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If anyone were to ask, it has always been like this.
Not the heat, though, Jungkook's bitter as he tosses in bed yet again. Not the slow burn beneath his skin, itching, craving to be soothed, touched. Not the tightness in his chest as his breath draws short, blood rushing.
At the side, he is there, watching. Jungkook opens his eyes, matches the demon’s amused gaze, and glares.
“Stop it,” Jungkook hisses, and the silhouette slinks closer, until he can make out sand brown hair, bangs falling over eyes widened in mock innocence. “I have a test tomorrow.”
There it is, the soft quirk of a smile, and Jungkook feels cool fingers graze his cheek. He leans in, instinctive, relishing in the comfort the touch brings, sighs as the heat quells, just barely, at the base of his stomach. He wants more. He wants more, he wants more, he wants—
All the muscles in his body seems to fall asleep, and Jungkook feels his senses heighten, a rising panic that swells in his throat. He tries to jerk away, but he can’t, the demon clicks his tongue, brushing Jungkook's bangs away from his sweaty forehead. The touch sparks on his skin, and he whimpers, almost loses himself.
“Stop,” Jungkook whispers, his tongue is heavy, “Taehyung, stop.”
Taehyung pauses, withdrawing his hand. When he speaks, Jungkook has to squeeze his eyes shut. Taehyung's voice is low, a trap. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that saying a demon’s name will give it complete power over you, sweetheart?”
“And yet you always ask me for permission,” Jungkook bites out.
“Some things just can’t be found on Google.” Taehyung laughs, quiet and soft, so unlike his very nature. He leans in, until their lips are barely brushing, and Jungkook shivers. The demon’s exhale is sweet, promising. “So, what will it be? Will you finally let me kiss you tonight?”
Jungkook glances down, near delirious from the want, thickening, the more the demon touches him, fingers featherlike and teasing. Intent on driving him mad. Yes, he wants to say, please. But when he meets Taehyung's eyes again, the red tint around Taehyung's irises glint, reminding him all over again, and Jungkook tries to look away from the face of danger.
“No.”
Taehyung considers this, giving Jungkook a look of mock hurt before pulling away. Jungkook feels the cool rush of the air conditioner against his heated skin, and his fingers twitch, back to normal operation.
“Well then,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook gets heady again at the sound of his voice, a teasing pull of his attention. “You know I’ll be back.”
“I hope not.”
When Taehyung smiles, Jungkook wonders how it’s possible for someone who’s not, to look like they’re so easy going and trustworthy.
“Goodnight, sweetheart. Good luck on your test.”
The doctors call it “sleep paralysis”.
Jungkook's desperate, the rings beneath his eyes seem to deepen with every passing day. He barely remembers anything in lectures, despite the numerous hits of espresso he’d feed himself before classes.
“It’s not,” Jungkook would argue, “I’m telling you there’s a demon who visits every night. I can’t move, and when he touches me, I feel— it gets hot, I get restless and I want to, I don’t know, get boned.”
The doctor would stare at Jungkook, because the boy has clearly gone mad (why would he say that to a doctor?).
“Sleep paralysis,” the doctor would lean forward, exasperated, and this is the part Jungkook hates, “occurs when you enter REM sleep. Your voluntary muscles relax so you won’t do any dangerous things that may be happening in your dream. You can’t move, so when you wake up during this time, your brain goes into panic and this causes hallucinations out of fear—”
“I know what sleep paralysis is,” Jungkook would snap. “I’m saying what’s happening to me is different. There’s a demon—”
Jungkook knows he sounds ridiculous, even as the doctor attempts to calm him down. “The Incubus. Your brain creating a manifestation of fear in order to justify your inability to move or speak. It’s one of the three most common types of sleep paralysis.”
“I can’t move, but I could talk—”
“Don’t worry,” there’s no sign that the doctor is even considering other possibilities. “It happens a lot to young adults such as yourself, especially when you’re stressed or sleep deprived. I’ll give you more Clomipramine for now.”
(And whenever Jungkook leaves the clinic and gets on the bus back to his apartment, he’d realize that although he’s desperate for this, whatever it is to stop, he’s never really been afraid of Taehyung.
