Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Here’s what no one tells you about falling out of favor with a god: it does not change as much as you thought it would.

Chan still lives as he’s always lived, except now he doesn’t spend his days in service of the divine. His hours are his own to do whatever he wants with—his only problem, he supposes, is that no one’s taught him quite how to do that much.

Case in point: the absolutely awful pot of meat soup that he’s trying to finish before Wonwoo comes home.

Chan’s daily life still requires the labor of survival, but there’s not as much spite or divine retribution as he expected from such a dramatic farewell. Of course, there’s a change of routine in his life, to be sure, but faced with the alternatives … he’ll take it.

Chan no longer has to practice careful consideration of the god whose shrine he resides in, which means he no longer burns incense, no longer collects shrine offerings, no longer has to wear red for errands outside the shrine, and no longer prays with back bowed and forehead pressed to the ground as soon as he wakes up every morning and before he goes to sleep every night. For a banishment, it’s remarkably tame.

It seems that Seungkwan really did favor him in the end.

Still, while his life remains relatively untouched — with his current greatest inconvenience being that he has to mind his own food and laundry — he finds that coming to terms with the fact that he can’t call his god’s name so familiarly anymore is more difficult than he’d originally thought. Chan hopes that much will change with time. It’s only been a little over a month since he’s been sent away, but even if he regrets it, there’s no turning back.

After everything that’s happened… even if it’s his fault … there’s nothing left for him to do.

“I’m certain that doesn’t look right, Chan-ah.”

Chan tries not to take it personally, he really does. Unfortunately his mood sours and his voice comes out petulant when he responds. “How would you know?” he demands, even though he knows how.

He cautiously pokes at the meat sizzling in his clay pot, a sullen pout on his face. He can concede—privately—when he’s been outplayed; he’s not exactly good at telling when meat is ready.

Back at the shrine, it would not be an exaggeration to say that he’d been spoiled rotten—almost unreasonably so—by the other shrine keepers. It’s still debatable whether this was due to the remnants of affection of having practically raised him within the shrine walls or because they were keenly aware of just how much their god favored Chan.

Either way, the conclusion is that he’d never had to worry about preparing his own meals until recently. Now he watches the meat float around sadly the water he’d poured in the pot with it, looking decidedly raw, and winces.

“... Chan-ah.”

He feels his presence linger behind him; Chan doesn’t turn around to greet him. He knows better than to do that now. The last time he didn’t give Wonwoo a moment to transform to at least mostly human before gazing upon his countenance, Wonwoo had refused to speak to him for days and Chan could do nothing about it.

Allowing Wonwoo his dignity, however, didn’t have anything to do with ceasing his complaining. So he does just that.

“I’m saying,” Chan snaps, “how would you know? It’s not like your diet is particularly sophisticated, so on what pedestal should you stand to—” He cuts himself off, trying to rein in his temper, and he shakes his head in an attempt to clear his head.

It’s exactly this sort of impulsivity that gets him in trouble all the time!

A surprisingly awkward laugh comes out of Wonwoo, almost startled that Chan even deigned to bring up how Wonwoo feeds in the first place. “Yes. Ha. Right.”

That experience had been a terrifying thing to witness the first time. Now every single time Wonwoo feeds, he always makes sure to send Chan away. It’s sweet in its own way—it feels patronizing, sure, but Wonwoo could be doing much worse things than trying to mind what he perceives as Chan’s delicate sensibilities.

“Well.” A brief silence, as though Wonwoo is debating on something in his head. “That aside, is it not concerning that someone of my… caliber is anxious, then?”

That’s what forces Chan to squint up at him, trying to decipher his intentions. Wonwoo is looking back, as he always is, a teasing grin on his lips.

“You’re making fun of me,” Chan accuses with a haughty sniff. Wonwoo only shrugs his broad shoulders, but he can’t quite stifle his smile. “You are! Hyung, stop laughing at me!”

Jeon Wonwoo is, perhaps by every known human standard, ridiculously beautiful, so Chan, to be frank, isn’t too angry. When Chan looks at Wonwoo, he is always reminded by the difference between mortals and immortals—his beauty is simply unparalleled. He has sharp features, dark eyes, a stern mouth, and dark hair that’s cut short. It’s the first time for Chan, as most of those around him preferred to keep their hair long, himself included. His god may have had unique silver streaks in his otherwise dark hair, but it had been long as well. “I’m not,” Wonwoo insists, “Chan-ah, I would never.”

“Whatever,” Chan huffs. “I know you find me entertaining. No matter.” It’s one of the reasons, he assumes, that Wonwoo keeps him around.

“Be that as it may,” Wonwoo allows, “for the soup—wouldn’t it be safer if—”

Chan cuts him off with a decisive, “Safer if?” He gives Wonwoo a judgmental look when he closes his mouth immediately. “Well? Finish your sentence.”

Wonwoo winces and then pats Chan’s head. “Of course, what would I know about human customs? I’m sure whatever Chan-ah makes is the best.”

Chan looks down at the pot dubiously. “If you don’t trust it, I can take a bite of it myself and tell you if—”

“No! No need,” Wonwoo swallows, the lump in his throat bobbing in difficulty. “Chan-ah’s cooking, I’d like to try it.”

Chan’s shoulders droop in dejection. That’s not what he wants—Wonwoo’s consideration. “You—” he heaves out an exhausted sigh. “Wonwoo hyung, you’re really too nice.”

Wonwoo blinks at him, brows twitching almost imperceptibly. Anyone else would have let it go, but Chan’s not anyone else.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Wonwoo says, in that incredibly earnest tone of voice he is. He’d fit more in a shrine than Chan himself—if he applied himself, Chan thinks in another life Seungkwan would have smiled kindly down at him too. “I’m not nice at all.”

“Fine,” Chan snickers, because Wonwoo hyung needs to keep his pride for things like this. “But hyung is nice to me.”

Nicer than even gods are. Chan’s always had a predisposition for the divine, beginning with his birth under a malignant star. As a shrine keeper, he’d been expected to study the world of malevolent spirits comprehensively in order to truly understand the nature of his duties. Boo Seungkwan is worshiped because he trains people to dispel them; his methods are perhaps stricter and more rigemented than other deities, but there’s a reason he’s so widely renowned. His methods are effective. All the villages he protects have not seen one spirit attack in the entire time he’s been patron.

Wonwoo is one such spirit, but they both know Chan does not possess the abilities to dispel him. He could have, perhaps, once upon a time, but those days are long gone.

Wonwoo’s too old of a spirit; Chan’s too inexperienced to even begin to think about what should be done.

Against all odds, however, Wonwoo had let him stay—and after Chan technically trespassed on his territory. Usually spirits aren’t ever so generous, but to be perfectly candid, that could also be attributed to the fact that Wonwoo is a snake spirit. From what little Chan had gleaned about them in his studies, they weren’t very territorial in the first place.

In fact, it’s supposed to be more surprising that Wonwoo’s been sticking around. After all, he’s been made to understand that snakes very rarely do, unless—

“Chan-ah,” Wonwoo leans over Chan’s shoulder to peer dubiously into the pot. “Is it supposed to… froth like that?”

Chan scratches at his head, embarrassed. “No,” he admits. “Hyung is right, of course. It’s inedible.”

