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It would be wonderful
to have a loved one—the one everybody loves—
standing at the far end of the winter,
to greet me.
—Cottony Snowflakes, by Choi Don-Sun.
Mossol Kim Dokja is what they used to call him back in high school.
That, at the very least, wasn’t so much malicious as it was teasing. Half of the class was in the same boat as him, but it was agreed upon that Kim Dokja was the person least likely to be getting any, on account for his disinterest in others and their disinterest in him.
(There were others: Ulbo Kim—someone called him Minchi Kim-chi once—and even Kkoma Kim because he was short and skinny in his first year of high school. But that was rich because nobody in his class had been struck by the hammer of puberty at first either. He didn’t mind the names so much—except Minchi Kim-chi, because he kept laughing when they called him that and it just made them more mad—but it hurt, sometimes. There was nobody to tell him not to listen to them, or that he should know that he wasn’t what they called him.
Highschool: A time of trauma, stupidity, constant anxiety, large egos and the simultaneous lack thereof.
Also the only place you will ever be called Minchi Kim-chi unironically.)
He used to find it funny when they called him that, even laughed along with them when they sighed teasingly and called out “Mossol-ah!” when he messed up a question on the chalkboard. Not everyone was a bully. They used to ruffle his hair good naturedly as they walked past him, giggling with him when he spoke up on rare occasions.
Sometimes, anyways.
Mossol was a pretty suitable nickname for Kim Dokja, no matter if he was in high school, university, or out in the workforce. He’s never kissed someone, never held hands, gone on a date, never once been confessed to. It’s never been malicious to call him a mossol because that’s just who he is, and always has been. Alone, undateable Kim Dokja. The nickname was just his life, really. How could he be that upset over it?
But that’s not to say that he’s never imagined a life outside of solitude; Yoo Joonghyuk had once been a faceless protagonist, but Kim Dokja had always had fantasies about him even then.
But in his defense, he was lonely! Of course he was going to latch onto the one character he idolized so much, especially when the author spared no effort to describe how handsome he is, and how pure his heart initially was, and how he looked out for his companions. Also, was Kim Dokja not supposed to be affected by all the sex scenes in the novel? Because there were a lot, and Kim Dokja is just a human at the end of the day.
And… wow, how human Yoo Joonghyuk seemed in his dreams. Golden skin, warm, warm, warm, yet the dream made it feel like it was all happening through a blanket and made the heat lukewarm. There was wavy, thick black hair, dark irises, a sharp jawline, but nothing more to make up Yoo Joonghyuk’s face.
Back then he had been a character, and his descriptions of handsome were not especially vivid. Kim Dokja’s dream centered more on the way a voice, whose exact qualities seemed to change when Kim Dokja tried to explain it, spoke to him so quietly, sometimes so filthy and other times calm.
And then the way Yoo Joonghyuk touched him in those dreams was nothing short of ecstasy. His sleepy hips against the bed felt like a firm palm against him, the whisper of bed sheets against his neck was the pressure of lips that Kim Dokja imagined to be mouthing at him. It was all heat, and lust, on bad days it was rough and hard and on others it was loving and slow.
When he came, it was to the embarrassingly clear call of a fictional character’s name ringing in his head as if Kim Dokja had sobbed it in his dream when he orgasmed.
Yoo Joonghyuk, he’d have thought to himself, and when the next chapter of Ways of Survival uploaded he’d dig into it, only a little bashful to have had such lewd thoughts about someone who had not existed.
On some nights, Yoo Joonghyuk appeared in his dreams—faceless, voiceless, but still with a handsome face and a rich voice—and loved Kim Dokja like nobody else could.
These dreams were especially prominent when Kim Dokja would read about Yoo Joonghyuk’s potential love interests—not just Lee Seolhwa, surprisingly. Where Yoo Joonghyuk touched Lee Seolhwa’s hair and smoothed it back, Kim Dokja dreamt of the same. When Yoo Joonghyuk spoke to his new love interest about a scenario, Kim Dokja dreamt of Yoo Joonghyuk planning a future with him. When Yoo Joonghyuk loved someone, Kim Dokja dreamt that it was him.
When nothing substantial came of those love interests, Kim Dokja would sigh in relief because it meant that he could still pretend that Yoo Joonghyuk could be his.
It’s embarrassing to remember how pathetically desperate he must have been to be infatuated with a fictional character. It was puppy love, a celebrity crush, looking up to someone cooler and older than you and accidentally falling in love.
Kim Dokja was young and Yoo Joonghyuk was said to be handsome, and mature, and strong, and sexy, and Kim Dokja had ached to be like him, fifteen, then sixteen, then twenty and still head over heels. It was more than a dumb crush, it was pure, blatant, idolism. Kim Dokja wanted to be Yoo Joonghyuk; he wanted to have him.
So Kim Dokja was a mossol, perhaps, but a hopeful one all the same.
“You’re leaving?” slips out from Kim Dokja’s mouth before he can stop it. Almost immediately he cringes, embarrassed by how needy it sounds, but Yoo Joonghyuk turns his head around to look at him and he can’t dwell much longer on it.
“You need to rest, don’t you?” Yoo Joonghyuk says, raising an eyebrow.
Kim Dokja shifts in the hospital bed and then decides, whatever, he deserves to be a little needy. “Yes, well… I haven’t seen you in a while. Don’t you want to stay a bit longer?”
Yoo Joonghyuk turns his whole body. He seems oddly large in the small hospital room in Aileen’s store, and yet so small in his large coat. Kim Dokja wants to reach out to him and touch, just to feel his warm skin.
“I already told you about how your companions are.”
If Kim Dokja is seeing right, Yoo Joonghyuk seems almost pleased by Kim Dokja calling him back. He doesn’t smile, sure, but something in the way he raises his shoulders and spreads his feet on the ground is reminiscent of a peacock preening in satisfaction. It’s such an odd thing to think about, Yoo Joonghyuk being happy that Kim Dokja wants to spend more time with him. It makes Kim Dokja feel delirious with exhilaration. God.
“Is there something else you need?”
Kim Dokja rolls his eyes and ignores the way his cheeks burn. “Just… just come over here, you stubborn prick.”
And Yoo Joonghyuk does. He walks over with confidence, not to the chair by the side, but straight to Kim Dokja’s bed. Without a sliver of hesitation, the protagonist carefully pushes aside the wires of the story IV drip and crawls into the unoccupied side of Kim Dokja’s hospital bed, which creaks in warning under the additional weight.
And, oh, Kim Dokja prays when Yoo Joonghyuk is perfectly settled by his side, Lord, don’t let me do anything embarrassing.
In response, Mossol Kim Dokja, is whispered into his ear by an old voice in the back of his mind. His face was already heating up like a blushing Christian bride on her wedding night.
“Who invited you into this bed?” Kim Dokja says snarkily to hide the suddenly audible heartbeats in his ear. Out of fear, Kim Dokja checks his own chest to see if the pounding of his heart is visible.
“You did.”
“I meant for you to sit on the side, not on me.”
Instead of answering, Yoo Joonghyuk leans his head back against the pillow—Kim Dokja’s pillow, the greedy bastard—and closes his eyes. He looks as relaxed as someone reclining on a beach chair would. Except the beach chair in question is a very cramped bed that was enough for one skinny man but not for another.
It’s small enough that they’re touching on every available part of their bodies, and Kim Dokja’s legs are intertwined with Yoo Joonghyuk’s, and broad shoulders are tightly pressed against Kim Dokja’s chest because he’s facing the protagonist, and their faces would be really, really fucking close if they both looked at each other.
Fuck, he begs again, don’t let me mess this up.
The brief realization that Kim Dokja has never been this close to another person in his entire life flashes by.
He doesn’t know what to do with his own body. Kim Dokja isn’t sure if he’s breathing anymore. Is this normal?
Especially when Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm worms its way under Kim Dokja’s head so he’s leaning on his bicep. Then—yeah, then he’s definitely dying. This is all some cruel hallucination because of… oxygen-deprivation, or something.
