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Now, that...that is definitely post-hunt bloodlust. Sung Hyunjae gazes at Han Yoohyun’s older brother from the shadows, riveted. Whatever status buff he’d been using seems to have worn off, and he is definitely stat F-rank, but the pressure around him is unmistakable. Usually, Sung Hyunjae can barely feel the mana given off by anyone less than A-rank; he’s never seen anyone below C-rank affected by the bloodlust at all. With or without stat boosts.
Han Yoojin stands perfectly still among the bodies of the other hunters. The dungeon gate has gone dark to begin its reset, and there’s only a handful of cheap floodlights on the floor to illuminate the center of the room. One of them has been smashed in completely, and Han Yoojin’s face is caught in the strip of shadow left in its wake. The back of one shoulder, and the bloodied knife in his hand, are stark in the remaining light.
Sung Hyunjae had arrived later than intended. Since his design for Korea hinges on Han Yoohyun, and Han Yoohyun’s incentive to protect Korea is his brother’s safety, he’s arranged his own backup monitoring on Han Yoojin. It hasn’t been a priority, since Haeyeon usually handles it on its own, but his agent has noted occasional gaps in Haeyeon’s security, in particular when the guildmaster is away on extended raids. It’s the major flaw in Han Yoohyun’s strategy: His most loyal people are the ones least motivated to guard his main interest.
Sung Hyunjae doesn’t usually check in on these security flags himself, but he was in the country, and an unscheduled delay before his next flight had left him with an open evening. He’d been meaning to lay eyes on the Han elder brother at some point, anyway. He still harbored some mild curiosity about the man whose influence had moved an S-ranker to act against his nature. He’d recalled his agent and made his own way to the warehouse where the elder Han was expected to emerge from a dungeon later that night.
Evidently, something had gone wrong with the raid. By the time Sung Hyunjae arrived, Han Yoojin had already exited the gate. Sung Hyunjae is unclear whether his ambushers included whoever was left of the original raiding party, or if they had all been lying in wait on the outside. He had intended to step in at some point; at first, the tides seemed against Han Yoojin. He had only held back momentarily because it was surprising that an F-ranker was holding out against four D- and E-rank hunters for any length of time at all.
There had not been a defining moment when the tables turned. The fight, start to finish, was a grim bid for survival. The buff that the elder Han was using, despite its impressive efficacy, had only elevated him to about the level of the highest ranked hunter among his attackers, who was a low C-rank at best, and he was still outnumbered. Moreover, it wore off while one of his attackers was still standing. The woman, half blinded, had managed to seize him by the front of his loose-fitting shirt and lift him in the air. The first swipe of her blade skittered shallowly over his exposed ribs, at least in part because of a well-timed kick that allowed him to twist somewhat out of the way. The second swipe might have gutted him, except for the fact that he’d angled his own knife out of her view under the arm she was holding him with, and he buried it deep into her armpit. He held on as she dropped him, and the knife bit further into the artery in her arm before he staggered away.
The other hunter stumbled, faint with blood loss, and crumpled to the floor. Han Yoojin stood, still as a statue, a cold expression on his face as he watched her bleed out over the next few minutes. The family resemblance, barely apparent in the photos, was striking.
Sung Hyunjae thinks this is not the first time that he’s killed.
The piquant feeling stirring in his blood...is anticipation.
He could walk away at this point, having achieved his original objective: an in-person evaluation of Han Yoohyun’s precious brother, a load-bearing component of one of his plans, but not a single point of failure. Han Yoojin has not yet noticed him, standing in the dark at the open entrance of the warehouse, out of range of both the floodlights near the gate and the nearest streetlamp outside.
But why deny himself a unique pleasure?
Sung Hyunjae draws the Seeker’s Chains out of his inventory, and allows their faint clinking to announce his presence. Tension flares along the lines of Han Yoojin’s back and shoulders; his mana surges. Han Yoojin looks Sung Hyunjae’s direction, and waits for his eyes to pick him out of the shadows. Sung Hyunjae obliges him by stepping forward, until the outer edge of the floodlight’s glow picks up the shine of his gold wristwatch and leather shoes.
