Chapter Text
Day 3: Thursday, November 28th
When Wooyoung wakes the next morning, he panics. After thrashing so hard that he falls off the bed, he remembers where he is. Yet, it is strange nevertheless to realize he is in Yeosang’s room. Sunlight leaks through a tiny curtained window he didn’t notice last night.
He doesn’t recall falling asleep after their activities, but he also doesn’t remember leaving, so there’s that. Yeosang is nowhere to be seen. You could say, the Lost Boy is currently lost. Wooyoung laughs dryly at his pun before returning to the gravity of his situation. Right now, with old cum on his tongue, he desperately needs to brush his teeth.
Wooyoung picks the door opposite the one they entered through last night, and sure enough, it leads back into the house. He stands in a hallway beside what appears to be the front door to the Nevertree. He follows his nose along several curved walls until he locates the kitchen.
In the daylight, the huge opening straight into the blinding white sand beach is breathtaking. At the opposite end, a living room is filled to capacity with a mismatched collection of armchairs and couches from various regions and eras. And strangely, modern exercise equipment.
When his eyes land on Yeosang, the breath punches out of his lungs. The green streaks in his hair shine brilliantly in the slanted sunlight. There’s a sleepy muss to his curls, but they frame his face flawlessly. Long eyelashes flutter over smooth cheeks, absent of any blemish or pock.
“You’re making breakfast?” Wooyoung calls.
Yeosang turns. “Oh, you woke!”
“Sorry for passing out.”
“That’s okay. You seemed like you needed it. You even started snoring a little.”
“Oh, god. Wake me up next time. Slap me if you have to.”
“Implying there will be a next time?” Yeosang teases.
“You can’t tell me last night was enough for you,” Wooyoung flirts right back. “I already told you I’ll wear that nightgown for you again.”
Yeosang giggles and returns to whisking a huge bowl of eggs. This morning, he is wearing a sleeveless gray and navy tunic. Wooyoung eyes his toned biceps and deltoids. Pretty, masculine, and buff—what more could anyone need?
“I’d offer to help,” Wooyoung says, “but do you think I could borrow a toothbrush first?”
“Oh, there should be extras in the bathroom on the first floor. It’s the second door on the left behind the stairs.”
“Awesome, thanks!”
Yeosang stares at him strangely for a moment and then nods. It must be the slang. Wooyoung speed walks to the bathroom, hoping to wash up before anyone else wakes. He finds the bathroom blessedly empty.
When he sees himself in the mirror, he’s appalled. As his vision was filled with the angelic Yeosang, he forgot how utterly human he was in comparison. Dark bags line under his eyes, his hair is an absolute haystack, and there’s a reflective trail of dried fluid along his cheekbone that may be drool. He quickly decides on a shower.
The water is searing hot and everything he needs. Emerging from the steamed room sparkling clean, Wooyoung scouts out another sweater from Yeosang’s room. He rather likes a black, loosely knit one he finds. The fabric hangs off his shoulders with generous airflow when he moves. In the mirror, he spots the wisps of exposed skin as he whirls like a ballerina. Then, he rummages through the chest on the floor. At the very bottom, he finds an old pair of distressed jeans. Wooyoung tries them on, and they fit well.
Wooyoung returns to the kitchen barefoot. This time, Yeosang isn’t alone. The lanky boy with light brown hair from last night sits at the bar. He leans forward on his elbows with his feet tucked under his butt. A full, bright smile lights his face as he chats with Yeosang. The sight is so distinct from the first two devils who dragged him here; from the Crocodile, whose sneer was more a promise to not devour him yet; and even from Yeosang’s selective shyness. Wooyoung does a double take.
The boy senses his approach. He turns, and his brilliant beam does not falter. “Hey! You must be the new Darling.”
“He hates it when you call him that,” Yeosang warns, looking up from his frying. “He goes by Wooyoung.”
“And you’re… Yunho?” Wooyoung recalls, taking up a barstool beside him. He leans forward to watch Yeosang cook.
“What?” Yunho looks between him and Yeosang. “Oh, my god. Yeah.”
“I’m surprised you remembered, too,” Yeosang says. “A lot happened last night.”
“I’m good with names,” Wooyoung replies. It’s one of his talents after moving so often. One of the keys to being the new kid is understanding the ones to avoid and the ones to butter up. Knowing someone’s name is just the first step.
Yeosang tilts his head at him. Wooyoung is struck by the image of a curious gopher trying to understand him. He hides a small smile beneath his wet bangs and turns to Yunho.
“You’re another of the Lost Boys?” he asks.
Yunho laughs, “You say that like we’re a rock band, but yes, I’m one of the homeless kids Peter Pan took in.”