Or maybe there’s a story about opioids in the IV drip. The irrational urge to check overwhelms him for a second.
He tells himself it’s all fine and dandy when Yoo Joonghyuk opens his eyes and looks at him with that searing gaze, so intensely it’s like he’s the only other person in the world, and maybe he is, because Kim Dokja doesn’t remember any other person except the one he’s looking at right now, feels like he’s never met anyone important enough to remember except Yoo Joonghyuk.
He tells himself that everything is okay when Yoo Joonghyuk smiles at him, just barely, like a small secret for them to both share; nobody in the whole world could ever, ever find out what is going on right now, not even the constellations, and only they would know about that smile, that precious, gorgeous dimple, his slightly chapped lips, those small lines at the edges of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips that seems to stretch the smile even further. When they leave this room, it’s just them who would know, and outside of them the world would be ignorant.
He lies in his head and says he’s unaffected by the way Yoo Joonghyuk’s body is hot, and he is cold, so they meet somewhere in the middle where Kim Dokja’s skin starts to feel a little warmer as he messes with the belt Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest and the other man lets him—which is the real kicker, because Yoo Joonghyuk is letting this happen and that’s the most exciting thing about this.
Speaking of that belt. Kim Dokja vividly remembers many a wet dream where he was holding onto the damned thing for dear life, gasping as a hot body moved over his own, rubbing against him. He remembers wanting to pull on it, tug on it, play with it, and here he is, doing all of that but in a more calm, lazy context. He has a love-hate relationship with all these belts Yoo Joonghyuk wears.
“This chest belt,” Kim Dokja says suddenly, tracing the leather and metal with his fingertips. “I’ve always wondered but—what is it for? Why do you wear them on your leg? What purpose do they serve? I need to know, Joonghyuk, this is serious business. Why the belts? ”
Yoo Joonghyuk looks caught out by the questions, like he hadn’t expected to be interrogated about his fashion choices. Kim Dokja blinks at him innocently, batting his eyes like he hasn’t just asked a hundred questions.
“It’s a sternum belt,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. And then nothing more. Kim Dokja can tell by the reddening of his ears that he doesn’t actually know why he wears them. It feels like the first time he found out Yoo Joonghyuk wore belts and almost died in glee from how cool he envisioned him to look.
'Cool' is no longer the word he’d use to describe the way Yoo Joonghyuk’s firm muscles press against the tight leather, pushing against them to a point that must be borderline constricting.
“And the ones on your thighs?” he pushes, just to be annoying.
Yoo Joonghyuk glares at him in embarrassment.
Unable to keep it in any longer, Kim Dokja laughs, so close to face that he has to turn his face towards his neck when he beams, overcome by a complete sense of domesticity.
“Aesthetic purposes, hm?” Kim Dokja teases. He tugs on the sternum belt and lets it snap back against Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest, and then does it again.
“Stop that.” Yoo Joonghyuk's bicep under his head flexes, and then Kim Dokja is promptly swatted on the back of the head like an unruly child. He almost cackles at that before he reigns himself in.
And then, a little bit high off of how good this casual ease between them feels right now, Kim Dokja calms down and admits, leaning into Yoo Joonghyuk’s ear to whisper it, “It’s alright if they’re just for show. I think they’re kinda cool.”
“Is that so?” God, even the way he talks is sexy. Is that so? So smooth and self assured, like some romance protagonist teasing his love interest. The way Yoo Joonghyuk speaks is so oddly mixed between caveman grunts and then this kind of effortless charm, like he wields his own duality to suit the situation at hand.
Kim Dokja hums affirmatively. And then he smiles again.
He feels like he’s been smiling a lot in the past hour or so that Yoo Joonghyuk has been sitting with him. Maybe more than he’s ever smiled before.
But it’s fine, because Yoo Joonghyuk is giving him that look with that damned dimple.
He loves how desperate Yoo Joonghyuk gets when they’re alone together. The way he shifts away at every touch, but then leans in for more, like he’s trying to hold back. The way he stiffens and follows Kim Dokja’s hips when he walks towards him like he knows what Kim Dokja’s doing.
The way he stares like he could rip Kim Dokja’s pants off any second. It’s the same I-Wanna-Fuck look he’s been giving Kim Dokja all damn day. A guy’s only so strong, okay? Of course Kim Dokja’s getting a little bit bold after being stared at like a piece of meat. He needs Yoo Joonghyuk to take the initiative after being so blatantly wanting all the time.
Kim Dokja’s done his part. He threw the bait when he slid his coat off, unbuttoned his shirt a little, ran a hand along Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest and whispered that they should take a break from the company.
“Just for a while,” he adds.
Yoo Joonghyuk looks at him with these surprised eyes, like he hadn’t expected Kim Dokja to notice the way he’s been staring at his hands, neck, mouth, thighs— everything—like he’s thinking of all the ways he could use them on his dick.
“You…” Yoo Joonghyuk glances away to dart his eyes between the company members who are doing little to hide their curiosity. When he looks back, Kim Dokja plays his trump card and gives him a look, all sleepy eyes, slightly raised eyebrows, mouth open a little, a move he’s only used when trying to get another drink from the bartender or convince his teammates that they need to do what he says.
He’s never really used it on another person for this before, so it’s nice to see how Yoo Joonghyuk looks at his lips and his whole body goes rigid.
This guy, is he really meant to be so shy?
“Well?” Kim Dokja pushes. He feels confident enough to be this cocky, still pushing the sleepy-eyes look. His hands find themselves on the very edge of Yoo Joonghyuk’s coat, nails against the buttons of his black coat. “Are you nervous?”
There seems to be some kind of revelation in Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes because his entire face changes, from cornered animal to a stalking predator. His eyes go narrow, his mouth set firmly, and he does this little eyebrow raise like he’s asking Kim Dokja—Really? Is that a question?
And that’s hot. The little eyebrow thing. Yoo Joonghyuk really knows how to make sexy expressions.
“Are you?” he returns, and his voice is unexpectedly deep. The want in his voice takes them both by surprise.
Kim Dokja smiles, turns and walks away.
The important part is not how the other members stare at his abrupt exit, nor the pings from the constellations, but instead the fact that Yoo Joonghyuk follows him immediately.
He’s there, walking behind Kim Dokja, so close against his back that they could trip and fall straight into each other. He’s grabbing Kim Dokja’s hand and pulling him faster, more urgently. He’s pressing Kim Dokja mouth open with his mouth, stealing their first kiss together and Kim Dokja’s breath with practised ease, like this is something he’s so intimately familiar with.
Quickly, he’s stretching over Kim Dokja’s head and blindly fumbling about with the zipper on the tent to make sure it’s completely closed as Kim Dokja tries to distract him by running his hands over his chest, smirking at him knowingly when he shudders and teasing his bottom lip with soft bites, pushing his thigh between Yoo Joonghyuk’s and making all manner of purposefully provocative noises.
It should be embarrassing to be so shameless, but Kim Dokja’s too far gone to care. He just wants, viscerally, innately. This is all the dreams he had as a dumb teenager, the lustfulness of his young adulthood, and the very recently developed desire for more that he’s had now, close to his thirties, much too late to be thinking about losing part of his virginity like this.
“You wanna—wanna turn the channel off?” Kim Dokja groans out, more focused on Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand on his waistband than the constellations watching.
“Are they watching?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, and Kim Dokja’s hands are faltering on the fly of the protagonist's pants.
“The party is still by the fire,” Kim Dokja says, shrugging and pulling his hands back in uncertainty. “The dokkaebi are probably focused over there with them. I don't see why they would be interested in broadcasting us anyway, since they're all relaxing together. It makes wholesome entertainment for the constellations.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stays quiet for a moment, eyebrows furrowed like he’s making a serious decision. Kim Dokja stays on edge until the other finally speaks up, with a slow, decisive nod.
“Then it should be fine,” Yoo Joonghyuk concludes.
Kim Dokja watches him carefully. “Sure?”