It’s distinctly wariness, not fear, in Han Yoojin’s body language. From the reports Sung Hyunjae has read, he doubts this has anything to do with self-assurance. Perhaps there’s no room for fear alongside the exhaustion that, from the look of him, has been a long-term companion. Or perhaps, having lost the only thing he cares about, he doesn’t think he has anything to be frightened of. He hadn’t looked scared fighting for his life, either.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” Sung Hyunjae says.
Recognition takes a long moment to surface from the blankness in Han Yoojin’s eyes, having to struggle through the mires of the bloodlust. At last, he peels dry lips open and says, “You’re the Seseong guildmaster.”
“And you are the Haeyeon guildmaster’s estranged older brother.”
That earns Sung Hyunjae a scowl. Han Yoojin shifts his weight, unconsciously readying himself. “Right. Which makes me worthless as a hostage, or for blackmail.”
“Oh?” Sung Hyunjae draws closer, stepping unconcernedly over one of the dead hunters. “What makes you say that?” He deliberately moves too close, encroaching on Han Yoojin’s space, making full use of his height advantage. He can see Han Yoojin do a perfunctory mental calculation, S-rank versus F-rank with a bad leg, and dismiss the option of running. He looks up at Sung Hyunjae rather than stepping back, and the tension in the air ratchets up several notches.
“He doesn’t give a damn what happens to me, and there’s nothing worth getting out of blackmailing me.”
Sung Hyunjae casts a thoughtful look about their gory surroundings. “What about blackmailing him? We could file this as another entry in the troubled Han family scandal.” He meets Han Yoojin’s eyes again and pushes a bit of his S-rank aura behind it to underline the threat.
He gets his first crackle of anxiety. “You’re here, talking to me, so it must be me that you want something from,” Han Yoojin says tightly.
Ah, Sung Hyunjae thinks. He’s still protective of the younger brother. Despite all evidence that Han Yoohyun and his guild can take care of themselves, and his own experiences the past several years. Interesting. Sung Hyunjae may have to reevaluate some of the decisions he had previously considered excessive on Han Yoohyun’s part—that leg, for one.
He reaches out and grips Han Yoojin’s jaw in his hand. Han Yoojin grits his teeth. He really has remarkable control, Sung Hyunjae thinks. The bloodlust escalates the fight or flight instinct until it is overpowering. But although Han Yoojin’s grasp on his knife has all the tendons in his wrist standing out in sharp relief, his arm has not so much as twitched.
He reminds Sung Hyunjae a bit of Song Taewon.
“Fortunately,” Sung Hyunjae says, “I am here to insure a prior investment.”
“What does that mean,” Han Yoojin bites out.
“To begin, that I’ll help you deal with that bloodlust of yours.” With his free hand, Sung Hyunjae trails his fingers from Han Yoojin’s elbow down along his forearm and takes hold of his wrist. He pulls the hand forward until the tip of Han Yoojin’s knife is pressing into the fabric of his vest. “Feel free to make use of your blade.”
Han Yoojin stares at him disbelievingly. “It’s D-rank,” he says, which makes the corner of Sung Hyunjae’s mouth twitch in amusement.
“I’m sure you’ll make do.”
Chrrk!
The Seeker’s Chains strike towards Han Yoojin, missing narrowly. Sung Hyunjae scoffs in delight. Han Yoojin had thrown all of his weight into shoving the knife into Sung Hyunjae’s abdomen, and although the low-rank weapon didn’t so much as nick Sung Hyunjae’s skin, Han Yoojin used the pushback to throw himself out of the way. It had been a languid swat by Sung Hyunjae’s standard, but it should have been difficult for an F-ranker to avoid unless they had known it was coming.
From what Sung Hyunjae saw of the earlier scuffle, Han Yoojin does not have a skill like Combat Foresight. But he fights like he has all the experience of one of the first-wave awakened, not someone who started out just a few years ago.
Sung Hyunjae lashes casually at Han Yoojin again, not particularly aiming to land a hit. Han Yoojin dodges away. “The hell do you want?” he snarls. The leg is giving him trouble, Sung Hyunjae notes, although he’s covering it well. Sung Hyunjae has the chains whip up and lightly flick the outside of the bad knee. Han Yoojin staggers and curses, panting with pain.
