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complete-in-ix · 10 months

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Beyond The Path Of Reason

Rated: E Warning(s): DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Implied past non-con, implied past abuse, (neither of those are committed by the mcs), self-harm, stabbing, explicit sexual content, erogore, woundfucking, cannibalism, I cannot stress enough that Sumin comes inside Jinsik's chest cavity please scroll if you don't want to read that, hypnotism, like if Jinsik was Tomie basically Description: Ham Jinsik is no ordinary human. Perhaps he once was, though the truth of his origin has been long since lost to time. All that even he himself knows is that he was born blessed with such beauty that higher beings themselves envied him and mere mortals fell irrevocably and madly in love with a single look into his eyes. Once he became of age the madness overtook the love, and for the first time in his soon-to-be centuries of life, he was murdered in cold blood. Countless calamities have fallen upon his body and heart during his cursed wandering of the earth, all brought about by those unfortunate enough to love and be loved by him. All until Choi Sumin. Sumin's love touches Jinsik differently. He can only hope Sumin will touch him differently, too.

(Read on Ao3)

Jinsik is all too happy to melt into Sumin's kisses at the end of the night. Three dates is already a high number to score with Jinsik and here he is letting himself be pinned to Sumin's bedroom door after—well, he stopped counting after seven. His stomach is pleasantly full from dinner—homemade by Sumin, because of course it would be—and his head buzzes with the daze of wine—full-bodied and sweet just the way he likes it. His heart is in the best condition it's been in decades; swooping in his chest light as a feather with every press of Sumin's lips to his own.

"You," Sumin whispers between kisses, "are so amazing." His jacket drops to the floor in the time it takes for Jinsik to catch his breath.

"Me? I've hardly done anything to warrant that, have I?" Jinsik, ever coy, dodges Sumin's kisses this time. He still dives in; landing on Jinsik's cheeks, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Jinsik can't help but giggle at his insistence to love him; he's like an ever-adoring puppy.

"You exist, jagiya. That alone is amazing enough." Sumin abandons Jinsik's lips in favour of mouthing at his neck, kissing and sucking faint pink marks into his soft skin. Jinsik swallows down a heavy cocktail of dread and arousal as he dips lower; just shy of his collar now. Oh, Sumin's been so good so far. If he fails this last trial, what will become of Jinsik? Of his heart? His body? Jinsik allows him one last lingering kiss to his Adam's apple before lightly pushing at his chest.

"Yeobo, hold on," he murmurs. Sumin obeys immediately, pulling back with his face turned up in concern. His hands leave their place on Jinsik's waist after a moment of hesitation to hover nervously between them, like he doesn't know what to do with them. Oh, this is new. No one has stopped for Jinsik before Sumin. It's… Nice. He continues before his brooding can take over him. "I have something to tell you before we do anything else." Understanding dawns on Sumin's face.

"Oh?" His tone is light, carefully measured as he guides Jinsik to sit down on his bed. "What is it? Please don't be afraid to tell me, I'm always here to listen." Sumin sits down next to him; farther down the bed away from the door, a safe distance from Jinsik. Providing an exit in case he needs one. He's smiling when Jinsik looks up at him again; soft and reassuring. Jinsik can't help but mirror it. "Whenever you're ready, jagi."

"I—" The words lodge in Jinsik's throat. How many times has he had to have this conversation over the years? How many more times will he have to spill his guts for a man and pick them up again when he inevitably finds them too much of a mess to deal with? How will he handle it if Sumin repeats this cycle? Jinsik glances back up at him to find his curiosity fully replaced by concern. Please, please let this time be the last. He takes a deep breath and tries again. "I've had… Other relationships before." He doesn't need to tell Sumin this; he had garnered quite the reputation for his amount of failed relationships in just the first few months of school; rumours fly quite quickly on a college campus. Sumin hadn't cared in the slightest, nor does he care now. He continues after clearing his throat. "They weren't the best. Some of them cheated on me, some of them ghosted me… It doesn't really matter anymore, they're long gone. It's just…" Here he goes. "... Some of them have really—" He crosses his arms over his chest; nails biting into the meat of his arms. "—hurt me." Sumin sucks in a sharp breath.