“How kind of him… And none of you grow up?” Wooyoung lifts a brow. The Lost Boys, eternally trapped within the whims of childish, psychopathic glee. He recalls his mother’s whispers from his youth.
“No, no. Peter Pan doesn’t age because he’s a god. The rest of us, well… The faeries and other magicked ones have very long lifespans naturally, but I’m just a human. I’ll live and die like you.”
Wooyoung observes Yunho’s loose linen shirt that has a string lacing up the cut down the center. He wears worn dark brown boots strapped over lighter pants. A teardrop-shaped jade hangs from a scraggly blue string around his neck.
“So, are we, like, the same age?” Wooyoung asks.
“I think so! You’re twenty-one?”
“Are you oversharing again?” a deep voice calls down the stairs. His metal-tipped boots clunk heavily with each step. Wooyoung tenses at the Crocodile’s lingering narrow-eyed gaze. Today, he’s shirtless beneath his black vest. The ridges of his abdominal muscles are distinct and the same honeyed tan as the rest of his skin.
“It’s called being welcoming. You could learn how at some point instead of looking so…” Yunho rolls his eyes.
The Crocodile doesn’t mind the barb, and Wooyoung is appalled. He places an enormous, ringed hand on Yunho’s shoulder. They seem… friendly.
“So, why are you here, Crocodile?” Yunho continues. “You didn’t come home after the bonfire last night.”
“Hey,” the white-haired male tilts Yunho’s chin up. “I know you’re mad at me, but I told you specifically to call me by my name.”
“Mingi, I waited all night for you.”
Wooyoung’s skin crawls. Okay, more than friendly. Is this love? Carnal lust? Infatuation? Stockholm’s syndrome? He has no idea. He has never seen two people truly in love. His mother never talked about his father. That is, assuming she didn’t somehow asexually produce him from this fairyland’s magic.
As the silence stretches on, Wooyoung hears a faint ticking sound.
Mingi finally says, “Sorry I couldn’t make it like I promised. I got in around the early morning.”
The spell on Yunho breaks, and he stands. Wooyoung is surprised that the soft-faced Lost Boy is slightly taller than the menacing Crocodile.
“Was it dangerous again? I keep telling Pan to not send you out on those suicide missions!”
“It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” Mingi shrugs. “Besides, I needed the meal. My clock was close to expiring.”
“Well, we’re going to eat now, right?” Wooyoung pipes up. He doesn’t think much of the strange phrases they use. Maybe it’s a regional thing.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Mingi warns. “Yeosang’s breakfast duty is never a good day.”
Yunho groans in agreement.
“I am right here!” Yeosang snaps.
Wooyoung casts a worried look between the three of them.
“Are you ready to watch the Darling today?” Mingi asks Yunho. He takes a seat on Yunho’s other side.
“Well, I’m not going to leave him chained and neglected like you did,” Yunho says, still prickly.
“He was being naughty. He didn’t hesitate to try and kill me.”
“Kill you?” Yunho feigns a gasp.
Mingi mimes jumping up with a closed fist around his imaginary murder weapon and bringing it down in a stabbing arc.
“You’re my kidnappers. You’re lucky that was the only sharp object in the room,” Wooyoung sticks out his tongue.
Yunho laughs but hides behind his long fingers.
Mingi bumps shoulders with Yunho. “See, this is why I insisted on the chains until Hongjoong could cast his spell.”
“So, it was you!” Wooyoung jumps up. He holds out his wrists. “I still have marks from the first night!”
Yunho’s eyes follow the yellowing, healing bruises on Wooyoung’s thin wrists. He draws in a sharp breath, lower lip caught between his teeth.
“Is he feistier than the others?” Yeosang asks the Crocodile.
“Yeah, and no one told me he would be so much cuter,” Mingi’s voice rumbles.
Wooyoung jolts. His attention returns to the man who appears the same age as Yunho. Mingi met his mother in her youth. Furthermore, Yeosang used the plural. Mingi may have even met his grandmother and great-grandmother.
“Don’t look at me like that. I never did anything to any of them,” Mingi says. His white hair, sparse brows, and square jaw make him look terrifying. Then, he smiles thinly, and it’s even worse.
Wooyoung clenches his jaw. “Why not?”
“Girls break too easily.” Mingi glances down at himself and then meaningfully up at Wooyoung. That’s a cocksure humble brag if Wooyoung has ever seen one.
“Does that mean you prefer boys?” Wooyoung asks nonchalantly.
“It’s the hand I’ve been dealt. At least here, with Pan and the rest of them, there is free dessert all the time. Plenty of Lost Boy cock to go around.”