Because while Taehyung isn’t a manifestation of anything, or mapped out in any doctor’s textbooks, Taehyung is a proper incubus, real and solid. A demon, Jungkook reckons warily, but a demon who has never done anything that made Jungkook actually feel fear.
Jungkook would open the front door, and find Taehyung trying to feed his hamster sunflower seeds. Taehyung would turn around and grin at him, all sunny and humanlike, and somewhere in him, Jungkook would know that Taehyung wouldn’t hurt him.)
“How’d the test go?” He asks, touching a finger to the top of the hamster’s head, then returning it into its cage.
“Terribly,” Jungkook drops his backpack onto the ground and reaches for his mini fridge, grumbling around a mouthful of triangle kimbap. “Thanks to you.”
“Won’t you let me kiss you, then? To express your gratitude?”
“No.”
“But it’s the weekend, just one?”
“No, I’d be an idiot if I gave you permission to, I don’t know, suck out my soul and eat my heart.”
“Who said I wanted your heart for eating?”
There are arms around his waist, almost right away, and Jungkook has to bite down on his lower lip to swallow a moan, nearly choking on his mouthful of rice. His pulse picks up, and he knows that Taehyung can hear it.
“Come on, baby. You sure know how to keep a man waiting.”
Jungkook is weak against Taehyung's chest, and his entire back feels like it’s on fire, the heat rushing lower, and lower— he gasps softly at the subtle brush of Taehyung's knuckles over his clothed bulge.
Taehyung lets his fingers trail up Jungkook's arms, then he spins him around so they’re facing each other. There’s a small smile quirking up the sides of Taehyung's lips, and Jungkook's gaze drifts to it, he can’t quite look away.
“Jungkook,” Taehyung breathes out by Jungkook's ear, and Jungkook lets slip the faintest whine as Taehyung's lips press to the side of his neck, warm and sparking.
It’ll be fine, Jungkook will be fine. One kiss won’t kill him, it won’t cost much. Jungkook's head tilts to the side, lips parting. Yes, he’s going to say, and Taehyung is going to kiss him. Jungkook knows that it’ll be good. “Taehyung, please—”
And then, just as suddenly as the arousal always seems to blanket over him, it’s gone. Taehyung grins at him, leaving Jungkook dazed, cheeks flushed. “I’m only leaving since you seem so tired. You better go to bed right now, I’m not usually this nice.”
Jungkook sways on his feet, as Taehyung leans in to leave a peck on his forehead. “Wha—”
“I’m going to get your permission next time. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Later, in bed, Jungkook doesn’t fall asleep right away. He thinks about the flare of Taehyung's touch and his lilting voice. “You would have gotten my permission if you hadn’t pulled away,” Jungkook mumbles into the dark.
Because, Taehyung always pulls away just before Jungkook's about to say yes.
(And he gets so close once, he’s been getting closer recently.
Jungkook's body trembles, a shock rippling down his spine as Taehyung's lips brush over his, just faintly, a barely-there skim.
“Taehyung,” Jungkook's fingers clutch into the front of Taehyung's shirt, and everything is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, there’s a faint scent of smoking cedar wood. The dark red tint around Taehyung's irises seem to catch the light, burning a fire at the pit of Jungkook's stomach.
Permission is on the tip of Jungkook's tongue, and he takes a deep breath—
Taehyung pulls away, and it’s cold. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and Jungkook's skin flickers with the dying embers of Taehyung's touch.)
“Dude,” Jimin says, “you look like shit.”
Jungkook cracks an eye open from where he’s placed his head on the table, and responds with a groan. “I feel like shit.”
“Couldn’t sleep again?”
“Mm.”
Jungkook lets his eyes fall shut again, and Jimin pats down his back, soft, empathetic touches that double the budding helplessness in Jungkook's chest. “You need to tire yourself out so you’ll fall asleep right away. Want to go for drinks tonight?”
And because in that moment, the suggestion makes perfect sense, Jungkook finds himself seated at the bar a few hours later, his head pounding from the loud music and too much alcohol, with his self-declared best friend nowhere in sight.
He catches sight of Jimin soon enough, coloured lights flickering over his face as he moves on the dancefloor. It’s not long before there’s someone pressing up against Jimin, and Jungkook decides that it’s time to go home.