There’s that small sliver of doubt that creeps in just then. Is this for coins? To blow off steam? Does this mean the same to him as it does to me?
“I want this between us,” Yoo Joonghyuk announces right then, like he’s the one with the mind reading skill. “If you’re sure they aren’t watching us, then there’s no problem.”
Kim Dokja rolls his head back against the bedroll with this closed eyes-satisfied smile expression, relief in his veins like an antidote to poisonous insecurity. “M’kay.”
“I’m serious.” Yoo Joonghyuk grabs his chin and pulls his back in to focus on his face. The look in his eyes is intense, a little bit too vulnerable for Kim Dokja to cope with properly. “This isn’t for the constellations. This is not a coin farm or a way to garner someone else’s attention.”
“I know, I get it,” Kim Dokja says, because he does.
“You better,” Yoo Joonghyuk grumbles, but he seems happier, even has his eyes shining a little and his mouth curving. The dimple in his cheek makes itself known.
When he kisses Kim Dokja again, it’s—gentle. Tender. It means something, and it means exactly what Kim Dokja hoped it would.
He’s almost been kissed before, (admittedly only, like, five times) in drunk university games and dumb night outs at a bar that never went any further than hands in his hair or trailing along his thigh. He’s been flirted with a few girls, and a few guys in secret, when everyone was too drunk to care and just wanted to mess around a bit because fooling around was fun and easy when you had an alcohol:blood ratio that was the ocean’s water:salt ratio.
But not this. Not the real thing, when he’s not playing a game or drunk out of his mind, with someone he likes.
And not with the overwhelming pressure of both of them having boners that keep rubbing against each other with each kiss. Not as a prelusion to sex.
Kim Dokja exhales loudly when Yoo Joonghyuk starts to kiss his neck, never biting but grazing his teeth along his skin, feeling weirdly aroused by the warm, wet feeling of his tongue. It should be squeamish and weird for someone to be licking his neck, but it’s not. God, it’s not. It’s so hot. It’s perfect.
“I’ve never—” Kim Dokja shuts his mouth with a click before he can admit that he’s a virgin. That’s not sexy, right? Would Yoo Joonghyuk find that weird?
“Never what?” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice rumbles in his chest; Kim Dokja feels it under his palm.
In a smaller voice than intended, Kim Dokja says “...I’ve never done this.”
Yoo Joonghyuk pulls away. Kim Dokja’s hands fall to his own thighs as Yoo Joonghyuk scrutinizes him from above. Large hands run along his thighs next to his own, pulling his legs over Yoo Joonghyuk’s trim waist.
Kim Dokja doesn’t look him in the eyes, scared of what he’ll see.
“Sex with a man?” Yoo Joonghyuk tries to clarify. He keeps tugging on Kim Dokja’s legs, as if urging him to look up.
“Sex in general,” Kim Dokja corrects. His face is hot with embarrassment. Oh god, is he blushing? He’s never blushed before, he didn’t think he could. Fuck, that’s so embarrassing. What kind of grown man blushes about sex? All of this is embarrassing. His thirteen year long fictional obsession knows that he’s a virgin even though he’s almost thirty. That’s weird, right?
“Really? How?” Yoo Joonghyuk sounds absolutely baffled, which does not help.
“What do you mean how…?” Kim Dokja almost sighs. Is it really that strange?
Yoo Joonghyuk slaps his thigh lightly, and begrudgingly, Kim Dokja peeks at him from his closed eyes.
“Do you want us to slow down?”
Kim Dokja takes a good, long look at his own hard dick straining against his uncomfortably tight office slacks. He looks back up incredulously, absolutely baffled.
“Does my dick look like it wants to stop?” He asks, almost laughing. “Be honest.”
Yoo Joonghyuk lets out this sigh, like he wants to roll his eyes so badly but can’t. To be entirely honest, he often does that. Kim Dokja wonders what exactly holds him back from just punting him across the room whenever he's like this.
He says, bending down to loom closer to Kim Dokja’s face, “Do you only think with your dick?”
“Around you? Yes. Absolutely.”
Yoo Joonghyuk sighs again like the old man he really is at heart.
He dips down lower, kisses Kim Dokja again. Kim Dokja’s eyes flutter closed again, and his hands find a place on Yoo Joonghyuk’s side, running along his waist and his ribs slowly. For some reason, he really likes the slight curve under his hands. It’s good for holding.
Kim Dokja finds that he really likes kissing. There's a thrill about it, comfort and adventure all at once. He feels like sucking Yoo Joonghyuk's lower lip so he does it, feels like touching him so he does. Wants to pinch his side, and does.
“This is what I get for treating you nicely,” Yoo Joonghyuk grumbles against his lips. Kim Dokja tries kissing him again, but he pulls away to finish with, “You’re completely against me being considerate to you, is that it?”
Kim Dokja grins, pleased that Yoo Joonghyuk is giving in to him again. His hips grind lazily against Yoo Joonghyuk to remind him of why they’re here in the first place.
“I don’t want you to be considerate,” he says, cringing only a little. He apologizes mentally to whichever porn star he’s stealing these lines from. “I want it properly, Joonghyuk, okay? Like you mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
The exact definition of it hangs in the air unsaid.
“Then show me,” Kim Dokja's head falls back when their hips roll together just fast enough. He hasn’t given much thought to how this would go but decides that they’re pretty much in position anyways. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
“What kind of virgin are you?” Yoo Joonghyuk says in disbelief. He looks horny out of his mind at the admission though, which is all that matters.
“One that you’re going to have sex with, apparently.”
"Fuck yeah I am,” Yoo Joonghyuk mutters, because he apparently forgets to speak with class when Kim Dokja’s slipping his hand under his pants and palming at his underwear. His eyes close, long eyelashes fluttering. Kim Dokja follows the way his full lips fall apart, utterly entranced.
“You’re going to kill me,” Kim Dokja breathes in awe, mind torn between savoring the micro expressions Yoo Joonghyuk is flying through and the feeling of a weight that seems to be made of pure heat in his hands.
He’s died and gone to heaven. There’s no other explanation as to why he suddenly has Yoo Joonghyuk’s dick in his hands—no other way he’d be blessed to see his face when Kim Dokja rocks his palm against it, Yoo Joonghyuk making up for the awkward angle that’s making it hard to put any good pressure into it by rolling his hips expertly. The fluidity of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hips serves to arouse him even further, his neck still feeling hot and sticky with saliva.
Fuck, Kim Dokja groans in his mind, his own pelvis rocking forward subconsciously and meeting the back of his hand blocking the way to Yoo Joonghyuk. As if burned, he quickly snatches his hand away to revel in the hiss of Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath when their hips collide messily in the middle, an unexpected clash.
Kim Dokja snakes his hands over Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders, feeling him up as their prominent erections grind against each other with such delicious pressure Kim Dokja’s toes curl in his socks. The heat in his stomach whines loudly, begging for release, stretching like a lazy cat and stroking the embers of his desire even more.
“Off,” Kim Dokja says, almost stuttering on that one word. He tugs on Yoo Joonghyuk’s collar, suddenly very irritated by the coat he’d always thought was so cool. Right now, it was only serving as a hindrance to Kim Dokja running his hands all over Yoo Joonghyuk, aesthetics be damned. And that just wouldn’t fly right now, no way. He felt like he’d actually lose his mind if he couldn’t feel Yoo Joonghyuk’s warm skin under his hands.
Either deaf or ignoring him, Yoo Joonghyuk just keeps at it, rolling his hips with such force that it presses Kim Dokja flat against the bedroll, pinned under his weight for brief seconds at a time.
Annoyed at going unnoticed, Kim Dokja makes a small, accidental grunting noise when he pulls harshly on Yoo Joonghyuk’s coat. “Joonghyuk, off.”
Yoo Joonghyuk clicks his tongue but shrugs the coat down his shoulders clumsily where it catches on his elbows. Kim Dokja eagerly pulls it down his wrists when Yoo Joonghyuk sits back, his eyes trained on the broadness of Yoo Joonghyuk’s… everything, really. And then it all narrows down slightly to his fit waist, which gets exposed when the turtleneck is next to go.
