[Fic] Play For Me - Part 1
Seoul, present day
The crowd’s roar is almost deafening as he slams the last chord. The reverberation of heavy sounds vibrates through his pores and he stands still to take it all in. His senses are hypersensitive, and he absorbs every single note, every distinct voice, every fading echo. He lowers his head in pause; his sweaty bangs drip thunderous drops onto the ground. He breathes heavily into the microphone, and the crowd goes quiet. He shuts out. For a long moment, it is only him he hears, and the loneliness and longing is as strongly palpable as it always is. He feels the passing of time acutely, the painful ticking, tick tock, tick tock. Someone’s watch is out of sync, a millisecond faster than the thousands of watches, and layer by layer, the sounds build up again.
He lifts his head and stares straight into the spotlight shining at him. He doesn’t flinch, but instead, let the light make a play on his eyes. On the huge screens flanking his left and right, the crowd sees bright, sparkling orbs, flecks of gold framed by midnight dark eyeliner, a sharp contrast on his otherwise alabaster skin. The crowd gasps, and he knows it is because his eyes his eyes touches souls, lures them, captures them. His eyes speak volumes, and yet, say nothing at all.
The indulgent smirk he deigns to give makes the crowd go wild. He slings the heavy Fender off his shoulder and in a dramatic move, he swings and smashes the guitar onto the stage floor. Thousands of pieces fly everywhere, and he sees every piece. His smirk grows wider, thinking of the poetry of his actions. Thousands of pieces for thousands of dollars, and how none of it, none of this, means anything to him.
Arms spread wide, sinews glistening and veins throbbing, he tilts his head up and looks upwards into the starry sky. He accepts the adoration generously, here in the place where he is God.
But, all it will take is an instant. In an instant, he will give all this up. To hear that sweet precious voice once again, he will go through the fires of hell he sings about. Alas, the pain he carries, the one that he has been carrying for almost 400 years, will be his burden for eternity.
*
Concert over, he endures the banal banter of humans as they pat him on the back, warm hands on cold skin. They toast to his success, and he drinks with them, having perfected the skill of seeming to be inebriated with alcohol faster than the amount it will actually take to affect him. Fools, he thinks to himself, as he watches the humans succumb one after the other. What is alcohol compared to the thick richness he is so used to? A taste of that, and no other drunkenness will do.
He steals away, moving swiftly in the shadows of the night. He feels the familiar crippling hunger that has plagued him for centuries. He has learnt to control it, to go for days without satisfying it, but it doesn’t stop his need to feed. He descends into the city’s backstreet red light district. Hundreds of years it has been his favourite hunting ground, he’s never been able to bring himself to leave it all behind.
The girl is naked and soft in his arms, dazed, under his spell. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he licks a trail down her neck. This appreciation for human life that he has is not something new, but he wasn’t always like this. There was a time when he was a vicious killer, nothing more. His lips kiss down to her heaving cleavage and he bites it gently, letting the little trickle of blood whet his appetite. She moans and arches off the cheap motel bed. His slides his slender fingers in her, she is wet and ready for him. He feels the strain in his dark denims, but he ignores it. The desire for blood is much stronger. He can smell it, heated with arousal. He toys with her until she gasps in pleasure. Only then does he sink his fangs into her jugular, hearing her scream as a gush of blood fills him, making him warm again.
He leaves the girl asleep on the bed, the money for the room and her services on the nightstand. He doesn’t kill them anymore, he takes just enough for the hunger to ebb. He steps out into the night, satiated, feeling almost human. He strolls along the strip of pubs, ears pricked in selection of good music. He stops abruptly, tuning in to a particular tinkling of ivory keys. He tilts his head as he listens, there is something in the melody that dredges up old memories. He chases the music to a hole-in-the-wall jazz pub. Just as he steps in, the playing stops. All he can see is the lean back of the pianist, dressed in a well-tailored black suit, standing and bowing to the audience.
