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It feels like he’s been driving for hours by the time he makes it out to the hillside church he’d set out for. Even open and exposed to the elements as it’s been, the inside is still faintly musty, the scent of rotted wood and fiber wafting around him in the dark. The smell of neglect.
“Jungkook?” Namjoon calls into the dark. He knows he’s a bit late, but there’s absolutely no sign of who he was supposed to meet—like he was never here at all.
Namjoon continues on, finding the stairs that lead down to the crypt of the church. He slowly descends, the air around him slowly becoming cooler and more humid the lower he gets. It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, and Namjoon’s only getting more and more tense the longer he stays here without finding Jungkook.
When he makes it to the bottom, he can just barely make out a faint glow coming from around the bend of the corridor. His instincts, coupled with the ever present voice of his father, are on edge. Did something happen to Jungkook and that’s why he’s not answering? Some other hunters found him maybe? Or has Taehyung been right all along and Jungkook was only trying to lure him into a trap?
Namjoon turns off his flashlight, trading it for his knife instead. He takes careful steps, mindful to make as little noise as possible. No matter what Taehyung–or their father, for that matter–has to say, Namjoon is a good fucking hunter. He knows what he’s doing.
He makes it to the bend in the corridor, pressed to the wall, knife at the ready. He’s holding his breath, refusing to let whatever might be around the corner know he’s here. He strains his ears again, trying to listen for even a hint of sound–anything that might let him know what could possibly be just around the corner.
Namjoon takes one last steadying breath before he rounds the corner only to find–
Candles. A shocking number of candles.
“You’re late.”
Namjoon whips around before he can process, arm cocked back and ready to strike. He eases up only after his mind catches up, processing who it is.
“Jungkook-ah,” he exhales, “I thought something happened to you.”
Jungkook only smiles, flitting past Namjoon and his raised knife to step into the candlelit room. “I like watching you,” he hums, “Hyung is always so brave.” He doesn’t say anything else, waiting with a soft smile for Namjoon to come to him.
And Namjoon always does, is the thing. Since he and Taehyung had run into Jungkook while tracking down a group of demons that’d fancied themselves the deadly sins, Namjoon’s been enraptured with the young demon. Taehyung was immediately distrustful of Jungkook, never one to ally himself with anything besides a human. But Namjoon had felt drawn toward him–still does, even now, over a year later. Jungkook had helped them; he’d even given them the very knife that Namjoon holds in his hand now–the only thing they’d ever encountered that could kill a demon, instead of just exorcizing it. If Jungkook bore them ill-will, why would he give them the only thing on the planet that could actually kill him?
It’s been a point of contention for the brothers ever since. But Namjoon trusts Jungkook–as much as he can, anyway. As much as he trusts Taehyung, at least.
Namjoon shuffles forward, deciding to tuck the knife away before he folds Jungkook up in his arms. He presses a kiss to the top of Jungkook’s head, smiling to himself when he feels the contented sigh leave his body.
“Sorry I’m late,” he mutters into Jungkook’s hair, “Taehyung was…upset.”
It’s an understatement, but not wholly inaccurate. Taehyung’s always upset when it comes to Jungkook. When it comes to Namjoon and Jungkook, specifically.
In his arms, Jungkook scoffs before pulling away.
“Not exactly a big surprise there, is it?”
Likewise, Jungkook has never been a big fan of Taehyung, either. Namjoon is sure it’s just a response to the hostility that his younger brother gives off, because the Jungkook that he knows is one of the most tender beings he’s ever encountered–human or otherwise.
He’s already had one side of this conversation–this argument, really–tonight. He doesn’t have it in him to do it again. Not when they already get such a small amount of time together as it is.
“Please, Jungkook-ah, don’t–” Namjoon sighs, defeat evident in his voice. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Jungkook sighs back still facing away from Namjoon. “You’re right, hyung,” he says, turning around to face him with a sad smile, “You’re right. It’s just frustrating.”
Namjoonn nods sympathetically, taking the few steps to hold Jungkook once again. He’ll figure something out eventually–fix things, so it doesn’t have to be like this anymore.
“I don’t want to spend my time with you arguing,” he murmurs, squeezing Jungkook tighter to his chest, heart aching when he feels Jungkook squeeze back just as sadly.