Kim Dokja sat up, his chest heaving and his dick aching. Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t looking right at him as he quickly unbuckled his chest— sternum belt, tossing it away with violence, like he couldn’t get it off quick enough.
His face is so stern, like he’s going to beat the shit out of his clothes for not evaporating fast enough off his skin, but Kim Dokja’s drawn to the barely-there red high on his sharp cheekbones, the way Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips are agape with quick, gentle breaths.
He likes to see the effect he’s having on Yoo Joonghyuk, how worked up he looks from what essentially constitutes two grown men roughly banging their lower halves together for about thirty seconds. It makes Kim Dokja feel like he has some kind of power in this situation, a grasp of control.
It takes him by surprise when Yoo Joonghyuk carelessly flings his very nice, expensive looking turtleneck to some god forsaken corner of the tent and then whirls around to tear savagely at Kim Dokja’s button up.
Kim Dokja barely gets a second to yelp out a “Hey!” before there’s an abnormally loud ripping noise, and then half the buttons on his placket are sent flying towards Yoo Joonghyuk’s face.
“Shit—”
“Joonghyuk?”
Suddenly winded, Kim Dokja stares with wide eyes as Yoo Joonghyuk clutches his nose where a button had slammed straight into it as revenge. He doesn’t even get a moment to fully appreciate all of Yoo Joonghyuk’s glorious bare torso as the protagonist rolls over onto Kim Dokja’s side. Just then, a snort is suddenly tearing out of his throat.
Yoo Joonghyuk glares at him, but Kim Dokja’s poorly muffled snickers aren’t easily controlled. Honestly, what had he thought would happen when he tore all of Kim Dokja’s buttons off? Had he not expected them to fly outwards?
“Stop laughing,” Yoo Joonghyuk snaps, still rubbing his sore nose. “Kim Dokja, really—”
Kim Dokja—very embarrassingly, but very amused— laughs, almost snorts, and pinches Yoo Joonghyuk’s nose where it’s turned red. “Don’t—don’t look so upset—”
He snorts again, laughing brightly at how Yoo Joonghyuk looks so forlorn. It seems that for all his battle prowess, all it takes to dishearten the Supreme King is a single rebellious button and his poor nose.
It’s ridiculous. In fact, it’s not even that funny. But Kim Dokja’s been so tightly wound up for the past five minutes, and all the laughter tumbling out of his mouth at the sight of Yoo Joonghyuk’s petulant glare melts him like goo, unwinding all the tension in his shoulders.
“Are you done?” Yoo Joonghyuk scowls when Kim Dokja’s laughter starts to die off into a small grin and uneven breaths.
Kim Dokja opens his mouth to purposefully laugh even more out of spite, but Yoo Joonghyuk suddenly sits up against the pillows of the makeshift bed, legs spread like a king on his throne, and grinds the heel of his palm into his own erection, effectively aweing Kim Dokja into silence.
“Shit.'' That's kinda hot. Kim Dokja almost blurts out, staring at the vision of Yoo Joonghyuk’s open lap, tantalizingly close. He could reach out and touch him if he had the guts.
Yoo Joonghyuk says nothing but his thighs kick out a little more open, an invitation that Kim Dokja takes. Laughter forgotten, Kim Dokja scrambles to clamber into Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap. His heart rate picks up as Yoo Joonghyuk settles back against the sleeping roll, laying down flat with Kim Dokja straddling his hips.
It’s so strange to look down at him from this position. Kim Dokja’s hit by a sudden wave of confidence, sat atop Yoo Joonghyuk’s thighs like a sovereign on his throne. And then Yoo Joonghyuk grabs onto his hips, pulling him down like a force of gravity, and their dicks slide against each other past layers of clothes. It feels pleasurable in a distant way, like feeling water rush over your hand when you're wearing thick gloves.
"I liked that shirt," he says nonsensically. He's not interested in an actual conversation, just talking to talk.
"You look better without it."
Kim Dokja moves his hips once, swiveling in a circle to grind down just how he needs. The sensation is dulled from the numerous layers of cloth and yet is electrifying, all consuming, friction against his cock just how he wants it.
Once, twice, thrice. A rhythm starts; Yoo Joonghyuk lifting up to grind against him, and Kim Dokja circling his hips desperately. The sudden burst of sensation zaps away any lingering feelings of anything except want, and heat, and Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk, who has his head tipped back and watches Kim Dokja with narrowed eyes, his chest moving like waves with every breath. Yoo Joonghyuk, whose hands on his hips are switching between his arms when Kim Dokja leans forward on his chest to better grind against him, and his thighs, rubbing and grabbing the coin-fueled muscle. Yoo Joonghyuk, who keeps looking at his lips like he wants to kiss him. Yoo Joonghyuk, whose cock is prominent even through their annoying clothing, a bulge that makes Kim Dokja want to whistle appreciatively like a college boy, and hot even through both sets of underwear and pants. Yoo Joonghyuk who—
Yoo Joonghyuk who is here with him, drowning with him.
Kim Dokja’s head swims uncomprehendingly as they both become more frantic, the pleasure taking a turn and making them even more desperate when they both notice the peak in the near distance.
Until now, the only sounds in the tent have been the clothes shifting, small thumping noises, their heavy, heavy labored breathing; but then Yoo Joonghyuk hisses and jerks his hips upward, clenches Kim Dokja’s hips and grinds him downwards forcefully and Kim Dokja gasps like he’s been stabbed and makes a small, pathetic, breathy moan, right into the heavy air of the tent. And then after that noise, Kim Dokja can’t stop making those little microsounds.
He keeps making small, almost inaudible hums, gasping loudly, probably pulling the most ugly faces but unable to keep himself completely quiet.
And Yoo Joonghyuk keeps doing it, keeps making Kim Dokja grind their dicks together so hard it makes him dizzy, encouraging him to bounce against his cock. It feels so good, so, so good. It’s better than anything Kim Dokja has ever felt in his entire life.
The impromptu grinding reminds him a little of highschoolers trying to get off after class, but Kim Dokja pushes the thought away to chase the pleasure that threatens to consume him whole.
“Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk whispers like it’s the only name in the world. Maybe it is, maybe this is the entire world—this tent, this quiet, humid tent. “Dokja.”
Kim Dokja looks up at him with unclear eyes and meets his gaze head on.
It’s too much, the way Yoo Joonghyuk looks at him. Like he’s something so powerful, something to be in awe of, something to be treasured and appreciated, like a deity in human form, god made mortal, mortal made god. And the way he holds him, so firm, not at all like he’s holding glass, more so like he’s holding a sword, a weapon of destruction, something that needs to be held steadily and not cradled.
It’s so much more than tenderness can ever give Kim Dokja. It’s confidence, trust that Kim Dokja won’t shatter under his touch. Because beyond the sex, beyond the haze of feelings, they are companions at their cores; equals. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t look at Kim Dokja like he’s something weak and in need of protection, but rather something that’s meant to be respected even when he’s being defiled in the worst of ways.
It means the world to Kim Dokja, who had once been that little boy with starry eyes reading the same story over and over. That Yoo Joonghyuk can look at him and still want him so viscerally.
The call of his orgasm is so strong, so close.
“Joonghyuk—” he tries to say, but then he shuts his mouth quickly and bites his lip, working overtime to keep humping their dicks together. Kim Dokja can feel his orgasm building in his dick, burning white hot, so close it feels like he’s on fire within. Nothing in the world exists except from him, Yoo Joonghyuk, and pleasure.
He doesn’t even realize he’d screwed his eyes shut until he opens them and sees Yoo Joonghyuk, his head thrown back against the pillow and his eyelashes fluttering.
“Almost,” Yoo Joonghyuk croaks out, his hoarse voice like alcohol to Kim Dokja. "Almost—”
Kim Dokja just nods frantically. The blaze of pleasure he’s never felt before is summoning him, and then—
A gentle descent into ecstasy.
