them off. He almost tore the fabric apart, but he quickly got them undone. He fought to keep himself somewhat in control but it was difficult to do so when Chan was just sitting there, staring at him with his heterochromatic eyes, hands limp in the restraints and his gaze starving.

Chan cocked his foot to the side, spreading his legs further so Minho could see how hard he was, how his body longed for him, and Minho almost drooled. 

He dropped his slacks unceremoniously on the ground, unashamed of his nakedness as he rushed over to Chan, moaning the moment their lips met. If he could see himself, Minho knew he would scoff at the sight and roll his eyes from the embarrassing display of desperation, but Minho couldn’t see himself and all he could focus on was the taste of Chan in his mouth and the silky strands of black hair between his fingers.

Chan’s mouth was sweet, tasting of cherries and dark wine. 

“You don’t own me,” Minho told him, barely giving him a moment to form a response before he was back kissing him, letting Chan bite into him and take control of the kiss, because honestly, Minho kept coming back to Chan because no one could please him better.  

In all of the world, Chan was the one who knew Minho the best, knew where he liked being touched, knew what to tell him to rile him up and knew that all of Minho’s harsh words were nothing but protection. 

Not even his bite was able to pierce skin, let alone leave a scar. 

“Don’t I?” Chan asked, groaning into the kiss. Minho’s hands were planted on his chest, pushing at the jacket to get it off, annoyed with the restraints keeping Chan subdued. He quickly gave up, the delirious urgency in his blood making him impatient. Instead reached behind him, his eyes rolling back into his head as his fingers dancing over his own heated skin. 

He was so sensitive when Chan was close, his nerve endings all coming alive. His life outside of Chan was so dull, his own touch cold when he tried to get off, his body frozen and unresponsive, the craving for pleasure never achievable with his fingers or toys any more, leaving Minho weeping with frustration. But with Chan, oh, even God would be furious if he knew that Chan made Minho feel alive, like his body had been bright alive. Pleasure like no other bloomed at the other man’s barest contact and Minho had found a whole new world in the lap of the demon, taking, taking and taking till Minho could barely stand.  

It was like that now, his body shaking and he ached to be filled, to be stretched open and claimed from within. To chase the high he knew he would find nowhere else, not even in the arms of another incubus. His fingers brushed over the base of the plug, the metal warm and wet from the copious amount of lube he had used when he fingered himself earlier, intending to be fully prepared to take Chan the moment their eyes locked. 

He knew he wouldn’t have the patience to wait and just look at how right he had been. 

“You don’t,” Minho breathed and pulled out the plug swiftly, hissing at the empty hollowness it left behind. He discarded it on the ground carelessly. He wasn’t in the mood to toy with himself, not when he could replace the cold dead plug with Chan’s very real, warm, and throbbing cock . “I’m not someone’s property,” he muttered, drunk on Chan’s closeness. “Neither God nor Lucifer owns me and an incubus won’t be the one who pulls me down either. I won’t lose myself to something insignificant as attachment.”

Minho knew he should stop, that he should have walked away, but he couldn’t. Not when he had his deepest desire right in front of him, Chan’s lips slick and puffy, just begging for Minho’s attention. No longer one willing to deny himself anything, Minho leaned in again, pressing a sweet kiss onto them. Who knew? This time Minho might really mean it when he said it would be the last time. 

Chan moaned under him, soft and pliant. He allowed Minho to take what he wanted, what he craved. 

Attentively, he followed Minho’s every move as he drew back, lips wet with their spit, his unsteady hands freeing Chan’s cock from the constraints of his pants. Apparently, Minho had succeeded in making a part of Chan weep for him, just not the way he had presumed. 

Minho maneuvered himself so he was straddling Chan, unsteady on the wobbly end of the bed, but he couldn’t wait anymore. He was hurting, the hollowness left behind from the plug a searing pain and his cock ached for release. It had been so long, weeks, since he had felt anything and anything had tasted of more than just ash and his limbs hadn’t felt sleepy and numb.

It had been weeks since Minho had been able to breathe properly.

“Chan,” Minho moaned, Chan’s cock hot and warm in his hand, wet and leaking for him . He knew he was drunk, smoke was dancing around them, some from his magic and the rest from the incense Chan always had burning when Minho visited. “Please,” he stuttered and moved closer. Chan leaned back to make room for Minho to position himself over his cock, his fingers tightening around his hot length and lined him up, his lust reflected in Chan’s eyes. “More.”

“Dearest, Minho,” Chan said, voice dark as he stared at Minho, the head of his cock burning where it pressed against Minho’s rim, barely sliding in. “You already have me. Take what you need,” he ordered with a grin and Minho sank down in one swift movement. 

Chan’s cock was big, stretching Minho open and punching out a deep moan of him. He dug his fingers into Chan’s shoulder to keep himself from slumping forward at the feeling of finally being full, the painful heat of being torn open and filled to the brim almost too much . 

Finally, after days of agony, weeks of his skin itching and his soul calling for Chan, Minho was right where he belonged. 

Chan groaned, his head lolling backwards at the sensation of the two of them being connected. 

“You’ve already lost, kitten,” he said, his twitching fingers the only proof that he was aching to touch Minho. “There is no way back. You lost your way the moment you returned back here the first time,” he added, hissing and Minho tightened around him, still trying to adjust to being so blissfully full. 

“I haven’t,” Minho denied, breathing heavily and locking his eyes with Chan, the red light and faint trails of smoke making his features even more devilishly handsome than they should be allowed. He rocked a little forward, sighing when he sat back down, the sight of Chan’s blissed out face mesmerizing. “I haven’t lost and I never will.”

“You’re so endearing, Minho,” Chan said, sitting completely still and just watched as Minho grinded against him, lifting slowly and sinking back down, the slide gentle and easy the more comfortable Minho got at taking Chan’s cock deeper. He shifted slightly, not able to bear not having all of Chan inside of him, but it was difficult. The angle was wrong, Minho not able to get enough lift, not able to sink as low as he wanted. 

“My silly little kitten,” Chan teased, staring at Minho’s chest as he gasped for air, his cock weeping against his stomach, alone and abandoned. Minho’s hands were on Chan’s shoulders, keeping him from falling to the floor. “You put yourself in this situation and you might be able to convince yourself that what you feel is insignificant, but we both know what you really feel,” he whispered, the sound of his voice making Minho lean forward so he could accept a kiss. “You said it yourself…You love me.”

Minho shook his head furiously, rocking forth slowly to get more stimulation, his entire body screaming to have Chan’s hands on him, but Minho couldn’t risk it. Once a demon had your soul, there was no way of getting it back. He might have messed up, but there was still a chance for him to rectify this. 

It was only physical, it had to be. It couldn’t be more. Love wasn’t meant for Minho’s kind, wasn’t meant for cursed beings like himself. It was just one more time, one more release, one more round of blissful ecstasy, one more white line and Minho would be done and gone. 

For good this time.  

“I lied, Chan, I lied,” Minho gasped, starting a slow and steady pace, shallowly fucking himself on Chan, whimpering at every drag of his cock against his sensitive insides, angling himself so Chan was brushing against his prostate, nearly hitting it with every thrust. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t perfect, but it would do. “I didn’t mean it. It was a lie,” he spat, tears of pleasure gathering in the corner of his eyes. “I lied.”

Being with Chan was heavenly. His heat, his scent, the sensation of him under Minho, hard, heavy and powerful was perfect. It was enough to make Minho drunk, enough to ruin him for anyone else and enough to twist his thoughts and lure him into a demonic delirium. 

“I would have believed you,” Chan said, the breathlessness to his words the only proof that Minho riding him had any effect on him whatsoever. He hid his face in the crook of Chan’s shoulder, his cheek flushed from arousal but also embarrassment that he was so affected compared to Chan. “Except your kind are horrible liars, ” he added in a airy laugh. “Really, really terrible.”

“C-Chan, witches can lie,” Minho stuttered, swiveling his hips and inhaling sharply. H e finally got the angle almost right . Chan felt so divine inside of him, filling him in the right way and in the way Minho deserved, stretching him open and making him feel so warm and complete. 

Minho never felt quite whole unless Chan was in him, filling all the empty spaces within him. 

“Nephilim can’t, sweetheart. Your angelic blood makes it impossible for you to tell a lie,” Chan said, startling a moan out of Minho when he thrust up to meet him, making stars dance behind Minho’s eyes. He tugged at the restraints, the iron rattling, but Minho was deaf to anything but Chan’s seductive voice. “You can’t even say it outright to me. Always dancing around it or saying something vague. Tell me, Minho, what is it exactly you don’t mean?”

Minho kept his face hidden and shook his head, continuing to work himself up and down on Chan, hoping his release would come soon, but knowing that he couldn’t come like this, not when Chan’s couldn’t go deep enough, not without his own touch, not without Chan’s devoted eyes resting solely on him and watching him fall apart with wonder and hunger on his face. 

“I don’t lo-” Minho tried to say, the words dying on the tip of his tongue before he could free them. His heart hurt, lungs stuttering. It was all wrong, the lie like metal on his tongue. Poisonous and suffocating. “I’m not in lo-” It hurt denying himself the truth he knew deep in his heart and it pained his very soul to even attempt to voice something like this, but he kept going, grinding down on Chan and desperately chasing something he knew wouldn’t come.

Not before Chan willed it.  

“Chan, I don’t-”

“Kitten,” Chan purred and raised his knee, forcing Minho even closer. Minho gasped, staring wide eyed at Chan, both his hands sliding down, resting against Chan’s pectorals. “It’s not worth it. We both know the truth and in any way - you’ve already sold your soul to the highest bidder. There’s no going back now, sweetheart. You know it, I know it, and, Minho-” 

Chan leaned in closer until his lips were brushing over Minho’s ear. 

“I love you, too,” Chan said softly, honesty painfully evident in his voice. 

Minho froze. 

His heart rate picked up and his breath left him quickly, only to be drawn in again with a quiet and confused sound. He almost looked to the sky, half expecting a hailstorm of fire to descend on the limbo between earth and hell and for Chan to burst into flames, God’s wrath burning him alive. 