They stand in silence for a while, holding onto one another like it’ll change anything. If they hold on tight enough, maybe they won’t have to separate in the end.
Eventually, Jungkook takes a deep breath before he leans back to look up at Namjoon.
“Hyung wants to relax, right?”
It sounds so innocent, like a genuine question of what Namjoon’s intentions are.
Jungkook grasps at Namjoon’s hands lightly, stepping backwards and pulling them both further into the room.
“I know just how to help.”
Jungkook guides Namjoon to the middle of the room, at the center of a large circle of candles placed more centrally on the floor, pressing him into the stone with a firm press of his bare foot. Namjoon watches in rapture as Jungkook removes his clothes slowly. He’s not particularly teasing about it, but it’s entirely erotic to Namjoon’s senses. Each item removed bares a new piece of smooth skin, warmed by candlelight. Piece by piece, Jungkook strips completely, his arousal plain as day between his legs–worked up from simply being watched. The same way Namjoon likes to watch. A perfect pair.
Jungkook’s eyes are black again when he crawls over Namjoon’s lap. It used to unsettle him–the one feature that revealed the truth about what he was, associated with all manner of unpleasant memories from over the years–but it’s almost comforting now. Makes Jungkook’s round eyes look even more round, in a way. On Jungkook, the mark of a demon doesn’t seem so sinister.
Namjoon smooths his palms over Jungkook’s thighs while he gazes up at him. Around them, the flames from the candles flicker; even with how many there are, there’s still shadows dancing on every surface of the room–pirouettes on Jungkook’s face.
“I missed you,” Namjoon exhales when Jungkook leans closer, “I’m sorry it’s not like before. I wish you could be here all the time.”
In a blink, Jungkook’s eye are back to their usual brown, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I know, hyung,” he whispers, brushing their noses together, “But you’re here now.”
Kissing Jungkook has always been an otherworldly experience. Namjoon’s never been able to figure out if it’s because he technically isn’t of this world or if it’s just because it’s Jungkook. He cradles the back of Jungkook’s head, fingers carding through the long black strands, his other hand tugging his body closer as they move together.
Before Taehyung came back–before he was brought back–Namjoon scarcely spent a day away from Jungkook. Now, they’ve been reduced to this–stolen moments in hidden crypts–and Namjoon is desperate to take his fill and then some.
Jungkook smiles, laughing softly when Namjoon moves on from his lips, trailing across his jaw and down his throat. And Namjoon knows of heaven–now, more than ever–but he’s not sure how this could be something other than divine.
“It’s been almost a week,” Jungkook whispers as he sits up, “How are your headaches?” He cards one of his own hands through Namjoon’s hair, smiling again when Namjoon leans into it, turning his head to kiss Jungkook’s palm.
“I’m used to it,” is all Namjoon says. What else is there? Until he can bring Taehyung around, make him understand that Jungkook is trying to help, this is how it has to be.
Jungkook’s eyes flash back to black in an instant.
“You shouldn’t be.”
“Jungkook-ah…” Namjoon starts, only to be immediately cut off by another kiss. This time, when Jungkook pulls away, he’s holding the knife he’d gifted to them in one hand. Namjoon isn’t sure when or how he’d managed to disarm him–hadn’t even felt him reach for it.
And he trusts Jungkook–he does. But it’s hard to not let your heart jump to your throat when someone is leaning over you holding a weapon. Never mind the fact that if Jungkook wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t need a knife to do it. Though, maybe there would be a particular poetry to it, using this knife of all things. He thinks that Jungkook would get a kick out of that.
Instead of maiming Namjoon though, Jungkook smiles sweetly as he drags the jagged edge of the knife up the delicate skin of his forearm, tiny pinpricks of blood swelling up in its wake. Namjoon tries to remain calm, even with the scent of demon blood so nearby–and Jungkook’s blood, specifically–but he must fail, the young demon laughing at whatever his face does against his will.
