“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me,” Keonhee smiles, sinking into the seat opposite Seoho.  He’s got a towel over one shoulder and he sighs as he sits, grateful to be off his feet as the last stragglers leave his inn after their last round of soju for the night.

“I could never,” Seoho says, giving Keonhee a weak smile in return.  He raises his nearly empty cup in a mocking little toast, and Keonhee laughs.

“Of course. Who else would let you run up an infinite tab and never demand a single payment?” he says, resting his chin on his hand.  “Anything exciting happen this time?"

"Ah… nothing much, no.  The usual."

"That's good."  Keonhee's smile is gentle, fond.  "I missed you."

Seoho raises his cup to his lips and suddenly, he's hit by a vision from one of his recent dreams —

"I missed you," Hwanwoong croons, clawed hand curling around Seoho's neck.

"It's only be—" Seoho chokes, "been t-two days."

"Yes, and I missed you."  Hwanwoong smiles, teeth gleaming.  "I get awfully jealous, don't you know?"

Seoho slams his cup on the table — it’s lucky the ceramic doesn’t shatter.  Keonhee visibly startles.

“Seoho?”

“Sorry,” he mutters.  “Sorry, I… I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Keonhee reaches out, covers Seoho’s hand with his.  Keonhee’s palm is warm and a little rough — not calloused like his own, worn with grooves from carrying a sword, but an all-over roughness from the myriad menial tasks of running an inn.

“That’s dangerous,” Keonhee says, gentling the cup out of Seoho’s hand and setting it aside, as if to protect it from further danger.  “You should rest for a while before you move on.”

It’s so, so tempting to say yes.  He’s done it a hundred times before, sleeping a full day away in Keonhee’s bed while Keonhee runs the inn below.  The exhaustion is deep in his bones, now — reluctance to sleep and face the visions in his dreams means he’s scraping by on the bare minimum he needs to survive.

“I can’t stay, I’m sorry,” Seoho replies.

“Why?” Keonhee demands, and Seoho looks up from their tangled hands to see a deep, pouting frown on Keonhee’s lips.

“I can’t tell you,” Seoho whispers miserably.  Keonhee rolls his eyes.

“Stop being difficult.”

“Stop being so difficult,” Hwanwoong hisses, and Seoho bites down on a scream as Hwanwoong’s claws sink into his thighs and rip to part them, leaving bloody furrows in their wake.  On some other level of knowing that’s only possible in a dream, he’s aware that Hwanwoong could force them open, could hold him in any pose he desires, but they both like it better when he tears each submission out of Seoho piece by bloody piece.

“One day,” Hwanwoong grins, teeth too long and too sharp to comprehend, “you’ll find your dreams far too boring without me in them.  You’ll beg for me back.”

Keonhee stands, tugging Seoho with him, and though he knows he should resist, his overwhelming weariness leaves him unable to do so.  He stands, nearly shivering, in the middle of the inn’s floor while Keonhee locks the heavy front door and snuffs the lamps that still burn around a gentle amber, leaving them in near darkness.

“Come on,” Keonhee murmurs, taking the last lamp in one hand and Seoho’s hand in the other, leading him up the stairs to Keonhee’s apartments.

Nerves tingle up Seoho’s spine for reasons completely unrelated to Hwanwoong inside his head.  He and Keonhee have shared a bed plenty of times when the inn is full, as it often is, and Keonhee can’t spare an extra bed for Seoho.  It’s never been anything more than that, though Seoho has sometimes wished in the dark hours of the night that Keonhee would simply close the distance and kiss him, knowing that perhaps it is only due to his own fumbling shyness that Keonhee doesn’t.

“Do you need sleep clothes?” Keonhee asks, unbuttoning the vest he wears over his shirt.  Seoho nods, and Keonhee opens his dresser, tossing Seoho a long, soft shirt.

Hands trembling from exhaustion and nerves both, Seoho begins to strip himself of his outer layers, the movements rote and quick.  He feels no shame about his own body anymore, but heat prickles his cheeks as Keonhee pulls his shirt over his head, the muscles of his back working under his skin.  He’s not muscled like Seoho or his fellow hunters, but he’s clearly strong enough to run an inn, hauling barrels of ale or bundles of firewood.

He averts his eyes — Hwanwoong’s taunts ring in his head, about watching the other boys, about wanting.  He wonders if he’s been obvious in the past, whether Keonhee lets him stay because he pities him.

“You’re pathetic, Seoho,” Hwanwoong soothes, running his claws through Seoho’s hair, made stringy by sweat.  Seoho’s panting, each breath a quiet wail.  Everything hurts, a kind of burning pain that leaves him with nothing but desire in his stomach — the tension of being pulled to his limit, desperate either to be let go or to be finally, finally snapped.

“Please,” he sobs, barely passing for a word, but it doesn’t matter because every thought, every intention is laid bare for Hwanwoong to see, clear as stillwater in spring.

“Oh, you pathetic thing,” Hwanwoong repeats.  “All your life, never touched.  It’s almost better this way, isn’t it?  No one else could ever know about the depraved little desires you keep hidden away in your head.”