However, none of it happened. 

Chan was still there, under Minho, in Minho, hot and heavy and warm. Chan was still smiling at him, a cheeky sparkle in his eyes, blurred and half-hidden from Minho due to the red light. But he was there, he wasn’t dead, wasn’t struck from the world like any other being foolish enough to declare their love to a descendant of angels. 

Minho blinked, Chan’s smile only growing wider the longer he remained frozen. To think the words he had been taught that no one would be able to say to him, the words God forbade anyone from uttering to a child of an angel, could sound so virtuous coming from a creature made of sin.

“You- What?” Minho stuttered and leaned backward, except he couldn’t. Fingers were threading through his hair and a hand was resting on his waist, pushing him back down onto Chan’s cock and making him whimper weakly, a burst of lighting traveling up his spine. 

Around the bedposts, the restraints were lying, blacked and deformed by Chan’s demonic powers. 

“I love you, Lee Minho,” Chan said, seeming amused by Minho’s shock , taking his earlobe between his teeth and biting down softly. Minho’s cock twitched between them, forgotten in Minho’s desperate attempt to fuck himself full of Chan and ignore everything about love and the promised paradise he had been excluded from long before he had been born. “I love you,” he repeated tauntingly.

The room remained quiet, untouched by God’s wrath and the world outside. 

“How are you not dead?” Minho whispered, goosebumps appearing down his arms. Chan’s hands traveled all over him, caressing and squeezing him, his fingers digging into Minho’s subtle skin , leaving behind marks that would still embrace him in the morning light. “Why are you not burning up in holy flames?” He gasped, Chan’s finger straying over his nipples and evoking goosebumps to dance over Minho’s skin. 

“If you think God can smite me, then you’re more naive than I originally thought, my love,” Chan said, another kiss getting reverently pressed into his temple. “God has very little power over me,” he added, forcing a startled moan out of Minho as he was effortlessly lifted up and then rammed down onto Chan’s cock, a petty whine escaping him. “I am not one of his obedient angles.”

Minho shuddered at the power that filled the room, wild, chaotic, and much stronger than something a simple incubus could ever possess. 

“You’re so blind to the world where you belong, still so caught up in the almighty’s teachings you don’t see how powerless he truly is,” Chan said, pulling Minho down hard he sank deeper, stuffing Minho to the brim, the hands around his hips anchoring Minho like chains. He couldn’t do anything but make a strangled noise, suddenly too full for his mind to function. “But I like that side of you, so it’s alright.” 

Sharp canines drifted over Minho’s throat, stopping right over his pulse point, no doubt able to feel how hard Minho’s heart was pounding. 

“God might be blind to what you are, Minho, my love, but I am not. I see all of you,” he said darkly, thrusting upwards while pushing Minho down flush against his hips and holding him there, refusing to give Minho what he truly wanted. 

Minho stayed limp in Chan’s arms, only subconsciously clenching around Chan, the sliver of fear down his spine heightening his senses. 

“God is a fool, created this world just to load it with silly rules and vague instructions. He’s like a human child with a magnifying glass playing with mortals like you’re ants,” Chan laughed, the sound rumbling under Minho’s palms that were still pressed against his hard chest. “What a fool, to allow his own creations to tear yourselves apart before him, to hold his devotion captive and dependent on your virtue and not asking the same of himself or his angels. Letting special precious things like you go, allowing you to drift and tarnish instead of raising you to your full potential. Tsk, it’s a shame,” Chan continued, breath hot against Minho’s ear, wringing another moan out of him with a guided roll of his hips, Chan’s cock nestled right where Minho needed it. “Now I have you, I am not a fool like the father of all. I will never let you go,” he promised, teeth digging into Minho’s neck and drawing a painful whine out of his throat. 

The lack of continuous friction was driving Minho insane. Chan was burning him up from within, but never granting him the release he was desperately chasing. 

“Gorgeous,” Chan muttered, voice filled with as a hand traveled Minho’s hip and down his back, tracing the bumps of his spine and humming directly into Minho’s ear, a pleased sound that made Minho melt, fear still playing with his logical sense. Chan wouldn’t hurt him. “The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my long, long life,” he said, close to a purr as he kept pressing his nose close to Minho’s throat, the words branded into his skin. “That you are made of God’s spite and his own failings only make you even more perfect for me, my treasure.”

A deep guttural moan escaped Minho and Chan moved faster than a snake, lifting Minho up only to ram him down again, making lightning jump along his nerves at the sudden shock, pain mingling with ecstasy, stealing the air right out of Minho’s lungs.

“Ah, the sounds you make,” Chan said, sharp canines biting into Minho’s skin, threatening to break it. “Perfect, worth more than any angelic choir of paradise,” he added, the whole room crackling with his power. Minho should have been terrified, should have been using all his magic to escape, but he wasn’t. 

He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. 

Anyone who could confess their love to a Nephilim, so confidently even, wasn’t someone Minho should even bother being afraid of. His life had been in Chan’s hands the moment they had met and Chan had only permitted him to think he was the one in control.

All the restraints and spells Minho had put on him had only been for show like a kitten thinking its claws were sharp enough to scratch a hellhound.  

“H-how did you get free?” Minho asked, his breath stuck in his throat. Chan’s fingers prodded at where they were connected, pushing against his entrance, playing with his wet hole and teasing him . 

Minho swallowed down the groan dancing at the back of his throat and shivered with need. 

How he had thought he could ever live without this was beyond him. Even now, just sitting still with Chan heavy inside of him felt better than Minho’s own fingers had ever done, better than any toy, than any other cock he had allowed to breach his body. 

Chan was a drug Minho would never be able to give up. Even now when he was slowly realizing it might be fatal. 

“Did you really think a spell made in a fit of panic could hold someone like me down? That a simple spell by an inexperienced witch was enough? ” Chan asked, licking a stripe up Minho’s throat, nibbling at the skin the way a fledgling vampire might, but Minho now knew that the demon under him was more frightening than a mere vampire. “Oh, my love, you really have been foolish. Who do you think I am?”

“I’m not sure what I think anymore,” Minho admitted weakly, shuddering when Chan pushed against his already stretched rim. “You - ah- are not who I think you are.”

“Do you still love me?” Chan asked, amused despite the dangerous glint in his eyes. 

“I don’t think I know how not to,” Minho confessed breathlessly. He remembered seeing Chan, how it had felt divine and destined. It had been too perfect looking back. Their simple agreement was much more sacred than Minho had expected, but he couldn’t regret it. Now, in Chan’s arms, his cock deep within him, Minho had never felt more alive. “I don’t think I know how to survive without you,” he admitted, tears filling his eyes . 

“Good,” Chan said, the single word dripping with praise, leaving Minho’s entrance alone for now and moving his nimble fingers away. “Because seeing you walk away from me has been agony,” he divulged, hand returning to Minho’s hips, the tips of his fingers digging into the bruises already forming. “I don’t share well and the world doesn’t deserve you.”

Minho hissed in pain as Chan’s hold tightened. 

“You’re mine now,” Chan vowed, words dark and eyes shining brighter than ever, nearly cutting through the red light and the heavy smoke. “Mine,” he growled, the vibrations running through Minho’s body and leaving him stunned, lost for words at the possessiveness he heard in Chan’s voice. “Only mine.”

Minho only registered the emptiness when his back hit the bed, his legs falling apart easily to make room for Chan. He cried out, the emptiness painful and he clenched around nothing, skin cold as Chan hovered over him, broad shoulders guarding him and hiding the door. 

Minho was truly trapped, though he would never dream of running. 

He didn’t get to enjoy the softness of the mattress under him before Chan crowded him, his lips tasting like the fiery pits of Hell as he licked deeply into Minho’s mouth, stealing his breath and trying to suck out his soul. Minho felt like he was dying, like he was being born again, clinging to the highest clouds of Heaven. 

Months ago, Minho shouldn’t have given in. He should have taken one look at Chan and seen the true danger in his heterochromatic eyes. He should have turned away, and saved himself, instead of selling his soul to a devil and signing the contract with his love. He had allowed Chan to have the last word, allowed himself to be captured and devoured. Now that he had the divine picture of Chan between his legs imprinted on his eyelids, he knew he was changed, that he would never be the same. 

Chan had ruined him, crushed him like a clay figure, and rebuilt him in his image. 

It was painted on his face, the need to have Minho, to corrupt the last bit of his pure and angelic side, break him down until he was nothing but a sobbing mess, fucked to the verge of insanity before being brought back at the grace of his new God. 

“You’re beautiful, Minho,” Chan said, his palms warm against the insides of Minho’s thighs, applying the barest hint of pressure to coax his legs further apart, spreading him out and exposing his leaking, aching cock like a holy item, meant to be worshiped. “This -” He smirked, leaning down to lick a long line up Minho’s cock, nearly causing him to come on the spot. “- is worthy of worship.”

“Chan, please,” Minho begged, all his precious pride long lost and forgotten in the fire of desire. “Please,” he moaned, wantonly spreading his legs wide, baring himself before the devil owning him. 

His cock twitched, precum dribbling down the length, sliding down to soak into the light scattering of hair, his hole no doubt wet, abused, and begging to be filled again. He wanted Chan to fuck him, to have his lover’s cum dribble out of him, to ooze with the shame of having been fucked by a devil, to have sinned and been all the better for it. Minho wanted to reject the God who had never cared, never wanted him, and left him cursed for his parents’ flaws. 

He didn’t care anymore. The fight was lost. Chan knew the truth, Chan loved him back, unafraid of God’s wrath and unmoved by the punishment of Heaven, and as such, Minho had nothing left. No pride, no shame, no preconceived notions of pleasantry or humanity. The fight he claimed could never be beaten out of him was completely gone, leaving Minho pliant and obedient, baring himself for Chan. 

For once, Minho wasn’t ashamed of putting his aching desire on display. 

If Chan could say he loved him and wanted what Minho was desperate enough to give freely then there was no reason to feel humiliated, no reason to lie, to hold back and deny himself . Chan had already shown that he wasn’t afraid of God or the punishment He had placed upon the children of His beloved angels. 