“I thought you were used to not having it?” Jungkook teases, waving his arm in front of Namjoon’s face. Shamefully, Namjoon can feel his lips part, just in case any of Jungkook’s blood happens to drip down. He’s not proud by any means, but it is something he needs now. Something that he craves. And it does help, is the thing–the blood. It makes him stronger so they can deal with all the demons that crawled their way out of Hell. So they can deal with whatever they’re cooking up. One day, Taehyung will see that. That this is the right choice.
Jungkook coos, petting at his hair again, soothing and mocking all at the same time. Uniquely demonic, in a way. “You know I wouldn’t deny you, hyung,” he says, tilting his head sweetly. His eyes are still pitch black, and it would paint an almost eerie picture if Namjoon didn’t know better. Didn’t know Jungkook better.
Jungkook digs the knife into his skin properly this time, running the blade straight up his forearm, dark waves of blood spilling out almost immediately. Namjoon must seem like a starving man with the way he dives for it, clutching Jungkook’s arm desperately, each swell spilling into his waiting mouth instead of being wasted. The knife falls to the stone with a clatter, Jungkook abandoning it with a loud moan as Namjoon feeds from him.
Namjoon has tasted other demons’ blood in moments of desperation, and they’ve all had a horrible tinge of bitterness. The kind of taste that sticks to your mouth, almost like burnt sugar, making it so you can’t taste anything else for what feels like days. Jungkook, though, has always been sweet–not even a hint of the coppery taste that should accompany blood rushing over your tongue. Just a simple, sugary rush that goes straight to Namjoon’s head.
He groans as he swallows each mouthful, an indescribable relief washing over him. He might be used to the headaches that accompany the long breaks between blood, but it doesn’t make these moments any less welcome.
Namjoon clings to Jungkook’s wrist like a lifeline as wave after wave of darkened demon blood pulses into him. He almost feels drunk with it, even as he feels a vigor and sharpness ignite within him that he hadn’t even realized he was missing.
Jungkook has started to comb his fingers through Namjoon’s hair again, short fingernails gently scraping over his scalp.
“Take as much as you need, hyung,” he soothes.
In the months that Taehyung was gone, when it was just the two of them, Jungkook had seen firsthand how bad it got for Namjoon when he went without. When Jungkook would be halfway across the world chasing some lead and Namjoon was holed up in some shitty motel room, out of his mind with the agony of withdrawal. Really, he’d learned to go without back then–he didn’t have a choice. But he’d learned to hide it after Taehyung had been brought back.
“I would never deny you.”
Namjoon groans again, mouth dragging up Jungkook’s pale arm, smearing dark blood in its wake. He grips the back of Jungkook’s neck, using his newfound strength to drag him down into another kiss. He’s sure he tastes like blood now, his lips and chin stained with it, but he hopes Jungkook can experience what he does–that he can get even a fraction of that saccharine flavor on his tongue to know why it drives Namjoon wild.
They move together so desperately these days. They used to be able to take their time–savor one another. Now, it’s rushed–frantic, almost in the way they tug and tear at one another’s bodies, violently craving the other.
Jungkook pulls back, sticky drying blood caked around his lips, smiling. He’s always smiling when they’re together. Namjoon wonders if he makes Jungkook as happy as Jungkook make him. Two souls twisted beyond repair finding solace together.
Jungkook spits into his palm, reaching down to stroke Namjoon where he’s freed him from his jeans. Tight drags of his hand over Namjoon’s entire length–up, down, then back up again. Namjoon tries his best to keep his hips from moving, worried about bucking Jungkook off balance, but it’s a losing battle. He writhes beneath Jungkook, staring up at the demon in wonder.
Namjoon’s too lost, too far gone to notice when Jungkook shuffles forward until he’s leaning forward ever so slightly, positioning Namjoon’s length at his entrance.
“W-wait, Jungkook–” he tries, reaching feebly for Jungkook’s hip, but by the time he’s processed it, it’s too late. He only receives a sharp hiss of pain in response, Jungkook clenching his jaw in concentration.
Jungkook pushes himself, sinking further and further down aided only by the swipe of his own spit on Namjoon’s cock. Namjoon is sure he’s tearing something–he feels like he’s tearing something, but the broken part of him relishes in it. Tighter, hotter, better. The reflexive clench of Jungkook around him even more sporadic as he fights against the searing pain of Namjoon breaching him.