"Oh, jagi—" Jinsik shakes his head before he can continue. He has to get this out now or he never will.

"It's not just…" He sighs. "Sometimes they wouldn't just hit me, o-or they'd hit me to get me to—to—" The words tangle around his tongue yet again. All the past decades come flying back to Jinsik again; all the strangers on the street, all the times he'd come back crying only to be called a cheater or worse, all the times he's been beaten and pushed down "because you're mine", every silver tongue that's turned to a vile intrusion against his own. All of them making Jinsik the victim of their own lack of humanity that he's learned to despise.

"Jagiya, it's okay." Sumin's gentle voice drifts past his screaming memories. "You don't have to say every detail, I… I think I get it." He reaches out to Jinsik, stopping just short of his hand. "None of it was your fault, nor does it change how I see you now. You're still the Jinsik I want to spend all my time with from now on." Jinsik sighs. Now's the hard part.

"It was my fault, actually." He puts a hand up before Sumin can protest. "Let me just show you so you'll believe me."

Sumin's favourite pocketknife—his first in a collection that he's been building since he was sixteen, a gift from his father—disappears from his nightstand and flicks open in Jinsik's hand.

"Jagi, what are you—"

Jinsik slices a deep white gouge in his own arm before Sumin can reach him.

"Just watch." Sumin does not just watch, scrambling to Jinsik's side and rushing to cover the wound left behind.

"I'm not going to just watch while you do this! Please jagi, I want to help you through whatever's—" Jinsik's wound knits shut under Sumin's hands; the red river flowing down his arm slowing to a trickle, then a stop. "—been haunting you… What the fuck—"

"I told you, yeobo. Just watch." Jinsik slashes open his other arm this time and places the knife against his throat before this one can even stop bleeding. "I need you to promise me you won't call me an ambulance."

Shellshocked, Sumin can only nod.

"Good boy." Are the last words out of Jinsik's mouth before the knife digs in as far as it will go. The whole blade disappears into his flesh and exits him dripping with red that he takes care not to get on Sumin's sheets. His neck spasms against the gush of blood floating down his throat. There’s nothing he can do to prevent the mess that sprays from his neck then; fine droplets of blood and spit finding their way to Sumin’s sheets and floor.

“Is this going to heal up too?” Sumin asks over the sound of Jinsik’s retching coughs. “Please tell me you’re going to heal from this.”

“I—” Jinsik can hardly get a word out through his chest-ripping coughs. “—I’ll be fine. I just—” There are flecks of blood on Sumin’s hands now too. “—have to show you this—” The edges of his wound grind together unpleasantly as he tries to swallow. “—first so you’ll take—” Stars dance about in his vision as his lungs deplete. “—this next part seriously.”

“There’s a next part?” Sumin’s voice starts to shake around what Jinsik knows is the instinct to gag. It’s commendable that he hasn’t fled yet; Jinsik’s last fling to make it this far had done so while filling him up with lead. He’s patient while waiting for Jinsik’s response, only reaching out for his hand when the lack of oxygen starts to make him sway.

“To put it simply…” Jinsik’s voice is about as smooth as sandpaper when he can finally speak again, heavy under the weight of blood clots that still cling to the inside of his throat. “I’m just irresistible to anyone who looks me in the eye.”

“Is—” Sumin’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. An anxious habit. “—is that why you never look people in the eye? I really did think it was because you’re on the spectrum.” His words are carefully measured; Jinsik can see that he’s trying to make sure his actions are the same, but he can easily see Sumin’s curiosity starting to overtake him now. Nervous fidgeting with his hands has become a too-measured stillness, his body leaning towards Jinsik when he had initially been keeping his distance, his neck craning this way and that to get a proper look at Jinsik’s face. Cute.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m still on the spectrum,” Jinsik giggles. A laugh slips past Sumin’s careful composure to signal his guard dropping, and Jinsik rushes to strike.

“I’m also no longer human, yeobo.” He speaks into Sumin’s very soul; the very windows to them open and locked on to Jinsik’s. This always happens; they can never look away once Jinsik makes eye contact. His flesh used to crawl every time in anticipation—dread, really—for what would be to come, but… Sumin doesn’t move. He just melts under Jinsik’s gaze, slack-jawed in his awe. That… Hasn’t happened before. “This has been my curse for a long, long time. Don’t you feel it?”