Another thing with Wonwoo—he lets Chan play pretend. He’s just a normal human being who has built a little hut deep in the mountains and not a disgraced shrine keeper; Wonwoo is just the overfamiliar neighbor. He even lets him call him the overly familiar hyung and doesn’t even ask why he’s so excited to use it.

Wonwoo doesn’t seem to have much of that—curiosity. He spends a good amount of his time just being around Chan to do... whatever.

“I can still eat it,” Wonwoo offers.

Chan rolls his eyes. He’d been told it was too ill bred to do so in the shrine, but he’s not in the shrine anymore, so he can do it all he likes. “Of course not!” he argues. “You’ll get sick.”

Wonwoo hyung’s good. Even when Chan wishes he isn’t. Even when the little gifts that Chan tries to make him aren’t anything good, he still manages to be kind about it. At the reminder of his failure, Chan stares at the sad mystery brewing in the pot and fully deflates.

Wonwoo pulls at his arm indignantly. “I will not.”

Chan frowns. Of course not. Wonwoo’s stomach is too tough for this kind of thing to distress him, but that does not mean he wants to feed Wonwoo trash!

“I won’t, but you’re probably better off purchasing something off of a merchant in town for your meal tonight,” Wonwoo pinches Chan’s nose. He points to the pot, still simmering on. “I could be wrong, but that doesn’t look like something humans can have.”

Chan is inclined to agree. “Hyung, you were gone for a long time.”

Wonwoo stares at him, uncomprehending.

“Is it mating season again?”

Wonwoo’s expression turns cold, “That’s none of your business, Chan-ah.”

Before Chan can pursue it, Wonwoo leaves, the only evidence he was even there the lingering warmth on Chan’s cheeks.

Chan’s first encounter with a snake spirit’s mating season happens a few months into their cohabitation.

There are errands to be done during the day, but Chan always returns before sundown and Wonwoo is always there as soon as he walks in the door. Today he surprisingly comes back to an empty home.

That’s strange. “Hello?” he says cautiously. Silence answers him.

Chan’s skin prickles as soon as he pushes open the door, the pervasive feeling of being watched immediately creeping under his skin.

The hut is deadly silent; the lamps weren’t even lit. Wonwoo must have left—he must have gotten distracted by some fat doe and had to go chase it around the woods.

His fingers twitch from where he’s carrying the meat sticks that the merchants sold him. Wonwoo hyung is allowed to do whatever he likes, of course, but since he moved in here, since Wonwoo had made space in his life without question, Chan has never had to endure a night without him.

It’s like he never had to ask in the first place; it was understood that a former shrine keeper would need a spirit to keep guard when the hours grow late. But to demand it of Wonwoo hyung... of course that would be too shameless...

“Wonwoo hyung?” he calls out to the darkness again, sounding much braver than he feels.

There’s a sound of shifting fabric and leather against wood. Chan heaves out a sigh, the familiar sound comforting him, and he turns to the source of it. “Wonwoo hyung! I—”

His fear gives way to relief for a split second, his mouth forming the words I’m home before he notices the gleaming in the shadows. Chan steps back, uncertainly. He can’t see in the dark, he’s not a spirit; Wonwoo knows this, and he certainly wouldn’t frighten him like this.

Still, the outline in the dark is unmistakable. It’s Wonwoo hyung. Of that, there is no doubt, but why is he just standing there like that…?

“Hyung?” Trembling, he reaches out to him.

Most days, Wonwoo looks perfectly human to Chan. Now his pupils are a liquid gold and dark scales have started to surface up his chest and around his neck, the way it does when—

Wonwoo’s eyes flash, and Chan jumps away, startled. That’s the same look he has when he’s hunting, he realizes, and that’s the exact same moment Wonwoo moves forward in a sprint to lunge at him, knocking over the bag of food and the meat sticks Chan’s brought over and forcing them to roll over on the floor.

Chan’s facedown, panic surging through his senses as Wonwoo pins Chan’s wrists to the floor with a hand. Goosebumps rise on Chan’s skin as he tries to push him off, the snake spirit still hissing as he pulls Chan’s robes off of him.

“Wonw—” Chan tries his best to reason, but Wonwoo is obviously not listening. As soon as the robes fall open to reveal skin, Wonwoo lets out an inhuman sound of delight and— “No!” Chan screeches, trying in vain to kick him off, but no matter how much he struggles, Wonwoo is much stronger, much more powerful. His tongue licks over the meat on his upper back, and then—

He’s biting down.

Chan yelps out in pain before he’s cursing and frantically using all of his power to get Wonwoo off of him. It works only because Wonwoo seems to have gotten a hold of himself after biting him, falling backwards in both surprise and disillusionment, even as Chan pulls his robes back up. He reaches for his back, feeling for the puncture wounds, and he finds it without much trouble, the clear epicentre of the sharp pain.

It’s deep, he recognizes that much with rising alarm. When he pulls his fingers away, there’s blood on his fingers, and he feels sick at the thought that it had been caused by Wonwoo.

“You bit me,” Chan spits out, turning to him with a teary vengeance.

How long does he have now? He doesn’t know exactly, but considering how powerful Wonwoo hyung is, probably not very long.

Gods. He’s so naïve. This is exactly what his parents were worried about, but there’s very little he can do now. He isn’t the responsibility of the shrine, and therefore, does not have access to any of the books and manuals that he requires to reverse any negative effects from the snake poison.

From the corner of his eye, he spies how Wonwoo reaches out hesitantly as though to touch him, and Chan gasps out a sound of alarm and smacks the offending hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” he cries out.

“Chan-ah,” and now Wonwoo looks so sad, so wounded, like he hadn’t attacked and—

Chan’s parents surrendered him to the village god as an infant, frightened that they couldn’t protect him as well as a god could considering the circumstances of his birth. They’d promised that he’d grow up to be a shrine keeper, devote himself completely to his god, and in exchange, Seungkwan would protect him from any malevolent beings that were attracted to his misfortune.

That arrangement is all but dust now, but for a good portion of his banishment he’d firmly held the belief that he doesn’t need Seungkwan’s protection as much as everyone originally believed he did. It’s been long enough that the malevolent spirits have had an ample amount of time to come and try to take a bite out of him, but so far there’s been no one but Wonwoo hyung.

And Wonwoo hyung isn’t like that. Wonwoo hyung’s good.

Or Chan thought he was.

“I thought you—” his voice breaks, and he has to stop. I thought you liked me, he almost said, and he feels like such a fool for even thinking it. I thought we were friends. His eyes fill with tears that he desperately blinks away. “Why would you…”

More tears fall down his cheeks, one after the other, and he looks down, presses a hand to his lips. It’s useless. He’s poisoned now and then Wonwoo hyung will—will—

The gods of the underworld would probably laugh at him. Tell Seungkwan that the child he’d sent away had died without him. Chan would have to endure embarrassment even in the afterlife. Serves him right for not heeding any of the warnings that—

There’s gentle hands pressing on his shoulders. Wonwoo’s face comes into view and Chan flinches, hard, before biting out a vicious, “I said don’t touch me!” before scrambling to his feet.

Wonwoo jerks away, keeping his hands under his robes, but he stays where he is resolutely. “It’s a dry bite,” he scrambles to soothe. “That bite—there’s no poison. I swear it.”

No poison? Chan feels a fool still as he rubs at it.