Jungkook's still trying to send Jimin a text as he stumbles in through the front door, so wasted that his weirdest habits (like being unable to send a text when there are typos in it, and his fingers refuse to cooperate, so he’s been writing Jimin an “I’m going home” text for nearly half an hour now) have started to surface.
“Wild night?”
At Taehyung's voice, Jungkook nearly drops his phone, but he grips onto it a little tighter once the thought of repair costs starts to blink like neon signs in his head. “Went out,” Jungkook mumbles, and Taehyung lifts a brow, gesturing Jungkook towards him on the couch.
It’s a wonder that Jungkook obliges, but Jungkook really can’t be bothered anymore. His legs feel heavy, his feet uncoordinated as he stubs his toe against the side of the couch and collapses on top of Taehyung with a soft yelp.
There’s a burst of heat that flushes throughout Jungkook's skin from the contact of Taehyung's hands on his waist, and he whimpers into the shocked silence that follows after, letting Taehyung guide him into his lap once he recovers from his surprise.
“Hey.” When Taehyung speaks again, it’s a while later, and Jungkook shivers, eyelids fluttering. The blood is rushing by Jungkook's ear, and he wants, he needs— he doesn’t care, because Taehyung's hands are cool on him and he smells so good.
“Please—”
“Jungkook,” Taehyung cups Jungkook's face in his hands, and Jungkook's head spins from the way the syllables of his name melt onto Taehyung's tongue, all his senses heightening. “You’re drunk, we’re getting you to bed.”
“Touch me,” Jungkook manages to gasp out, and Taehyung stills so suddenly beneath him that Jungkook wonders if he’d been imagining his presence the whole time. “Touch me, please— you like to, right?”
And Jungkook kisses him.
Taehyung's hands grip tighter onto Jungkook's hips when he starts to roll them down, and there’s a quiet, warning growl of “Jungkook” that only fuels his determination.
“God, just kiss me,” Jungkook breathes, his own fingers tracing over the line of Taehyung's jaw (he’s always wanted to do that, but he’d been afraid, that he’d give in if he happens to look up and see Taehyung watching him). “You can, you can.”
When Taehyung does, he doesn’t leave Jungkook with any option to take his words back. He nips at Jungkook's lower lip, drawing out a stuttered whine that he drinks in with his lips pressed tightly to Jungkook's, kissing him with an intensity so great that Jungkook forgets to breathe.
“Fuck,” Taehyung groans, mouthing along Jungkook's jaw as his head tips back, trailing his kisses down the side of Jungkook's neck and hissing quietly when Jungkook's fingers tighten in Taehyung's hair, tugging. “You’re so—”
“More,” Jungkook's arms loop around Taehyung's neck, pulling him in again.
It’s a different sort of intoxication, Jungkook realizes. It’s as if Taehyung had been baiting him for the past two years, ever since the first time they’d met when Jungkook moved into his apartment in freshman year of college.
Taehyung had been on the couch, in the dead of the night, and Jungkook had dropped his glass of water, only to see Taehyung materialize right in front of him to catch it. And then, Jungkook had promptly screamed.
It’d started small, Taehyung reaching out to touch the back of Jungkook's hand, making the air between them unbearably warm, and his lungs burn.
Jungkook had started to want, almost looking forward to the nights when he knew Taehyung would be there, saying the strangest things with a goofy smile, then knocking him breathless with a single gaze, or a simple brush of hands.
All for the price of sleep. Taehyung's touch would leave Jungkook restless and desperate for relief, almost as if looking for something, except that Jungkook never knows what he’s looking for. So he consults his friends, doctors when it got worse.
He consults Google.
Jungkook still remembers the day he’d asked Taehyung, “are you an incubus?”
Three months into freshman year, and Taehyung had only seemed the slightest bit startled, but he hadn’t denied, just moved closer to brush Jungkook's bangs from his eyes, the gesture half mocking and half amused.
“Bingo.”
And Jungkook hadn’t really known how to react, so he hadn’t, he lets Taehyung stay around, starts to depend on caffeine so much it borders on unhealthy.
Taehyung kisses fiercely, and the rush of it fills Jungkook up, makes him feel so content, so satiated. And this is what I’ve been looking for, Jungkook’s breath hitches as Taehyung's hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, caressing up his sides, the contact electric.