“I…” Sumin swallows thickly. “... I feel something, alright. I feel you.” His hand twitches against Jinsik’s, as if being manipulated by someone else to grab a hold. Interestingly, he doesn’t. “I want you, Jinsik. I want you so bad it’s starting to hurt.” His body jerks somewhat as he crosses his legs; fast, but not fast enough to hide his arousal straining at the front of his pants. As expected. Oh, please don’t let Jinsik’s faith in him fail now!

“Aren’t you going to take me, then?”

Sumin recoils away from him as if he's been struck.

"What?! No, not after what you've just told me!" Sumin's voice shakes with the effort it takes to keep it steady. His hands do too; digging into the sheets so tightly that his knuckles turn white. "I—you said this is your-your curse, right?" Jinsik nods. "Then everything that happened to you still isn't your fault. You don't mean to—" Sumin swallows roughly. "—to bewitch people like this, right?"

"Most of the time I don't. I really hate it sometimes, but not now." Jinsik leans in closer to Sumin as he speaks. "I mean it right now, Sumin. What are you going to do?"

Sumin is silent for a long, long moment. Jinsik doesn't take his eyes off him for a single second of it; watching his blown-out eyes roam over his body, the hot flush of arousal blooming across his face, the bob of his throat working around words that don't come out.

"Nothing," Sumin finally says. His voice splinters on the word. "I won't be an animal just because you're cursed." Jinsik's bloody hand inches closer to his, so close that anyone else surely would have snapped. Sumin still doesn't move. "I won't touch you unless you—you, not your curse—want me to, jagi."

Jinsik's breath halts in his lungs.

"Yeobo, you're…" A delirious laugh bubbles up his throat. "You're the only person who has ever said that to me." He finally throws away his previous restraint and flings himself into Sumin's arms. As expected, Sumin yelps and tries to scramble away from him.

"I—the first?!" he stammers. "That's just not right, jagi, just because you're cursed doesn't mean other people have the right to—" Jinsik kisses him before he can start rambling. This should be the true point of no return, right? Wrong. Sumin's hands still hover over him without making any contact.

"Thank you, yeobo," Jinsik giggles against Sumin's lips. "I get the idea." Sumin nearly chokes to correct himself only for Jinsik to kiss him again. "I just had to make sure you wouldn't hurt me." Sumin's heart breaks before Jinsik's very eyes.

"Oh, jagi." He pulls Jinsik into a hug so tight that he can feel his heartbeat against him. "I would never. Curse or otherwise, I'll destroy myself before I ever let you be hurt."

Heart melting, Jinsik shakes his head.

"I can recover from being hurt—I'm still alive after everything that's been done to me after all—but you can't. Not like I can."

"Still—"

"Yeobo," Jinsik cuts in before Sumin and his morals can get ahead of himself. "I'm trying to tell you that out of all the pain that I've been put through, I'm ready to give myself to you." He extricates himself from Sumin's arms with a gentle hand and slides up the bed to nestle among his pillows, uncaring of the blood he smears behind him. "Come here." He flips the knife around in his hand and extends it to Sumin. "Take as much as you want from me."

Entranced, Sumin crawls up the bed until he's between Jinsik's legs. Trembling hands take the knife from his hands, fold it back up, and return it to the nightstand.

"I only want what you're willing to give me," he murmurs into the space between them. "I don't need a knife to show you that I love you." It's a lie that Jinsik easily spots in his eyes but one he indulges anyway. If Sumin is going to be this insistent on fighting Jinsik's curse for him, Jinsik might as well let him find his own way through.

"Even if I want it?" Jinsik asks. He keeps his eyes locked on Sumin's to watch his pure soul flail against the madness of Jinsik's curse. His grin grows the more Sumin struggles, only to falter when Sumin wins yet again.

"Do you want it or does your curse want it? I know this isn't something you can control but I don't like being played with, jagi." His gaze drops from Jinsik's eyes to his lips—still wanting but free of the curse's pull—safe territory.