But it had hurt. It hurt, and Wonwoo didn’t look like himself. The one in front of him—sheepish and boyish—was more like the one he was used to; the one who bit him, however…

The reminder of his amber eyes shining in the dark, like an actual predator, makes a shiver run down his spine.

“Why would you even want to do that?”

Something quick and strange flashes on Wonwoo’s face before it flattens out into something like regret. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Irritation, white hot, runs through Chan’s veins and makes him irritable. “Don’t just apologize!” he snarls. “You have to—”

What? What does he have to do? For an immortal like Wonwoo, there’s nothing in this world that Chan could make him do.

“—make me understand,” Chan finishes lamely, and Wonwoo stares at him for so long that it’s almost uncomfortable. It grows so awkward that Chan is almost tempted to beg him to eat him already so that they’ll be done with this, but—

“You’re right. I owe you that much,” Wonwoo chokes out through gritted teeth, and Chan blinks, surprised by his easy agreement. “It’s just … I’m part human, part snake. Of course you—well. You already know that.”

Chan nods. “I do.”

“Then you must know that this is something snakes have to go through. Something all ... animals go through.”

“What?”

Wonwoo keeps mutinously silent.

Chan’s never been particularly good at studies. Even as he racks his brain, he can’t think of anything specific that snakes have to go through that drives them to do out of character things.

“Uh,” Chan says, “but aren’t you way past puberty, hyung?” Unless it was different for spirits. But Wonwoo hyung seems all wise and knowing, and he makes really ahjussi-like statements sometimes, complaining about the shamelessness of the snake spirits of the new generation when he thought Chan wouldn’t hear …

“It’s mating season.”

Oh. Not puberty. It’s the desire to procreate. Chan purses his lips. He’s not knowledgeable about such things, considering that they kept him firmly away from any insinuation of it at the shrine. As one of the keepers, he was expected to act like his flesh was his god’s, that he was his god’s bride. Now he feels insufficient for not having any answers. “I see.”

“Forgive me for any liberties that I might take—for any sudden...” Wonwoo trails off, uncertain.

“Can I… is there anything I can do to help?”

Wonwoo laughs wryly. “No, Chan-ah. I just bit you, you said it yourself. What would you know about it?”

He’s right, but Chan can hardly admit it. “I know that you shouldn’t be taking your frustration out on others,” he says, nearly a snarl. “I know that much.”

Wonwoo stares at him darkly for a few moments—enough that Chan feels goosebumps rise on his skin. This is still a spirit possibly older than his grandparents; why is Chan testing his luck?

But then Wonwoo sighs, looking incredibly small. “You’re correct in that regard.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen abruptly. He doesn’t reply.

“Hyung,” Chan wheedles, feeling his voice break in the middle of the honorific, and Wonwoo lets out a breath.

“I didn’t see the necessity of you finding out.”

“Why not?” Chan demands. “I—I could’ve—”

Helped, he wants to say, but judging from the way Wonwoo’s silence grows heavy, it’s clear he highly doubts even the insinuation. To be truthful, Chan doubts it himself. What could he do about a snake’s mating season? It’s not like he’s equipped with the connections to go find a nice little snake spirit lady for Wonwoo to hit it off with, and besides that, even the thought is enough to make him sick. What would he do if Wonwoo went off and made cute little snake spirit babies? What would they even look like?! Would he have to be alone again, when he’s finally found a friend?

“—I could’ve been more prepared, at least! This wouldn’t have frightened me. And what’s the bite for? Do you think I’m prey now, that your mind has been addled?”

“There is nothing Chan can do,” Wonwoo says, “and no need for Chan to worry his pretty little head about it. My instincts got away from me. It is only once. It will not happen again.”

Chan scoffs in disbelief. “You’ve made it my problem now,” he huffs out. “You bit me, remember?”

“I apologize for that. Chan-ah does not deserve that.” And Wonwoo genuinely looks sorrowful, so Chan steps forward cautiously—just one shaky step.

“Are mating seasons always so violent?”

Wonwoo smiles wistfully. “No,” he says. “I… for other snake spirits, it wouldn’t be classified as…” He looks down slightly, eyes downturned. “Violent.”

Right. Of course. “Hey,” Chan says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wonwoo sniffs, and now his voice is all prim from where he’s arranged himself to his full height, refusing to be disgraced for long: “Chan shouldn’t think about it. Not at all.”

“Mhm,” Chan says. “Hey, hyung.”

“Hm?”

“Is it that different from how dogs and other animals have mating seasons?” Chan asks.

Wonwoo makes a noise like offense.

“Because I’ve read from—”

“I said not to think about it at all, Chan-ah.”

“But you’re in pain.”

“I bit you,” Wonwoo reminds him flatly. “Why should you care about it any further, aside from encouraging me to get it together? I will keep my distance during the remainder of this time. I ask for your patience.”

How does Chan say that every cell in his body is protesting that decision? “Why’d you attack me?”

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose. “You smell like… people,” he says. “A lot of people. I don’t like it when you smell like…”

Chan lets out a hard exhale. Unfortunately that does make sense; animal spirits rely on their instincts and their senses the most, even more than even gods and definitely more than humans. “I suppose I should go to wash up.”

Wonwoo offers a little smile. “So understanding, Chan-ah,” he teases, but his shoulders relax and he seems less terse now, and Chan...

Chan lets it go.

When Chan was a shrine keeper, he’d been told about his duties.

One day, they told him earnestly, you’ll have to carry the child of a god.

The child of a god. It had seemed like a tremendous honor. It still does. He wonders who would bear it now.

He tries not to think about it too often.

Chapter Text

Of course, the next day he wakes to the sound of Wonwoo trying to offer him some meal that he’s tried very hard to cook from the meat Chan has brought back. It’s pitiful, because Wonwoo frankly isn’t any better at preparing food than Chan, but Chan takes it for what it is: an apology.

“You never speak to me about it,” Chan says then, even as he goes through the tough meat in his bowl. Wonwoo, sitting across from him, winces, and opens his mouth, presumably to apologize, but Chan only raises a hand to stop him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to.”

That startles Wonwoo, that much is clear. He straightens up, broad shoulders tensing with anxiety. “You don’t want an explanation?” he asks, each word measured.

“I do.” Lying about that would be pointless. Even if he tried to say anything else than the truth, Wonwoo would already know that it’s an attempt at appeasement. “But…”

“But?”

Chan juts out his chin stubbornly. “I also know that with your personality, you must have suffered the most all this time, so it’s pointless to blame you.”

“I can still—”

“In fact,” Chan interrupts sharply, to Wonwoo’s bemusement, “While you’re here, hyung, and it’s still hard for you … I want you to take back the bed.”

The hut only really has one wooden bed, one that Wonwoo originally had for himself. Since he doesn’t stay in much, it naturally became Chan’s. The allocation makes no sense. One could argue that it’s just because no one else is using it, but even on nights that Wonwoo comes home he just takes the floor, even when Chan protests.

If this period is really a period of hardship, enough that Wonwoo isn’t entirely himself, then the least Chan could do is give that up, right?

“What’s gotten into you?” Wonwoo asks, forehead wrinkling. It’s not a glowing recommendation of Chan’s character, that’s for sure.

“It’s yours.”

“I gave it to you.”

“Shouldn’t you be more relieved that I’m returning it to its proper owner?”

“I don’t really care about such human concerns. It doesn’t matter to me where I sleep.”