“This is how you fuck him, isn’t it? Just like this?” Jungkook is sweating, chest heaving as he works to take the last couple centimeters.
Namjoon’s too dazed at first to comprehend Jungkook’s question–too much heat, too much bloodrush running through his head. When he realizes, though, he scrambles to hold Jungkook still, short fingernails digging into the soft skin of his hips in a last ditch effort.
“I-i-i don’t know what you’re talking about–”
“Don’t lie to me, hyung,” Jungkook says, seating himself firmly in Namjoon’s lap, cock buried inside him to the hilt. He blinks, eyes back to demonic black again, “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
Namjoon flounders. How would Jungkook even know? It’s not like he’s around when he and Taehyung–
“I’m not jealous, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Namjoon’s mind is whirling, but it comes to halt when Jungkook starts to move, a slow grind of his hips, keeping them pressed close.
“I’m not jealous, hyung,” he repeats as he leans down, eyes as dark as night flickering across Namjoon’s face. He licks at the smudges of his own tacky blood still clinging to Namjoon’s lips. “I’m not jealous, but he is.”
Jungkook starts to ride him in earnest, dirty drags that keep Namjoon inside as long as possible before he slams back down. He’s planted his palms on the stone next to Namjoon’s head and the wound on his forearm must still be open, the heady scent of demon blood rushing over Namjoon once more. He’s started to lose focus again, questions and concerns replaced with pure need.
“He’s jealous that you don’t need him anymore,” Jungkook whispers into his ear, licking hot around the shell. Namjoon only digs his fingers into Jungkook’s hips harder, no doubt drawing blood there, too.
“You’re a better hunter than he is,” Jungkook continues, “Stronger, faster, smarter.” Each item is punctuated with a harsh slam of his hips. Namjoon groans, dragging his grip from Jungkook’s hips to his ass, spreading his cheeks in the hopes of shoving his cock even a millimeter deeper.
And Jungkook’s right, isn’t he? Taehyung is jealous. He has been since he came and dragged him away from law school–before Namjoon had left in the first place, if he’s honest. Namjoon’s always been smart, great at figuring out what they’re up against even when it’s something obscure and unknown. He’s bigger than Taehyung, too. Spends at least half their hunts having to save him from monsters that’ve overpowered him. And, more than anything, Namjoon is patient—happy to wait for the right moment to strike, rather than rushing in with guns blazing.
“And now, with my blood,” Namjoon can feel it this time, Jungkook’s smile pressed into his skin as he speaks, “You don’t need him for hunts at all. How could he possibly help you when you can stop a demon dead in their tracks with your mind?”
Taehyung had been horrified the first time Namjoon had taken out a demon with his power. When he found out that Namjoon had learned how to control what they’d believed to be a curse with Jungkook’s help, his attitude went from bad to worse. He refused to be around Jungkook at all after that, staunchly arguing that Jungkook was poisoning him. But how could that be true? Namjoon had been given this power, and Jungkook helped him harness it. Taehyung just didn’t like to admit that Namjoon had found a better way.
Jungkook leans up once more, this time bracing himself on Namjoon’s chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.
“You like fucking him like this?” Jungkook pants, “I can give you that, too. You’ll never hurt me, hyung. I’m not some weak human,” he spits, “And neither are you.”
Namjoon surges upward to press their mouths together, his vice grip on Jungkook the only thing that keeps him from toppling out of his lap at the sudden movement.
They might be eager for one another when they’re together, but it’s never like this. Now, they’re practically violent as they fall into one another. Namjoon braces himself with one hand on the stone floor, the other wrapped firmly around Jungkook’s waist as he fucks up into his willing body. Gone is any concern he might’ve had about potential injuries to Jungkook after he’d taken Namjoon without even a whisper of prep, replaced by a fire in his veins–a singular hunger.
Jungkook clutches at him, fingers scraping at his nape as he throws his head back and laughs. It’s at odds with the grunts and growls leaving Namjoon’s lips, the loud smack of their skin together, the clanging of Namjoon’s belt hanging open around his hips, though Namjoon doesn’t have it in him to process it. Jungkook holds him closer, gently guiding Namjoon’s face to his neck–to breathe him in.