Jinsik hesitates. Now that he's still being denied the pain that he's been bracing himself for, he finds himself disappointed that it won't come. This he knows to be his own heart speaking; the curse only touches his body. His body that has grown to conflate pain with pleasure can only determine whether or not it's experiencing a sensation; his mind is the only thing that can determine if he wants said experience…

He nods.

"I want it. I trust that you'll take me apart to love me after everyone else has done it to control me." Sumin's eyes are fully lucid when they meet Jinsik's again. The relief in them is palpable and tinged with the love that Jinsik has grown used to seeing yet is still surprised to find.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says with a bright smile, and then he's finally—finally—closing the space between them. Jinsik melts under him easily, lapping up his love just as eagerly as Sumin chases the taste of iron from his tongue. Sumin's hands trace the same route that his knife had sliced through Jinsik's arms only to find smooth, unbroken skin; the only evidence of that self-inflicted violence being the blood that now sticks to his fingers.

He leaves red handprints on Jinsik's clothes as he flips them over so Jinsik is nestled in his lap; if he wants to bleed, it'll get on him too. Jinsik smiles against him; it's so cute how Sumin wants to drown in him. He won't let that happen just yet, pulling back to let Sumin breathe.

"Jagi," Sumin growls in complaint. Uncaring of his need to breathe, he continues to kiss Jinsik everywhere he can reach; his cheeks, his jaws, his neck.

"Yeobo," Jinsik whimpers. "Sumin, that hurts." Sumin frowns in confusion until Jinsik's hands bat at his own. His fingertips are red when he finally loosens the grip he didn't know he had on Jinsik's waist, his nails having left crescent-shaped punctures in Jinsik's otherwise unmarred skin. He jerks back at the sight as if he had been burned.

"Oh shit," Sumin hisses. He pushes himself back against the headboard as if he can get away from Jinsik—who's still comfortably seated in his lap—and his own temptation to touch him again. "I'm so sorry jagi, are you—"

"I told you, I trust you." Jinsik cuts him off with a finger to his lips before he can start spiralling. Sumin freezes mid-word, entranced by the coy smile on Jinsik's face. Such a sweet boy, this one; Jinsik finds himself endeared this time around. "I know what you want to do to me, yeobo. Go ahead. I want it too." He punctuates his words by bringing Sumin's hand up to his mouth. Keeping his eyes locked with Sumin's, he traces Sumin's bloody fingertips over his lips. It's as easy as applying his favourite lipstick despite the sharp tang of iron. Sumin's tongue darts out to catch another taste just for the hell of it, and his breath hitches as if Jinsik had punched it out of him. His pupils are blown wide open with nothing but love in their depths. Not a trace of Jinsik's curse, and yet… "Hurt me more, yeobo," he purrs. "Make me feel how much you love me."

Ever obedient, Sumin needs no more direction before he's surging up to kiss Jinsik's blood off his lips. He chases the taste harder than a drug; past being a junkie, he becomes a beast in the way he licks and bites at Jinsik's lip for his blood. Got him.

"So beautiful," Sumin growls in tandem with his nails returning to the wounds he's already made. "My angel. Where are your wings?" Jinsik bites his lip against a giggle as Sumin turns his attention from his lips to his neck. His tongue is hot against his skin, surely able to taste the blood rushing just underneath.

"Me, an angel? You have too much faith in me, yeobo." Jinsik's heart still swells with fondness as he rejects Sumin's praise. It's then that Sumin chooses to bite down, hard and fast. He jerks his head like a beast—both to get his teeth deeper in and to deny Jinsik's denial.

"S'not true," he mutters through his mouth that's quickly overflowing with blood and flesh. "They're right here." His hands snake up Jinsik's shirt along his back. His hands are reverent unlike the savage rip of his teeth and Jinsik feels dizzy; loved and desired, worshiped and desecrated. He can't decide which feeling he likes more. Sumin, the beast, soothes the wound in Jinsik's neck with tender licks and kisses, lapping up his blood like one would savour a particularly sweet honey.

Now it's his hands' turn to deliver the pain; raking down Jinsik's back hard enough to leave lines of red welling up in their wake to stain and stick Jinsik's shirt to his skin. Tears roll down Jinsik's face in tandem with the blood on his back—tears of love, his life as his love that Sumin draws from him with the dig of his teeth or press of his lips.