Yunho chuckles into his glass of orange juice. Wooyoung flinches. They are all crazy, even if they seem normal at first glance. Then, he considers. Like he said last night, he’s on an island of boys with questionable morals. If he puts his plan to work, he may have a chance to escape.
“So, would you wanna fuck me, too?” Wooyoung prompts point-blank.
Yunho spits out his juice. Mingi’s grin widens, and Yeosang knowingly bites his lip over the eggs he’s frying.
“Are you offering, Darling?”
“Call me Wooyoung.”
“Okay, Wooyoung, what can you offer?”
As scary as he looks, he is much softer—more lenient—than the Dark One. But maybe Wooyoung’s standards are currently in the dirt. He’s still digging his own grave here, potentially. Still, to so obligingly use his correct name, that gesture does not go unnoticed. Maybe it is a comprehensible kindness by the man who prefers not to be called ‘Crocodile’ by his closest companion, as epic as the title is.
“What can I offer? The time of your life,” Wooyoung angles his head, exposing his long neck in a way that drove his numerous flings mad.
For him, it never mattered who. Overeager band kids, silver spoon theater snobs, lanky basketball guys, closeted football players… If they could offer Wooyoung a meal, a ride to school, or a night in a real bed, he would be a willing and eager participant. This situation really isn’t any different.
The Crocodile sighs low, “I would love to play, Flower, but I’m bound to Peter Pan’s promise.”
Wooyoung pouts, “That didn’t stop Yeosang.”
“Already?!” Yunho gasps. “Pan is going to be furious when he finds out.”
“Peter Pan doesn’t have to find out,” Wooyoung scowls.
“Pan always finds out,” Yunho retorts.
“Then, he could have stopped us last night if he’s really so magic,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes.
“He was out last night…” Yunho says anxiously.
“This is a new record for rulebreaking,” Mingi chuckles. “Maybe there’s a loophole for me, too.”
When Yeosang slides him a plate of eggs and bacon, Wooyoung realizes the man is perfect in everything except cooking. The scrambled(?) eggs are runny and raw in parts and over-fried with that thin film of brown crust in others. The bacon is a folded mess that is mostly still pink and dripping juices. It is a far cry from the near-gourmet breakfast Yeosang delivered yesterday. Actually, it may be more similar to his impossibly dry chicken and burnt vegetables from two days ago… Wooyoung is starting to understand their chore schedule may not line up with their watch duties.
Yet, as Yunho mindlessly scarfs the food down and Mingi settles for a hot mug of coffee instead, Wooyoung’s stomach growls audibly. He is starving after coming twice last night.
“How is it?” Yeosang asks, tipping his head. He rests his elbows on the counter before Wooyoung.
“Bad,” he answers with his mouth open.
“Still, you fill your mouth like you’re ravenous.”
“You know I’d shove pretty much anything in my mouth,” Wooyoung winks.
“Oh,” Yunho’s mouth drops open, staring between the two as if realizing they were telling the truth earlier.
Wooyoung bites his lip and bats his eyes at Yeosang. Yeosang only raises his eyebrows before turning back to the stove.
Mingi is on a different side quest. His voice drops low as he asks, “So, you’re taking offers?”
“For a price,” Wooyoung says.
“How much?” Mingi smiles wide, all his white teeth showing.
“Give me a secret,” Wooyoung smiles back sweetly, his head in his hands as he leans toward him. He is quickly learning Neverland’s tricks.
“I can tell you any number of secrets, but how will I know you are worth my telling?”
“We can start small. Try me out. I’m certainly not going anywhere,” Wooyoung shrugs. The collar of his oversized black sweater slips a bit over his shoulder, revealing his collarbone. He does not move to fix it.
Yeosang adds, “You won’t regret it. Last night, he was on his knees begging for it.”
“I was, in fact, in your lap,” Wooyoung clarifies.
“While on your knees.”
“Fine,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes.
“But Pan is already beyond pissed about the Dark One last night,” Yunho insists.
Wooyoung’s ears perk. “What happened?”
“Gossiping about me?” comes a male’s voice from the hall directly behind Wooyoung.
Wooyoung whips around like a mouse. Like prey. He wants to slap himself. However, dread instantly runs its sharp nails down his back, threatening to drown him. He stares at the man in all black. It’s a simpler outfit than last night: a cinched black sleeveless top over leather pants. He carries an empty holster across his chest. It’s undeniably attractive, given his build.
As he walks toward the bar, Wooyoung still cannot hear his footfalls.
“Dark One,” Mingi acknowledges.
“San!” Yunho exclaims.
Mingi drags Yunho in by the elbow, “So, you’ll call him by his name, but not me?”
“Did you just get back from the lagoon?” Yeosang asks above their lovers’ squabble.