Chan feels his lips curl downwards in displeasure. “It belongs to you so you should just take it. Right now, doesn’t hyung need it much more?”

“Ah, Chan…” There’s a sound like an exasperated sigh, but Wonwoo must sense that Chan will make it difficult for him to refuse so he goes to collect his bed things while Chan cleans up the table and washes the bowls. In the midst of Wonwoo placing his pillows and blankets on the bed—Wonwoo likes being warm in the night, and he especially likes Chan for this, because in winters Chan would run warm, warmer than usual, and Wonwoo could find heat just by virtue of being close to him—Chan is already washing up before bed.

Wonwoo’s eyes are trained on him the moment he returns to the room. “Chan-ah, would you do hyung a favor?”

Chan would do anything so long as it was requested of him. It’s how he learned how to love. Still, he pretends to be dismissive even as his fingers tremble while he lights the candles. Dark is falling quickly; Wonwoo can’t stand the cold. “What favor?”

“My shoulders hurt.”

“You should rest up then, hyung.”

There’s an exasperated sigh. “Can’t Chan-ah help massage them?”

Chan raises a brow but doesn’t say anything. Of course Wonwoo pouts about it; he’s leaning forward with bright curiosity when the seconds tick by and he still doesn’t receive any answer. “Don’t ignore me,” he says, in that tone he used when he was pouty with things not going his way, “Come on, Chan-ah. Please?”

It’s an easy request, all things considered. The protest is mostly all for show; it’s fun to see Wonwoo fuss, though admitting to such a childish tendency wouldn’t be entirely mature of Chan. He gives in, though. He always does. “Fine,” he says, summoning a long-suffering air as he pats the bedding on the floor. “But you’re the one who has to come here.”

Wonwoo obeys easily, laughing as he does. “Of course. The one doing the favor gets to set all the rules.”

“Of course,” Chan huffs, trying for imperious and probably landing somewhere on bratty instead. To be fair, it’s not like it’s a hardship. With the extra bedding and the blanket—it’s exactly how Wonwoo spends all of his nights since Chan took over the bed, anyway. He’s probably even more used to the floor now than being on an actual bed.

So Wonwoo comes and Chan brings out the massage oil. “Take it off,” he barks, pulling at Wonwoo’s sleeves. “How am I supposed to massage you like this? Over your clothes?”

“Ah, you’re worse than a spoiled lord,” Wonwoo whines, but he obeys, efficiently taking off his inner robe and the strap tying it together. “There. Are you satisfied?”

“It’ll have to do,” Chan sniffs, pulling the discarded clothes to one side. He’s the one in charge of laundering them now, so he doesn’t want them to get stained by the massage oil or needlessly wrinkled. “Lie down.”

Wonwoo goes boneless and does just that, melting under Chan’s hands. Naturally he takes that as a cue to go to work, slicking up his hands with the oil and pressing down on Wonwoo’s shoulders.

He’s confident in his massage skills, no matter how useless they are in any other situation. In the shrine, since he was one of the few young ones there, he was often asked to do errands and tasks like this for their more elderly shrine keepers. It serves him well now, at least—as what? As a stray snake spirit’s unofficial ward? Companion?

Wonwoo lets out a soft sound of pleasure, jarring Chan out of his reverie. “You’re really good at this, Chan-ah,” he says appreciatively as Chan gets rid of a particularly stubborn knot.

“Have you been in pain long?”

“Not really. I feel better now, though.”

Chan pauses. “Is it the mating season causing this?”

A hum, seemingly unconcerned either way. “It’s not preferable,” Wonwoo admits. He moves his head a little—originally he’d been happy to rest his forehead on his arms, but now he’s turned to the side so he can look up at Chan a little when he speaks. “I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“The heat. The brainlessness. It’s all just a bother. I don’t like it when I’m controlled by my base urges.”

Huh. “Base urges?” he echoes, shaking his head as he continues massaging Wonwoo. “Sounds complicated. All done.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo breathes out, sitting up and stretching out his arms a little. He doesn’t bother picking up his robes again; it makes sense, Chan decides, because Wonwoo likes to sleep naked in the evenings, anyway. “And it’s not complicated. Not really, anyway. I’d argue it’s the easiest state to fall back to for creatures like me.”

“How so?”

Wonwoo stares at him, contemplative. Then, almost amused, he concludes, “So you meant it, when you said you know next to nothing about matters like this.”

Disgruntled, Chan scoffs. “Why would I lie?”

“Of course,” and here, Wonwoo smiles slightly, “Chan-ah only has the purest of intentions.”

“What’s that have to do with anything? Base urges—do you mean … that ?” Something about makes shame crawl up Chan’s face. “That’s not what I mean,” he mutters under his breath, “and—and anyway, it doesn’t really matter, does it? I have you to tell me things now, so it really doesn’t matter,” with a petulant huff, he crosses his arms over his chest, “I can just ask you, and you can answer. Won’t that be just the same as the real thing?”

Wonwoo’s lips twitch. “Not quite.”

“Not quite?” Chan repeats, disgruntled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you must know some things are better experienced than simply read about.”

Chan does, he understands that, but it’s not like he can do much about his inexperience. Besides— “I don’t know. My curiosity got me into a lot of trouble in the shrine, so sometimes I think things are better this way.”

It’s his own insecurity. It’s clear, he knows it, and Wonwoo hyung probably knows it too. He’s overcompensating, trying to make things look better than they are. If he puts it this way, it sounds more like the punishment for mischief. Chan’s just playful, that’s all—the people in the village always come to that conclusion. He’s just never had to use this method on Wonwoo before, and he’s still smarting from the unexpected sting. It’s a whole different situation, because Wonwoo is intelligent, more than anyone Chan has ever known in his life, and more than that—he knows Chan, has spent enough time with him to sense when he’s acting.

It’s different because of who Wonwoo has become to Chan.

Now he tilts his head at Chan’s statement, most likely dissecting every part of it. “It’s better for you to stay … curious?”

“Yes.”

“Is it?” Wonwoo hums, considering. “Does that satisfy you?”

He turns back to Wonwoo, only to find him already staring back. It’s the first time that he’s seen someone ask that without a look of judgment on their face. He’d left the village for a reason; he didn’t think he could stomach more people looking at him funny. Realistically he knows that this is a big world, but sometimes he fears it, still. He fears people. He fears being looked at with eyes that don’t understand—eyes that refuse to.

Maybe that’s not a problem here, though. Even he can tell that Wonwoo isn’t looking to cast judgment.

“Yes.”

Chan’s not entirely certain how old Wonwoo is, but he knows that a spirit this powerful couldn’t possibly be born in the same decade, perhaps not even in the same century. But he’s the snake spirit that’s allowed Chan leave to build a home in his forest, and even during his most obnoxious, he hadn’t thrown him out. In fact, Chan could go as far as call this place home if he was so inclined. He doesn’t, not yet, but he could and he’s certain Wonwoo would find no issue with it.

That’s not nothing.

Wonwoo’s gentle hand pushes errant strays of hair away from Chan’s face. “Did that god of yours never teach you anything?” he asks, though he looks uncertain.

“I took a vow of chastity.” Never mind that he doesn’t even remember it, that the choice has been made for him a long time before he regained any sort of consciousness or self-awareness. He had spent years renewing that promise.