He was worthy of Minho’s submission, worthy of his worship and his soul. 

“God made a mistake when he exiled you from His kingdom,” Chan said, pulling away from Minho’s cock despite his mewling protests. “Such beauty, such glory,” he sighed , running his hands down Minho’s thighs, tickling him ever so slightly with the featherlight caress. “You can see the angelic blood in your veins. The touch of our creator shining through your mortality.” 

“Chan,” Minho said breathily, his body shaking with the need to be touched. “Please,” he begged, only making Chan’s smile wider. 

“Didn’t even give you a chance,” Chan continued, ignoring Minho’s pleas. “God should be ashamed, really, because his ignorant mistake led an angel right to my bed,” he said, pride coloring his voice. His hands painted lines of fire over Minho’s flushed skin. “Allowed such an important powerful little thing to walk right out of his hands and directly into my welcoming embrace. My Minho, you are truly otherworldly, much more so than your father, much more so than your creator.”

Chan’s hand wrapped around Minho’s cock, smiling at the way Minho’s body seized, a moan forcing its way past his lips. He half expected Chan to jerk him off until he came, but he didn’t. Chan just held him, staring directly into Minho’s eyes as if to say ‘I own you’ and just that image alone was enough to make Minho whimper. 

The moment didn’t last long and Chan started moving, each slow stroke of agony and pleasure twisting together into something that made Minho choke, his mind blank, only Chan keeping him from getting lost. Chan dragged him to the edge only to push him back, looking on in fascination at Minho writhing beneath him, lost in the sensation. Minho’s eyes rolled back, sounds he didn’t think he could make falling shamelessly from him. If every time with Chan had been like this, Minho wouldn’t have been able to leave, condemning himself from the first night alone. 

Eventually, Chan’s fingers found their way to Minho’s rim, playing with him before he pushed three fingers in at once, hard and sudden . Minho’s breath hitched, a broken pitiful sound escaping him and his cock jumped, leaking more precum, painful and aching as it rested on his stomach. 

“Such a good little thing,” Chan praised, pressing his finger harder into Minho, pushing him right to the edge and almost over - until a ring around Minho’s cock held him back, leaving him stranded and gasping on the shore. 

The keen that fell from his parted lips was obscene, loud, and coupled with the wet squelching sound of Chan leisurely thrusting his fingers into Minho, stretching his rim and dancing around the spot he had just rammed into. Minho was left to gasp and claw at the sheets, listening to the sounds of himself and Chan’s fingers spreading him open, the sole singer in Chan’s choir. It sounded downright diabolical. Chan continued to finger him, playing with Minho whose only cause of action was to lie there and take whatever it was Chan felt like he needed, keeping his legs spread and stopping himself from closing around Chan’s hand.

Minho hadn’t known how much Chan had held back before and that the pleasure Chan had wrung addictively from his body was nothing like what he was doing now. Minho was already mindless and drunk on lust, his body begging to be claimed, his soul suddenly feeling like the smallest price to pay, and all Chan had done was stuff his fingers inside of him. 

His fists were clutching the bedcover, the fabric tearing and groaning under his strength. The pleasurable sounds grew louder and louder in the small room, Minho’s whines becoming cries of pleasure. Even Chan wasn’t completely unaffected, his moans following Minho’s, short and cut off with every thrust of his fingers, his cock still free and dripping.

Chan looked like he was kneeling at the altar, a devoted believer paying his god an honorable tribute. His mismatched eyes were wide, his smile hungry and Minho almost feared he would be swallowed alive, that his orgasm would be Chan’s last supper, Minho his bread and wine. Minho didn’t move, he didn’t fight. He pressed down, accepting Chan’s fingers, arching his back, spreading his leg wide and shamelessly like the unredeemable whore he was. 

Chan’s movements sped up alongside Minho’s pleas, his long fingers digging into Minho, stretching him wider and wider. Minho felt slobbery wet, lube running out of him and covering his thighs and soaking into the sheets. He knew he hadn’t been this wet when he came, Chan’s powers somehow making Minho soaking wet and desperate for him. 

He was meticulous and dutiful in ways Minho couldn’t even start to comprehend, but he did understand that Chan wasn’t playing with his feelings. No incubus would be this ardent with their dinner unless they wanted their pleasure to be all-encompassing and unless they wanted to devour their prey completely.

Minho’s leg spread even further, his head tilting back as he allowed himself to be consumed. 

“Chan,” Minho whined, squirming on his fingers and panting loudly. His legs twitched, his stomach feeling tight with pleasure, waiting for Chan to take him apart fully and give him a glimpse of heaven. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to come on Chan’s finger and he didn’t even want that himself. “Please,” he begged, pushing back to meet Chan’s thrusts. “Fuck me, please!”

Chan pulled his fingers out, leaving Minho crying out in frustration. 

“No, please, no, no,” Minho chanted, chest heaving as his body grew cold. He pushed up on his elbows, almost collapsing but somehow found the strength to glare at Chan. 

Chan’s hand was wet and his suit jacket still hung from his shoulder, depravity incarnate with how only his cock hanging freely from his pants. He looked almost sophisticated and controlled in stark contrast to Minho’s depraved nudity. His eyes were dark, power crackling in the room around him and Minho shuddered like a mouse before a snake, aware that what was before him was infinitely more powerful than himself. 

Minho was completely at the demon’s mercy. 

“Love,” Chan purred, his smile wicked in the dim red light. “Tell me God made a mistake,” he said, leaning in over Minho, broad shoulders swallowing the world beyond him. His fingers were around his own cock, thumbing the head and wiping the pearl of precum down his shaft, smiling at Minho’s pathetic whimpering. “Say he was wrong about shutting you out,” he tempted, his hand stroking down, the same wetness that had opened Minho up covering his cock. 

Minho felt empty, aching, and hollow, but he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t risk the wrath of a God that had abandoned him at his conception. 

At Minho’s silence, Chan tutted impatiently, granting Minho another look at him slowly and torturously stroking himself, moaning at the sensation. Minho’s mouth watered, his spread legs quivering pittyfully, his thighs longing for Chan’s hips. 

Chan remained over him, urging Minho to speak with the promise of euphoria resting in the palm of his hand. 

Minho shook his head, devout to a fault. 

Taking God’s name in vain and condemning his actions wasn’t something the child of an angel should do. It was wrong. God hated him and his very existence, but it was his mercy that allowed Minho to live this cursed life at all. He might not belong in heaven, but Minho was still subjected to God’s punishments and his poor temper.

“Come on, sweet thing,” Chan said tenderly, sliding out of his jacket and allowing Minho to see his fully bare chest. Minho’s delirious mind easily conjured a pair of blackened wings spreading behind him, the picture-perfect fallen angel. “Don’t be afraid. It’s only you and me here and even if anyone were to eavesdrop, don’t you think they’d be clever enough not to risk my wrath?” He asked, placing the softest kiss on Minho’s knee.

“I don’t know,” Minho managed to get out, his mouth open to allow short cut-off breaths to leave him, Chan’s hand stroking over his shins and thighs, the testing touch tantalizing, fanning the burning flames of Minho’s desire. 

“Then trust me,” Chan said, pressing a burning kiss to Minho’s hip , taking the opportunity to fold his hand around Minho’s aching cock, mercilessly stroking Minho and quickly overwhelming the witch. He was so close, so close he could taste it, white hovering at the edge of his vision. “If you’re good to me I’ll reward you.” 

“Please,” Minho begged, his brain blissfully quiet. Shame was long forgotten as he rode the high only Chan could create, pleasure singing through his system. The faint outline of six glorious pitch-black wings fanned out behind Chan, hovering over his shoulders and shrouding Minho from the heavens above. 

“Come for me, kitten,” Chan said, voice sweeter than honey. “Show me how good you are,” he urged, his grip tightening and pushing Minho into nothingness. “See what I can give you in return. See what your eternity at my side will be like.” 

Chan’s thumb slipped over the head of Minho’s cock, pressing in almost painfully, and a soft reverent kiss was placed on his lips.

At his command, Minho’s mind scrambled, his breath punched out of him and he couldn’t inhale again, his mouth just hanging open until his back arched off the mattress, pain, and bliss overtaking his system when he came, painting white streaks all over his stomach. He shook, feeling like his body became weightless, only Chan’s words of praise keeping him from reaching paradise fully. 

“Gorgeous,” Chan said, kissing Minho’s wet cheeks as he gasped for breath, chest heaving and his body still caught at the crest of pleasure. “Such a pretty little thing, made for sinning, just for me,” he continued, nose sliding over Minho’s neck, inhaling deeply as he kept working over Minho’s cock. 

“You have to be mine, Minho, there is no other choice,” Chan hummed softly, enjoying Minho’s release as if it were a fine wine. “I knew what you were the moment I saw you, knew what you would need, what you could do. Foolish to let a rarity like you go, to let you wander the earth when I am right here and have been waiting my entire life for you,” he sighed, pressing a line of reverent kisses over Minho’s heart. “I know everything so you don’t have to bother thinking about anything but you and I,” he promised, the vow of his words strong and certain, but he didn’t pull away from Minho’s cock. 

He continued until Minho was trashing on the bed, overloaded on pleasure shifting into pain, every stroke of his still hard cock too much, too little. He was crying and begging for Chan to stop, to keep on going, to kiss him, fuck him, anything. Chan only cooed at him, leaning up to claim Minho’s lips in a possessive bruising kiss, the wet glide of Chan’s tongue against Minho’s nothing short of euphoric. 

Minho panted into his mouth, lungs still struggling to take in air as he kept clinging onto Chan and thanking him, blessing him in the endless blabbering between the kisses, groaning when Chan eventually let go of him, giving Minho one last stroke that caused his legs to jerk out in overstimulation. 

“You’re so sweet, angel,” Chan said gravely, caressing Minho’s stomach and collecting the mess he had made there, holding his fingers up between them coated in Minho’s release. Minho watched transfixed as Chan wrapped his lips around the digits, groaning and licking them clean. “The sweetest. How lucky I was to see you and how lucky you were to catch my attention. You’ll become the prettiest little thing in Hell, I’m sure of that,” he smiled, fingers glistening with spit as he pulled them from his mouth. 