“No, I showered like a regular person this time,” San says wryly. “I noticed a little fox has been using our bathroom.”
San’s gaze settles on Wooyoung. Fear clutches at Wooyoung’s chest while a scream struggles to claw out of his throat.
“I told him to,” Yeosang says. “I was in charge of watching him yesterday. Today is Yunho’s turn.”
All these logistics around guarding him, a harmless mortal boy.
“G’morning, Darling,” the Dark One murmurs by way of greeting.
Wooyoung clenches his jaw, tamping down the irrational fear that makes him want to puke.
“That is not my name,” he snarls, meeting San’s eyes—gray-blue like the sky before it rains.
“Oh?” San lifts one eyebrow. “You’re still fighting back.”
Wooyoung stands from his seat to face San directly.
“My name is Jung Wooyoung,” he enunciates. “Call me as such.”
San approaches—a tiger circling its next meal. With each step, the heart-pounding, mind-numbing fear grows exponentially. San is coming to murder him. He could punch a hole through Wooyoung’s chest and tear his heart out while it still beats. His stormy eyes flicker to a complete black, including the sclera.
“I will call you whatever I please, Darling,” San states. “Be grateful I call you anything at all besides ‘whore.’”
They are so close now that Wooyoung can smell him, a cologne of whisky and tobacco. As his adrenaline skyrockets, he hyperfocuses on every minute detail of San’s face: the deep creases of his double lid and the moles that create a constellation on his cheek. Against the spattering of freckles on the man’s tanned neck, several maroon hickeys are violently displayed.
“I think you may be the bigger whore,” Wooyoung says, nodding to the fresh bruises. “What happened to those girls?”
“I don’t fuck simply for sating the carnal desire between my legs,” San replies lowly, ignoring his question. “And I do not strut around in their clothes the next morning like trophies. Whose are you wearing this time?”
Though San isn’t as tall as Mingi or Yunho, he is broader and more muscular. His features taunt Wooyoung’s base instincts of attraction. Wooyoung has always found high cheekbones, deep eyes, and wide lips to be his siren’s call, and he absolutely hates that he finds San as attractive as he does.
San takes a step forward. As Wooyoung acclimates to the fear, his heart begins racing for a wholly different reason. San leans into his neck, and time slows. Wooyoung feels the soft breath of San sniffing him. He hones in on how each of his hair follicles opens and stands on end. Shivers drum across his exposed skin.
San lifts his gaze to Yeosang, who is across the kitchen.
“Interesting,” he says into Wooyoung’s skin.
Wooyoung startles and steps back. The edge of the counter presses into his spine.
“Then, why do you do it?” Wooyoung demands. “Have sex, I mean.”
San smirks, and his onyx eyes sparkle. “Do you want to find out? I can smell Yeosang on you, but I also sense your arousal, Darling.”
That was on purpose. That name. Wooyoung loses his restraint and spits in San’s face.
Deftly, San slams Wooyoung’s head into the bartop. Hot blood pours from his nose.
“You forget that you’re the powerless one here,” San whispers into his ear. “There are countless ways to make brats like you bend.”
“Fuck you!” Wooyoung shouts, trying to kick him.
San knocks his feet out from under him, and Wooyoung slips. Before he can crumple to the stone floor, San yanks him up by his hair. Cooly, he stares into Wooyoung’s damaged face.
Blood from Wooyoung’s nose dribbles down his chin and onto his neck. It tickles, but San may break his wrist next if Wooyoung tries to wipe it. That same fear grips his heart. His eyes widen, pupils utterly blown. He stares slack-jawed at San’s unmoving face. Once more, time slows as he gazes into the inky pools swirling in the Dark One’s eye sockets.
Wooyoung is scared out of his mind and more turned on than he should be. What that says about him, he doesn’t want to know.
“You wouldn’t last ten minutes of me fucking you,” San laughs low.
“Just admit you want me,” Wooyoung jabs. He’s shocked that his voice does not waver.
“I need you to tell me first, Darling.”
Wooyoung forgets how to count the seconds passing as those black eyes rake over his face. His ventricles are pounding so fast that he loses his sense of reality. Head spinning, tongue growing numb, and yet there’s a steady heat settling between his legs.
“That’s enough. He gets it,” Yeosang interrupts.
“Does he?” San leans forward until their foreheads almost touch. “Do you, Darling?”
He pulls Wooyoung’s hair harder, fingers scraping into his scalp, until Wooyoung’s back arches.
The panic inside him blooms. Wooyoung can hardly think except for one pressing thought: RUN. He needs to get out. Get away. Run as far, far away as he can. San is danger personified, a predator wearing the mask of a human face.