“Baby,” Taehyung murmurs by Jungkook's ear, kissing at the skin beneath gently, and Jungkook shudders, his eyes barely open. “You’re so beautiful, Jungkook. I’ve wanted you so much.” Another kiss to his shoulder, and Taehyung's thumb brush over a nipple, making Jungkook jolt. “You don’t make it easy.”
In that moment, Jungkook only knows how to fall apart, and he does. He lets Taehyung's words unravel him until he’s soft and pliant in Taehyung's arms, drunk on Taehyung's everything and completely gone.
“I want,” Jungkook says, his voice quiet and thick, “I want you to have me.”
“You don’t,” Taehyung answers, almost immediately, eyes flashing. He’s leaning back, starting to take his hands away, but Jungkook moves closer to nose at Taehyung's neck, burying his face against the scent with a plaintive whine. “Jungkook, baby, you don’t.”
“I do,” Jungkook nearly sobs from the frustration of wanting Taehyung's hands back on him. “I want you, don’t walk away. Don’t fucking leave when I finally give you permission.”
Taehyung's watching him now, carefully.
“Please,” Jungkook says again, so softly that it’s almost a whisper. “You always do.”
(Jungkook learns that unlike his kisses, Taehyung touches Jungkook so gently that it almost aches. He works Jungkook open with one finger, then two, and there’s a look in his eyes that mirrors fascination as Jungkook keens and arches off of the bed.
“Easy, baby,” Taehyung murmurs, when Jungkook tries impatiently to buck his hips up, wild, nearly crazed with need, and he sounds almost apologetic, his caresses becoming fainter until Jungkook begs for him to touch him more.
Taehyung fucks slowly, and though frustrating, Jungkook feels aflame, his body responding to every thrust with a shudder.
“Fuck,” Jungkook slurs between broken moans, throwing his arm out and narrowly misses knocking over the lube bottle. “Fuck, Taehyung.”
When he comes, it’s so overwhelming that Jungkook sees white scattering behind closed eyes, his toes curling and his chest tight, making him gasp for breath, a drawled moan of Taehyung's name barely making it past his throat.
Jungkook thinks that Taehyung says something, but he blacks out before he can make out the words.)
His limbs are sore and Jungkook’s head feels like a train wreck happened in his skull when he wakes the next morning, his phone blasting at an inhumane volume. Jungkook groans, reaching over and attempting to shut the alarm off, but accidentally swipes his phone off the bedside table.
“Jesus,” he mutters, stretching an arm down the side of his bed, ready to start groping, when another arm reaches for Jungkook’s phone and hands it to him.
Taehyung looks different in daylight, his skin glows, and his smile is softer. “Are you trying to cast me out by the name of the Father, or something?”
“No,” Jungkook says, still gaping, about to sit up when he realizes that he can’t move. His limbs are heavy, and his entire body aches with the sort of exhaustion that accompanies three consecutive days of no sleep. “Shit.”
“Stay in bed, don’t go for class.” Taehyung hands him a glass of water, flinching when their fingers brush.
Jungkook notices, and they’re quiet when Jungkook sips on the water, sitting up against the headboard of the bed, and it’s only until the glass is empty when Jungkook speaks.
“I’ve never seen you in the day.”
“Mm, I guess.”
There are so many questions that Jungkook wants to ask, but he doesn’t, not yet. Taehyung doesn’t stop looking at him, and it makes Jungkook's cheeks flare with heat whenever he remembers himself losing control the previous night.
Taehyung doesn’t leave, stays beside Jungkook for hours, but he doesn’t touch Jungkook the way he always likes to. He doesn’t reach out to brush Jungkook's bangs from his eyes, or to trace meaningless shapes over the back of his hand.
“What’s wrong?” It’s nearly evening, and Jungkook hasn’t gotten out of bed for anything but to take a shower and heat up leftovers, his movements slow and lethargic. “You’re behaving like I’m dying, I’m just… going through the aftereffects of strenuous activity.”
The amusement in Taehyung's eyes is almost prominent, and the sides of his lips quirk up into a faint smile. “Yeah?”
Jungkook lowers his eyes, words careful, “or maybe not?”