His eyes follow the mysterious pianist off stage. There’s something…….no, it can’t be, he begins to think. And then, he can’t, because he hears a voice, that long lost voice, behind him.
“Rock superstar Jung Jinwoon. Welcome to my humble establishment.”
He turns, the blood he had earlier consumed running cold in his veins.
“Jo Kwon.”
“It’s been a while, my lord.”
*
Seoul, Joseon Dynasty, 1700s
“Master, if I may be so bold, why are we here?”
Jinwoon surveys the lively night street before him in glee. He had almost forgotten the decadence of such activities. It had been a dark century of strife and wars, and even though advantageous for a soldier vampire with blood on tap, it is most definitely time for a change of scene.
“For some fun of course. This is one hundred years in the making,” Jinwoon gestures grandly, “Wouldn’t it be a treat to taste sweet blood from the perfumed bosom of a loose woman, rather than smelly, dying soldiers in the battlefield?” He glances at his companion who, at his words, bows low in acquiescence.
“If I had known you were going to be such a bore, I wouldn’t have turned you,” Jinwoon teases as he cups the face of his underling. Changmin had been a lieutenant in the regiment where he was captain. From the day Jinwoon first laid eyes on him, Changmin had caught Jinwoon’s attention with his fierce loyalty and wisdom beyond his years. The young man was all alone in the world, having lost his parents and a young wife with child when invaders torched his village while he was out night hunting. The sadness and guilt in Changmin’s eyes were powerful. When Changmin flung himself in front of Jinwoon in battle, taking an arrow, unnecessarily, for him, Jinwoon knew that he had to make him his.
Changmin was choking on his own blood when Jinwoon drained him to the brink of death. Then, Jinwoon bit his own wrist and offered his blood to Changmin. Changmin latched on tightly like a newborn baby drinking for the first time from its mother’s breast. All it took was a few minutes for Changmin to look at Jinwoon with new eyes, the word “master” on his lips.
“Master,” Changmin smiles and Jinwoon kisses him on the cheek.
“Come,” Jinwoon beckons, offering a hand, “Let’s make ourselves known in this new world.”
*
Dressed in splendid robes, the two vampires look every bit like Yangban aristocrats with money to spend. Jinwoon looks slightly younger than Changmin, having only been 20 years old when he turned. However, he walks with a saunter so confident, showing his secret seniority, that the solicitors of the various brothels throw themselves at him, seeking his patronage.
They visit one, touted to have Kisaengs so beautiful they could be mistaken for angels. Jinwoon throws money carelessly around and it gets him and Changmin a private room with what they were told are the 2 most popular women in the brothel house. Beauties they are but Jinwoon soon tires of them. There is no soul, no depth, just shallow vessels of frivolity that he has no patience for.
He makes a quick meal of the one he chooses, feeling her life slowly seep away. He snaps her neck for good measure and tosses the body haphazardly on the luxuriant yo worthy of such a expensive brothel. He sips on shochu as he waits for Changmin to finish his meal. Changmin takes a little longer, and is a little more violent, as he is still a young vampire, and still gets swept away by the delectable experience of feeding from a healthy, young human. Sometimes, a vampire has sex with his victims to enhance the pleasure of the kill, and this is what Changmin does. Jinwoon can rein in his addiction better, choosing instead to save it for something more worthwhile.
Once done, they leave in the silent way only they can, finding amusement in the bloody mess they leave behind. They are long down the back alleys when they hear screams. Their kills have been found.
In high spirits, full and drunk from the prostitute’s blood, Jinwoon doesn’t notice stumbling through double doors into a yard. The quiet captures his attention. The building in front of him seems like a brothel house, but the lack of perverse revelry like the main street makes it is odd.
“What is this place?” Jinwoon asks Changmin.
“I have heard, master, that there are obscure places offering up boys,” Changmin replies, looking around.
“Obviously niche then,” Jinwoon concludes.
Changmin nods.
“Just what I’m in the mood for,” Jinwoon licks his lips and proceeds.