“How about the others in the shrine, then? Surely they must have let some things slip?”

Chan laughs, wry. The very thought is hilarious. “They were like my parents.” Or they used to be, anyway. When it became time to send him away, they certainly didn’t say anything in his defense. “How could they speak to me about such matters?”

“But you’ve left since.”

“I have.”

Wonwoo raises a brow. “So I suppose the question that should be asked is if you still choose it?”

Chan exhales.

The silence makes Wonwoo raise a brow, and he says, perhaps as gently as he’s able, “That’s not an answer.”

Chan bites his lip. What does he have to lose anymore? Surely, the specifics of his shame won’t matter so much to a spirit who feels the animalistic need to breed with every passing of a season? Even if he did—who is Wonwoo to judge, considering the situation? “I don’t know what my answer is.”

Wonwoo considers this with a contemplative hum. “I think you do. You just don’t want to say.”

An apt observation. Is it because hyung knows him or is it written on his face? What is more incriminating? He finds he can’t decide. “To be honest,” he confesses, voice soft, “I am curious. It’s hard not to be. You have to believe that much.”

“Mmm,” Wonwoo nods. “I believe you.”

Somehow that little piece of validation makes Chan even more eager to share, even more talkative. “Back at the shrine, they said I would bear the child of a god.”

“Child of a god?” Wonwoo repeats, sounding thoughtful, the sides of his lips quirking in what almost seems like fascination.

“That was my most important purpose in the shrine. But I did not know of pleasure, and if—if indeed I would be granted that.”

“Why would you not be?” A flash of teeth.

Chan stays silent. How could he even begin to explain to Wonwoo—a creature of instinct, and therefore, a creature of pleasure—that duty bore no such thing? “I’ve only thought about it as a concept. No one explained the process to me. How could gods be associated with … if you think about it, then wouldn’t it make more sense to simply will the child inside me?”

Wonwoo’s gaze darkens. “Oh?”

Something about it flusters Chan enough to start waving his hands around and change the topic. “It’s only a given that I was curious,” he continues, voice lowering in shame. His cheeks are warm with embarrassment. “I… was curious enough to—” and with this, he couldn’t bear it anymore, and he covers his face with his hands.

“Don’t hide.” Wonwoo commands, and now his large hands are prying Chan’s fingers off his face, and there’s only honesty, only an intense focus in those eyes of his. “Are you ashamed still?”

More than words can say. Chan avoids his gaze. “It was stupid.” Wonwoo tilts his head, as though imploring him to elaborate, but what else could Chan tell him? That he touched himself, that he’d purchased lubricating oil in town without any of the other shrine keepers knowing, and that he tried it, just to see what all the fuss was about, but it was vastly unrewarding? That would just make all his suffering more pathetic—to have risked so much for nothing! “It was a stupid mistake. Nothing worth mentioning.”

Wonwoo makes a sound from deep in his throat, sympathetic, his fingers moving up to run through Chan’s hair—the action is calming, almost meditative. “Why not?” he asks him. “It’s awfully human to be curious, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that,” Chan mumbles, turning his face towards Wonwoo’s hand almost unconsciously, the warmth too good to pass up. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes. It’s one of the more entertaining things about your kind.” Wonwoo looks down at him and then smiles, a slow one that makes the corners of his eyes wrinkle.

“So it’s entertaining to you?”

“I think it’s a shame to keep a human and not expect it to do human things.”

Chan laughs, helpless despite himself. Of course a snake spirit wouldn’t understand. Someone like Wonwoo is born for mischief, but his god—

“It was a deal,” he explains haltingly, “a… an understanding between that god and my parents. I just didn’t hold up my part of the deal. You say it’s human, but what kind of wretched creature deliberately choose chaos? I don’t choose it, certainly.”

Wonwoo raises a brow. “You’re talking about something else entirely.”

Caught, Chan says throatily, “I’m not.”

“I never said anything about you being a creature who craves it,” and then, softer, Wonwoo adds, “and even if you do, I wouldn’t think you were wretched.”

“You should.”

“Well, alright, then. If I should,” but Wonwoo’s raised brow was very decidedly unimpressed.

“You’re being glib.”

“Only a little.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

At that, Wonwoo takes on a certain earnestness when he answers, “Not at all.”

Bitterly, Chan shakes his head. “Tell me, then. How could I still expect salvation? How could I still expect anything after that?”

Enough seasons have passed for it not to matter anymore, surely, but grief, however, still seeps in time and time again. Chan finds that sometimes he’s almost regretful, though it’s growing increasingly clear from his time outside the shrine how much he’s been deprived of liberty inside. It’s a complicated feeling. One, he no longer possesses the right to speak to the shrine keepers he’s left behind—holy folk whose reputations would only get tarnished by his continued presence—and two, he’s spent so long living like that it’s difficult to imagine another path.

Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Despite himself, Chan’s amusement rears its petty head. “That’s all you have to say about it, hyung?”

Wonwoo exhales, equal parts fond and exasperated. With a small indulgent smile, he says, “From what little knowledge I have of gods, aren’t they supposed to be brimming with generosity?”

“He was generous.”

Wonwoo cradles his head in his hand, as though waiting for a story. His expression is more bemused than anything as he awaits the explanation with a small smile. So Chan continues, “He promised that he’d protect me for as long as I lived so long as I devoted myself to him.”

“Poetic.”

“It was the price to pay for a silly mistake, but—ah, really, what a price it was. It wasn’t even that memorable, it didn’t even feel good, and still, I paid for it in full—” he yelps when Wonwoo turns to him jerkily at that, his eyes turning into slits. It’s ominous enough that Chan looks left and right, checking to see if an enemy has slithered in while he was occupied. No such thing, so what’s the hostility about?

“What did you say?”

“Huh?” Chan swallows, despite himself. “Did I upset you?”

“It didn’t feel good?” Wonwoo clarifies.

Flushing in embarrassment, Chan looks away sharply. “Yes, I—well, to be honest, I don’t understand why I wanted to do it so badly in the first place when it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, and I lost h—” he chokes on the hyung, realizing belatedly that, ah, of course, he lost that privilege too. Wonwoo’s hand is a steadying weight on his shoulder. “Ah, sorry.”

The response comes almost immediately. “What for?”

“I lost my god for such a ridiculous reason, and I can’t—”

“Now that’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“Losing my god?” Chan exclaims in complete and utter disbelief. Wide eyed, he raises his arms. “Well, of course it is!”

“No,” Wonwoo shakes his head, and he seems to loom even larger now, imposing in a way he’s never been before. “That you didn’t feel good.”

It’s strange, really. Wonwoo’s a snake spirit, yes, Chan’s always known that. A primordial being. Definitely dangerous. But Chan’s never thought of him as malevolent, nor did he have any reason to. The bite—that’s the first time he’s ever had to struggle with Wonwoo’s identity as a predator with dormant base instincts, but even then, Wonwoo’s never looked … well, for lack of a better term, big. He always moves as though to compartmentalize his body and it always looks as though he takes up much less space than he actually does.

Now, though—

Wonwoo is moving with grace, with intention. Like he’s posturing. It’s almost ridiculous to think of it like that, but Chan can’t find any other word to describe it.

So he doesn’t. Instead he shakes his head and asks, “How is that what’s important?”

“It’s the most important thing.”

“Ha!”

“You don’t believe it to be so?”