Instead of an explosion of sensation, a bomb of pleasure, Kim Dokja is taken in the way an ocean took a straggler. He’s submerged in it, pulled along, waves pushing and pulling him, leaving him weightless and at their mercy, directionless and floating, rocked by their tumultuous fervor and breathless from their strength.
And then he looks around for something to keep him afloat among the waves and finds Yoo Joonghyuk to cling to, gripping his hand tight and dragging him into the watery depths of pleasure together.
When Kim Dokja’s orgasm recedes like the waves, he opens his eyes slowly and sees Yoo Joonghyuk gazing right back at him, his anchor.
For a moment, all they do is stare. Tension effervesces between them like sea foam being curbed up by vicious storm waves, their breathing incredibly difficult and labored, their eyes half closed, their bodies almost one, and neither says a word.
Then Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand—shaking only slightly from the aftermath, seafoam left by the once-churning waves—lifts up to Kim Dokja’s cheek—
And guides him back to shore with his lips against his. It feels like everything falls into place with that kiss.
Kim Dokja forgets about the sticky cum in his boxers, the chafing of his extra sensitive post-orgasm dick, the sweat on his back and the way he still can’t breathe right as he kisses Yoo Joonghyuk back, as natural as the moon pulling the waves.
The world except for Yoo Joonghyuk is white noise and gray. For a moment, there is nothing but the two of them, the calm water lapping at them gently. Everything is insubstantial except them and the bubble they’ve created.
Then the waves recede and return twice as forceful.
Kim Dokja shakes, his chest aching, feeling as though he needs to rip his heart out and push it right against Yoo Joonghyuk’s. The first tear can go unnoticed. The second gets Yoo Joonghyuk pushing him down and kissing him softly, and then the third brings with it the herald of a fourth, and many more to come.
When Yoo Joonghyuk is rubbing his back as he cries gently, overwhelmed by the vulnerability of what they’d just done, he whispers something in Kim Dokja’s ear, so quietly it almost gets washed away by the blood rushing in his ears.
“You're not hurt. Everything is fine.” His nose bumps along his neck, Kim Dokja’s sobs trailing off into hiccups. "No need to cry.”
“This is so—so ridiculous— Joong—hyuk.”
Kim Dokja belatedly realizes how embarrassing he’s being, crying and sniveling like some kid—they didn’t even go all the way, afterall. But he can’t help it—despite not being one for tears, he can’t stop crying as the waves come and go, the feeling of being completely laid out for Yoo Joonghyuk to take, the relief at being able to lose such a part of himself, the feeling of awareness that creeps over his entire body.
The tide pulls back slowly, peeling away from the shore once more and retreating.
“I didn’t mean to cry,” Kim Dokja announces shakily, after a few moments of heavy, calming breaths. Uselessly, really, since there’s no denying the obvious. He’s just a little too embarrassed that he nutted and then started sobbing, it reminds him too much of angst-ridden adolescence.
Predictably, Yoo Joonghyuk tilts his head away and yawns, rolling over to scoop Kim Dokja to his side. He says nothing. Maybe just ignoring his idiocy, or letting him be delusional.
So at first, neither does Kim Dokja talk. Together, they bathe in the aftermath of what they’ve done, of their desire. Kim Dokja traces nonsensical trails down Yoo Joonghyuk’s collarbones, and Yoo Joonghyuk watches him through half-lidded eyes and plagiarizes the patterns on Kim Dokja with an arm around his side, drawing between his shoulder blades.
They have so many things to do. The air has the heavy stench of sex, which Kim Dokja surprisingly finds is a real thing, and Kim Dokja’s shirt is ruined, their underwear is without a doubt disgusting, they both have sex-mussed hair, and their companions and the constellations are probably wondering where the fuck they went for so long. They need to clean themselves up and move quickly before they’re discovered, but they do none of that.
“Ugh, I could sleep for a year.”
“We didn’t even do anything strenuous. How low is your stamina?”
“Hey, coming from someone who didn’t even do anything? You just laid there and let me go crazy, I did all the heavy work. Sex is so exhausting.”
“Back so soon?” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice is a little too flat to be a question, but Kim Dokja parses out that he’s genuinely confused about how quickly Kim Dokja’s back. They’re working on his voice inflections.
“Can’t stay away from you,” says Kim Dokja teasingly, making haste towards the bed that the other is sprawled over. His voice is breathy and betrays the want that simmers in his blood.
“The channel is running,” Yoo Joonghyuk points out.
Mentally, Kim Dokja rolls his eyes. “They aren’t watching us right now, I’m sure of it.”
“Bold of you to assume they aren’t lurking for information about us.”
“Bold of you to doubt me. We’ll be fine.”
Like this, over dark sheets, Yoo Joonghyuk has an ethereal sort of glow to him that makes him look rather angelic. The red marks over his defined, exposed chest and collarbones are stark against his skin, and Kim Dokja takes a moment to drag his finger appreciatively along an amalgamation of bruises along his neck, right over a thrumming pulse. The skin there is still a little warmer than the rest, as if retaining the moist heat of Kim Dokja’s mouth from so many hours ago.
Yoo Joonghyuk watches him with dark eyes but doesn’t protest at all, even when Kim Dokja scrapes his nail along the pulsing vein.
His body is warm when Kim Dokja finally settles on top of his hips and straddles him. Even partially unclothed on a wintery night, Yoo Joonghyuk still runs hot. It’s something Kim Dokja has always envied about him, especially when he himself always seems too thin to not feel cold all the time.
But he’s not here to be jealous of Yoo Joonghyuk’s warmth; he’s here to indulge himself in it.
Despite his earlier bravado, Kim Dokja double checks that the ad break is still playing. Once he sees that there’s at least fifteen minutes left to go (Bihyung needs to earn money somehow after Kim Dokja extorts him as much as he does), he claims his rightful place in Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap.
Bless Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind for being so astute. The minute their bodies meet, Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes switch from wary to desirous, as if sensing the need that persists in Kim Dokja’s body even after they’d only parted ways hours ago. His hands fix themselves upon Kim Dokja’s forearm and shoulder as if to steady him as he leans over Yoo Joonghyuk’s torso.
“It’s been hours, and yet these marks are still here,” Kim Dokja mumbles quietly. “I forget how long it takes for incarnations to heal naturally.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze drifts towards Kim Dokja’s neck, and hums. The familiarly sadistic gleam flashes in his eyes for a moment at the sight of Kim Dokja’s brutalized neck. “So are these,” he says, the hand on Kim Dokja’s shoulder moving to stroke along it. “You haven’t healed them yourself?”
Kim Dokja shakes his head. Yoo Joonghyuk pushes against his neck a little more firmly, the pressure making him tense a little in reflex, and he takes the hint to fall onto the bed.
Yoo Joonghyuk kneels over him until he’s plastered against Kim Dokja’s body. A nose bumps along the line of Kim Dokja’s jaw, soft lips marking the way with care.
“Why? Did you like them so much?” Yoo Joonghyuk says.
Bastard. He already knows he did—Kim Dokja had begged for them, afterall. But Yoo Joonghyuk is always so eager to mark him up anyways, he was just indulging them both.
Kim Dokja rolls his eyes but there’s no hiding the embarrassment on his face. “...You talk too much.”
“And you talk too little,” Yoo Joonghyuk offers.
Cracking a smile at the irony, Kim Dokja points out that, “It’s usually the opposite, isn’t it?”
Againt his neck, Yoo Joonghyuk smiles a devilish little thing that sends chills down Kim Dokja’s spine. The need in his body has slowed to a calm shadow, and Yoo Joonghyuk seems to mirror this as his kisses return to Kim Dokja’s face.
“How much time do we have?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, voice a low murmur.
“Enough to finish up,” Kim Dokja whispers.
“We’ll have to make this end fast then.”
He doesn't like how Yoo Joonghyuk is thinking about useless things when he’s right here under him. Or how he’s already thinking about this ending.
It makes him feel… needy, in a bad way. Attention seeking.