*
The entrance of the brothel is modest, none of the opulence of the one they had just left. They are greeted by a portly elderly gentleman chewing on tobacco.
“What can I do you young men for?” the old man asks, showing a rotten set of yellow teeth, addressing Changmin, mistakenly thinking that Changmin is the leader of the two. Jinwoon rolls his eyes, but he is in a good mood, and hence will not harm the man. He nods a little at Changmin.
“The best. Money is no object,” Changmin tosses a heavy bagful of gold coins onto the battered old reception table.
If the old man is impressed with the money, he does not show it. Instead, he sets it aside in a locked drawer. “Follow me,” he says, and leads them down the hallway. They pass room after room, and Jinwoon can hear the sounds of sex through them - gruff voices and restrained moans.
“We are a threadbare establishment. I’m afraid I can only offer one Kisaeng for the both of you. But, he is our best, and I guarantee satisfaction,” the old man smiled his disgusting smile. Jinwoon shrugs, it didn’t matter. They already had their main meal. This will just be a snack. They could share.
The old man leaves them outside a room at the end of the hallway. Light flickers behind the windows, and Jinwoon is mildly curious. He pushes the door open and it creaks. He steps in, and for a second, he sees no one. The room is sparse, furnished only by a low table, a thin yo that has clean sheets, and a simple wooden cupboard in the corner. A single candle stands on the table, next to a bottle, which JInwoon presumes is shochu, and small cups.
A small shuffle makes Jinwoon look to the darkest corner of the room. A figure emerges into the light, a slight boy of not more than 20 years old, skin white as snow, with lips so red they look almost bleeding. Even though dressed in monochrome poor man garments, his beauty shines through.
“My lords,” the boy prostrates on the floor.
Jinwoon is mesmerized. This boy, just looking at him, and from the two words uttered so gently, has made something in him stir, a memory of how it feels to be human.
He turns to Changmin. Changmin understands and leaves.
“Please,” Jinwoon says, and the boy looks up, visibly surprised that there is only one customer, when he saw two seconds ago.
“Stand up,” Jinwoon helps the boy, feeling the soft skin of his hands. The boy looks up at him with strong, confident eyes. There is a defiance in them that pulls Jinwoon in.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Jo Kwon, my lord.”
*
There is a subtle sensuality in Jo Kwon’s every movement, in the sway of his hips as he walks, in the flick of his wrist as he pours them their shochu. Jinwoon drinks with the boy, observing the increasing pinkness of his cheeks, the glazed shine in his eyes, and how his soft upper lip wraps around the brim of the cup.
Breathtaking.
“…..do you play, my lord?”
“Hmmm?” Jinwoon had known that Jo Kwon was making small talk, but he had been distracted by the sound of Jo Kwon’s lilting voice, words flowing in gentle melody, to follow what he was saying.
Jo Kwon simply smiles as he shifts a little to open the cupboard. He brings out an old Gayageum and places it in front of Jinwoon. Jinwoon runs his eyes slowly over the instrument for a while, aware that Jo Kwon is staring at him. He hears a barely audible hitch in Jo Kwon’s breath. Jinwoon smirks slightly. So, the beautiful Kisaeng boy is turned on.
“I do, play,” Jinwoon says finally, fingers stroking the strings of the instrument.
“For me?” Jo Kwon asks as he kneels next to Jinwoon and sits back on his heels.
“For you, anything,” Jinwoon replies, pressing his arm against Jo Kwon, a simple gesture that makes him burn with desire for the boy. Jinwoon savours it as he starts to play, a haunting melody that tells a tale hundreds of years old.
Jinwoon stops when he can no longer ignore the heavy breathing of the boy next to him. Jo Kwon looks at him with eyes touched by the song’s story, eyes that reflected a form of understanding of who Jinwoon is. Jinwoon almost chuckles at that thought, how could Jo Kwon ever know who he really is?
“That song, it’s so beautiful,” Jo Kwon says softly as his hand moves to stroke Jinwoon’s cheek.