The shirt is soft on Seoho's skin, far softer than anything he's worn in weeks. He tangles his fingers in the hem where it hits his thighs, perching on the edge of the bed while Keonhee tugs his own sleep shirt over his head. Seoho can't help but glance at the length of Keonhee's pale legs, as if his self-control has been completely sapped away and he's left with nothing but his tired wants.

"Come on." Keonhee gestures for Seoho to lay down and he obeys without a second though, pulling back the quilt and thick blanket and sliding under the sheet. Keonhee does the same, and Seoho shivers when their legs press together as they settle. He thinks he should say something, but his mind is blank.

"Get some sleep," Keonhee says. He gives Seoho a last smile before snuffing the candle on his bedside table, leaving them in near-darkness.

It's only a few minutes before Keonhee's breathing evens out — Seoho's always envied his ability to sleep so easily. Sleep has never come quickly to him, even before the events of the last few weeks.

Despite his weariness, Seoho lays stiff and awake, staring up at the beams of the ceiling as his eyes adjust to the dim light of the moon coming in through the window. Fear crawls heavy through his limbs, settling in his stomach — fear that he won't sleep and will face another day of absolute exhaustion; fear that he will fall asleep and meet whatever grotesque vision Hwanwoong decides to spin for him tonight.

He flips onto his side, knees curling towards his chest. The moonlight rests on Keonhee's profile — the way his eyelashes brush his cheek, the sweep of his nose, his parted lips. Seoho does all he can not to stare in the daylight, but like this, he can be selfish. Just for a few minutes.

He looks so sweet, Hwanwoong says, a crawling whisper in the back of Seoho's head. We're going to have him.

Seoho barely keeps from screaming, jolting back and nearly falling out of bed with the force of it. He holds his breath, waiting — Keonhee makes a small noise, shifting, but doesn't wake.

Leave him alone, Seoho thinks as hard as he can. Hwanwoong's laughter echoes in his mind, like fingernails scraping down a stone wall.

I don't think you want me to, Hwanwoong replies, and without warning, Seoho's vision is completely overtaken by an image of Keonhee above him, fucking him, face gleaming and flushed and beautiful. I think you're too much of a coward to admit it.

"Stop," Seoho whispers, sliding out of bed, backing away step by step until his shoulders hit the far wall and he slides down, hugging his legs to his chest. Hwanwoong laughs again and Seoho feels it as though it's shaking his body, too.

I think he'd like it, Hwanwoong continues, conjuring images that flit across Seoho's vision. If you took off that nightgown and got back into bed with him. If you woke him up and showed him what a good boy you can be.

"I can't," Seoho whispers, despondent.

Yes, you can. He can't see Hwanwoong, but he gets the distinct impression that the demon would be grinning with all his razor teeth. I’ll even help you, you pathetic little thing.

“Seoho?”  Keonhee’s voice is small, still muffled by sleep.  Seoho’s eyes dart up to see him propped up on his elbow, squinting in the dark.  “Are you okay?”

Seoho wants to tell him to go back to sleep, that everything’s fine, but when he opens his mouth to speak something stops the sound in his throat.  The sensation is bizarre, like he’s choking on something more physical than words.

A dreadful realization creeps through him as he feels his muscles tense without his conscious command — he stands, unable to stop the curl of his own fingers in the fabric of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.  It falls to the floor, the sound quiet under Seoho’s heavy breath.

Please, he thinks as hard as he can, hoping to get through to Hwanwoong, but the demon just laughs.

You should thank me, he says, for giving you what you want.

“Seoho, what are you doing?” Keonhee asks, voice a little stronger now, shifting to sit up fully.  The moonlight falls on his dark hair, the pale of his skin, and a little jolt of desire strikes through Seoho underneath all the roiling, confused dread.

“I don’t—” he manages before Hwanwoong clamps down on his power of speech.  He can feel even his facial muscles go slack, his lips parting as he approaches the bed.  Keonhee’s eyes dart down his naked body, lingering near his hips and thighs before making it back up to his face, and Seoho shivers.

Hwanwoong guides him up and onto the bed, crawling until he straddles Keonhee’s lap, sitting on his thighs.  Keonhee’s hands come up to rest on his hips, seemingly on instinct judging by the confusion on his face.

Keonhee opens his mouth, clearly meaning to question him again, but Hwanwoong’s clearly impatient, and guides Seoho down to catch Keonhee’s lips in a kiss. Keonhee makes a small, muffled sound and kisses back, mouth moving tentatively at first and then with more force.

Hwanwoong lets go some of his tight control over Seoho’s body, allowing him to continue kissing Keonhee of his own accord.  He feels as though he slumps into it, like a puppet with its strings cut, and Keonhee makes another muffled noise, licking into Seoho’s mouth and bringing a hand up to cup his jaw.

Tell him you want him, Hwanwoong orders.  Heat suffuses Seoho’s cheeks as he pulls back.  He knows that if he doesn’t do it, Hwanwoong will simply take hold of his lips and voice and say it for him, but he’s wanted this for so long, and Seoho wants this moment to be his.