"Going to dig my wings out of me, yeobo?" Jinsik asks, his voice strained against the rough drag of his shirt against his wounds.

"Mhm. Let me see you." Sumin's voice is slurred from all the blood in his mouth. Drunk on Jinsik's love. Sumin's hands leave him for only a moment; long enough for Jinsik to strip off his blood-soaked shirt and pass him the knife that's been lying neglected on the nightstand. He plunges it into Jinsik's back at the exact moment that Jinsik kisses him again, rough and sharp contrasting soft and tender. Sumin holds him as he chokes on his blood, laps it up from his lips while he shakes and spits up more. Such an eager puppy for any scraps of the death that he can never give him... Jinsik's in love.

Unable to express this in words thanks to the knife that's left and returned for another strike in his other lung, he confesses through more breathless, bloody kisses. Sumin returns them with equal, if not even more intense fervor, having already fallen past love and obsession into insanity.

"M'gonna find your wings," he whispers between kisses. "I'll find them and rip them out. You're my angel, I won't let you fly away to anyone else." True to his word as always, the knife returns to his back over and over again; slicing and splintering bone with every strike. Jinsik's lungs collapse somewhere between the fifth and seventh strike. Black spots that he's too weak to swat away dance in his vision. They interrupt his view of Sumin's pretty face, Jinsik wants to be rid of them.

The knife is replaced by Sumin's searching hands. They search through the mess left behind and splatter Jinsik's ruined skin and their sheets—already soaked by the knife's ravaging—with blood and gore. Jinsik falls limp against Sumin's chest as he fondles his broken ribs from behind, his fingers dipping into the gashes between them as if they were a pussy—a thought that has Jinsik blushing despite everything else that Sumin has already done to him before. He wonders if Sumin could cut one into him, one day.

His train of thought is interrupted by Sumin properly gripping his ribs and pulling. Some pieces are easily ripped from his flesh, some stubbornly cling to the rest of his frame. He at least has the sense to hold on to Sumin to help him, his head jerking back at the sudden resistance. Blood and drool run freely past his parted lips and make a mess of him that Sumin gladly cleans up with his tongue, all while his hands continue to twist and pull at Jinsik's ribs. The agony would be numbing if it wasn't for Jinsik's shot pain receptors, so overloaded that it only registers as white-hot pleasure.

Just as Jinsik is blindly groping for the knife again, Sumin's hands plunge into the holes he's dug into him.

"There you are." Jinsik can barely hear Sumin over the roar of blood in his ears. "Now let's take care of those wings, yeah?" His hands are on Jinsik's lungs before they can fill up with his response—not that they could with all the holes that have been punched through them.

Sumin yanks them out in one smooth motion. They tear against the jagged edge of his still-bleeding bones, a rough, wet dragging of flesh and fluid and organs stopped only by the impact of cartilage against his spine. The pull is cut off with a flash of Sumin's knife.

They're both soaked now, clothes and skin shining in varying shades of red. Jinsik had once associated it with the madness and rage that came with his curse; reviling how humanity chose to assign the dreadful colour to love instead. Now, however, having it pulled from him by Sumin, he understands. He craves more.

Sumin handles Jinsik's "wings" with a surprisingly gentle hand even as they drip blood all over him—then again he's already covered in it. He sets them aside next to his knife; "For later," he says, "I'll eat them once I'm done with you." Then, because he can never resist a joke: "Do you think they'll taste like chicken if I prepare them properly?"

Jinsik would groan if he had the ability. He rolls his eyes so hard they nearly drop into the back of his head instead; a grievance that Sumin rushes to placate. His chest spasms in weak, futile attempts to keep filling lungs that are no longer there, his throat working around nothing while Sumin kisses him through his perpetual death throes. They will never end permanently; only taper off as his corrupted body is forced to heal over and over again as Sumin continues to destroy him. Continues to love him.