The silence drags on, one heartbeat, two, then, “it’s what I am. I feed on sexual energy.”
“Well…”
Taehyung leans in, until their faces are an inch apart, yet still not touching. “I thrive by stealing life.”
Jungkook's breath catches, his head reeling from the words, and there’s a small, growing panic in his chest because how could he have been so stupid, so stupid, stupid. “Will I… die?”
“You won’t,” Taehyung snorts, pulling back to sit in the chair he’d dragged over from Jungkook's study desk (and Jungkook tries, in vain, to mask his relieved exhale). “I’m not that reckless.”
“But what if…” Jungkook chews on his lower lip, then he takes in a deep breath, “what if we keep… doing this?”
Taehyung doesn’t answer, just smiles, and Jungkook's blood runs a little cold.
Jungkook can’t stop thinking about the demon back home. He can’t stop remembering the way Taehyung's hands feel on his skin, like they’ve been made just for that reason, and there’s a little noise at the back of his mind that tells him that he needs to get out, escape before it’s too late.
But Taehyung hasn’t been as touchy ever since, keeping to only faint pats on Jungkook's head and the briefest of forehead kisses. Jungkook is almost (almost) disappointed, what with the memory of Taehyung's lips still burning, hot and sweet on his own.
(“Have you always been like this?” Jungkook had asked, once, as they were sitting side by side in bed, with a pillow between them.
Taehyung had glanced up from the movie they’d been watching, distracted. “Not really.”
“Then,” Jungkook murmured, absently, “will you always be like this?”
There’s no reply for a while, then Taehyung had reached over to pause the video, leaning back against the headboard again, meeting Jungkook's questioning gaze. He’d said, “why do you ask?”
Jungkook hadn’t answered, he hadn’t known how to. So he’d just shrugged and played the video again.
It hadn’t been until nearly two in the morning when Taehyung spoke up, from his side of the bed.
“I wasn’t always like this.”
Jungkook had been afraid to breathe, his voice a whisper. “Yeah?”
“I made a deal with a demon. But that was ages ago,” the colour around Taehyung's irises were swirling faintly, like light shining behind red tinted paper. “Exchanged mortality for immortality.”
“But, why would anyone do that?”
“There are a lot of things that you wouldn’t understand, not yet.”
Jungkook hadn’t asked anymore, but later, just before he’d drifted off to sleep, he’d felt the gentle press of Taehyung's fingertip against his temple, and that night, he’d dreamt about a boy sitting at the edge of a bridge, holding a piece of paper titled “Well Dying”, and in his chest, a heart had only about 10,368,000 times left to pulse.)
Jungkook can’t stop thinking about Taehyung, and maybe that’s why, he decides that he wants to try and stop.
He lets Jimin drag him out for drinks again, lets a nameless stranger kiss him until Jungkook thinks he may be just as nameless, in a back alley just outside the club, with the pounding of the music still faint from where he’s got his back pressed up against.
The alcohol messes with his head, and Jungkook thinks that he sees a familiar smile, red-tinted irises, but then, he resurfaces from the kiss, breathless and a little more sober. The heat that he’d been basking in is gone.
It’s not permanent, and it will never be.
Taehyung is on the couch when Jungkook gets back, he takes one look at Jungkook, and Jungkook knows that he knows, from the swollen pink of Jungkook's lips to the rumpled front of his white t-shirt, Taehyung knows.
He strides over, and Taehyung rises to his feet, warily.
“Kiss me,” Jungkook breathes out, his eyes glazed and cheeks flushed from the biting night breeze. “Kiss me, please.”
Taehyung's staring at him, in a way that makes Jungkook's blood simmer just beneath his skin, and for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Jungkook thinks that Taehyung might leave, but he leans in, slowly.
Jungkook's heart stutters when Taehyung cups his face in his hands, as gently as the contact is explosive, and the side of Taehyung's lips quirk up into a smile (did Taehyung hear it?).
They kiss, quietly, with the sound of the clock ticking above the couch, and it leaves Jungkook with wobbly legs, his skin hot and flushed.
When Taehyung finally pulls back, Jungkook collapses against his chest.
He’s not sure if he’d heard wrong, but Taehyung kisses the side of his head and whispers, “I’m sorry.”