“Chan,” Minho whispered, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp when Chan leaned down, tongue flat against Minho’s taunt stomach, following the long lines of cum, humming in satisfaction at the taste and ensuring he collected every single drop on his tongue. 

“Would be a waste to not have all of it,” Chan said as if he had read Minho’s mind, the curl of his lips telling Minho that he perhaps wasn’t far off in the assumption. “Now, I recall having asked you to repeat something, didn’t I? Something about a certain someone having committed a grave mistake when he doomed you to an afterlife in Purgatory, right? You got the reward, now give me mine, ” he said, pressing a kiss to Minho’s hip, his eyes shining as he looked up at Minho, his tongue gliding over the slight hollow under Minho’s ribs. 

Minho shook his head, words lost to him before he realized that it might cause Chan’s tenderness to diminish. He wanted to please Chan and repay him some of the pleasure he had given Minho. However, Chan’s affection neither vanished nor turned vicious.

Chan had never held anything against Minho, not even when he demanded to always be the one on top, to be the one to give and only allow Chan the tiniest bit of himself in their exchange. He never complained even if Minho ended up sitting next to him for hours just talking once they were done, their goodbye stretching out to the point where Minho spent the whole night, taking Chan once more in the morning sun’s gleam before leaving

They had been confidants before Minho’s foolish heart had lost itself, but it had been real. More real and serious than any other relationship Minho had that hadn’t already been hopelessly devoted to demons like Seungmin, or vampires like Hyunjin, devils who would never see Minho as something to love or something more than friends. 

His and Chan’s friendship was peculiar, in truth, but the most genuine thing Minho had ever had. He had been safe with Chan, so certain he wouldn’t fall in love, that Minho wouldn’t be able to love a devil. Chan listened to Minho and heard all about his life and his fears, and before Minho had noticed, Chan had made a home in his heart. 

Even with the understanding that Chan had been underplaying his strengths for at least a while where they had met regularly, he had never shown any anger towards Minho. He had accepted to be used, to be restrained, never asked for something Minho wasn’t willing to give, and even now, he only pushed Minho so far, barely collecting pittance for the enormous due Minho owed him.

Chan had been forgiving, kind and gentle, regardless of how many scars Minho tried to embed into his skin. Even now all he wanted was for Minho to admit what he had already been thinking, what he had already alluded to in the many hours spent naked next to Chan, laid bare without God’s rules holding his shoulders down. 

“He was wrong,” Minho said, voice quiet in the shadows of the room, eyes flickering over Chan’s face to pick up on any clues that he was doing the right thing. Chan only nodded, encouraging him to continue speaking, a rewarding kiss pressed into one of Minho’s ribs . “I don’t belong in Purgatory.”

Chan shifted a little, pulling away from Minho so he could arrange himself in a position where Minho felt even more exposed. He hadn’t noticed it before, too swallowed up in the sensation of Chan, but the incubus was covered in scars. It was like Minho’s eyes were adjusting, able to see things that Chan had hidden before, like the shadow of wings behind his back.

Still, Chan was breathtaking. The power of creation lingering in his skin, dark and deceiving. Minho reached up a trembling hand, stroking down a scar on Chan’s arm. It was ancient, healed over, and nothing but a faint line, but Minho wondered which battle he had gotten it in and if his opponent had suffered the consequence of tarnishing what was Minho’s. 

Chan smiled at Minho’s touch, just as debauched as Minho with hit chest bare, pants only yanked down low enough to free himself. He was big, always able to fuck Minho stupid and to the brink of blasphemy. 

Minho blinked lazily, calmer now his lust had been sated but still feeling far from done. His skin was still tingling, Chan’s lips brushing over his skin, his wet tongue carefully mapping out Minho’s stomach and chest, only fanning the flames of his desire that had never truly died out. 

This was the first time he had managed to bring Minho over the edge while not being inside of him, and Minho felt almost cheated. Chan’s cock hung proudly between his legs, hard and leaking and as mouth-watering as it always had been. As if reading his mind, Chan withdrew and curled his fingers around himself, giving his cock a couple of lazy strokes, admiring Minho sprawled out before him, ready and willing to be taken.

“Eyes up here,” Chan tutted, tapping the underside of Minho’s chin with his free hand. Minho turned his head and pressed a kiss to his palm, belatedly realizing it was the one Chan had used to lick his cum from, the skin still tacky from saliva. “Now again, kitten. Tell me what did God do?” He asked with a devious smile, carefully stroking over his wet cock, gaze locked with Minho.

Chan was too good to be true, too sinful not to be heavenly.

 “Come on, earn your reward, sweetheart” Chan continued, moving closer and hovering over Minho, his cock so close Minho could feel the heat of it. “Tell me and I will give it to you,” he grinned temptingly, biting his lips as he stroked himself again to fight back a moan. “Tell me and I’ll fuck you.”

Minho couldn’t fight against his rationality when his biggest want was put on the table.

“G-God made a mistake,” Minho rushed, shuddering when the tip of Chan’s cock pressed against his entrance. Minho tried to reach down and wrap his fingers around Chan, but he was stopped before he got far.

“Not yet,” Chan tutted, his hand landing on top of Minho’sand keeping his palm pressed against his stomach. “Give me what I want and you get what you want,” he added, pressing till he was barely catching Minho’s rim. 

“He was wrong,” Minho continued breathlessly, his mind a hazy mess of lust, searching for the right words that would make Chan pleased with him. “He messed up, Chan,” Minho forced out, the very idea of speaking ill of God making it trickle ice-cold down his spine, but it was overpowered by Chan starting to press inside.

Minho was emboldened by it. 

“God fucked up,” Minho choked out, watching with devoted attention where Chan was feeding his greedy hole his cock, pushing inside and claiming him in a way that Minho would never forget. It felt like the devil was peering down at him, gleeful at seeing God’s creation writhing in devilish pleasure. “He brought his own end to himself. He made it possible for Hell to get a hold of the divine and taint it. He made it possible for his child to be corrupted and fucked within an inch of his life by a demon!”

Chan pushed in hard, bottoming out and knocking the air out of Minho’s lungs. His eyes rolled back into his head, Chan filling him up to the brim, hips flush against Minho’s ass and his cock nestled so deep inside of him that Minho could feel him under the palm on his stomach.

“Oh, God,” Minho moaned, his eyes widening at the sensation of Chan pulling out and the barely noticeable bump on his stomach disappearing. He fucked back inside again, and Minho gasped, pressing down on his stomach to feel Chan inside of him.

“See what I can do you,” Chan said breathlessly with another snap of his hips that caused Minho to mewl as he felt the slight bulge under his hand. “Feel how I can fuck you, how I can reach places no one else can,” he added proudly, the tip of his cock meeting Minho’s palm through the soft skin of his stomach. “Feel me, Minho.”

“Fuck,” Minho moaned, eyes wide and Chan pulled out so far his tip almost slipped out on him. Chan grinned, those invisible wings behind him clearer than before and Chan slammed back into Minho, poking against his palm and Minho howled, his whole body feeling like it was burning. 

“So pretty when you scream,” Chan groaned, setting a brutally slow pace, the obscene sound of his hips meeting Minho’s ass echoing in the room. “So pretty on my cock. So pretty getting fucked for once instead of doing all the work,” he said, peeling Minho’s hand off his stomach so he could look at Minho’s stomach bulging. “Look at how I fill you up. You’re just a poor little angel getting fucked by a devil and liking it,” he moaned, staring down at where his cock made Minho’s stomach bulge. 

Minho could only nod along, his jaw slack and moans punched out of him every time Chan rammed into him.

“Made for me, perfect for me,” Chan continued to ramble, making Minho’s back arch, his moans getting louder as Chan began to slam into his prostate with every thrust. “You feel so good around my cock, sweetheart. How could I ever fuck anyone but you? How could anyone but you ever satisfy me?” He asked and picked up Minho’s legs, lifting him off the bed and changing the angle. 

Minho screamed and cock twitched when he came again, Chan fucking him through it all, not once slowing down.

“You looked so pretty fucking yourself on my cock,” Chan grunted, hammering into Minho, not caring about Minho’s pleas for mercy, his begging only managing to spur Chan on and make him fuck Minho harder. “Took what you wanted and needed, bouncing so prettily on top of me. You thought you had all the power, thought you had me where you wanted me,” he teased, looking down at Minho’s tear-stained face. “Hmm, and how does it feel to be fucked within an inch of your life, angel?” 

“F-feels heavenly,” Minho panted, blinking the tears from his eyes. He was still hard, still aching for more despite the pain. He couldn’t stop staring up at Chan, the proud expression on his lover’s face giving way to the impious worship Minho had come to associate with the incubus. “Feels- Feels like salvation, Chan.”

Clearly, that was the right answer because Chan thrust into him hard and painfully, setting a rapid and controlled pace, laughing down at Minho’s already fucked out expression as he dangled lifelessly from his arms. He scrambled to hold onto the sheets, but his hands weren’t strong enough, or perhaps he just didn’t have it in him to command them to grab onto something.

“I know all there is to know about lust,” Chan said, fucking into Minho, fingers pressing bruises into Minho’s knees like batches of honor. “But love has always been a stranger to me,” he confessed, holding on to Minho’s wide eyes. “Until I met you and you stayed at my side and talked me through the night about sometimes nonsensical things.”

“Ch- Chan,” Minho moaned, feeling pleasure build once more, his human body struggling to follow Chan’s powers as they rolled over his skin, caressing him and sinking into him. Under his skin his magic flared, soaking up the power if was gifted, changing and evolving without Minho being able to examine what was happening to him.

“You’re mine now, Minho,” Chan said, words soft and earnest despite how he was tearing Minho apart, fucking into him harder and harder, folding Minho’s knees around his hips so he could press him against the mattress, not once stopping his brutal pace. “Mine and mine alone. God won’t get you back nor will Lucifer be allowed a round with you,” he promised, connecting their lips in a wet and messy kiss that was more Minho panting and whining into Chan’s mouth than anything else.

