Jungkook is weak on his knees. How could he not? When he’s hit with one of the most pleasing smell he knows of, one that sends excitement down his spine, one that sends hunger.
He wasn’t trying to disturb, he really wasn’t. Dressed in a long dark cassock, he was on his way to back to his church after running errands for the Father. The rain was pouring down, he should go back hastily. But oh he was famished, hungry in a way the food offered back in the safety of his church cannot quench.
The young demon tried to ignore the scent, the… faint screaming in the air, the road should have been deserted, and he has no business disturbing anyone’s private affairs. But after the scent of blood got thicker. Like a cat, he can’t ignore the smell, his foot quick and quiet as he steps into the dark alley, his fingers clutching the handle of his umbrella hard, trying to control his needs, swallowing down the spit in his mouth. He takes in the view from the other side of the alley, and he steps in closer, and closer, looking down at the… creature, with the victim in his hands. The demon’s eyes are laced with need, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“Can I…” He cautiously says. “Have some too?”
Hoseok was not a messy eater in the slightest-- he had nearly prided himself on his clean, precise bites and in the way he rarely if ever wasted any. This him was not Hoseok, --he realized only as he gripped her rain jacket tighter and closer to his body to sink his teeth into her neck deeper to drink in her warmth with suprising conviction. He almost didn’t feel it as she pounded her small fists into the center of his chest, and definitely hadn’t notice the way her tears mix with rainfall. In that moment he remembered only how satisfying it felt to indulge and how, fuck, it burned as it dripped down the column of his neck to further dirty the lapel of his starched button-down.
Later it would play endlessly behind his eyelids, and like an old radio, he’d hear the sweetness of her voice as she spoke to her husband on the phone only moments before the need overcame him. He’d hear again and again, how a scream would part her lips, and a gurgle would resound in her throat in it’s place. But once that settled later in the pit of his stomach and it churned and flipped, because he was always hungry, will he hear the sound of the phone crackling against the pavement, and the concerned ‘Hello? Honey?!’ resound against the walls of his small wine shop.
Her rainjacket crumpled against his palms, and suddenly did he tear his teeth away and part from her. He caught her just barely before she could hit the greased pavement. And she with the little strength she had, curled her fingers into his shirt and, with her swollen lips like freshly peeled grapefruit did she smile at him. It was something he could never understand, the endorphins-- were they a comfort for the victims, or a comfort for himself. Should he, right in that moment, have felt okay with wanting to drink from her again? Content from how delicious fresh blood had tasted, as his tongue dragged across the seam of his lips?
Guilt had only risen in his chest when the sound of footsteps making quick, yet, cautious haste through the alleyway finally came to a standstill under the buzz of a flickering neon sign advertising pineapple soju. Hoseok was unable to conjure up any real cohesive thoughts in that moment. There was a woman still alive, yet barely, bleeding out in his arms and there he was the culprit,--with full bloody satisfied lips and eyes that only shot daringly up at the other with a striking icey blue gaze. At first, he expected chaos to ensue within that fleeting second of beating rainfall, and gravel digging into his jeans, soaking through the gray a filthy murky black. Was he her husband? Was he a hunter waiting to end his very short vampyric life with the flicker of a match and a splash of oil?
That night was filled with questions, but the ability to pull himself together was not among them. “A church boy?-- and,” he pauses, giving the other a once over, not missing the hunger in his eyes, the same that often times plagued him if he were without a meal for quite some time. He almost felt sorry for him, --understanding. “--and you want some?” It was almost laughable, how in any other situation, with any other scene, they could have been conversing over a roasted chicken dinner that he was unwilling to share with a beggar. Hoseok shifted the woman on his knees, the thin chain he wore glistening against his chest as the her nails snag a few loose buttons on his shirt. “This,-- She’s mine,” to a homeless person, Hoseok would throw a bone, but whatever this was, he was completely unwilling to entertain the idea of it. “And I don’t share.”
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