“I… I want you,” he says, voice cracking on the words.  Keonhee’s eyes widen slightly, his lips parted, shiny and dark.

“Me too,” Keonhee says, and visibly swallows.  “Sorry, I— why now?”

Hwanwoong laughs in the back of Seoho’s head.

“I don’t know,” Seoho lies.  “I just thought…”

Keonhee smiles so kindly and runs his fingers over the swollen curve of Seoho’s lower lip.  The skin is sensitive, the touch sending shivers along his limbs — Seoho’s no longer untouched, but this kind of gentleness is still foreign to him.

They kiss for what feels like hours, so long that Seoho gets nervous that Keonhee will tire of him, and yet Keonhee seems perfectly content to lick at Seoho’s lips and bite at them until they’re sore and tingling. He can feel Hwanwoong beginning to grow impatient in the back of his mind, like an itch, but he does his best to ignore it, hoping Hwanwoong will leave them alone.

“What do you want?” Keonhee asks, hands running over Seoho’s chest, squeezing his waist — Keonhee’s hands are so much bigger than his own, spanning a breathtaking amount of skin.

“I, ah…”

Ride him, Hwanwoong hisses. Tell him you want his cock splitting you open.

Seoho’s face must betray him because Keonhee begins to look concerned again. Seoho shakes his head as if to clear it.

“Can… can I ride you?”

“I have— in my drawer—” Keonhee leans over and fumbles with the small bedside table, pulling out a jar of slick lubricant that Seoho knows must have come from one of the vendors along the coast. He pulls the lid off, scooping out enough to cover his cock and then gesturing with wet fingers. “Do you need me to—”

No, Hwanwoong whispers.

“No,” Seoho says, shaky, “I can take you.”

He positions himself over Keonhee’s cock, arms trembling.  He gasps as he feels his muscles relax — it must be Hwanwoong’s doing, and it’s one of the strangest sensations Seoho’s ever encountered, like a drug or a spell cast over him.  It makes it easy to drop down onto Keonhee, one long slide that punches a groan out of his chest.

“Oh, gods, Seoho.”  Keonhee’s voice has gone whiny, his hands tight on Seoho’s hips.  He curls inward, forehead resting against Seoho’s chest as they share a moment of stillness, acclimating to the sensation.

You’re both pathetic, Hwanwoong complains.  Get on with it.

Seoho starts to move, tentative at first and gaining speed as he chases the shocks of pleasure that rush through him every time he drops down again.  He digs his nails into Keonhee’s shoulders, desperate for purchase, for something to ground him.

“You feel so good,” Keonhee murmurs, hands roaming over Seoho’s back, reaching up to tug at his hair.  Seoho wants to answer but he finds himself lost for words, thready little ah’s escaping his throat with every thrust that he can’t control.

You sound like a whore, Hwanwoong whispers to him, grin in his voice.  I thought maybe it was just for me, but it appears that you always cry like a slut when you take cock.

Seoho’s face burns — he’s grateful that the darkness hides the worst of his reaction.  Guilt washes over him for a moment, but he’s quickly distracted as Keonhee leans forward and sucks his nipple into his mouth, hot and wet and just the barest graze of teeth.

“Keonhee,” he whines, embarrassed by the pitch of his voice but helpless to control it.  Keonhee moans in response, hips kicking up with every noise Seoho gives him, lips and tongue working him over before switching to the other side.  Too quickly, he finds himself close — with stuttering words, he tries to let Keonhee know.

“Me too,” Keonhee says, voice breaking and so sweet Seoho could cry.  He wraps his hand around Seoho’s dick, the sweat between them slicking it just enough to be good.

Seoho’s aches and he’s so, so tired, and Keonhee feels so good underneath him, and it’s easy as breathing to chase that feeling and tip up and over the edge, shaking and crying out, scratching over Keonhee’s shoulders and up along the back of his neck.  He feels Keonhee’s grip tighten on his waist, feels heat shoot up through him and he knows Keonhee’s come inside him — it feels right, in a way, feels cleansing after everything Seoho’s been through the last few weeks.  Feels real.

“Gods, Seoho,” Keonhee laughs weakly, pulling back just enough to look Seoho in the eye.  His face is flushed, hair a mess and grin pulling at the eternally-upturned corners of his mouth.  

"Thank you," Seoho whispers.  Keonhee laughs again.

"For what?"

Seoho gives a little shrug.  All at once, he's wracked with another wave of exhaustion, barely fending off a yawn.  Keonhee reaches up and thumbs at the corner of Seoho's eye, down to stroke his cheek.

"I was beginning to think you didn't want this," Keonhee says, "which was fine, it's just, all the times you slept here and—"

"I wanted it," Seoho interrupts.  "I didn't know how to ask."

"I'm glad you did."  Keonhee's smile is so earnest, it makes something hurt in Seoho's chest.  Seoho wants to kiss him, so he does, deep and wanting.

Don’t forget, Hwanwoong whispers, you’re still mine.

Seoho shivers, but he lets Keonhee’s lips pull him back under.