"Sorry, sorry." He seals each apology with a kiss, so sweet that Jinsik can only accept. He can feel himself healing at the press of Sumin's lips; flesh knitting itself back together strand by strand to pull cracked bones back into place, nerves and veins zinging as they reconnect and resume their flow. Sumin is oddly patient this time around; his hands only tracing soothing patterns over his skin instead of digging in for more. Then again he's never hurt Jinsik this deeply—never loved Jinsik this deeply before. Perhaps he doesn't want to push. Jinsik's throat jerks in what might be a sigh—still impossible until his lungs have fully grown back—of endearment. Sumin is truly too sweet for him.

"You're so beautiful like this, jagi," Sumin whispers. His eyes are closed while he licks the blood off Jinsik's skin. "Feels so good to know you're mine." Jinsik would whimper if he could. Sumin soothes his needy twitches with another kiss, soft and sweet and full of blood. His touch is gentle on Jinsik's back; feather-light on his newly grown skin. The ridge of broken bone is still visible underneath as it knits back together. Jinsik flinches at the touch. "Sorry," Sumin whispers, his voice tinged with remorse. Funny that he's only apologizing now after all he's done. "How are you feeling?" Jinsik chokes on his answer; words aren't going to be possible for a good while yet.

He raises a blood-drenched hand to Sumin's, turning it around and opening his beloved's fingers to trace a messy red heart on his palm. Just to affirm his green light, he presses a kiss to the corner of Sumin's mouth. He leaves a shining red mark reminiscent of a lipstick stain that curves out of place as Sumin smiles at him. He's still so cute even when covered in his blood and the flush of sex high on his cheeks…

Jinsik spots the exact moment that Sumin’s heart melts; oozing slow and slick all over himself. No doubt this will make him sticky—well, even stickier than he already is—once he's fully ruined Jinsik.

"I love you too."

Jinsik's heart nearly stops for the first time in centuries. Had he really been that obvious? Of all the times he's ever been the first to say he loves someone, this is the only time he's meant it—and he hadn't even said it out loud!

"Please don't be scared, jagi." Sumin's voice breaks him out of his panic. "Let me be good to you, my love." Jinsik melts under his words and his touch. What else can he do when Sumin truly is so good to him? "Are you okay to lie down?" Jinsik nods and lets Sumin push him down to the bed even though his skin has barely healed enough to keep his fractured bones inside him. It's fine, he likes how it hurts.

Sumin is none the wiser, kissing him briefly before moving down to finally free him of the sticky, wet mess that is his pants. Jinsik chokes out a groan as the fabric is pulled—peeled, really—from his skin. He hadn't even noticed how uncomfortable it had been to be stuck in those while Sumin had his way with him.

"Oh, jagi," Sumin coos. "I've made a mess of you, haven't I? Let me clean you up." He's kissing a line down Jinsik's chest to his cock—still hard despite everything—and taking him into his mouth before Jinsik can respond—not like he can, with the blood gurgling up in his throat. He doesn't have the lungs to moan with yet so he only chokes while Sumin takes him down to the hilt; cleans him up with his tongue in that way that never fails to make him cry. He's been crying for a long time; it's a wonder how he hasn't dropped from dehydration yet. Another thing to worry about later, he supposes.

Sumin's teeth sink into his inner thigh hard enough to make him gasp—a proper gasp with air mixed in the blood this time—as if the cruel flick to his weeping cockhead wasn't enough to get his attention.

"Stay with me, jagi. I'm not finished with you yet." he growls. Don't be, Jinsik begs internally; I'm yours forever, keep cutting until there's nothing left, just don't ever finish with me. Don't leave, don't grow bored of me. There's still too much blood built up in Jinsik's throat for him to say it out loud, so he hopes his gurgling whine will suffice. "Good boy," Sumin purrs. He kisses the head where he had flicked him, wet and open-mouthed in time with his hand jacking him off like something out of his most filthy wet dream.

It isn't much longer before Jinsik is making a mess of himself under his beloved's lips; streaks of white joining the red already soaking his face and dripping down into a pretty pink that Sumin eagerly laps up. He's the perfect picture of debauched as he reaches for the knife again, and his voice is thoroughly wrecked when he speaks again: "Once you have your lungs back, I want to ask you something."