Sung Hyunjae clicks his tongue. “That won’t do.” The chains coil around Han Yoojin’s waist and yank him forward, tumbling him to the ground as he struggles. He knocks into one of the other hunter’s bodies as he is dragged across the warehouse floor to Sung Hyunjae’s feet. Sung Hyunjae gazes down, meeting Han Yoojin’s fierce glare. He nudges the knife with the toe of his shoe. “This works better if you fight back,” he advises.
Han Yoojin growls. His hand rips upward, slicing at Sung Hyunjae’s leg. Sung Hyunjae draws the leg out of the way, although Han Yoojin seems more to have meant it as a ‘fuck off’ than to have expected the blow to connect. “Good,” Sung Hyunjae says.
The chains jerk up, wrenching Han Yoojin to his feet.
For a moment, Han Yoojin hangs hunched over the chain, retching. He shoots Sung Hyunjae another murderous look through his bangs between dry heaves. Before he fully recovers, he half lunges, half falls at Sung Hyunjae’s chest; Sung Hyunjae’s Foresight tracks the knife he is obscuring under his body. Sung Hyunjae lets Han Yoojin flip the blade out at the last second and tear a rent into his vest.
“Good,” Sung Hyunjae says. He seizes Han Yoojin by the hair and yanks his head back. Then he leans in, and kisses Han Yoojin’s throat.
Han Yoojin jolts. “The fuck,” he rasps.
Sung Hyunjae pulls back and turns Han Yoojin’s head so that his angry brown eyes are full with the reflection of Sung Hyunjae’s face. “Sparring by itself is not particularly effective for bringing down a post-battle high,” he says.
Then he flicks the chains around Han Yoojin’s waist and tosses him into a stack of crates.
The empty wooden boxes, waiting to be packed with dungeon byproducts, splinter and crash to the floor. Han Yoojin lies among the wreckage, wheezing, and strangles out, “I’m F-rank, you bastard! You’ll kill me!”
“I’ll be gentle,” Sung Hyunjae promises. Han Yoojin spots the chains snaking towards him again and tries to shove himself back, but they wrap over his thigh and then begin to slither up his torso, sliding under his shirt and winding around his chest. He shivers as the cool metal touches his skin. Sung Hyunjae tightens the chains slightly, making sure they’re supporting Han Yoojin’s neck and back, then gives them a light shock.
Han Yoojin gasps, and his spine arches off the floor.
Sung Hyunjae strolls over to him, the tap of his shoes echoing faintly in the dark space. He crouches down next to Han Yoojin and touches the front of his shirt, where spots of blood have begun to seep through the thin cotton from the cut left by the last of the ambushers. “Perhaps you’d like to use that status buff of yours,” he suggests.
“I, can’t,” pants Han Yoojin.
Sung Hyunjae hums thoughtfully. For the effect to have had as significant an impact as he’d witnessed—it appeared to have more than doubled Han Yoojin’s base stats—the conditions to trigger the skill are likely difficult or complex. He lowers one knee to the ground and cups the back of Han Yoojin’s head, using the chains to lever his torso up from the floor. “Possibly requiring the death of another hunter?” he muses aloud, his voice soft near Han Yoojin’s ear.
Han Yoojin flinches. “Ah,” Sung Hyunjae says, and he presses his lips softly against Han Yoojin’s mouth.
The knife stabs into his chest. Han Yoojin grips the hilt with both hands, growling beneath Sung Hyunjae’s mouth as he tries to push him away with all his strength. Sung Hyunjae chuckles into the kiss and covers Han Yoojin’s hands with one of his own. He corrects angle of the knife slightly, letting it cut into his shirt, then helps Han Yoojin push, until the force on the knife is just short of bending or breaking the blade against his S-rank skin.
While Han Yoojin’s hands are effectively trapped, Sung Hyunjae stirs the chains across his chest. He lets his focus sink into the individual links, nudging them into place so that the pinch points begin to chafe at Han Yoojin’s nipples. Han Yoojin flinches again and tries to twist away, but the chains only brace against his skin. A growing static begins to hum in the metal until Han Yoojin picks up on it, eyes going wide, and Sung Hyunjae sends another jolt directly through the prearranged links.