Namjoon finds himself wholly surrounded by Jungkook; it’s his blood in Namjoon’s veins, his hands in Namjoon’s hair, his tight hole squeezing Namjoon’s cock just right, his pretty scent in Namjoon’s lungs. Jungkook’s never had the awful sulfur smell that demons tend to have–he’s always carried something almost intangible, like a sunny spring day. Nothing like a demon, a tortured soul ripped out of Hell. More like an angel–something truly celestial. Not like the filth that deign to call themselves divine.
He can hear Jungkook whispering, tone gentle and loving, almost like he’s pressing sweet nothings into Namjoon’s hair. When he focuses though, he can finally process the words.
You’re better than him.
Over and over; a mantra just for Namjoon.
Namjoon comes with a shout, eyes squeezed shut as he shudders beneath Jungkook, cock twitching as he empties inside of him. His chest is heaving, fighting for breath as Jungkook continues to roll his hips, making sure to milk Namjoon for every last drop, moaning softly at each fresh wave of come that he earns.
When Namjoon has started to sag, Jungkook reaches between them to finish himself off, fisting his own cock for only a few strokes before he’s coming, too. With a whimper, he spills over his knuckles and Namjoon’s shirt alike, hole fluttering around Namjoon’s softening and oversensitive cock. They collapse to the floor together, sticky mess between them already forgotten.
Namjoon comes-to in darkness, a stark contrast to the bright candlelight he hadn’t even realized he’d dozed off in. With a start, he reaches for his knife, heart dropping when he doesn’t even feel the strap for it on his belt.
He scrambles to get himself upright only to be tugged back down by a firm arm over his chest. Panic seeps in, for himself, for whatever might’ve happened to Jungkook, for what could happen to Taehyung without Namjoon’s protection.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a voice soothes, “It’s just me, hyung. It’s me.”
Jungkook. Shit. It’s just Jungkook.
Namjoon’s eyes are still wide, heart racing as he fights to calm his mind, finally focusing on Jungkook’s face in the moonlight. When he’d entered the room earlier, he hadn’t even realized that a portion of the wall was knocked out on one side, open to the crisp night air and bright moon. He focused on the moon now, the flickering stars surrounding it in the night sky as he tries to come back down.
He’s safe. They are safe.
Absently, he presses a chaste kiss to Jungkook’s lips as he sits up. There’s no trace of blood between them, the only indicator that Namjoon had drank from Jungkook is head no longer throbbing in his skull from withdrawal. He stands up fully, assessing the state of them both; Jungkook is clothed again, Namjoon tucked neatly back into his pants, not even the whisper of a stain on his shirt.
“Uh, I gotta,” his throat is dry. How long was he asleep? “I gotta go. Taehyung will be wondering…”
Jungkook scoffs but nods amenably anyway, making to stand as well.
The moon is bright, and his eyes have adjusted, but it’s still exceptionally dark in the room as Namjoon darts his eyes around for the knife he’d come with. Jungkook waits, hunched in on himself on the darkest wall watching silently while Namjoon searches for his weapon.
“I meant what I said, you know,” Jungkook murmurs after a few minutes, eyes boring into Namjoon even in the darkness.
He saunters over to Namjoon, pulling the knife from where he’d tucked it into the back of his pants. He presses it back into Namjoon’s waiting palm, his own fingers curling around Namjoon’s as he takes the weapon back.
“You don’t need him anymore,” he repeats his sentiment from earlier.
Namjoon swallows nervously, eyes searching Jungkook’s face for…for something. He’s not sure what. Some kind of salvation, maybe.
“When you finally come to terms with that, you know how to find me.”
The moment Jungkook finishes speaking, he’s gone on the whisper of a breeze, leaving Namjoon completely alone in the church. He misses him again almost immediately, heart aching with Jungkook’s absence.
Namjoon makes it back to the motel where he left Taehyung just as the sun is creeping over the horizon. He unlocks the rickety door as quietly as he can to find his younger brother sleeping soundly in his bed, television left on, still playing some awful infomercial on loop.
He watches for a moment, the soft inhale-exhale while Taehyung sleeps soundly and he thinks.
Maybe Jungkook is right.