It’s one thing he hates about being with Yoo Joonghyuk like this. Kim Dokja always feels like the connection they have is limited purely to the moments they spend in carnal pleasure, never before and never after. He hates how he craves it so much when he knows all of it is just a fad. During sex, Yoo Joonghyuk could be thinking about the weather, or even imagining it’s Lee Seolhwa he lays with, and all Kim Dokja would ever think about is him.
It hurts a little to think that he’s the one who cares the most. But that’s to be expected. He knew what he was signing up for when he let Yoo Joonghyuk bend him over after a scenario only weeks ago. He knew he’d get hurt by letting himself taste Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention, but the dick really is that good.
We’ll have to make this fast. That might be Yoo Joonghyuk’s point of view, but Kim Dokja longs to stretch out the time they spend together. He wants more than stolen makeout sessions and fast handjobs under blankets and quickies during commercial breaks.
Kim Dokja moans anticipatingly when Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands massage along his hips, feeling so sensitive already.
“You still loose from earlier?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, still buried in Kim Dokja’s neck. He never really gets to look at Yoo Joonghyuk’s face when they have sex. The thought saddens him slightly, but his erection stays strong.
“Yeah,” he breathes, voice a little raw. He feels confused, suddenly, like he’s thinking too much about all this. Kim Dokja finds that it leaks into his voice, the unsurety, the way he almost whispers, “Just... yeah, you can fuck me this time.”
Now stuck in his head, he wishes Yoo Joonghyuk would still insist on preparing him even if he is opened up from earlier. Kim Dokja loves the slight intimacy he gets when Yoo Joonghyuk touches him so nicely and tenderly, loves to indulge himself in fantasies about domesticity whilst Yoo Joonghyuk plays with his body so tenderly.
(Maybe he wants to return the favor. Maybe he wants Yoo Joonghyuk to suck him off whilst he’s at it. It’s been a while since usually, Kim Dokja’s the one on his knees. He’d like the sentiment to be returned, even if it’s just so he knows that Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t trying to pretend he isn’t a certain woman…
When Kim Dokja gets insecure, it kinda feels like that.
Afterall, a wife and a child versus some random prophet… a dedication meant for a lifetime and then a few weeks of raunchy misdemeanors. It’s obvious which side holds more weight, and it’s not Kim Dokja’s.)
But Yoo Joonghyuk is too practical to waste time on something needless. If it was an option to fuck Kim Dokja, why not take it?
His hands slips under Kim Dokja’s waistband and tug, a silent ask for him to raise his hips. Kim Dokja complies, and within seconds, Yoo Joonghyuk has his pants pulled over his ankles and thrown carelessly on the floor.
For a brief moment, Yoo Joonghyuk consumes his senses. The scent of musk he always seems to carry around; the steady breaths and deep voice; the cloth against his bare legs and the hands creeping under him to roll him over, and then the fingers pulling apart his ass so Yoo Joonghyuk can assess his readiness; the sight of him all rugged with horniness and confidence, before Kim Dokja finds himself facing the pillow; his body overlapping Kim Dokja’s so perfectly; and the taste of salt and heat whenever Kim Dokja breathes in.
He’s overwhelmed with just Joonghyuk, Joonghyuk, Joonghyuk. He wishes it was the same for the other, that Yoo Joonghyuk’s brain is filled with just Kim Dokja. A quick glance over his shoulder shatters that fledgling hope when he sees Yoo Joonghyuk glancing at the time on Kim Dokja’s phone, cleverly saved from his pant’s pocket.
“You wanna get this over with or something?” Kim Dokja snaps bitterly.
Taken by surprise at the sudden mood change, Yoo Joonghyuk looks up and raises a sleek eyebrow. “What nonsense are you talking about now?”
With a dissatisfied huff, Kim Dokja turns back around and shoves his cheek into the soft pillow. “Nevermind. Just—hurry up and fuck me, bastard. My dick is getting soft.” It’s really not, but it's not like Yoo Joonghyuk can see that.
But Yoo Joonghyuk persists. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Everything feels weird.
“Nothing.”
“So you’re acting this weird for no reason, then?”
So Kim Dokja sits up, the sexy mood completely killed. Behind him, Yoo Joonghyuk reaches out for his shoulder and it makes him so much more upset, even though he doesn’t shrug it off.
Kim Dokja hates how his eyes sting, and he breathes in harshly to overcome the pathetically vulnerable feeling that courses through him.
He hates this. He hates having casual sex with Yoo Joonghyuk. He hates having feelings for Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Why…” Kim Dokja swallows. “What are we doing, Yoo Joonghyuk?”
Ulbo Kim, he remembers being called. Always crying over something dumb.
The other shuffles next to him after a long moment.
“What do you mean?” Yoo Joonghyuk says carefully, and Kim Dokja finds that his voice has an oddly vulnerable undertone to it.
“Why do we keep having sex?” Kim Dokja asks.
There. It’s about time they had this discussion, isn’t it?
The hand on his shoulder falls away. Suddenly, Kim Dokja is a lot colder than he was before.
“You don’t want to do it?”
He sighs. “That’s not what it is…”
“Then why are you bringing this up all of a sudden?” Yoo Joonghyuk says, voice a little strained. “You’ve never had a problem before.”
Kim Dokja scoffs, and pushes off the bed. His eyes sting at the way this confirms his fears.
“I have a problem now,” he says.
“Dokja, come on.”
He’s always just been the easiest fuck for Yoo Joonghyuk. The most conveniently placed fuck buddy, always around, always willing, never complaining, and so, so fucking desperate. Has Yoo Joonghyuk seen that he liked him from the start? Is that why he—or had he unknowingly exploited Kim Dokja’s feelings for him?
All of a sudden, Kim Dokja feels used, like the last choice that someone settles with to get a game over with because the best player was picked by the other team, like the closest pencil because the nice, expensive pen was too far away. He feels used in the way that women in dramas always cry about, but that the men in those shows never do. He feels…
“Where are you going? Kim Dokja?”
“Leave me alone, Joonghyuk.”
He feels pathetic. God, and it makes him feel so angry, and ugly, and undesirable, and self conscious, because he’s always just been so fucking easy for Yoo Joonghyuk because he’d really liked him and was happy to have his attention, and the other must have taken advantage of that.
When he looks back at Yoo Joonghyuk with furious tears in his eyes, he sees him sitting on the bed, still without his shirt and looking up at him with wide, hurt eyes. He looks so uncharacteristically small, sitting there, shoulders hunched, with his mouth thinning in pain. His lips open as if to call out but there’s no sound.
And then, as he reaches the doorframe of the room and hurries out, eyes watering, he’s hit with the feelings of what if. What if he’d been someone Yoo Joonghyuk actually liked? What if he’d not given in so easily?
He’d let this man take his virginity. He’d let him fuck him, for all that’s worth. He’d had Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth on his dick, had his hands around his neck, had his own hands in places no other person has had them before, undoubtedly. He’d taken as much as he’d given, which was a lot.
In that moment, running away from Yoo Joonghyuk’s room with none of his dignity and all of his shame, Kim Dokja has never hated himself more.
“What’s wrong with you two?” Han Sooyoung asks, wide eyed after watching Yoo Joonghyuk storm away to go brood in some corner.
Kim Dokja focuses on the wrapped candy hanging from her grip instead of her words or the direction of her gaze. Whilst she's occupied with staring after Yoo Joonghyuk, he snatches it and tosses it into his mouth.
“Hey—! You should have at least asked!”
He says nothing, and her eyes turn calculating as she scans him to look for any visible reason for their current situation.
She drawls out, sounding half-concerned but half-unbothered, “Did something happen, or what?”
He shrugs and doesn’t say anything. Afterall, it’s impolite to talk with food in your mouth.
Whilst a tree is a perfect hiding spot for cats and bird nests, it does a poor job at hiding a grown man. In fact, trees in a park would be the last place on earth one would expect to find a person hiding.
For this exact reason, Kim Dokja is currently clinging to the branches of one such tree.