Han Yoojin’s lips part involuntarily. Sung Hyunjae moves in at once, licking into his mouth and tasting the remaining bitterness of bile. As Han Yoojin splutters, Sung Hyunjae releases his hands. Immediately, the knife jags up his chest, going for his throat. Sung Hyunjae lets it catch under his jaw and tilt his chin up so that he can treat Han Yoojin with a view of his carelessly exposed neck, collar split where the knife tore through. He glances down at Han Yoojin’s face through lowered lashes.
There’s a distinct redness to the rims of his ears, and his lips are stretched in a snarl, but there’s still no fear in his eyes. If anything, his earlier wariness has been replaced with defiance. Sung Hyunjae finds that he likes this quite a bit; perhaps this is where his similarity to Song Taewon ends. Or, hm, perhaps not; he catches the flick of Han Yoojin’s eyes to his own, sees him realize where he had been caught looking. Immediately, Han Yoojin jerks sideways against the chains, trying to roll away. Sung Hyunjae lets him.
Sung Hyunjae rises gracefully while Han Yoojin staggers to his feet, hindered by the chains he’s gotten further tangled around himself, and now visibly favoring his leg. Han Yoojin looks down at himself and tugs disgustedly at one of the fresh drapes of chain around his arms. “SS-rank, right?” he says sourly. “And you want me to fight back,” he gestures with the knife, “with this.”
He lifts his chin and gives Sung Hyunjae a flat look. Then, with waspish deliberation, he tosses the knife away.
Oh, yes. Sung Hyunjae thinks he could become quite fond of this.
He walks amiably over to Han Yoojin. “Shall I lend you one of mine?” he asks, his tone darkly playful. He pulls a knife from his inventory. The difference in quality is apparent at a glance: This one is S-rank.
He bends his head to murmur in Han Yoojin’s ear: “But if I let you cut into me, I think it’s only fair that I get to mark you in return.” He catches the hem of Han Yoojin’s shirt with the flat of the knife and pushes it up, exposing the cut on his ribs.
“Are you crazy?” Han Yoojin hisses. He grabs the bottom of his shirt and tries to yank it down, but it begins to tear on the knife’s edge. Han Yoojin pauses.
Sung Hyunjae raises the knife a little further, until the tip nudges the bottom of the chain pulled taut across Han Yoojin’s nipple. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Han Yoojin’s throat bob. He tilts the blade and scrapes the edge lightly along the links, one at a time.
“No?” he says. “Well, if you’re sure.”
The knife vanishes back into his inventory. Sung Hyunjae brushes down the front of Han Yoojin’s shirt, as if to help put it back in order, then thumbs soothingly over the peaked fabric on his chest.
Han Yoojin attempts to knee him.
“Careful.” Sung Hyunjae catches his thigh and pulls it along the outside of his own. Off balance, Han Yoojin is forced to latch onto Sung Hyunjae’s suit jacket to avoid falling. “We wouldn’t want you to injure it any further.” As Han Yoojin stares at him incredulously, Sung Hyunjae stirs the chains again. “In fact, it’d be best if you kept your weight off it entirely.”
“—!”
Additional strands of the chains begin to loop low over Han Yoojin’s stomach, then slide down along the junctures between his hips and thighs. As he startles at the sensation of the chains passing between his legs and curving around behind, Sung Hyunjae places a steadying hand on his waist.
“I am curious how a skill with a condition like yours came to be paired with a Caregiver title,” Sung Hyunjae says conversationally. “Are they related?”
Han Yoojin’s attention is at once diverted from the chains back to Sung Hyunjae. Sung Hyunjae gazes at him intently. One of his hands lifts to cup Han Yoojin’s face.
“You truly are interesting,” he murmurs, and he kisses Han Yoojin once more.
Then he lights up the Seeker’s Chains with electromagnetism, and Han Yoojin is hurtled across the warehouse and pinned to the wall.
Sung Hyunjae removes his jacket as he unhurriedly crosses the warehouse floor. A loop of the Seeker’s Chains rises up next to him and lifts the jacket from his outstretched fingers before floating off to hang it neatly in one of the open lockers near the entrance. Sung Hyunjae begins rolling up his shirtsleeves, coming to a stop in front of Han Yoojin.