Still, Wooyoung’s core pleads for more. He has never felt so firmly that he belonged in his body. The adrenaline spike fries his nerves; it’s stronger than the time he downed five Red Bulls and was up for 48 hours straight. It’s better than sex. And Wooyoung has had lots of that. He has driven a dick up his ass more times than he can count, but all his experience is worth nothing in the hands of this man.
San presses a thigh between Wooyoung’s legs. Instantly, Wooyoung’s cheeks flush hot as he realizes he’s rock hard. With just his leg grinding against Wooyoung’s clothed erection, San sends pleasure rocketing through him. Wooyoung bites into his lip to hold back a moan.
Their eyes meet, but San does not stop. His motions are egregiously slow. Wooyoung’s hips twitch, seeking more friction. A slow smile blooms across San’s devilish face.
Wooyoung wonders whether San is going to punish him with pleasure instead of pain, but then San is gone. Wooyoung drops to the floor on his hands and knees.
“Do not ever,” San growls, “disrespect me like that again.”
“San… stop it,” Yeosang warns. “It feels disgusting.”
“Fine.” San’s presence recedes, and that strange inescapable grip of fear disappears. Barely regarding Wooyoung with that cool indifference, he leaves down the same hallway.
It wasn’t about terror this time. San demonstrated what he could do to him with so little effort. He showed how much Wooyoung’s body craved someone like him. That itself, more than whatever magic he wielded, was horrifying.
Panting, Wooyoung clamors back onto the barstool. He pointedly ignores the sharp pain in his likely broken nose and the pulsing need at his crotch. Blood drips from his nasal cavity into his mouth. He spits a lob of it into the kitchen island’s sink and rubs his chin with the back of his fist. The ruby red of his blood shocks him for a second.
Still, he is a bit pleased with himself as he shovels the rest of his cold eggs into his mouth. San did not eat, grab a coffee, or do whatever he planned to do in the kitchen. Clearly, Wooyoung had successfully fouled his mood.
“I can’t believe you just did that. Your… nose,” Yunho says cautiously.
“Is it broken?” Wooyoung asks, pausing his eating. The first trickles of pain leak into his consciousness. The adrenaline must be fading. He needs to finish up and get out of here with his dignity intact. Then, he would allow himself to break down in private and figure out what to do about his nose.
“San never walks away from anyone,” Mingi nods in awe. “When’s the last time he listened to you, Yeosang?”
“Probably never?” Sighing, Yeosang reaches over the bar. “Come here, Wooyoung.”
His hands are velvet against Wooyoung’s dirty cheek. Suddenly, he feels ashamed of his behavior, appearance, and entire existence. He might even be close to tears, but Yeosang’s eyes hold no judgment. The point of his index finger drags along the bridge of Wooyoung’s nose. Wooyoung winces as the bones crack and reset. Then, there is no pain at all. The bleeding completely ceases. It no longer hurts to breathe.
“That’s amazing,” Wooyoung says, in awe. “You’re magic. Can all of you do that?”
“Nope, I’m just a human,” Yunho reminds, a bit ruefully.
Yeosang winks and tucks his green-black hair behind a pointed ear. That’s what he was hiding yesterday. Gasping, Wooyoung leans closer to observe the pale, slightly furred ear.
Yeosang is a faerie. It explains his scent like springtime and his flavor of candied apples. According to myths, faeries are known tricksters, even if they physically cannot lie. They can also perform magic. Yeosang’s gift lies in healing and nature, based on today and the vines from before.
“Clean yourself first.” Yunho hands him a handkerchief.
Wooyoung drags the cloth around his face. He fears he is dirtying the napkin more than cleaning himself. He is about to tell Yunho as such when he notices Mingi staring at him with dark, focused eyes and a mouth slightly agape.
“Yes?” Wooyoung asks. One corner of his lips turns up. It must have looked manic with the blood seeping into the crevices between his teeth. Mingi, though, rouses at the sight of the red.
“You wanted a secret?” Mingi stands from his seat. His voice is lower than ever. “To answer your question, I can tell you my gifts don’t lie in helping others.”
Wooyoung drops his fork into his empty plate, immensely horny and fucking eager. “Where should we—?” he begins.
Before he can finish his sentence, Mingi reaches him and drags him to his knees. The wooden floor bruises. Wooyoung stares up at the tall man whose eyes are inflamed with desire. Wooyoung, too, with the pain vanished, feels incredible from the epinephrine pumping anew, heady in his veins. If he were pushed off a cliff right now, he would surely fly.
Mingi’s fingers dance across the clasp of his flashy, western-style buckle. “Will you take me in your mouth?”
