chanrakkhun: (Default)
chanrakkhun ([personal profile] chanrakkhun) wrote2011-12-22 09:48 am

little vampire (50 thai pop pairings challenge)

1,870/50,000 words (chart)

little vampire
poppy (k-otic)/kwang (x.i.s), pg-13, 1870w

Students flood out of the front door of the building clutching books in their hands and smiling into the bright sunlight. Kwang sits across the way at an empty picnic table, inappropriately bundled up and hiding behind his huge black sunglasses. He pulls his thick dark pea coat tighter around him, not because he'll burst into flame or anything if he didn't wear it. He's just so tired of getting comments about his skin.

Speaking of things Kwang is tired of, a certain familiar figure stops suddenly in his tracks, catching sight of Kwang, and jogs his way over with an overly eager grin on his face.

"Long time no see, Dracula," Kyungtae grins and slaps Kwang on the shoulder.

Shuddering inwardly at the unwelcome nickname, Kwang adjusts his bangs with a toss of his head. "Get lost," he grumbles, but Kyungtae takes a seat at the table without a bit of hesitation.

Kyungtae pulls a sketchbook and set of pencils out of his bag, humming quietly to himself. "Don't pretend like you're not here to see me."

Of all the people to discover Kwang's secret, why did it have to be the biggest, dumbest, loudest narcissist on the planet? Who meanwhile watches Kwang brood with amused interest, sketching away. As annoying as Kyungtae's little habit is, Kwang has a hard time telling him to stop because his friend's sketches may be the only visual record of himself Kwang has had since he died. Purposefully ignoring everything that leaves Kyungtae's mouth, Kwang takes casual glances at his friend's work when he isn't looking.

The flow of students slows to a sporadic trickle as they sit in comfortable silence. Despite not minding Kyungtae's company as much as he puts on, Kwang isn't there for him today. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets and tries to look cold as he earns countless incredulous looks from the students walking by in their t-shirts and shorts. He nearly jumps out of his seat when he spies his target finally exit the building.

"Sorry, need to go," he mutters over his shoulder and isn't sure Kyungtae hears him. He barely registers Kyungtae shouting after him as he stalks silently after the boy striding away. There are several haeavy-looking books stacked in his arms, a leather bag dangling from an elbow and a long plastic tube hanging from a strap on the other, all of which drop to the ground when Kwang pops in front of him, meeting surprised eyes with a glare. The boy smiles awkwardly and bends to pick up his things, all the while Kwang just stands and glares needles at the top of his head.

The boy gives Kwang a friendly smile once he's put himself together, entirely unruffled. "You again?" he says and checks his watch. "Shouldn't you be in school right now?"

This is exactly the what he'd asked Kwang when they'd first met a week ago, on this exact spot at this exact time. The familiarity only worsens Kwang's mood. That tends to happen a lot when strangers treat him like he's a kid. He doesn't care if his body is frozen at the age of fifteen; he's lived centuries longer than this tousled nerd and he's not about to let him get the last line this round.

He opens his mouth to respond, but a cheery chuckle and a hand on his head cuts him off. "A shy one, huh?" the boy laughs, patting Kwang's thick, soft hair. Kwang feels his face go red with rage.

"E-Excuse me?" he growls. He knocks the hand away and the boy looks surprised, but not offended. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

He doesn't know why he lets this guy get to him, a complete stranger he's met just once before. There's something absolutely infuriating in his kind eyes and the easy way he reaches out to touch Kwang. There's no hesitation or fear, not even when Kwang gives him the glare that sends all of his other victims screaming and crawling away.

That's it. He smiles a little at his decision and the boy looks pleased, but isn't expecting the cold, iron grasp on his wrist. "What's up, kid?" he asks, eyes on Kwang's pale hand. "I don't really have time to play now." Kwang doesn't answer, but roughly yanks the boy behind him as he takes off down the sidewalk. "Hey, hey, hey-"

Kwang doesn't stop, doesn't even turn to listen, and enjoys the startled babbling ensuing behind him.

"Seriously, I have a huge project due next week and I really, really need to head to the library to meet with my group, and-"

They reach a small intersection on campus and Kwang's gaze darts about. His eyes settle on a dark patch of woods hidden beside an artificial lake. No students hanging around, no unnecessary sources of light, perfect isolation. He grins again and rubs his tongue over his little fangs.

The boy continues his pointless arguing as he's lead down the pebble path near the lake, "What, do you like the ducks? Don't you have some friends to come with you or something?" Kwang resists the urge to snap the boy's thin wrist right then and there.