The chains are crackling with bright golden sparks of electricity. It is taking significant, fine-tuned control to feed them enough power to maintain the magnetism without letting too much of it bleed off into Han Yoojin’s body; servicing an F-ranker in this manner certainly poses a different type of challenge than rendering the same aid to Song Taewon. Han Yoojin appears to be in some discomfort, but not too much, Sung Hyunjae judges. He still has the spirit to squint his eyes open and bare his teeth at Sung Hyunjae.
Sung Hyunjae pats his thigh affectionately.
Han Yoojin’s cheap shirt is beginning to disintegrate under its extended exposure to the electric current, shredding off his body from the lines where the chains cross his chest. His jeans are faring better, although they are just as old and worn as the rest of his clothing. They hang loose around his hips, and Sung Hyunjae wonders if there was a time when they fit him better.
When he pops the button, Han Yoojin twitches, possibly trying to buck his hips, though the magnetized chains now severely restrict his movement. Sung Hyunjae leans in, delicately takes the zipper with his teeth, and pulls down. Then he spreads the jeans open and examines what’s on offer.
He already has something to work with, although he believes with more familiarity, he could do better. There’s a little quiver going in Han Yoojin’s lower abdomen, and Sung Hyunjae thinks he might be squirming if it weren’t for the tension locking his muscles tight. He’s not completely hard yet, but when Sung Hyunjae pulls aside his boxers, he finds a faint wet spot.
Han Yoojin tries to say something, but it seems his throat is too tight for his voice to get past. Sung Hyunjae strokes his thighs reassuringly, and lips his cock into his mouth.
He tongues the whole length in, making sure it’s well coated in saliva and getting a feel for it. It doesn’t take any special technique to hold the whole of it, unlike his other regular’s. He spends a few minutes sucking on it gently, occasionally lipping the soft skin at the base, as it fills out in his mouth. He can feel the weak electric current humming through it on his tongue.
When he checks in on Han Yoojin, his head is tossed back against the wall, eyes screwed shut. His ears are completely red, and a faint flush has swept across his chest. His fingers are clenched, his toes curled; he is a tight, vibrating line of tension. It’s an intoxicating sight. Sung Hyunjae thinks he will enjoy the sight of him fully relaxed, too drained to resist even with Sung Hyunjae’s electricity thrumming under his skin, even more.
He begins to work Han Yoojin’s cock in and out of his mouth, taking his time, pausing occasionally to appreciate the shape or texture in more detail with his tongue. His hands find the backs of Han Yoojin’s knees and work their way down, massaging his calves. When he begins to experiment with lightly fluttering the tip of his tongue on the underside of Han Yoojin’s shaft, the persistent quivering in Han Yoojin’s abdomen upgrades into spasms.
In a corner of his attention, he’s keeping track of Han Yoojin’s mana, so he notices when something shifts. The sensitive, jangling knot of it has been loosening up over the course of their bout, but there’s a tenor change, as though it’s reached a point where it can’t unspool any further. Sung Hyunjae glances up at Han Yoojin and takes note of his breathing; he’s been panting for awhile now, but it’s taken on a ragged edge. Sung Hyunjae swallows the excess saliva off his cock and lets him slide out of his mouth, straightening up.
He reaches up and carefully takes hold of Han Yoojin’s waist, then allows the electromagnetic power in the chains to dissipate. The hard tension drains out of Han Yoojin’s body, and he slumps off the wall, sliding down into Sung Hyunjae’s arms. Sung Hyunjae dismisses the chains entirely.
“I really do need to be careful with my F-ranker, hm?” Sung Hyunjae murmurs.
“Not yours,” Han Yoojin mumbles into his shirt. Sung Hyunjae huffs a laugh.
He holds him for a minute, rubbing his back, letting Han Yoojin catch his breath. Then he lifts Han Yoojin’s legs, one at a time, and shucks off his shoes. That finished, he begins to slide off Han Yoojin’s jeans and boxers. Han Yoojin stirs.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” he rasps.
Sung Hyunjae catches the head of Han Yoojin’s cock, still shiny and red, on the tip of his finger, as more tangible evidence than the last bit of tangle in his mana. “I’ll be gentle,” he says, echoing his prior promise.
Han Yoojin scoffs, but he seems too tired to contest it when Sung Hyunjae maneuvers him around, pulling his back flush with his chest.