…objectively, he knows that running away and hiding is a very cowardly thing to do when everyone is worried about him, and that it only causes more grief for his companions with sporadic disappearances and all the rest of it. There’s no denying the guilt when he thinks about the kids looking for him, Lee Hyunsung becoming despondent once more at his absence, and Jung Heewon becoming annoyed again because he’d left without a word. Kim Dokja almost feels bad enough to return and swallow his feelings to spare them of the pain again.
However, he’s growing antsy when everyone keeps trying to prod at his and Yoo Joonghyuk’s recent falling out. Kim Dokja’s pride has been wounded severely by the situation, and everyone scrutinizing him makes his chest feel… even more tight.
So he’s— hiding cowardly— retreating strategically to recover until he’s fit to return to the fray. It’s only smart to do so, afterall! After a brief while of isolation, Kim Dokja knows he’ll be fine interacting with that bastard again. He just needed time to get back on his feet.
Just a little bit of time.
[ You have 4 messages from Yoo Joonghyuk. ]
And yet, this bastard is not very keen to allow him this spontaneous mental health break.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja. Where have you gone to?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Your companions won’t stop complaining. Hurry back soon, fool.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja? I can see that you’re reading these messages.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Don’t ignore me!
The onslaught of messages surprisingly stops for a while, which is odd since Yoo Joonghyuk quite enjoys spamming Kim Dokja with a thousand messages of death threats and insults to make him reply faster.
These messages are just as angry, yet more reserved. Kim Dokja keeps scrutinizing each of them.
He’s almost able to see Yoo Joonghyuk typing out each character, scowling as he tries to convey his words in a way that would scare Kim Dokja into listening. The idiot, he doesn’t seem to quite grasp that yelling at Kim Dokja doesn't work to intimidate him like it does on others.
The roughness of the tree branch scrapes against his stomach as he wraps his arms and legs around it like a koala, squinting at his Midday Tryst window. A warm feeling spreads across his insides like a butter coating as he rereads and rereads and rereads each word, letting it fall to place in his head.
Kim Dokja doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels it falling as two more messages show up.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: You…
—Yoo Joonghyuk: …you can be… very childish sometimes.
Unbidden, Kim Dokja just sighs.
Kim Dokja decides out of pure petulance that he will be extending his mental health break.
If he wants childish, I’ll give him childish, he thinks bitterly. He contemplates the merits of giving a snarky reply in Midday Tryst, but decides that prolonged silent treatment would work better against the sullen protagonist.
The part of him that perked up at the messages from the protagonist has curled back up again, bruised and wounded.
Yoo Joonghyuk does not message him again.
“This isn’t a funny joke,” Kim Dokja deadpans, staring at a heart-shaped scenario window. “It really isn’t.”
“What part of this seems like a joke to you?” Yoo Joonghyuk glares as if Kim Dokja had been the one to propose such a ridiculous scenario. He goes purposefully ignored, which only makes him scowl harder.
Kim Dokja’s willing to bet big money that it was a certain angel of Eden who had pulled some strings for this. In fact, he’d be very surprised if it wasn’t Uriel’s fault he was looking at such horrific scenario descriptions.
He’s never heard of such a meddlesome archangel in Ways of Survival, especially not to this near fanatic extent.
Kim Dokja sighs, put out by the circumstances. It really isn’t in his favor to reject the scenario, so of course, he accepts. The promise of SS-Grade weapons is too tempting, since it was nearing the time where all of their nebula needs to be ensured with good equipment.
“Well,” he says to nobody in particular. “The rewards seem good.”
“Not good enough,” a deep voice mutters.
In his peripheral vision, Kim Dokja watches as Yoo Joonghyuk moves his hand over his own screen to accept the scenario too.
A feeling of great foreboding falls upon him, but all he can do is sag under it. The fallout will be inevitable. He knows what’s coming.
“Quit moving.” Kim Dokja grits out.
“Stop complaining.” Yoo Joonghyuk tells him.
“I can’t help it. You’re the worst chair on this earth.” Kim Dokja tries his best not to scowl.
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t reply, but instead stares darkly at Kim Dokja with the intensity of the fucking sun. His glare cuts through the front of Kim Dokja’s head like he wants to burn through it.
As if in rebellion, the thigh between Kim Dokja’s shifts again, and he feels his teeth grind against each other in annoyance.
Tch. Honestly, Yoo Joonghyuk’s acting like he’d gotten the short end of the stick. But no, that honor is actually Kim Dokja’s, who now has to suffer close proximity with such a temperamental bastard.
He rechecked the scenario screen, just for something to do that wasn’t staring at Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders.
[Hidden Scenario—Bonding!
Category: Optional
Difficulty: ???
Clear Conditions: The constellations doubt the efficiency of teamwork in the nebula <Kim Dokja’s Company>. To reassure them and improve your bonds, spend a week in the randomly generated pairs and prove your companionship, once and for all!
Time remaining: 16 hours.
Reward: Improved bond, one S-Grade item per pair, 200,000 coins and the happiness of certain constellations of the Korean Peninsula.
Failure: Death, Disappointment of certain Constellations of the Korean Peninsula.
*Whilst in the scenario, participants will need to remain in constant contact, else the pair automatically fails the scenario.
*Participants cannot withdraw from the scenario after the initial acceptance. ]
At first, Kim Dokja had assumed that the others would waive the scenario―it was optional, afterall, and they had other things to do in the meantime. But then, everybody else synonymously agreed that there was no better idea on the earth than taking part in this dumb, no good, stupid scenario.
So, of course, Kim Dokja had to join as well. Fuck, the rewards didn’t seem to tempting now that he was stuck in this situation.
Randomly generated groups his ass. The moment he had accepted, he’d been doomed to spend an entire day with Yoo Joonghyuk hovering over him like some kind of overgrown hawk. That wouldn’t have been even mildly suspicious were it not for the influx of <Eden>’s constellations in his notification giggling away about the pairing.
It was too odd to be a coincidence, and no doubt the work of that meddling <Demon-like Judge of Fire>. Kim Dokja has long since been the victim of Uriel’s extreme interest in Yoo Joonghyuk and his relationship—or rather, the lack thereof—so he’s aware of her schemes. If it’s odd for a literal angel to be so invested in making them commit premarital sex and sodomy, nobody ever questions it (other than him).
The forced nature of the pairings is one downside. The fact that the other victim is the most antagonistic bastard Kim Dokja has ever had the misfortune of encountering, is the second con.
Seeing as the man had agreed, it only makes sense that he should be okay with constant touching, right?
But no! No, of course not. This is Yoo Joonghyuk. Even if he volunteered when he didn’t even have to take part, he’s still pissed off about having to hold Kim Dokja’s shameful, unworthy, peasant hands everywhere. It’s almost like he didn’t even read the scenario before he accepted.
Even now, on their way to get early dibs on some of the new beasts that would later become part of the scenarios, Kim Dokja was forced to press so close next to Yoo Joonghyuk he was actually sitting on the regressor, one strong, muscled thigh slipped between his.
Kim Dokja is no stranger to this seating arrangement. Only a week ago, this kind of bodily contact was something he reveled in whether it was himself laying across Yoo Joonghyuk’s thighs to annoy him some more or Yoo Joonghyuk pinning him down with his dead weight of a body after a tryst in the sheets. He'd enjoyed the easy companionship, the casual touching.
Currently, Yoo Joonghyuk stares ahead with a permanent scowl on his face.
Despite it, Kim Dokja’s heart aches pitifully.
Is Yoo Joonghyuk that annoyed that Kim Dokja won’t let him hit that he doesn’t even want to talk to him anymore?
Every so often, Yoo Joonghyuk seems to get newly irritated with their position and would start moving his thigh around, as if Kim Dokja is both heavy enough to make his leg tired and light enough that he could lift him up so casually.
Kim Dokja’s frustration and embarrassment grows every time he thinks about it—he knows isn’t exactly the most filled out of people, but he’s still a grown man, and he’d like to think that he’s gotten heavier after the scenarios started. Even so, it seems Yoo Joonghyuk was just that casually strong.