When he finally releases his soon-to-be victim, the boy, quite surprisingly, doesn't make a run for it. He takes a moment for to catch his breath, then groans and gives Kwang an inscrutable look. "You're a weird kid," he sighs and sets down his belongings on a nearby bench. Kwang takes a careful look at their surroundings. The trees, full of leaves at this time of year, provide a perfect cover from the people walking outside. "Last time you just ran away when I said hi, and now you're dragging me around everywhere." He pauses and cups a hand over his eyes to stare up at the sky. "Nice spot, though."

And there it is, that sunny, meaningless smile that Kwang doesn't understand. The boy looks perfectly happy to be standing in the middle of the woods with a younger boy he doesn't even know. Maybe it's because the weather's nice and he really didn't need to go anywhere, but Kwang suspects it's something else, and whatever that something else is seriously pisses him off.

"What's your name?" the boy suddenly asks and for a long three seconds, Kwang can't think of the answer.

"Kwang," he replies when he finally remembers, but instantly regrets it. Rule number one is don't give your victim any information about yourself. Well, if there were any official rules to speak of Kwang assumes that it would be rule number one or something close.

"Poppy," the other says before Kwang can think to ask. Kwang tucks his chin down under the tall collar of his coat and frowns at Poppy. The idiotic boy wanders away to take a closer look at one of the trees. As Kwang watches, Poppy leans over and touches the mess of vines winding around the trunk. Tiny white flowers bloom along the strands. "So how old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?" he asks, eyes still on the pretty buds.

This is the moment, Kwang tells himself. He can feel the excitement screaming through his hungry veins and he licks at his dry lips. Poppy doesn't seem to mind that his question goes ignored, and keeps making casual remarks about the tree, how he thinks it's called honeysuckle, he's heard it produces nectar which tastes sweet. He's completely enthralled by the plant and doesn't notice Kwang step silently closer until he's hovering near Poppy's shoulder. Thank goodness he doesn't breathe or Poppy would surely feel him-- his nose is practically touching the soft, tan skin of Poppy's neck.

Poppy doesn't notice a thing until Kwang sticks his tongue out to trace lightly over the artery pulsing so sweetly in his ears. The blossom Poppy had been holding in his fingers drops, long forgotten, to the ground. Kwang waits for the reaction, craving a scream but receiving nothing but stunned silence. "You really are strange," Poppy chuckles, but the sound is empty, dry, nervous. Sweat beads on Poppy's temples and a shaky hand rises to wipe the damp spot on his neck.

Refusing to move, Kwang rests his head lightly on Poppy's shoulder and relishes the sound of Poppy's panicked heartbeat. "I'm three hundred, twenty-seven years and five days old, to be exact," Kwang sings quietly into Poppy's ear. He snuggles against the shoulder and licks the shell of Poppy's ear, giggling at how the taller boy shudders beside him. Shaggy black hair tickles his nose and smells of coconut, which Kwang can't remember ever tasting, but he imagines it tastes salty and terrified, like Poppy's skin.

Poppy finally makes his move, but Kwang is prepared. He grabs Poppy's wrist as he darts to the side and flips him around with ease. There's a solid thunk as Poppy's back hits the tree. His weight crushes the delicate flowers and vines growing along the trunk, and he sickeningly sweet scent floods Kwang's nostrils. He feels dizzy, a little tipsy, maybe, if he knew what being tipsy was like.

He lunges for Poppy's throat, but something grabs his face and the surprise from the sudden contact makes him hesitate, giving up just enough to allow Poppy's lips to cover his. The feeling is foreign and warm. He forgets his hunger and closes his eyes because he thinks that's what he's supposed to do.

It's a little embarrassing to admit, but turning into a vampire at age fifteen leaves little opportunity to experience the most basic events of life, including kissing. There's something far less romantic about putting your lips on someone to kill, after all. The way Poppy's mouth moves, demanding more from Kwang than he knows how to give, and the warm skin of Poppy's hands on his face, are more than Kwang is equipped to handle.

When Poppy pulls away, Kwang's not sure how much time has passed. His face is warm and he feels breathless, which makes absolutely no sense. His eyes take a moment to focus before he realizes he's staring directly at Poppy's throat, and his hunger returns with such incredible force he moans. A hand at the back of his head lovingly pet his hair and Poppy's laughs quietly. There's a slight pressure at the side of his head as Poppy leans his forehead against him. The breath in his ear is cold as Poppy whispers, "Caught you, little one."

Kwang freezes and listens. The tantalizing sound of the artery is gone, the heat from Poppy's hands is gradually fading and, in the dim light of the woods, Kwang notices that Poppy is only darker than himself because he is, or rather, was, naturally tan-skinned. Fangs glint behind Poppy's kind smile now, and Kwang gapes in his own humiliation. He must have fed just before running into Kwang, he probably had the whole thing planned. How could Kwang not have noticed?

The only reason Kwang doesn't let out a stream of curses which would have impressed a vampire three times his age is that Poppy takes the opportunity to pull him forward into another kiss.