“Chan,” Minho managed to get out, desperately trying to kiss him back. “I love you, I lo-” He cut himself off with a gasp, Chan smiling victoriously against his lips.

“You’re perfect, angel,” Chan whispered, his lips moving against Minho’s, fucking into him like he could spend the rest of eternity doing it, his cock made for splitting Minho open before God. He worshipped Minho and painted him to be a god and Chan the sinful angel, taking advantage of his purity. The very thought made Minho’s toes curl and he mewled under Chan, wanting to be the god Chan could taint and tarnish with his blackened hands. “Absolutely perfect.”  

Chan pulled back, catching Minho’s eyes and holding his gaze as he pulled out slowly, so slowly Minho felt his breath leave him alongside Chan exiting him until only the tip remained, Minho’s rim stretched around it.

“I will never let you go and I’ll never allow anyone to hurt you,” Chan vowed, voice tight, the strain of holding back finally getting to him. Minho tried to clench around him, urging Chan to fuck back into him, but all he got was a hiss and fingers digging into his hips in a warning. “I will never allow anyone to lust after you, will never allow you to lust after another. After tonight, you will be mine, wholly and completely, and nothing will be able to change that.”

It was a small mercy that Minho’s hands were free and he found the strength to bury his fingers in Chan’s hair before he slammed his cock inside Minho again, continuing to ruthlessly thrust into him without giving Minho a moment to catch his breath. Claiming him, marking Minho as his property in front of God, all the devils, and Lucifer himself. 

Chan’s fingers dug into his hip, dragging Minho back to meet every thrust and the only thing Minho could do was lie there and take it and be used in the way he had used Chan, getting fucked like it was all he was good for. It had never been like this before, never been this wild, this raw. Minho felt like he could keep on coming, like there was no end to his lust for Chan, like they could stay there the whole night just fucking each other raw, two hearts bleeding into one. 

Minho’s nails raked over Chan’s back, clawing at his skin and leaving long deep cuts that Chan undoubtedly could heal the moment he broke through the skin, but he didn’t. He permitted Minho to mark him as much as he was marking Minho, declaring him his in turn. 

Chan was ramming into him over and over again, speeding up slowly, ruining Minho for anyone else. It was too much, yet not enough. He was hungry, his skin yearning for the love he had been denied for so long, Chan feeding him one breathless kiss after another, gentle touches despite the loud, obscene slap of skin against skin.

It was right and wrong, holy and blasphemous all at the same time, but Minho wouldn’t want it any other way. This was the only cock that would ever be allowed to fuck him, the only man who could ever make Minho’s body sing high praise while being pushed to the brink of insanity and cause him so much euphoria simply by existing in the same room as him. 

No one else would ever suffice.

“Only me,” Chan growled against Minho’s lips, picking the words right out of Minho’s mind. “No one else. You no longer belong to God, you belong to me. I own you, your body, and your pretty little soul,” he said, each word fed into Minho’s mouth. “It’s all mine, Lee Minho.”

“Yours,” Minho agreed, keening as Chan sped up and grinned at him, his face hiding in his neck, long canines biting into Minho’s neck and sucking the skin painfully. 

When Minho’s entire body shook, his third orgasm tearing through him, Chan kept on going. He hitched Minho’s leg up and folded him in half, barely breaking a sweat as he continued fucking Minho, the darkness in his eyes growing deeper and more dangerous, but Minho wanted it. He wanted all of it even as his body protested, the constant abuse of his prostate making his eyes watery, overstimulation breaking down his last facades. 

“God, oh my God, please,” Minho blabbered, his stomach painted white again, the amount leaving him pitiful and weak. Chan’s hold on Minho’s hip only tightened, the look in his eyes maniacal, a crazed look settling deep in his eyes. 

Contrary to what he expected, Minho’s cock stayed hard as if he hadn’t come, still weeping and begging for Chan’s expertly touch, but he wasn’t being given any of it. No matter how much he might beg and plead, he knew he would only be freed once Chan had made a devout believer out of him. 

“G-God,” Minho moaned and Chan kept fucking him, his whole body protesting the abuse and reveling in the pleasure. Minho wouldn’t be able to walk, wouldn’t be able to even move if Chan kept this up, but he feared that might be Chan’s plan. To leave Minho so wrung out he wouldn’t be able to slip out of his bed in the morning and torment both of them with the distance. “Chan, please,” Minho begged, unsure what he was even asking, half delirious and caught up in Chan’s web of lust. 

“Do I look like God to you?” Chan asked smugly, pressing Minho into the mattress as if he weren’t a notoriously powerful witch. In the face of an incubus who might as well be Lust itself, Minho was nothing but a hole to be filled and Chan knew that. “Or do I just look like your God?” He asked, his smile more tempting than any fruit the Garden of Eden might ever produce.  

“M-my,” Minho whimpered pathetically, his arms falling weakly down onto the bed, all of his strength holding them up gone. He was crying, not just a few errand tears anymore, but sobbing tears of pleasure, salty drops rolling down his cheeks in rivers, but Chan didn’t look disgusted by it. In fact, it seemed to encourage him. “You’re m-my God.”

“Good,” Chan murmured, grunting when Minho clenched around him, making himself wince from the pleasurable pain. “Hell, you were made for me,” he said, the glint in his eyes carrying the same reverence as a churchgoer kneeling before the altar. 

His pace grew erratic, wild, and untamable, the shadows of wings getting clearer behind him, darkness creeping in from the corners of the room. The smoke danced around them in the dimly lit red room, caressing them. Minho recognized the signs, having been fantasizing about it in his dreams since the first time he had given Chan permission to fill him up until he was leaking cum.

Chan was close. He was almost ready to bless Minho, to claim him from within and gift Minho the very thing that had threatened to make his sanity crack. 

“Chan,” Minho chanted, the name of the lustful seraph falling from his lips in an endless prayer. “Chan, please.”

“Please what, angel?” Chan taunted as if he didn’t already know what Minho was desperately waiting for. After all, it had been the very reason he had sought out an incubus, to begin with, the very sensation of getting pumped full of his cum that had made Minho’s true feelings slip from his mouth the last time they saw each other. 

The most addictive feeling of all.

“Come for me, please,” Minho begged, finding the strength to cup Chan’s cheek, small staccato moans following the rhythm of Chan’s hips slapping against him, the sound of their skin meeting at every thrust lewd. “Fuck me full, make me yours, Chan, please,” he pleaded, trembling in the arms of his lover. “Mark me.”

He wanted to be full, wanted to feel it drip out of his lose hole, to be tainted, defiled by a devil, to mock his pure and heavenly ancestry, to be loved, to be consumed, to finally belong. 

Minho wanted proof of Chan’s love.

“Hmm, and what do we say when we want something a lot?” Chan asked coyly, sweat dripping down his face and his chest flushed and hot under Minho’s hand that slid down to play with his nipple and dug his nails deeply into his chest. He left bloody marks in his wake, laughing deliriously at himself. Chan groaned and sped up, slamming into Minho with renewed vigor while Minho fought to hold onto Chan. “It’s not ’pretty please’ but it does sound just as cute coming from you.”

“I l-” Minho choked on a moan when Chan took his cock in his hand, his entire body tingling and his cock twitching pitifully , a series of sinful curses escaping his slack mouth. “Chan, pleas-”

“Angel, tell me,” Chan commanded, leaning down, their chests pressed against each other, slick with sweat and Minho’s cum. His thrusts slowed down, but it only heightened the sensation of how used and abused Minho’s body was, his cock aching for release despite being wrung out . “It’s okay. I feel the same, love, I do.”

“Chan,” Minho tried again, eyes flickering over Chan’s face, seeing himself reflected in the darkness of his eyes. Chan rolled his hips against Minho, burying himself deeply inside of him to the point where Minho knew he would be able to feel him against his stomach. “Chan, I- I love you,” he confessed, words fragile and pure. “I love you.”

Chan’s eyes rolled backward, a loud and unrestrained moan falling from his lips and Minho sobbed, warmth flooding his insides, coloring him in the wicked shades of the demonic being on top of him. His lips fell apart, looking every part the creature of God he could have been born as if not for the corrupted blood running through his veins.

Inside of him, Minho’s magic stirred and fed on Chan’s demonic powers, constantly evolving under the new side he had been permitted to explore within Chan. He could feel it boil through his blood, changing his body as his humanity began to burn out of him, leaving behind only his angelic origin. 

In Chan’s arms, Minho lost his humanity. He gave it away for a life of lust and passion. 

He knew he wouldn’t regret it. 

“You too, angel,” Chan said chest heaving and he shook, fucking himself messily into Minho, the cum leaking out around him and making the most vulgar sounds . He kissed Minho’s cheek, angling his hips and pushing into Minho’s abused and tender prostate. Immediately Minho’s body seized, the tension inside of him snapping cleanly. 

He came between them with a gasp, his whole body jerking uselessly in Chan’s arms. He was surprised that there was even anything left in his spent cock and rapture soared through him. He gasped under Chan, the intensity of each wave that rushed over him stronger than the next one, Chan’s cock nestled inside of him only making it all much worse. 

“So beautiful,” Chan praised, but Minho couldn’t hear him, so high that the only thing his ear could pick up on was static. “So good for me, taking it all so prettily. My cute little fallen angel,” he sighed, nuzzling into Minho’s neck and placing a devout kiss on Minho’s neck, right over the bruise he had sucked into his skin. 

Chan was carefully pulling out of him when Minho came to his senses, cum trickling down his thighs and his hole twitched at the sudden lack of something to clench around. He whined, too exhausted to move but unhappy about any distance Chan put between them. He wanted them to be connected for longer, to be one for an eternity, and he most certainly deserved it.

His cock was lying spent on his stomach, finally growing soft,  a small drop of cum trickled down from it, but was quickly licked up by Chan who moaned at the taste like he couldn’t get enough. Chan was licking him clean, his tongue sliding over Minho’s sweaty skin as he cleaned him, a look of reverence on his face at the taste of Minho on his tongue. 