“I don’t. Of course I don’t. How could I?” Swallowing, he continues in a sullen whisper, “I believe it could be my punishment.”

There’s a golden glint in Wonwoo’s eyes that vanishes immediately, but it doesn’t hide how his gaze has sharpened to a fine point. “Oh, Chan-ah,” he cooes, reaching over to hold Chan’s face in his scaly palms, “do you really think so?”

It may just be his imagination, but right now … Chan feels strangely like he’s being hunted.

A snake’s mating season . He knows what it entails, but could it be that he’s misunderstood it completely? If he’s also—if Wonwoo hyung can go after humans too, not just spirits—

“Hey. Hyung.” Chan’s voice trembles, the tension rising in the air. He can’t pretend it doesn’t exist; it’s right there. “What are you doing?”

That’s when Wonwoo leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of his jaw. Little kisses, soft, petal-like, and Chan shivers at the contact.

He doesn’t hate it. The contact is sweet. Syrupy. Wonwoo does it again, like a question, and Chan bares his neck further in answer, so the kisses move down the slope of his jaw, to the side of his neck. When his tongue comes out to worry a bruise into his neck—dangerous and thrilling in equal measure—Chan gasps and swallows back a moan.

“Do you want hyung to make you feel good, Chan-ah?”

It’s surprisingly easy to make the decision—when he’s wet and wanting like this, when he’s so curious he could die. He wants to know. An interesting feeling, to tell the truth: he’s so guilty it makes him sick, but so full of want that it aches.

In truth, when they first met, it had been Wonwoo’s sympathy that had made him holy in Chan’s eyes. No one else had given him that before, but what would a snake spirit care about human prejudices? Even more so a snake spirit with very little to do with the world. In the midst of it all, Wonwoo ’s the only one he understands, the ever-constant compass pointing north, so Chan wriggles into his lap. Simple as that.

“Oh, Chan-ah. What am I supposed to do with you?” Even saying just that he manages to sound so incredibly fond. Chan nearly melts in his grip—it feels entirely too easy, but he’s lost so many people. Wonwoo’s hands are unusually warm. Like this, pressed close like this, Chan thinks he feels the evidence of Wonwoo’s want in between their clothes, and he can’t help but cling, needily grasping whatever he can hoard.

“Please,” he gasps out, “please, I…”

“You know so many spirits wanted to take you away? And no wonder,” Wonwoo says, pressing a kiss to his forehead, the gesture at odds with the way he’s pulling apart Chan’s thighs with his other hand. “Look at you. So lucky hyung’s here to look after you, huh? To make sure everyone knows not to try.”

Take him away? Dizzily, he mumbles, “What… what are you…” Whatever he was about to say evaporates just as it was about to leave his tongue, because there’s hyung’s large palm hovering over Chan’s cunt, and he can’t remember much of anything, he just ends up clumsily rubbing up against the point of contact, mewling in both humiliation and desperation.

“They’re smart for giving up,” Wonwoo says.

“What… Hyung, I don’t—”

“If they actually tried to take you, hyung really might have had to kill them.”

Chan’s stomach clenches at his words and with rising mortification, he realizes that he’s dripping. With a gasp, he tucks himself into Wonwoo’s collarbone, closing his eyes as though to hide away from the quivering fire swallowing him whole. “Hyung, please.”

“Please what?”

Tears gather in his eyes. He lets out a struggling gasp. “The heavens will just hate me more.”

“So?” Wonwoo sounds amused, but his hands move to rub at Chan’s back—an attempt at comfort even as he’s clearly patronizing the source of his distress.

Chan whimpers, digging his blunt nails into the skin of Wonwoo’s broad shoulders, trying to anchor himself to the present. Wonwoo still hasn’t touched him further than a few well-placed caresses, and yet he finds himself shaking his hips like the whores at the pleasure houses that the shrine keepers used to condemn. “Don’t just…” He closes his eyes so tight that it almost hurts, though he’s unsure if it’s to deny seeing what’s so clearly in front of him or if it’s to somehow lessen the blow of a hurt he knows is about to reopen like a nasty wound. “Don’t just brush it off.”

“Chan, look at me.”

“Angering god is a sin that cannot be forgiven.”

Wonwoo cups Chan’s cheek, an expression almost like sympathy on his face. “Is he still?”

Chan swallows. He doesn’t have the answer to that—scratch that, he does, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Suddenly vitriolic, he hisses and opens his mouth to bite at Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“Ah—” and then there’s a breath of a chuckle, even as Wonwoo adjusts the way he’s sitting, even as his other hand moves to hold Chan’s waist and keep him steady. Of course it’s not comparable; Chan’s human teeth aren’t even close to the fangs that Wonwoo has. But— “Then it shouldn’t matter anymore.”

That’s true. Of course that’s true. Wonwoo pulls away to take a better look at Chan’s face. Hyung is smiling; he probably wants to appear sweet, like a gentleman, but it comes off more vicious, especially now that he’s lost control of most of his shifting abilities. His pupils are flickering brown and gold, and hints of scales are crawling up his neck, and Chan—

“But—but—” he stammers, “it’s … what reason would they have to forbid it if it wasn’t—”

“No need to concern yourself with things like that,” Wonwoo laughs, and that’s when he starts gently lowering Chan on top of the comforter on the floor, tearing away at his clothes as he does. Once he’s pleased by the damage he’s done, he kisses down Chan’s collarbone to his stomach to his navel, makes Chan shiver with every touch. “Look at you. Why shouldn’t someone so pretty feel good, baby?”

Pretty. Wonwoo thinks he’s pretty. Wonwoo’s calling him baby. There’s hands holding his hips still, there’s a thigh pressing in between his legs, keeping them open. “Hyung,” he whimpers, more breath than voice. It feels like the only word he can remember how to say.

Wonwoo’s breath is warm against Chan’s cunt, his eyes glowing amber gold. There must be a hypnotizing effect. That’s the only explanation for how Chan can’t look away.

“Don’t— don’t —” But his tongue is already licking a stripe up Chan’s clit, making him squeal and jerk away. Wonwoo’s hands hold tighter to pin him in place. “ Don’t know !”

Wonwoo’s tongue—long and flexible—is flat against his clit, slowly licking into hole like sweet torture. His tongue is forked, friction and pressure against his walls. It’s nothing like he’s ever experienced in his life. Wet. Sloppy. Spread open—Wonwoo’s made sure of it. He feels so hot he might die. But despite the fear, Chan’s still pushing himself closer to that wicked mouth, and then almost as quickly squirming away when it gets too much.

He’s distantly aware that he’s … definitely making noises. His mouth is open, and his back is arching underneath him,  and his toes are starting to curl, like he’s heading towards some unidentified precipice that he doesn’t fully understand.

It’s too good. Chan doesn’t know how it manages to be, but Wonwoo’s tongue is relentless against his clit, against his folds, and because—because of course he’s a snake spirit—it must be because of that that it feels strange, longer than what would be expected—

His foot kicks out at the jolt of pleasure gathering at a fissure in his stomach, and he yelps, tipping his head back in distracted pleasure when he reaches—when he reaches—

“Good boy,” Wonwoo murmurs, and without warning he raises his hand and a harsh sting spreads on Chan’s cunt, making him breathe out a pained whine. His vision blacks out for a moment—he’s sure of it. His entire body seizes, his legs jerk out of control, his stomach swoops and flutters. When he comes back to himself, his thighs are wet and he’s breathing hard and Wonwoo’s hand, which he had used to smack Chan’s pussy—and without remorse, it seems like—is back to resting politely by his side. Wonwoo even has a self-satisfied look on his face.