He asks about as casually as one would talk about the weather, as if Jinsik isn't lying slit-throat and boneless on his bloodied sheets. He had already been light-headed from the blood gathered in his throat; that combined with his orgasm has him teetering dangerously close to unconsciousness. Not that he would mind if Sumin kept going while he was out, but…

With the last vestige of his strength, he rolls onto his side so the near waterfall of his own blood can drain out of his mouth. It flows past their sheets onto the floor like a tide, cresting and receding in time with his body's weak struggles to keep his airways clear. Sumin just laughs fondly at his pain, too preoccupied with gathering the bloody cum from his face on his fingers and licking it off.

"Go ahead," Jinsik wheezes, about as smoothly as if he had swallowed a shot of acid. There's still an odd bubbling sound to his words, but at least he's properly audible now. "You know that I'd let you do anything to me as long as you still love me, right?"

"I know, and I do. God, I love you, Jinsik." The use of his name rather than the petname—rather generic, still thrilling when it came from Sumin's lips—stings ever so slightly until Sumin crawls up the bloody bed to kiss him. Jinsik would have expected anything other than the tenderness that Sumin presses to his lips. He kisses him like it's their wedding night, Jinsik's delirious brain supplies; and oh, how he would love for that to be reality. He'd wear the most pristine white just so Sumin could tear him apart and permanently dye it red. He faintly registers that he's been doing it to Sumin this entire time; every thrust of his knife has pulled another spray of red to stain the white shirt that he's still wearing. Jinsik's love has nearly drenched him. Is there something he's forgetting?

"Yeobo," he whimpers against Sumin's lips. "Didn't you want to ask me something?"

"Huh?" Sumin slurs. There's a mess of red smudged all over his face when he pulls back; swaying. Drunk on him. "Oh, right. I just…" He takes Jinsik's wrists and pins then above his head with surprising speed. "I wanna claim you, jagi. Can I, can I?" Jinsik spots the knife gleaming above him in Sumin's free hand. Not a threat, just a promise waiting on Jinsik's approval.

"Please."

Sumin plunges the knife down as soon as the word leaves Jinsik's lips. Three times it parts the soft skin of Jinsik's arm, twisting about inside his flesh and between his bones. Twice it penetrates Jinsik's throat, deep enough to make him gag against its sharp edge.

"Mine... You're all mine, jagiya," Sumin purrs between fervent kisses to Jinsik's bleeding neck.

"Yours," Jinsik chokes out through another gush of blood. It runs down his lips and stains his skin in an unending river, his blessing that had once been a curse and is now a blessing again. His embrace tightens around Sumin's back and pulls the wound in his arm wider. More blood pours down his skin and stains Sumin's white shirt; how ironic that his life should touch Sumin like this. His love touches Sumin like this.

"I love you." Sumin's words are punctuated with the final thrust of his knife between Jinsik's ribs and piercing his heart. "I'm keeping you like this forever."

Jinsik comes again with a broken cry. Both Sumin’s words and his knife reach deeper inside him than anything that Jinsik’s past lovers have touched him with and it’s more than he can bear, more than he's ever taken at once. Sumin watches him fall apart with nothing short of wonder.

"Here I was thinking it was hard to come from being penetrated," he mutters under his breath; a joke meant only for himself.

"You—" Jinsik spits out yet another mouthful of blood. "—clearly underestimate me." A devious idea lights up in his head once Sumin's joke registers and he grins up at him, his tongue curling around his teeth. "Want to fuck me with that knife?"

Sumin startles and pulls it halfway out, blood spurting out around it with every bump of its rough handle against his ribs. Jinsik, already trembling from oversensitivity, cries out in pleasure. Light-headed again from blood loss, Jinsik slurs out another joke. "So nice of you to use one with a ridged handle, yeobo. Feels sooo good inside me~"

Sumin thrusts the knife back inside him with an endeared huff.

"You're insane," he sighs over Jinsik's choked moan. "Good thing I am too, I had a similar idea." He pulls the knife all the way out before Jinsik can ask about it, leaving him to bleed while he finally strips off his bloodstained clothes.

Sumin's naked body is truly a sight to behold. He's still decently toned despite being softer than Jinsik from more time spent at an easel than the gym, his strength stemming from a childhood spent playing sports out in the sun. He still casually indulges every time the weather permits him, his clumsy legs and arms easily carrying him through match after match that Jinsik is all too content to watch.