(Jungkook wakes up in his bed, but this time, Taehyung isn’t there to pick his phone up for him when he accidentally swipes it off the table.
Taehyung isn’t there when he returns home from his evening lecture.
Taehyung doesn’t show up for weeks.)
For the most part, Jungkook tries not to care. He gets more sleep at night, but it doesn’t feel as good as he’d always imagined a proper night’s sleep to be. There’s a lingering gap in the air of his apartment that begs to be filled, and a spot on the couch that just doesn’t look right, without Taehyung occupying it.
(Even his hamster stops eating sunflower seeds, and absently, Jungkook supposes that Taehyung must have had some sort of charm to it as well.)
Jungkook gets used to coming home to an empty apartment for the first time since he’d moved in for college, fresh from the countryside.
And it’s nothing special, even for something he’s been wondering if he’d wanted for the longest time.
Jungkook is in bed, in the space between dreams and reality, when the lights flicker on, and he sits up with a start, heart in his throat (it may have forgotten to beat, in the shock of the moment).
It’s Taehyung who stands at the doorway, and Jungkook freezes, says, “hey,” his voice is soft, scratchy from disuse (there’s no one to bicker with, hasn’t been anyone for weeks), “been a while.”
Taehyung doesn’t reply, just looks at him, stares, as if he’d never get enough, as if he could look at Jungkook for a long, long time, and they don’t speak for a while. Then Taehyung finally steps closer, sitting down on the bed. He reaches out, hesitant, and Jungkook holds his breath.
When Taehyung touches Jungkook's cheek, there is no spark. No sudden rush of blood to the point of contact. But there is something else; the soft, subtle warmth of Taehyung's palm against Jungkook's cheek.
Jungkook's breath catches, and he stares up at Taehyung, confused.
Taehyung smiles, says, “hey, you.”
“What did you do?” Jungkook presses his own palm against Taehyung's, revelling in the normality (but it’s never normal, it’s never normal when it comes to Taehyung) of his touch.
There’s a pause and a maelstrom of questions in between, but Taehyung doesn’t answer to any of them. He lets their fingers slot together, clasps Jungkook's hand tight in his.
“I exchanged immortality for mortality.”
I made a deal with a demon, but that was ages ago. Exchanged mortality for immortality.
Jungkook's eyes widen, “you—”
“I’m human.”
It’s always been this way with Taehyung, Jungkook realizes. He’s never really told Jungkook anything, but whenever he does, it blows Jungkook the fuck away and leaves his head reeling, overwhelmed.
And there’s the way Taehyung smiles at Jungkook, the sides of his eyes crinkling as if he’s silently laughing at Jungkook's inner turmoil, but never out of anything but good nature.
Jungkook's lips part, but no words form.
But Taehyung doesn’t seem to need Jungkook to ask.
“I wanted you,” Taehyung murmurs, quietly. He holds Jungkook's hand in his, lightly tracing shapes over the back of it, the gesture familiar, and it makes Jungkook's pulse climb, knock up so quickly it almost leaves him dizzy. “I wanted your energy, your life, but I wanted you alive more.”
At this, Jungkook tenses, and he can’t hear much except how loud the rush by his ears is, how warm his skin is, a slow, sweet heat, completely different from the angry, restless burn that he’d grown accustomed to over the last two years.
“I wanted you to want me,” Taehyung tilts Jungkook's chin up with his finger, and Jungkook lets him, “because you truly do. Not because you need to.”
Jungkook stares, lets Taehyung kiss him so gently that his heart flutters in his chest (and Jungkook only realizes after that he hadn’t had to give Taehyung permission), thudding so loudly that he wonders if his ribs would crack.
“And I wanted your heart,” Taehyung adds, a hint of playfulness in his smile, “but not for eating.”
When Jungkook finally falls asleep, wrapped up in Taehyung's arms, it’s better than he’s done in years.
(There is that, and there is the next morning, when Jungkook wakes up to Taehyung lightly stroking his cheek, fascination swirling in his eyes, a soft, dark brown that makes Taehyung feel more like home than ever.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Taehyung grins, leans in to leave a peck on Jungkook's nose, and this is how Jungkook knows that this will always be enough.)
If anyone were to ask, it has always been like this.
And it always will be.