A devout believer accepting the eucharist right of Minho’s skin, each speck of cum a sacrament in Chan’s religion. 

He looked up at Minho, his eyes wild and crazed as if he was as high on the taste of Minho as Minho was on his presence . Minho wouldn’t mind it if Chan was just as addicted to him. It would certainly make things a lot easier for him in the long run. However, as it were, Minho was only certain of one thing and that was that he had already lost his soul and that Chan claimed to love him, but where angels and their descendants were forbidden from lying, no such restriction excited for demons. 

Minho’s soul wasn’t safe in Chan’s hands. 

“ Ngh, st-stop that,” Minho squirmed and tried to push Chan away from where he was sucking marks into the insides of his thighs, his stomach clean and shining wetly with Chan’s saliva. The demon was nibbling on the tender skin and huffing out amused laughs when Minho’s legs twitched.

“Not when you’re so responsive,” Chan said, eyes flickering up to meet Minho’s from between his legs. Even though the red light was still obscuring his eyes from Minho, he noticed how they were changing, becoming deeper and deeper, and cautioning him that Chan’s strength was coming back to him slowly but surely. “And also not when you’re being so docile. It’s rare that I get to have you like this,” he emphasized his words by letting his sharp canines drag over Minho’s skin on his inner thigh, threatening to break, but not daring. “I have to enjoy it while it lasts. I mean, I only have the rest of eternity to attempt to push you to this point again.” 

“At least take your pants off,” Minho groaned, ignoring how his heart tugged at Chan’s laughter. “It’s inappropriate that I’m the only one naked,” he muttered and hid his face under his arm, trying not to freak out in the clarity that followed his satiated lust. 

“As my love commands,” Chan teased, the sound of fabric dropping to the floor following shortly after. “You know, this time here used to be my favorite part,” he mused, fingers skirting over Minho’s legs, carefully massaging the tense muscles. “When you’re all pliant and calm, telling me about your day as if you forgot to fear me. I used to dream about touching you like this, to have all of you and not just a little part.”

“So why not do it?” Minho asked, peeking out from under his arm and towards the blackened and ruined restraints at the end of the bed. He was sure Chan would have been able to break out of them any minute after having fooled Minho so thoroughly and made him believe Chan to be weak. 

If there was one thing Minho was sure of, it was that Chan wasn’t just an incubus. 

“Because you weren’t ready,” Chan explained, meeting Minho’s eyes. “If I had told you what I wanted you would have run away,” he said, rubbing small circles into Minho’s thighs. “I will risk a lot to get my way, Minho, but I would never risk you.” 

Minho’s breath hitched.

“I did not lie when I said I was a stranger to love,” Chan continued and let go of Minho to lean back in. He kissed Minho’s arm before removing it from Minho’s eyes so he could admire his face. “Before you, I found it foolish, but lying here and hearing you talk, learning about you, and seeing your tired but happy smile I finally found it. The greatest gift God ever gave to his creations: Love. It is forbidden and unattainable for most of my kind and was therefore useless to me, but now - with you - it’s my greatest treasure.” 

Chan kissed Minho on the mouth chastely and moved down his jaw, pressing proof of his love into his skin and along his throat.

“You changed me,” Chan said, making Minho gasp when he wrapped his lips around his nipple, tongue warm and wet against it. “Just like I’m changing you,” he smiled, releasing Minho’s chest only to slide lower.

“But I am-” Minho tried to say, looking down at Chan and hating the red lights more and more as they kept Chan obscured. 

“God’s greatest creation, his fatal flaw,” Chan said, not allowing Minho to say anything. “And you’re mine.” 

His breath was hot over Minho’s soft cock, taunting him and taking the opportunity to lick a long stripe up his length, kissing the head and letting his tongue dip into the slit. Minho groaned and kicked his legs, but Chan held them apart, taking Minho deep in his throat in one swift movement. 

The vibrations of his moan made Minho whimper, the wet and warm sensation around him combined with the magic Chan had no doubt activated urging him on. It didn’t take more than Chan pressing his tongue against the underside of his cock a few times, kissing the head every time he pulled off, and pinching Minho’s nipple between his index finger and thumb to get Minho hard again.  

Minho whined, the last dregs of his humanity protesting before his magic flared, wild and untamed in his chest, wilder than before. Minho’s nails dug into the sheets under him, the fabric tearing easily under Minho’s inhuman strength, his body finding energy for more where there should have been none. 

It was an odd sensation, being both energized and completely drained, Chan feating on him and drinking him up, while still feeding Minho specks of his demonic aura to keep his changing, to encourage his angelic heritage to eradicate his mortal blood once and for all.

Minho sighed and fought to stop himself from thrusting into Chan’s mouth, but it was futile. With the spike of arousal and the skillful movement of his throat, Chan had Minho where he wanted him, his cock weeping and his mind slowly slipping away and out of his grasp once again . His defenses were lowering, uncovering himself for Chan completely, the tight lock he kept around his soul deteriorating the longer Chan swallowed him down. 

With each sinful release, each spike in magic, and each mind-blowing orgasm Chan was knocking down Minho’s walls and moved closer and closer to truly making Minho his. In the haze of pleasure, riding the high of Chan’s presence, Minho didn’t care. 

In truth, Minho hadn’t cared for a long time, only fighting since his soul was the one thing God had never been able to take away from him.

The tip of Chan’s nose pressed against Minho’s pelvis, his breath warm against Minho’s burning skin and Minho lost control of himself. He lost his thoughts, lost all of him that wasn’t a part of Chan, lost everything but the feeling of Chan swallowing him down, of Chan worshiping his body and courting his soul.

A throaty moan left him when he hit the back of Chan’s throat, his hips stuttering and mercifully Chan didn’t push him down when Minho moved, trying to keep Chan from pulling off, shallowly and uncoordinated fucking into his mouth. The air in his lungs left him in pants, breathless moans falling from his mouth and if he hadn’t been lying down, Minho knew his legs would have given up on him. His hips faltered, Chan’s throat clenching around him and instead of pushing Chan away, Minho buried his hands in his hair and moaned.

“God, thank you,” Minho spoke desperately, repeating Chan’s name like an incantation, losing himself in the throes of pleasure, his voice hoarse and used. He was so grateful for having found Chan, for being able to love him, for finally being able to be loved in return instead of being denied God’s greatest gift to humans. God might be the villain in Minho’s life, but he had created Minho as much as he had created Chan. “And Lucifer and all the devils for falling,” he continued and Chan moaned around Minho, pleased and delighted. “And fucking Kim Seungmin for introducing us.”

Chan hummed softly, willingly swallowing Minho as deep as he could go, the act holy, reverent, and calm. There was no rush, no need to prove anything, it was simply Chan showing Minho how much he loved him in the only way he knew how. 

Chan was an offering on the altar, spread before his God and giving himself freely and willingly. Minho’s mind sang high praises for Chan and his body was transfixed on the demotic energy that was seeping into him, eating away at his purity and leaving nothing but the deep-seated craving for more, more, more. If Chan ever finished toying with him, Minho wasn’t sure he wouldn’t fall to his knees and pray like the pathetic believer Chan was molding him into becoming. 

A pretty, little thing for him to ruin.

Chan pulled off him with pop, a string of saliva keeping them connected until it broke and Minho cried out, his chest hollow and his body disagreeing with the demon no longer being wrapped around him and promising to suck him dry, luring him with a paradise within his mouth.

“No, no, Chan, please, no,” Minho sobbed, his cheeks wet from tears and he tried to reason with Chan, nonsensical words tumbling out of him, but none of them were enough to convince Chan to continue. 

“So beautiful,” Chan said and wiped his mouth with the backside of his hand, smirking down at Minho like he had been waiting for this moment forever. Minho barely got to register that Chan was kneeling before him like a predator before he surged in and connected their lips. 

Minho whined as his cock was trapped between them once again, but the taste of Chan was too delectable not to get lost in. Minho could taste himself on Chan’s tongue, salty and a little bitter. Smiling into their kiss, Chan nudged his legs apart and settled back into the cradle of Minho’s hips where he belonged.  

His thighs parted willingly and Minho choked on a moan when Chan’s cock slid right back into him, slowly rolling his hips into him and fucking his slowly cooling cum right back into Minho, the glide of his cock wet and loud, the squelching from where they were connected sounding like the purest symphony paired up with the sound of their messy kiss.

“All mine, Minho,” Chan whispered against him, his tongue pushing Minho back into his mouth and claiming him, fucking into him with barely any force and still making him feel like he was being taken roughly and with the only goal of pleasing Chan. “My angel, my love, my cutest little thing. You take me so good, Minho, my sinful whore. Doesn’t it just feel good to be taken care of like this?”

Minho nodded fervently, clinging onto every single pet name Chan was granting him, collecting them in his heart like the treasures they were.

“You’re so good, Minho,” Chan said, rolling his hips into Minho and making his eyes roll back into his head. “You’re such a good hole for me to use, angel. Doesn’t it just feel good to be nothing but a plaything that’s fucked stupid?”

Minho didn’t intend to become a plaything.

His eyes snapped open, defiance blooming in his chest and he clenched around Chan, his movements faltering and he grunted, more in surprise than pain. Minho took the moment of brief perplexity and used it to his full advantage.

Minho flipped them around, still fully seated on Chan’s cock, and wrapped his hands around Chan’s throat, tightening his hold just enough to make the demon aware of the magic he had activated, the very magic he had been feeding Minho all night . It was a quiet warning that Minho might not be able to kill him, but he could still harm him to a point where another demon would be able to put an end to him. 

He was panting, his body still tingling and with Chan’s still nestled inside of him and pressing right into his spot, Minho couldn’t help but rock back against him and moan, pleasure burning in his veins. This was how they used to be, Minho on top, the one in control, the one wielding the power - or at least so Minho had thought. 

It wasn’t a position he was willing to give up. 

Chan held his hands up in surrender, but the expression on his face was far from worrisome. It leaned closer to being intrigued, and, to Minho’s amazement, more aroused than anything else. Minho squeezed tighter, Chan sputtering under him, pleased as he twitched deep inside Minho. 