“Perhaps we’ll try something a little different.” Sung Hyunjae pulls something that looks like a potion bottle from his inventory and pours some of its contents over his fingers. Han Yoojin squints at the texture of it suspiciously.
“You have, what, dungeon lube? That you carry around with you?” he demands hoarsely. He’s rapidly getting feistier. Sung Hyunjae kisses him behind the ear, and he twitches his head away.
“It is very entertaining to see Director Song discomfited when I can pull it out at need in unplanned-for situations,” Sung Hyunjae says.
“You’ve used this stuff on, on Department Chair Song Taewon?” Han Yoojin sounds aghast.
“I come with excellent credentials.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re the cream of the crop,” Han Yoojin says. His tone is very distressed.
Sung Hyunjae leans into his back and slides his hand up the underside of Han Yoojin’s cock, making Han Yoojin jump. His other hand comes up behind Han Yoojin’s thigh on his bad side, lifting it as close to his chest as he can without putting Han Yoojin in extreme discomfort. Then he reaches between Han Yoojin’s legs and circles a pair of exploratory fingers around his hole. Han Yoojin jumps again.
“Wh—hey—”
Sung Hyunjae sinks in. Han Yoojin jolts. There’s resistance, but it’s not difficult for Sung Hyunjae to overcome it. His slick fingers slide deep into Han Yoojin’s ass, searching for a good spot as Han Yoojin squirms and claws at his arm. He finds a place that makes Han Yoojin shiver and shove himself back into Sung Hyunjae’s chest, and hones in on it.
“I’ll be very, very gentle,” Sung Hyunjae says low into Han Yoojin’s ear, kneading lightly. Han Yoojin’s breath stutters.
He massages Han Yoojin, ever so gently and absolutely inexorably, keeping his fingers buried inside him, until Han Yoojin is straining to get out of his hold, the end of each panting breath just shy of a whimper. Then he turns him around, straddles him over his thigh, and does it again. Then he pulls out the Seeker’s Chains again, binds his hands to his chest, suspends him in the air, and does it again, this time with his tongue down his throat.
When he finally lets Han Yoojin come down over the edge, it’s with the F-ranker’s tongue in his mouth, and Han Yoojin’s moan elicits a rumble in his own chest.
“How the hell am I meant to get home,” Han Yoojin complains, still raspy. The dungeon gate is glowing again, having finished its reset. The four corpses arrayed outside of it have cooled but not yet begun to stiffen. He winces a bit and crosses his arms over his chest when his gaze passes over them, apparently more conscious of their presence now that the bloodlust has exhausted itself. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to him yet that the warehouse door has also been open the entire time. Sung Hyunjae is planning to deal with the cameras; this dungeon building doesn’t have a live feed.
“I have a car,” Sung Hyunjae says. He wraps the still naked Han Yoojin in a dark red overcoat pulled from his inventory and lifts him up in his arms.
“It’s probably out of your way,” Han Yoojin says tiredly.
“It’s not,” says Sung Hyunjae, who has no intention of dropping Han Yoojin off at his own apartment.
“What about them,” Han Yoojin says, nodding vaguely in the direction of his ambushers.
“My guild will be taking care of it.”
“How reliable,” Han Yoojin scoffs. He falls quiet, shifting uncomfortably in Sung Hyunjae’s hold. There’s a streak of fluid dried on the inside of his thigh.
“What was that prior investment of yours? Did it have to do with Han Yoohyun?”
“Yes.”
“Are you…” Han Yoojin struggles to find words, then changes tacks. “I’m still no good to you as leverage against Han Yoohyun, or Haeyeon.”
“I know.” Sung Hyunjae opens the passenger side door of his sports car and gently settles his F-rank package on the seat. He pauses, still leaning in the doorway. “I had no interest in undermining your brother or his guild.”
Han Yoojin waits until he circles around and slides into the driver’s seat. “What do you mean, had no interest?” he asks suspiciously.
Sung Hyunjae glances over at him and feels a smirk curl onto his face. “I have no interest in your brother at all, at the moment,” he says. “I would say all of my attention has been redirected to you.”
Han Yoojin stares at him for a moment. Then he turns his head and lets it thump against the car window.
“Shit,” he mutters.