Wooyoung’s pupils are huge. “What’s your magic?” he asks, nearly breathless.
Mingi’s wide smile splits his face. His sharp teeth are blindingly white. “I can eat men whole.”
Like a crocodile.
Wooyoung licks his lips, and Mingi is trained on every minute movement. Wooyoung opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue—an invitation.
“Good,” Mingi drags a cautious hand along Wooyoung’s cheek. His fingers are calloused and rough compared to Yeosang’s. He pushes his thumb, coated in Wooyoung’s blood, past Wooyoung’s lips.
Without breaking eye contact, Wooyoung swirls his tongue around Mingi’s thumb. His eyes flutter shut as he slides his lips to the base where the digit meets the palm. He pulls off with an audible pop, and somewhere in the background, there’s a soft “Fuck…” as the other two watch.
When Wooyoung unzips Mingi from his tight jeans, he is already erect and undeniably massive. Wooyoung sucks in a breath at the sight. He wasn’t lying after all.
Wooyoung presses his cheek against the hot length, looking up at the Crocodile with doe eyes. It might just be longer than his face. Mingi groans, fingers curling into Wooyoung’s black and blonde hair. Wooyoung’s eyelids close as his breath ghosts against Mingi’s dick, still not pleasuring him like the latter wants.
“Lick it, please, Flower,” Mingi eventually requests.
So, Wooyoung does, running a thin stripe from base to tip. “Like that?”
“More,” Mingi growls.
Yunho shifts in his seat. Behind the bar, Yeosang stares with an unchanging expression. Wooyoung is ready to put on the best performance of his life. He flattens his tongue and swirls it around the tip then beneath the foreskin.
“Fuck, yes, like that,” Mingi praises.
Wooyoung gloats a little as he finally uses his hand. Revealing Mingi’s most sensitive part, he wraps his mouth around the tip. Mingi hisses at the contact with his lip piercing. Wooyoung sucks him in slowly and teasingly.
“Are we going to do this all day?” Mingi asks, impatiently. He shifts his weight on his feet.
For such a big and menacing man, Mingi is intriguingly gentle. His hand on Wooyoung’s head never pushes. His hips never thrust to gain further ground. He stands at a generously respectful distance from Wooyoung, who is down on his knees for him. The contrasting docility makes Wooyoung want to tease him.
“You should show me what you like. Fuck my throat, Mingi. Pretty please?”
Mingi’s fingers in his hair tighten, pulling his head back. Wooyoung gasps. He bites his lip as he stares up at Mingi’s face. The man wants this so badly, and Wooyoung shimmers in the attention.
“Oh, you’re dangerous,” Mingi grins.
“Only just noticed?” Wooyoung smiles back before opening his mouth wide.
Mingi slides in. He’s thicker than Wooyoung is used to, and he has to swallow against his gag reflex. He breathes through his nose as Mingi bottoms out and groans loudly. His mouth is stretched so far. The weight on his tongue is sinful. Mingi thrusts again and again, with slow yet precise movements down Wooyoung’s throat.
With the whole side of the house wide open to the beach, Wooyoung wonders who else can hear. The sounds of Mingi’s wet thrusting and his own slight choking are obscene. Distantly, he notes the rush of water and clatter of dishes as Yeosang cleans up.
A chair scrapes against the floor as Yunho stands. Sidling behind Mingi, he places one hand over the Crocodile’s stomach, the other tilting his chin toward him. Wooyoung looks up in time to see Yunho capture Mingi in a heated open-mouthed kiss, tongues tangling. Yunho bites Mingi’s bottom lip, and Mingi’s steady thrusting falters. Wooyoung takes the opportunity, bobbing his own head faster, sucking stronger.
Yunho’s long fingers slip beneath Mingi’s vest and latch onto his full chest. Mingi fully caves against Yunho as the Lost Boy plays with his nipples. Wooyoung provides the background entertainment as he watches the show above. Yunho stares down with an expression of equally lascivious fascination, studying the way Mingi’s cock spreads Wooyoung’s pretty pink lips. The attentiveness makes blood flow to Wooyoung’s dick.
“Ah, shit, I’m coming,” Mingi moans.
Yunho pulls him out of Wooyoung’s mouth. Wooyoung nearly falls forward with how intently he was sucking Mingi’s cock.
“Why—?” Mingi’s demands. “O-oh!”
Yunho strokes Mingi fast and sure, the tip angled just before Wooyoung’s repaired nose. Mingi’s flushed urethra flares with each jerk of Yunho’s wrist pulling his foreskin across the tip.
Mingi’s voice rises in pitch as Yunho makes him ejaculate across Wooyoung’s face. His large body shudders in Yunho’s arms. Wooyoung shuts his eyes just as the thick, hot cum flies over his eyelids, forehead, and into his hair. He opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue, and more lands inside.