“Why me?” Minho asked, pressing down on Chan’s throat when he smiled, causing the breath he took to become stunted and shallow. “Of all the people, of all the things you’ve fucked, why was I the one you fell in love with? Why me, sweetheart ?”

Regardless of Minho’s hands still clasped like an iron collar around his neck, Chan still found the gall to laugh at the mocking tone with which Minho said the pet name.

“Why not you?” Chan answered, voice raspy and Minho tightened his hold, pressing into the sides of his throat rather than putting pressure on his trachea, and feasted upon the sigh of Chan’s eyes fluttering. “I told you. You talked to me, you gave me bits of yourself and I fell in love with the man keeping me tied up, but who would cuddle into my side and sleep like a little kitten on my chest.”

Minho narrowed his eyes, knowing instinctively it wasn’t the truth. That there was more. Chan had said it himself, he had known Minho before they had met each other. 

“Answer me seriously,” Minho demanded, carefully starting to fuck himself on Chan’s cock, rolling his hips torturously slow, his body still desiring everything Chan could give him. It was pathetic, but Minho couldn’t even feel embarrassed - he was Chan’s plaything through and through, but he needed to know why and when Chan had fallen for him for the sake of his peace of mind.

If Minho had sold his soul he deserved to know what it was worth. 

“Because, Minho, you’re the closest thing to a messiah Hell will ever get,” Chan said, eyes alight with awe as he stared at Minho, glee, anticipation, but also love filling his eyes. “Being the child of an archangel, how could a demon not thirst to know what you taste like?” Chan purred, his eyes darkening, and not for the first time Minho wished the red lights would vanish so he could get trapped fully within his gaze. “Even powerless, trapped in your humanity, you glowed when you walked in here the first time. Only a fool would have missed your potential, the power that has been locked away despite being rightfully yours. You were exquisite, your soul brighter than any I’ve ever seen before.”

His angelic parent had called him an abomination when he had tried to seek them out, knocking on the pearly gates of Heaven. He had called Minho the antichrist before he could even comprehend the weight of that title. 

In the end, Minho had been abandoned by both his parents and God’s curse became the only thing keeping him company as he walked the earth, more unwelcome than Cain himself, but without a sevenfold return of pain to keep him safe. 

“And what other demon than me would be worthy of having you, of taking you?” Chan asked, not waiting for an answer because he already had it. “I’ll happily admit that when I first heard of you, I expected to devour you and leave you entirely ruined, a shadow of yourself, but I only needed one simple look to realize that I could be the one forsaken at your hands,” he swallowed, the movement of his throat pressing against Minho’s palms. “But then I saw you and I knew I had to have you. That I couldn’t allow anyone to steal a soul that would fit so perfectly with my own scorned one.” 

Minho’s eyes widened when Chan’s hands landed on his hips, confidently rocking Minho forth and making his breath hitch, jostling his body, and giving Minho everything he was willing to take.  

“Minho, my precious love, where everyone sees an angel kicked from Heaven, I see the one who could match me, who could become equal to me, and walk by my side for the rest of eternity,” Chan said, guiding Minho to use him and chase his own pleasure without any regard for him - just like they usually did, except this time Chan wasn’t restrained and Minho wasn’t afraid of letting him know his deepest and most loving secret. “I know you better than you know yourself,” he hissed as Minho swiveled his hips, sinking down and making his words falter for a moment.  

Minho smirked, proud of being the one who caused Chan to become stupid in the face of lust.

“ I see you for who you are, beneath your curse, beneath your birthright. You and I are the same, both cursed with being unable to hear words of affection from others due to God’s wrath” Chan said, words forced out from under Minho’s hold. “ To me, you are a true miracle, and to have found each other and gotten to know each other intimately , that is the greatest gift I have ever gotten.”

“Chan,” Minho said, clenching around his lover as he pulled him back into his body, taking him deeply. He almost let go of Chan’s throat to see if he could feel Chan’s cock impaling him through his stomach, but he didn’t want to risk losing control of the moment. He had just gained it and Minho longed to be in control of this moment.

“To me, you are divine, far more divine than any other weak creature God created to sing him praises,” Chan said, staring up at Minho like he was in paradise. “I didn’t lie when I said love was a stranger to me. I was only meant to feel love towards God, only meant to sing his praises and worship him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t be blind to his faults and when I turned my back to him, I did not expect to ever love again,” he gasped as Minho arched his back, pulling Chan back into him, over and over, surprising himself with how steady his movements were. “But then you fell asleep on my shoulder and I was changed.”

The words were filled with so much love, so much devotion it physically hurt Minho.

“I thought you would grant me power, make me powerful, but instead you stole me, changed me from within,” Chan said, smiling wickedly at Minho. “You proved I was right and that God was cruel. That my wicked ways weren’t wrong, because they led me to you,” he gasped, as Minho tightened his hand almost closing his airways, smiling down at him like a reaper. “In you, I finally found an equal, one thing I could never dare lose.” 

“And you love me for it?” Minho asked, pushing down on Chan’s throat in time with him bottoming out.

“Yes,” Chan rasped, his face fucked out from bliss and his cock twitching inside of Minho, threatening to spill inside of him for the second time. “Always. I love you, angel. Only you.”

Minho sighed in contentment, his body melting and his hands slipping from Chan’s throat down to his chest, scraping his nails into his sculpted pectorals. Chan breathed in deeply, eyes bright with his worship. 

“I can see your wings, Minho,” Chan whispered , letting go of his hips to reach behind Minho, caressing something invisible with utmost care and veneration . “And they’re as black as mine,” he said ardently . “Darker than even the darkest pit of Hell.” 

“I trust you will teach me how to fly?” Minho said, shuddering at the tickling sensation of feathers, the touch of them like a phantom limb. He hadn’t noticed them before, but now he could feel them heavy and proud on his back. He used Chan’s chest as leverage to push himself further off Chan’s cock before sinking back down, reveling in every sensation shared between them, a new sacrament added to their heretical ritual.

Behind him, his wing fluttered at the feeling and Minho couldn’t wait for Chan’s to explore them, couldn’t wait to see Chan’s wing fully and bury his hands in the black feathers. 

“Of course, I’ll teach you how to fly, my love. If I’m your God, then it only makes sense that you’re my angel, both of us blessed with the ability to love only each other,” Chan said, sweat trickling down his forehead and Minho sensed how he longed to admire the way his cock disappeared into him. Minho’s nails drew blood and Chan eyes immediately flickered up from where they had been fleeting south. “My love, you are the only one who will have me like this. The only one worthy of having my full surrender,” he sighed, arching back to sink as deeply into Minho as he could.

Minho rolled his hips and moaned in tandem with Chan, keeping their eyes locked together.

“So I am the only one?” Minho asked, his eyes half lidded and his body drunk on Chan. He was close, each drag of Chan’s cock against his insides promising him a glimpse of paradise. “The only one you fuck,” he hissed, an ugly jealousy he had never wanted to acknowledge growling in his chest. “Am I the only one who will over feel your cock inside of me?”

“Since the first time you took me, there has only ever been you,” Chan said, his breath stuttering when Minho picked up the pace, fucking himself down on his cock and taking in everything he could of the demon underneath him. “ And once you accept me and grant me consent to consume all of you and release you of this human shell, there can never be another. We will be each other’s for eternity.” 

“Vow to me that my soul will be only one you keep,” Minho demanded, doing as Chan had always urged him to do and sought his own selfish needs and put himself first. Chan’s ink-black hair was spread out under him like a halo of darkness and it only made Minho more greedy to see his fallen angel weep for him. “There will be a condition that you can never have another. I will be your sole lover, the only one you can fuck, the only one that can fuck you, your love will be mine and mine alone,” he hissed, knowing better than to believe a devil’s word without making demands. 

If Minho was to truly give Chan his soul without a final fight, he wasn’t being played by silly words or half hearted agreements. Minho would devour Chan before he let anyone else touch him. 

“You’re the only being, demonic or mortal, who I have permitted holding me down, who I have allowed to use me to chase your own pleasure. I would be a fool to not keep your soul for myself and treasure it like an ardent believer,” Chan said breathlessly, looking up at Minho like he was a saint descending from Heaven to offer him salvation. 

Who knew? Maybe he was. 

“Then treat me like an ardent believer would,” Minho said, releasing the tight grasp he had on Chan, pressing his palms flatly against his chest, hiding his claws for now. 

The fire in his veins was relit when Chan’s hands found his hips again, his thumbs pressing into him and making Minho whimper. 

“Such a good little kitten,” Chan purred, urging Minho to speed up his leisurely pace. “Taking my cock so well,” he sighed, thumbs caressing Minho’s hip bones as he began to lift Minho up, slamming him down harder and faster on his cock. “Why would I seek another when perfection itself is already riding my cock? Why would I chase anything when the most beautiful of my father’s creations loves me, when you please me this good?” 

His words made Minho’s brows furrow, but he didn’t fight against Chan taking control of his movements nor did he fight it when the aroused haze started to sneak up on him and embrace him fully. Minho accepted it, slipping into the headiness and the thoughtless heaven.

“You’re not who you say you are,” Minho accused , his breath picking up in time with Chan lifting him up and bringing him down again, helping Minho chase their shared high. “You’re not just a simple incubus,” he said, having known Chan had to be much more than that for most of the night. 

“No, I am not,” Chan said with a laugh and Minho sensed the vibrations of his voice under the palms of his hands, Chan’s heart beat firm and stronger under his palm . “Incubi yearns and lusts for sex and would die without it. I am much more than that, I am beyond such fickle things such as food and nourishment,” he hissed, beginning to push into Minho, meeting him halfway. “I am more powerful than any other creature you will find in any of the other rooms, more dangerous than anything you will find upstairs,” he added breathlessly. “Only in the deepest pits of Hell will you find some who can beat me, and even they will have to struggle. ”

“So you do not need me,” Minho asked, struggling to keep his thoughts aligned while Chan’s cock fucked him close to senselessness. “You didn’t need my body?”