Jinsik lets Sumin manhandle him farther up the bed and prop him against the soaked pillows, woozy from what little blood he has left in him rushing back down to his dick.

"Like what you see, jagi?"

Black spots dance about in Jinsik's already-blurred vision, but he nods anyway. He'll be sure to get on his knees to properly worship Sumin's cock later when he can actually see it.

"That's a relief, I was getting self-conscious after seeing you." Jinsik can only manage a whine in protest. "I know, I know, you want to try and brush me off. Not going to happen, jagi." Sumin's blurry silhouette moves again, likely reaching for the knife. Sure enough, the blood-warmed metal presses against the skin under Jinsik's ribs a moment later. "You can get back at me later, just let me have this for now."

His words are punctuated by a thrust of the knife into Jinsik's skin, beneath and up into the soft flesh under his bones. He pulls it out and turns it perpendicular to its previous angle, driving it in again to widen the wound while Jinsik cries and writhes under him. Jinsik can faintly see his blood staining Sumin's skin with his hazy eyes. His bleeding heart has yet to heal—not that it could with Sumin's fingers working their way inside it. It squirts red halfway to Sumin's elbow, soaking it in blood that he then smears all over his cock. Lubing himself up. Oh, is he going to—

The answer to Jinsik's unspoken question comes with Sumin lining himself up with the dripping hole under his ribs and pushing his way between Jinsik's organs. The pressure against his freshly-regenerated lungs punches a breathless moan from him and he nearly blacks out, kept conscious only by the wave of pleasure that overtakes him. Sumin doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt and Jinsik swears his dick is touching his heart, the intrusion twitching in time with his pounding pulse. While the knife had done a decent enough job at prepping him, his flesh still stretches around Sumin's cock in a way that has Jinsik's head spinning.

"Fuck, jagi," Sumin groans. He knocks his head against the wall, fighting to keep his ragged breath steady. "You're so wet for me. M'not gonna last long like this." Jinsik heart—while physically bleeding—metaphorically soars at the admission. He affects Sumin this much?

"Hurry 'n fuck me then," Jinsik slurs. "Dare you t'come inside."

"You're gonna kill me," Sumin whines, high and wrecked. "You're seriously going to fucking kill me." He starts moving after a moment's hesitation, his hands braced against his headboard for leverage.

He fucks Jinsik slow but deep, each thrust touching his heart and punching a bloody, breathless moan from him. Jinsik's body convulses with every intrusion, each nerve set alight in his overstimulation.

"You feel so good around me," Sumin moans. "Always so good for me." His rhythm starts to grow sloppy as he chases his own pleasure. "Fuck, I love you so much."

Sumin's praise—along with the sensory overload that he's putting Jinsik through—finally tips him over the edge yet again, his neglected cock coming untouched for the second time tonight.

"Sumin—yeobo—please," Jinsik cries, his voice trembling as he shakes through his orgasm. "Use me. Inside."

Sumin's only response is a curse under his breath and a change of pace, fast and hard until there's a wet slapping sound accompanying his thrusts. Something tears inside Jinsik at the same time Sumin stills with a low groan, coming hot and heavy under Jinsik's ribs until it overflows. Jinsik can faintly feel it coating his heart and can't help the delirious smile that spreads across his face. No one else has ever had him this way. No one else ever will.

"I love you," Sumin moans, breathless and shaky. "I love you so fucking much."

Cum and blood gushes from Jinsik's ruined hole in a pink tide when Sumin pulls out of him. He rushes to lap it up, green hair staining red the instant his head rests against Jinsik's chest.

"Love you too," Jinsik sighs. "More than anything."

Sumin kisses him then, soft and sweet and tasting like both of them. Jinsik chases after it, too weak to do much more than suck it off Sumin's tongue while he recovers. His skin grows back together first and seals Sumin's release inside him, safe and warm in his chest.

Realistically he knows his body will reject it eventually, but at least for now he's content with knowing that he has a part of Sumin right next to his heart for the night.

#beyond the path of reason #xikers #sumsik #tomie!jinsik #annual #please do mind the warnings because holy hell #i killed a dove for dinner and it was delicious

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