After the third, Wooyoung winks open the one eye that was spared. Mingi whimpers into Yunho’s neck. The taller boy holds him upright, urging more out of his spent cock. Mingi’s dick, which was almost too big to swallow down, is dwarfed in Yunho’s hands. Wooyoung is enraptured by the small droplet that refuses to leave. He leans up on his heels, licking it away with a quick swipe of his tongue.
“Oh, good boy,” Yunho murmurs. “Clean it more?”
Wooyoung nods, slurping up all the mess around Mingi’s cock with kitten licks. Mingi shivers.
“Good?” Wooyoung asks, smacking his lips. He still has one eye closed and semen dripping down his face.
“You aren’t all talk,” Mingi praises in a raspy voice, petting Wooyoung’s head.
Yunho sets Mingi, now zipped up, back in a chair before kneeling in front of Wooyoung. Mingi’s leather vest is slightly askew. His exposed chest rises and falls with each labored breath.
“Hey,” Yunho says. He tilts his head to the side, licking the cum over Wooyoung’s right eye. Wooyoung jolts at the ticklish sensation, but Yunho holds him by the nape like a cat. He kisses down Wooyoung’s forehead to his other cheek. Before their lips can meet, however, Yunho pauses to stare into both of Wooyoung’s eyes. It’s a question.
Wooyoung’s gaze drifts down to Yunho’s reddened lips then back up. Closing his eyes first, he leans in and accepts Yunho’s kiss that tastes of Mingi and their own unsated passion. It’s salty and electric.
Wooyoung surges into the kiss, ready to knock Yunho back against the wooden floor if that means he can finally get something inside him. He clamors onto his lap. His hands fumble for the button of Yunho’s pants when a familiar voice resounds in the room.
“So, you really are a whore.”
Wooyoung’s head jerks to the right. San leans against the far wall with his arms folded over his chest. Wooyoung exhales hard to slow his racing heart. Pinpricks dance down his arms, forming goosebumps in their wake.
“You came back to watch? I can’t believe you already missed me,” Wooyoung taunts. His throat is completely wrecked, and his voice comes out scratchy.
San smirks at his energy. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s hard to miss the cockslut spreading his legs in the middle of the kitchen.”
“Don’t be jealous that I would take anyone but you.”
“You’re a liar, Darling. Out of all the handsome men we have to offer, I know you want me most of all.”
“That’s—!”
“And you could have me if you behaved.”
Wooyoung’s cheeks color fiercely, and he narrows his eyes. “Behave how?”
San smiles fiendishly at Wooyoung’s accidental admission. Wooyoung bites his tongue. His curiosity had condemned him.
“Crawl to me on your hands and knees and apologize,” San says as if offering the most gracious solution. “If you do that, then I’ll fuck you until you forget how to breathe.”
Wooyoung eyes the noticeable tent along the zipper of San’s black pants. He knows the other three are watching him, waiting to see what he will do. How much pride will he forfeit for an opportunity in San’s hands? His stupid desire begs him to the floor, to grovel before the Dark One.
However, he can’t possibly be that easy. He needs San desperate for him if his plan is to succeed. That’s why he’s here in a Lost Boy’s lap with the Crocodile’s seed all over his face, isn’t it? Everything is to ensure he makes it back home to his mother who needs him.
Getting to his feet, Wooyoung leans against the counter and stares at San with a measured countenance.
“No need,” he says, cocking his chin up. “I am perfectly satisfied without you.”
San scoffs lightly. “My door’s always open when you’re ready to beg, brat. I’d reward you well to see you cry.”
San turns for the stairs.
“Who would’ve thought you’d be so desperate!” Wooyoung sneaks in a last word. It’s a bit lame, but it’s something.
Yunho stands as well. This time, he hands Wooyoung a damp towel to clean up all the dried blood, semen, and saliva now caked onto his skin. Wooyoung gapes at the soft-faced man. For just a moment—when Yunho stroked Mingi to completion and again when he sucked Mingi’s semen from Wooyoung’s lips—there was a devil in his expression. Yet, just as quickly, that inner demon disappeared.
Wooyoung stares too long at the proffered towel, so Yunho carefully wipes away the amalgamation of fluids.
“You’re kind of fucking crazy,” Yunho chastises. “What was your life like in the human world?”
“I’m a survivor,” Wooyoung says sarcastically.
“Try not to get into trouble with the Dark One again,” Yeosang adds. “I’m going to start charging you for healing sessions.”
“Do you require the same form of payment?” Wooyoung asks, tilting his head to mean Mingi. “I have no other resources here.”