His seduction technique, Jinwoon thinks. And yet, it is almost believable.
“You’re beautiful,” Jinwoon whispers and pulls the boy in for a kiss.
As soon as their lips touch, arousal flares in Jinwoon. Jo Kwon kisses with such need and force that it takes Jinwoon by surprise, and his body reacts to it. He lets Jo Kwon lead, and the boy accepts the role with such wide-open enthusiasm, strange for a person bound to this trade.
He’s strong, and such a mystery, Jinwoon muses appreciatively as he gets pushed down by the eager boy. Jo Kwon is hard against his thigh, and Jinwoon searches through the fabric to take hold of it.
“My lord,” Jo Kwon breaths, and it shoots through Jinwoon like a lightning bolt. Animal instinct kicking in, Jinwoon growls and reverses their positions, pinning Jo Kwon down hard by his shoulders. Jo Kwon pushes against Jinwoon’s hands, a quick flash of anger in his eyes at the loss of dominance.
Interesting, so very interesting.
Jinwoon is infinitely stronger and it takes no effort at all to hold Jo Kwon still as he leans down to kiss the boy’s neck. Jinwoon hears the rapid rushing of thick blood caused by the successive pounding of Jo Kwon’s heart. That life vein throbs and Jinwoon can almost taste the sweet nectar as his lips caress the soft pale skin. Jo Kwon shivers under him, bringing hands up to push away as much of Jinwoon’s robe as possible. Jinwoon gives Jo Kwon some leeway, and spreads the boy’s robe open as he does so. He is greeted with a long, toned, creamy torso.
Irresistible.
Jinwoon licks a random path around Jo Kwon’s heaving chest, grazing the pert nipples with the edge of his fangs. Jo Kwon arches up in pleasure, his fingernails digging hard into Jinwoon’s back. Jo Kwon’s scent, made muskier with arousal, is driving Jinwoon crazy. He kisses Jo Kwon everywhere, fighting the urge to sink his teeth. A part of him wants to devour the boy, and another part, a part he doesn’t quite understand, wants to keep Jo Kwon safe. This conflict manifests into this fervent need to make the boy his and he lets this need envelope him.
So engrossed is he in the boy that Jinwoon does not notice that his guard is down until Jo Kwon flips them. Jinwoon flops on his back and is momentarily disturbed. It goes away almost immediately when Jo Kwon lowers himself and takes Jinwoon in to the hilt. The sensation heightens dangerously as the heat surrounds him. He bares his fangs and sits up quickly, burying his face in Jo Kwon’s neck as he snaps his hips according to the boy’s rhythm.
“Jo Kwon,” he whispers, fangs ghosting that tempting vein as he takes Jo Kwon in his hand. Jo Kwon mewls and bears down harder.
“Jo Kwon,” he says again as he feels a sticky wetness in his palm.
“M-my lord,” Jo Kwon pants and throws his head back, exposing more neck.
The slow burn turns into a bonfire. Jinwoon pushes up and comes so fiercely that he almost loses himself. He feels Jo Kwon’s hand on his back, caressing, stroking, bringing him down gradually from his high. Jinwoon’s hand is still pumping, and Jo Kwon’s breath is ragged. Maybe just one small taste, Jinwoon thinks in his haze, and he breaks skin. Jo Kwon’s blood is sweeter than any he has ever tasted, and he latches harder. Jo Kwon cries out and his body shudders as he spills his seed all over Jinwoon’s hand. Jo Kwon leans his sweaty forehead, panting hard, on Jinwoon’s shoulder, and Jinwoon licks up a small trickle of blood.
This is the first time there is no fear. Usually, Jinwoon has to compel his victims to go along, to finish. But not Jo Kwon. The boy enjoyed it all on his own. If Jinwoon wasn’t sure of it before, he is now. Jo Kwon is special.
Jo Kwon hugs him tight with an emotion that Jinwoon can’t pinpoint. Jinwoon returns the gesture, and in doing so, admits that Jo Kwon would be hard to let go.
*
Part 2