That’s what breaks him, surprisingly enough.

“Hyung,” he gasps out, the tears that he’s been valiantly holding back finally slipping down his cheeks. “Hyung! You can’t just, this— this is —!”

Wonwoo just laughs, the sound sending heat up his spine, and straightens up. His lips are shiny with—ah. Chan knows what it is and would rather not think about it. “Chan-ah, really, saying all this after you’ve already cum twice is a bit much.”

“I didn’t,” Chan insists tearfully, though they both know the evidence is right there, dripping down his thighs.

“You did. And so fast, too.”

“You’re— that’s a lie. I didn’t!”

“Our Chan-ah’s so easy he came twice with just a little touching.”

Outside, it starts to rain. Chan smells it more than hears it, really. The ozone is unmistakable, and it’s then that he starts to sob, tears rolling down his cheeks and little hiccups forcing its way out his throat.

“Ah, don’t cry,” Wonwoo soothes, using his thumb to wipe the tears off Chan’s face and then kissing him on the tip of his nose to make up for it.

It’s nice. This is better. It feels so much better when hyung is being considerate. Chan’s fingers tug into Wonwoo’s cloth belt, ascertaining his presence.

It’s nice, but he—

If it’s just curiosity, then surely Chan’s abated it by now? But why does it ache that Wonwoo’s seemed to wash his hands clean off the whole situation—hypothetically speaking?

“You have to take responsibility.”

The truth of the matter is that Chan’s always been the type to do what he wants. Since he was a child, he’s been the type to reach out and capture something with no remorse if it meant having it. Years of the shrine hasn’t made him frugal. No, if anything, it’s made him greedier than most.

Wonwoo tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“You—you’re why I’m like this—” He feels like he’s asking for far more than he’s supposed to have , and it’s thrilling, the way it always was. Like sneaking an extra candy even when the older shrine keepers would say he isn’t allowed any more. “You made me like this. So you have to take responsibility, hyung. You have to take responsibility of me. ”

Cold eyes regard him. Wonwoo says nothing, so Chan reaches out to grab his wrist. “Put—put the tip in, hyung.”

Surprise blooms on Wonwoo’s face. “You—”

“That’d be enough, wouldn’t it?” Chan swallows, and in a last bid, throws all his shame away. “I wouldn’t feel so empty if you did it?”

A pause.

With a helpless little shake of his head, Wonwoo’s fingers return to Chan’s folds, and without warning, a finger slides inside him. It’s  easy, considering. Chan’s already loose from cumming twice, lax and fluttery around Wonwoo like it’s a matter of course, but he doesn’t expect that it’s overwhelming, that it’s good it has him woozy, gasping, stupid. Chan mewls, twisting into the fabric underneath him. He gasps when Wonwoo tries to push in even more, his legs spreading wider in an attempt to make it easier.

“A natural,” Wonwoo murmurs, and it brings a thrill through Chan. His thumb brushes against Chan’s clit, and without even thinking Chan lets out a wounded howl, oversensitive from cumming twice. Before he’s even processed, two of Wonwoo’s fingers are spearing him open now, turning him loose. “Do you still want that child, Jungchan?”

He—he doesn’t know. It’s all he’s ever been told to aspire to, and sometimes he dreams of it. Turns out he doesn’t even need to say anything, because Wonwoo’s fingers are on his jaw, forcing him to focus on his face. “Hyung—”

“What if I give it to you instead, mm?”

Chan gasps, “H-how?”

“You just spread your legs and let hyung-ah do all the work.”

Easy enough. Easy. Wonwoo makes it all so easy, from where he’s looking down at him. Chan wonders what he sees: to someone like him, who has lived years and years and years, could it be that someone like Chan, so naïve, so controlled by his desires, is laughable? Pink-faced and eyes splotchy in comparison to the composed and pristine Wonwoo somehow always is, the fact that he’s not even undressed yet another testament to this fact?

“Then, then please,” he catches Wonwoo’s hand in his and squeezes. “Please just … give it to me. Give everything to me.”

Wonwoo leans down to press a kiss on the thin skin under Chan’s eye, and tenderly, very tenderly, murmurs, “Fine.”

He tugs down his pants. Where skin should be down his torso, it’s muscle and scales, the green fluorescence of it almost hypnotic to look at.

Chan, because he’s never the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, brings two fingers and spreads himself open, digs his heels deep into the bedding, and presents himself for the taking.

“Hyung,” he whines, to Wonwoo’s quickly reddening face. “Hyung, just—”

He feels it then—Wonwoo’s cock, brushing against his folds. And then, shockingly, another. Two cocks, dragging along his cunt. Chan startles, scrambles to get up, but Wonwoo pushes him down to the bed before he can even conceptualize anything after that. His head is fuzzy; Wonwoo’s arms flex from where they’re keeping Chan down.

“Chan-ah,” Wonwoo murmurs, “Did I not tell you? Our bodies are … a little bit different.”

“Two cocks,” Chan whispers, realization dawning on him and setting a fire to his core. “You’re going to stick two cocks in me.”

“Vulgar,” Wonwoo chastises, but Chan doesn’t hear more after that.

Without needing to think about it, he presses against it, his wet cunt sliding against it, flesh against flesh without actually putting it in. Wonwoo isn’t—he’s too busy staring at where they’re both—he’s razor-sharp, focused. And Chan’s holding making it so easy, making it so easy to just slide in—he’s so wet it’s dripping from his pussy to his ass, and—

With a hum, Wonwoo pushes his cock in between Chan’s folds, not even inside yet, and Chan nearly blacks out—it’s so good, it sounds so dirty, the way Chan’s cum keeps making every thrust wet and sticky. It’s so close to what Chan actually wants he can almost taste it—

Chasing the sensation isn’t enough. With a desperate moan, he angles his hips, and lets out a gasp when Wonwoo’s cock catches, when it slides inside just right, and he finally has a taste of what he wants, what he’s wanted, what Chan’s always been curious about when this handsome stranger let him in his home without even questioning what he might have done before it.

“Chan-ah,” Wonwoo says, and it sounds like a warning. His teeth are gritted, his jaw is clenched, he looks almost inhuman. But Chan just puts his hands over the ones Wonwoo now has on his waist, and then shivers, desperately.

“It’s the tip,” he argues, clenching around Wonwoo’s cock. “I told you, just the tip.”

He doesn’t expect the laugh that bubbles out of Wonwoo at that. “You did say that,” he agrees, even when it sounds tight. “But who knows until when that’s enough for you?”

Chan narrows his eyes at Wonwoo— “If you know that then what are you doing?”

Wonwoo wears a befuddled expression on his face, an uncertain half-smile playing on his lips. “I was under the impression that I was respecting you?”

What a joke. “Don’t be ridiculous. You—you’re the one who is in mating season, why can’t you just—just—”

Just take it. He doesn’t get the chance to finish that sentence, because it’s then that Wonwoo pushes even further inside him, the words getting lost into a choke. The slide is slow but insistent, demanding all of Chan’s attention.

“Ahh, what about this, then? Is it enough?”