Yeosang’s eyes darken as he smiles. As beautiful as he is, he is as devious as the rest. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have survived on Neverland for so long.
Wooyoung begins to understand that the same must apply to himself.
That afternoon, Wooyoung holes up in the library with Yunho and Mingi. He stretches out on the patterned rug, enjoying the warm golden sun entering the western bay window. Beside him, Yunho and Mingi play cards at a low table. Since Yunho is in charge of him, Wooyoung must follow him everywhere today.
After their interaction that morning, though, he knows Yunho must be itching to pull Mingi away. Wooyoung cannot tell who is in charge of that relationship—if it can be called that—Mingi, who looks ready to kill anyone who crosses him, or Yunho, who appears more modest at first glance, but is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“How does he do it?” Wooyoung asks. He rolls over to stare up at the ceiling. The events of that morning rewind in his brain again and again.
“Who? Do what?” Yunho replies without lifting his eyes from his cards.
“The Dark One. How does he make me feel more frightened than I ever have in my life?”
“You withstood all that without knowing what he was doing?” Mingi asks, incredulous.
“Well, I knew it was some kind of magic. If I just thought it wasn’t real, then yeah, I could bear it.”
“Wow,” Mingi whispers.
“Yes, it’s magic,” Yunho says slowly. “But his power is not constrained by any normal rules. He can elicit your most primal fears, making you drown in them as much as he desires. In battle, he has made many a warrior die by a cardiac event at the mere sight of him.”
Wooyoung blinks. If San can create fear like molding clay, then he truly is a nightmare incarnate. A sick part of Wooyoung revels in the idea of besting him one day, of conquering fear itself—the worst and weakest parts of himself.
“Then, none of you felt what he did to me?”
“As a faerie, Yeosang is sensitive to all magics, but no, Mingi and I didn’t. San was targeting you alone.”
“So, he’s not human,” Wooyoung realizes. “But he doesn’t have pointed ears like Yeosang.”
“My ears are round too,” Mingi adds.
“No one knows what he really is, actually. He extends beyond myth. He’s something almost like Peter Pan,” Yunho says.
“So, that’s why he’s called the Dark One…” Wooyoung muses.
“That’s right,” Mingi says. “Faerie magic is intrinsic to their species, but those two—their magic comes from shadows. Each of the three islands has a shadow.”
Three islands and three shadows.
“If Pan rules this island, then San isn’t from here,” Wooyoung realizes.
“Who’s oversharing now?” Yunho kicks Mingi.
“I’ll take another one of those blowjobs as repayment,” Mingi winks at Wooyoung.
Wooyoung grins and has to duck his head to hide his overeager reaction. He clears his throat, “Then, your title must also have meaning. Why are you the Crocodile? Do you also have a shadow?”
Mingi’s eyebrow raises expectantly.
“Okay, two more blowjobs,” Wooyoung agrees. “And maybe you could fuck me after one of them.”
Yunho’s eyes are saucers as he turns to Mingi, but Mingi is already launching into his story.
“I do not have a shadow. I was born with an insatiable appetite to a poor mother with the worst type of luck: the king’s favor. She was only a maid. When she bore me, the king kicked her out of the castle before the queen or other concubines could find his illegitimate heir. There was slander against her name, to say the least. No one would hire a maid with a penchant for pickpocketing after that.
“I don’t know why I am the way I am. I was a monster, feeding on anything that moved. When my hunger could not be contained by the scraps of trash cans and stray rodents, I made a deal with the devil. In exchange for the bliss of satiation, my sanity would run on a clock. When it expires, I have to feed. Until then, I can function like everyone else. Why I have not aged since, I have no answer for you, my flower.”
Wooyoung cannot say if he really believes the story, but there’s again the steady ticking of a watch nearby. It follows Mingi, he realizes.
“That’s the clock you were talking about this morning,” Wooyoung gasps. “When it runs out, you… hunt?”
“Don’t think about the ethics too much,” Yunho says. “It’s his nature. He is the wolf that must prey on hares.”
“Do you transform too?”
“Nah,” Mingi replies. “Yunho says my eyes turn red, though.”
“You’ve been around him, and he didn’t eat you?” Wooyoung asks.
“There were more enticing prey,” Yunho says. “Oh, that reminds me! There’s another thing you must remember. If San is nearby—or Mingi when his time has run out—you must never, ever run.”
“Huh? Why?”
Run—that’s the one thing his mind has been screaming at his frozen body each time San uses his magic on him.
“It triggers the predator in them. If they see you run, they won’t be able to stop themselves from chasing you,” Yunho explains.
Mingi nods once. “And you don’t want to know what happens if we catch you.”