“If you told me you no longer want me like this,” Chan started, strained and startled Minho when he thrust upwards, a yelp flying out of him. “I would accept defeat and acknowledge that I have served my duty to you, but have been unable to be of any use anymore,” he said, voice taking on a sheepish sound. “I would miss it greatly though. Your body is made for me, shaped perfectly to take me. I may not need sex to survive, but I do relish it with you.”

He trusted up hard, knees coming up behind Minho to help him put more power into his movement as he slammed into Minho’s greedy hole, just to make a point.

“You’re insane if you think I’d ever let this go,” Minho huffed, fucking himself down roughly, meeting Chan thrust for thrust and making himself whimper from the strain and the way Chan filled him out so perfectly. His pace was starting to get uncoordinated and slobby, his thighs burning and his cock aching in a way it only did when he was with Chan and he had been wrung dry of everything he had to give. 

It was pain, it was pleasure, it was too much, it wasn’t enough - it was perfection and Paradise all in one wicked devil between Minho’s thighs. 

“Wasn’t that your goal? To make me go insane for you?” Chan asked with a smirk, digging his fingers into Minho’s hips and thrusting into him, hard and punishing and knocking the wind out of Minho. “To make me beg, to make us equals?” He added, angling his hips and pounding into Minho, hitting his prostate with every single thrust. “Because, my love, equal we are, and my mind has been lost to you for a long time and so has my heart.”

Minho whined, his body slumping forward and Chan took the invitation that it was and started ramming into Minho’s abused hole faster, no thoughts left about making it last any longer. 

Chan was fucking him full and punching out staccato moans from Minho, ecstasy coursing through his veins. Like the submissive angel he had made out of him, Minho sat there, bouncing on Chan’s cock and taking all he was gifted, moaning and whining as he was filled, claimed and broken only for Chan to put him back together. 

After tonight, Minho knew he would never be the same. 

He was ruined, his mouth open right next to Chan’s ear, each and every single depraved sound he spun from Minho heard by him first. The tips of his fingers were tingling and the only sound he could focus on was Chan’s heavy breathing, sweet words of sinful temptation mouthed into his throat.

“I’m crazy for you, angel,” Chan growled and Minho wished he could muster up some tangible reply that was just a nonsensical string of moans and whimpers, but Chan understood him perfectly. “I love you, angel. Especially now that I own you ,” he accentuated his words with his thrusts, fucking a desperate plea out of Minho. “You feel so good on my cock. You were made for me and only me. Made to be fucked full, dripping with my cum, bulging from my cock .”

Minho murmured something intelligible into Chan’s shoulder and mewled when a burning hand wrapped around his cock, jerking him off with the same hard and punishing pace, drinking up Minho’s pleasure from him before he had even reached his climax. He pressed back against Chan as well as he could, but quickly resided to just becoming a useless weight on top of Chan, swallowed up with overstimulation and overwhelming emotions he had been denied his entire life.

No one had ever told Minho they loved him, no one had dared or been allowed near him enough to ever develop such feelings and yet here he was, gifted with the perfect being, a man powerful enough to reject God’s curse and powerful enough to love Minho and keep him. 

“I- I love you,” Minho managed to force out, the first trace of his incoming climax reaching him, the fire in the pit of his stomach becoming all-consuming. “I’m yours, Chan,” he whispered, willingly giving away the last thing he had to give. 

Surprisingly, Minho wasn’t the first one to come, no, Chan got there before him and rutted into him one final time before spilling inside of Minho, a loud moan uttered directly into Minho’s gasping mouth. Chan didn’t waste a second, licking into Minho’s mouth and stroking his cock one final time before his body froze and he came dry with a silent scream. Heat pulsed through him, an almost sacred sensation settling over him and dragging him into the deep depths of the connection that had been forged between them. 

Minho’s soul was finally Chan’s. 

“Open your eyes, angel,” Chan said, his voice sounding clearer than it ever had, reverberating within his chest and Minho didn’t fight the temptation to follow the order. Chan sounded different, but he was still him. Minho could still feel his heartbeat under his palms.

When his eyes fluttered open, there was no smoke in the room and the red lights obscuring his vision were gone.

His heart skipped a beat as he found himself staring directly into the endless depths of Chan’s heterochromatic eyes, the white and black irises swallowing him whole and trapping him within them. Minho could see his own soul within Chan, safe and secure, hidden away fully from God and any other being .

Instead of feeling hollow, Minho felt complete and he almost choked when he felt a dark and demonic presence settle inside of him, permitted entry through his eyes, and settled where his own soul had once been.

Equals.

“There,” Chan said with a sigh, his body relaxing as if his very soul finding a home inside of Minho was the final piece he needed to complete himself. “Now I’m yours, too, angel,” he said softly, lifting a hand to cradle Minho’s face, caressing his cheek as if he were the most precious thing in Chan’s world. 

And now Minho knew he was.

Minho blinked, enthralled by what he could see in Chan’s eyes, the end and beginning of times, purity and corruption, the eons he had lived in the heavens. He could almost hear the sound of the angelic choir, singing God’s praises, blind to the world beyond and the cruelty of their God until one angel spoke up. Chan, too, had questioned God, and the white wings that used to adorn his back were ripped off for his crimes and he had been thrown into Hell, God’s wrath all-encompassing even as pitch-black wings replaced them . The throes of becoming and unbecoming, of embracing the cardinal sin of lust that had been the cause of his expulsion from the heavenly kingdom.

God’s perfect angle corrupted by the truth, changed by the cruelty of the world and sinking into the carnal pleasure God hated so much, making it his as he settled alongside Lucifer in the depths of hell, convening a mortal sin. 

A former Angel of God, the Devil of Lust and Carnal Sin, and now, Minho’s lover.

“Chan,” Minho exhaled, biting back a moan when Chan released his cock and collected the single drop of cum he had been able to wring out and brought it to Minho’s lips. 

Minho’s mouth fell open.

“Taste yourself,” Chan said, rocking Minho down on his cock and making him shiver, keeping his cum inside of Minho, saving his claim there for as long as he wanted to. Minho would allow it, because as Chan claimed him so had Minho in long red lines down Chan’s chest and back. “Taste how fucking sinful you are, kitten,” he added, pushing his fingers past Minho’s lips

Minho moaned around the digits and promptly whimpered when Chan’s cock twitched inside of him, not even having had the courtesy to go a little bit soft after having come twice already.

Devil of Lust and Carnal Sin indeed, Minho thought, happy to know he would have an eternity to wear Chan’s stamina down. An eternity to consume each other fully like two colliding heavenly bodies. 

“You can’t fault me,” Chan said, looking bespelled as Minho pulled off his fingers, blinking lazily at him like a cat dozing off in the sunlight. Minho was happy, sated, drunk on Chan, his newfound power, and for once not afraid of losing his soul. It was right where it was meant to be. “If you could feel yourself you wouldn’t be able to grow tired of this.”

“Who said I was tired?” Minho slurred, kissing the tips of Chan’s fingers before he leaned in and got a taste of the real deal, moaning into Chan’s mouth and relishing in being fucked full of cum, tasting himself shared on his tongue, of being tired and sore and yet still hungry for more, of being owned, of owning Chan and of being loved. 

Minho was loved.

It was almost unbelievable. He had sold his soul to a demon, the words ‘I love you’ having sealed the deal a long time ago, the contract formed between their bodies, formed with their lips in heated kisses and sealed with cum, sweat, and blood . However, Minho had always been weak when it came to love, declaring it to everyone who stood still long enough for him to become infatuated. This was the first time he had allowed himself to fall, the first time he hadn’t been alone, the first time his heart hadn’t been broken.

For once he had found someone who could say it back unashamedly. 

He was Chan’s through and through and nothing would ever be able to undo that. 

Just like Chan belonged to him in every way that mattered.

“You’re stunning, angel,” Chan whispered against his lips, his hands circling Minho’s waist so he could hug him, caressing his back like he was the finest treasure in every single realm. “And you taste absolutely divine, Minho. You’ll always be my favorite meal,” he teased, hand sliding over his body, Chan still learning his curves and shapes.

It shouldn’t sound like the sweetest compliment he had ever received, but it would be a lie to deny that everything Chan said had a special place in his heart, locked away for safekeeping.

Regardless of how much Minho wanted to please Chan and get fucked until he didn’t know right from wrong, Minho didn’t make a move to continue, and neither did Chan. Instead, they laid there on the bed and basked in the comfort of being the guardian angel of the other’s soul, still connected, soaking into each other with sweet kisses, tender touches, and all the things they had never allowed themselves before. 

Eventually, the kiss es ended, the slow and lazy movement of their lips replaced with Minho’s head pressing into the junction of Chan’s neck, a quiet peace between them. For once there were no lies, no hidden truths, and no longing they didn’t dare word. 

Paradise could never compete. 

“You have to take good care of it,” Minho whispered, his voice hoarse. Chan’s arms tightened around him, their naked bodies touching everywhere he could manage, a part of him clearly craving to have more of Minho even though his cock was still buried inside of him, keeping his cum from leaking out of him, keeping his claim stuck inside Minho.

It felt good to have someone as desperate as Minho to never be without the brush of skin against skin. It felt good to know he wasn’t the only one with more at stake, that he wasn’t alone, and that he was never going to be alone again. 

He finally had a home in the arms of a fallen angel. 

“Take good care of what?” Chan asked, stroking his hand up and down Minho’s back, the touch feathery light. 

Minho blinked his eyes open, the long cuts of his nails remaining on Chan’s perfect chest, his nails having dug into his abdominal muscles and left a trace of him there too.

“My soul… My heart,” Minho answered, licking his lips and glancing up to meet Chan’s gaze. He was already looking at him, desire replaced with the reverent devotion Minho knew was also to be seen in his own eyes. “Now that you own it you need to take good care of it.”

It was a silly mistake to have allowed himself to fall in love, but he couldn’t blame himself. 

He was right where he should be, cradled in Chan’s warm embrace.

“Of course,” Chan whispered, placing a hand on Minho’s back, right over his beating heart. “I will carry it with me forever with you at my side.”