Chan, choked up, slams his fists at Wonwoo’s chest. “You’re an idiot!” he whines when Wonwoo grabs at his wrists, but doesn’t really stop him—just brings Chan’s hands to rest over his chest. Over his heart. His most vulnerable point.

“Good job,” Wonwoo murmurs, pressing his lips against Chan’s sweaty forehead, “spread wider, come on, hyung needs it, baby.”

Need. Chan is needed, and Wonwoo already sounds so wrecked, and this is something Chan can do for him. He can be Wonwoo’s little toy, and it’d be—it’d help Wonwoo a little, distract him from his mating season—

“Hyung-ah.”

Breathing harshly, Wonwoo lets out a laugh, something nearly savage glinting in his eyes. He licks at the sweat gathering on Chan’s collarbone, and then he turns his head up to meet Chan’s eyes. “Yes?”

It’s so warm, so teasing, so like Wonwoo hyung. Something in Chan’s chest constricts at the sight of him, dopey and bright-eyed. He doesn’t know how to ask for a kiss, but he wants to—so, so badly. It’s difficult for him to admit desires, to make out head or tail of it, but this one—he knows what it is.

Fortunately Wonwoo seems to want the same. He leans forward, so much so that their breaths intermingle and their noses touch, and Chan closes the gap between them.

The kiss is gentle, at first. Sweet, almost. It doesn’t take long for it to turn heated; Chan pulling him closer by his robes, almost anxious to have him near. It’s not graceful, of course. There’s no way it could be.

But Chan has no need for grace. It’s something he aspired to all his life in that shrine. It’s something he wishes he could put behind him no matter how difficult.

“Hyung, it feels so—” he moans, and he really can’t. His hips are still moving, rubbing himself off on him. He can’t bear to be too far, so really all he’s doing is grinding down in circles, unwilling to be separated from Wonwoo for even a moment, leaking and slobbering all over his cock. He lets out a wail when he comes again, his thighs trembling and seizing as he does. “Ah, ah, already came—”

Wonwoo growls, digs his heels onto the floor to anchor himself, and then starts to thrust harder, every move like he’s trying to fuck up to Chan’s throat, like he’s trying to carve a space inside of him and live there. It’s almost painful, almost overwhelming, almost too much . A whole lot of almosts. The fact of the matter is that Chan loves it too much to complain—it’ll feel more humiliating to do that. How could he deny Wonwoo anything when the man himself can feel how much Chan’s gushing around him?

“Chan,” and that’s the only warning he gets until Wonwoo cums in him, filling up his pussy with cum. So wet, so thick. Chan shivers through the warmth.

He barely has time to bask in the afterglow when hands snake to the backs of Chan’s thighs, pushing them up to his chest. Chan squeals as he’s spread open, his embarrassment shamefully only making him wetter, as Wonwoo surveys the mess.

“Hyung,” he says urgently, voice growing high when Wonwoo makes a sound of frustration and turns him around, trying to manhandle him to his knees. His cock slips out, slightly, and that must displease him because his grip tightens on Chan’s hips. The pain is bracing. He lets out a shaky exhale. “ Please, so full.”

Wonwoo makes a sound—deep and warm and somewhat soothing. He must grab the bottle of massage oil from somewhere because a few moments later a wet finger presses into his other hole.

“Okay?”

Chan, already on his dick, figures he might as well let it happen. Soft, almost, he whispers, “Take what you need, hyung.”

So Wonwoo does. The oil is poured so liberally Chan feels sticky, the way the excess rolls down his thighs, and he’s arranged more comfortably, pillows underneath his hand and knees as he’s laid on his belly. It’s almost meditative—the calm scissoring of Wonwoo’s fingers, the way he’s cockwarming him already, the way he’s methodical in making sure Chan opens up underneath his ministrations.

“Hyung,” Chan gasps, and then, when Wonwoo’s fingers and cock simultaneously hit spots inside of him that he didn’t know could feel so—so electrifying—he lets out a gasp, and all but melts into the mat under him, knees weak.

Wonwoo, who has foregoed words since earlier, finally asks him an actual question, then: “How is it?”

Chan can’t think . For a brief moment he wonders if he’s actually been rendered incapable of response. In a desperate jerky motion, hoping for more friction, his hips wriggle deeper into the pleasure, and his hand reaches back to pull Wonwoo’s fingers out of him. With a pant, he reaches for the dick not currently rutting inside him inside, and with a huff, tugs him closer, presses it to the hole—

“Oh?” and he hears Wonwoo’s voice, warm and pleased, and Chan feels so unreasonably good about it, despite himself. He wonders if he looks good in Wonwoo’s eyes. He hopes he does.

He knows he does.

But to know it and feel proof of it—to notice how Wonwoo’s other cock is dripping, how he’s making it so that more of it drips down his other hole—is something completely different altogether.

“Hyung, you said—”

“Yes, that’s right,” Wonwoo soothes, rubbing Chan’s hips comfortingly as he slowly starts to press his second cock inside of Chan. “How could hyung forget?”

Chan wails in response, loud and desperate.

“It’ll feel good soon,” Wonwoo soothes, but Chan feels like he’s about to get ripped apart, so full he feels it in his throat. “Does it better now?”

“Ngh,” is the only answer he can manage. He is unsteadily trying to grab into something and only finding bedding. Frustrated, his nails dig into the fabric.

“Baby?”

Chan sniffles, and it’s only then that he realizes that he’s crying again, this time into the pillows, big fat tears slipping down his cheeks, and with that comes Wonwoo changing the angle of his thrusts, experimental. With a keen, Chan arches his back, the change in angle making his thighs spasm and his breath catch.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Wonwoo says. “Just let hyung in, Chan-ah.”

He knows what he has to do. Obediently he spreads his legs more, tries to relax even further. He has to let hyung in.

“Good boy.”

Chan’s eyes close as he shudders through the. “Hyung, hyung, I need—”

“Hush, Channie,” Wonwoo promises, “hyung knows what you need.”

Chan sniffles. “Thank you,” he whispers. He can’t see Wonwoo like this, can’t do anything but take it, and yet he feels thankful, somehow.

“Ah, Chan-ah, I held myself back for so long. Did you notice?” Wonwoo asks. “Your god was all you could talk about. It irritated me, but what could I do, Chan-ah? I didn’t want to rush and frighten you.”

“You—you still—”

“I know I did. Hyung was stupid. Hyung bit you.” He nuzzles against Chan’s cheek. “But still, you like hyung now, don’t you?”

I’ve always liked hyung. A confession he can’t say out loud. Not yet. Ironic, considering what they’re doing. “Hyung,” he whimpers. He can’t seem to remember a word aside from that.

“I’ll be good to you,” Wonwoo promises, sounding desperate as he ruts into Chan, who moans. “I’ll be so good to you.”

Something in his stomach feels strange. There was insistence before, all sensations that he’d acclimated to. But this is different. New. He gasps, tearfully, and demands, “What—”

“An egg, Channie,” Wonwoo says, sounding excited, “it’ll be eggs.”

Eggs. For the mating season. Wonwoo hyung expects him to give him the snake spirit babies. “I…”

Wonwoo burrows deeper into Chan's nape, forked tongue darting out to lick at his jaw. “Do you still want that child, Jungchan?” he asks, voice tender but the words unmistakable.

Outside, the storm rages on, mourning.