Lee Hyunsung and Jung Heewon took the seats at the front, her hand in his. In the seat next to Kim Dokja are all the items they’d collected on their way to this side scenario. The pile of swords, spears, an enchanted gun and a few pouches full of random monster loot takes up so much space that Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk are forced into this kind of predicament. The spikes of one of the weapons is pointing right at Kim Dokja like a death sentence every time Jung Heewon takes a hard right.
Yoo Joonghyuk shifts again, adjusting the sheath of his sword by his side.
Kim Dokja actually does pull a face this time. “Can you stop moving?” he snaps, already at the end of his wits.
The murderous glare intensifies and latches onto him, but Kim Dokja’s irritation wins over the fear that it should have invoked.
“Will you stop fucking complaining?” Yoo Joonghyuk basically spits. It’s annoying. It makes Kim Dokja jump when it sounds from near his ear, and that’s his breaking point, he physically cannot be anywhere near this fucking jerk any longer when he’s been nothing but an uncooperative pain in his ass.
“Fuck this,” he hisses, already trying to wiggle away from Yoo Joonghyuk, standing in the tiny space left behind the driver’s seat, cramped because Jung Heewon had ‘mile long legs’ (her words, not his) and needs her seat to be as far back as possible so she can drive.
His own sudden thrashing reminds him of being called Minchi Kimchi as a child, but he dismisses the thought to wrangle himself out of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hold.
His writhing goes nowhere when Yoo Joonghyuk lashes out and grabs his wrist to keep him from getting away like he wants, but for the sake of keeping the contact they have to persist with, Kim Dokja doesn’t protest even though the grip is way more harsh than needed.
Yoo Joonghyuk says slowly, “What the hell are you doing now?” in a tone that suggests Kim Dokja’s an idiot.
Kim Dokja says back with raised eyebrows, “Getting the fuck away from you. Can you stop manspreading so I can sit next to you?”
Yoo Joonghyuk blinks, startled, and then the murderous rage returns. “I’m not—manspreading.”
Kim Dokja pulls the most deadpan expression he could ever muster— are you fucking kidding me right now— and then looks down obviously to where Yoo Joonghyuk has his knees miles apart from each other, almost as if his thighs being any closer would crush his dick or something.
Other more socially astute men would be embarrassed at staring so close to another man’s dick. Kim Dokja is just desperate to get away from said dick to care if he’s violating some unspoken rule.
“Can you at least move your legs closer together? Make some space.” He next pleads, to which Yoo Joonghyuk answers with silence.
Kim Dokja stares at him in wait. Yoo Joonghyuk stares back. Then the protagonist glances away, shifting.
“Can’t,” comes his succinct reply. Like that’s it, nothing more, that’s all folks, next program, what a fucking—
“And why not?” Kim Dokja asks patiently, sardonic smile pulling at his mouth.
If possible, he would really like to not sit on Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap any longer. It’s very embarrassing, annoying, and awkward, and not worth suffering through if Yoo Joonghyuk is doing this for some alpha-male bullshit. Kim Dokja already knows that Yoo Joonghyuk is the more prime man in every aspect, he doesn’t need to be reaffirmed of that fact. Jesus.
Yoo Joonghyuk still doesn’t say anything, but he glances down at his lap and snaps his eyes back up immediately.
Kim Dokja hates that he does the exact same thing and ends up scrutinizing Yoo Joonghyuk’s crotch for a brief three seconds, trying to judge if it needs the space it’s being given. From his own experience—and believe him, he has a lot— with the said phallus, it’s not so ridiculously large it requires its own seat in the car.
“Where are your eyes?” Yoo Joonghyuk snaps, and when Kim Dokja looks back up he catches the edge of a scowl—and red-tipped ears.
…huh. If he hadn’t been the faithful reader of all two thousand of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lifetimes, he’d dare say the man seems embarrassed. (Kinda cute. Shame about the bastard personality.)
“What are you two doing back there?” Jung Heewon calls out, eyes fixed firmly on the road.
Almost immediately, Yoo Joonghyuk glares at Kim Dokja like it’s his fault they’ve attracted the attention of the other two in the car, to which he responds with a telepathic insult.
“Dokja-ssi? What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he calls back, making the sudden decision to drop between Yoo Joonghyuk’s knees on the car’s floor behind the driver’s seat. He hears a choked noise that he pointedly ignores, and turns around so he’s staring at the lower back of the car seat in front of him.
Never before has Kim Dokja been so closely acquainted with the back of a car seat, but the SSS-Ferrarigini is very well made so the leather is actually quite nice to look at, even if it’s being shoved right into his eye socket.
It’s certainly better than sitting on Yoo Joonghyuk’s supposedly too big dick even if he feels caged in with the legs on either side of him. He leaves his shoulder leaning against Yoo Joonghyuk’s leg for the sake of keeping contact.
“Dokja. Kim Dokja. What are you doing, fool?”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s knee knocks into the side of his head when he doesn’t respond, but Kim Dokja cools himself down before he retaliates by doing something dumb, like biting him on the leg. Jerk.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk hisses again, kicking his hip with his foot.
“Shut up, ” Kim Dokja says.
“Why are you two so pissy? It’s been fifteen minutes and all you’ve done is argue like little girls.” Jung Heewon gripes from the front, sounding as exasperated as Dokja feels. Lee Hyunsung murmurs something to her that gets her to sigh and fall quiet again.
“Kim Dokja. Why are you on the ground?”
“The fuck do you want me to do, levitate on your dick?” He finally hisses back.
Yoo Joonghyuk looks down at him, unimpressed. He stops knocking out Kim Dokja’s brain cells with his knee, at least. “It’s dirty,” he decides, and Kim Dokja actually gasps in offence, “so get up.”
His brand new SSS-Ferrarigini— dirty?! As—as if!
“Excuse me? This car is brand new, actually, so watch your mouth. It’s cleaner than you are, you shameful—”
“Girls, stop fighting,” Jung Heewon sings. There’s a trace of annoyance in her tune.
Again, loyal peacemaker Lee Hyunsung steps in and diffuses the situation before Jung Heewon crashes the car to teach them both a lesson about incurring her wrath.
“You’re such a dickhead,” Kim Dokja whispers when she goes back to driving.
“And you’re a troublesome bastard.”
—Kim Dokja: I’m not a bastard, actually. My parents were married.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Shut up.
—Kim Dokja: No, you.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: How old are you, six? Mia behaves better than you do. So do those brats you’ve taken in.
—Kim Dokja: Don’t call them brats. They’re perfectly lovely, sweet children who deserve better role models than your bad attitude.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja, you must be blind to not realize how devilish they are when you are not around.
—Kim Dokja: They seem well-behaved around me, though?
—Kim Dokja: Maybe it’s you that’s the problem. They can smell the fear in you.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: They are children, not piranhas.
—Kim Dokja: Piranhas don’t smell fear.
—Kim Dokja: Wait. Do they?
“Do piranhas smell fear?” he asks loudly. He is decidedly not hysterical.
“I will crash this car with us all in it if you don’t shut up,” Jung Heewon threatens. “We will go down in flames if I so choose.”
[ The constellation, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, laughs at your stupidity ]
[ The constellation, Secretive Plotter, wonders about your sanity ]
Useless, all of them.
—Kim Dokja: I’m getting bullied by the constellations because of your lies.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: When did I tell you to ask dumb questions out loud? Don’t pin this on me, idiot.
—Kim Dokja: Do you think Jung Heewon will actually crash the car if I ask again?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: If you want to die so badly, you should have said it earlier. There’s no need to incur her wrath and bring us all down with you because of your suicidal tendencies.
—Kim Dokja: That was a long sentence with too many big words. What are you, Korean Shakespeare?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: There were no big words in there, Kim Dokja. Don’t act dumb when you aren’t.
—Kim Dokja: Oh? What’s this?
—Kim Dokja: Are you calling me smart? You, Joonghyukie? Are you complimenting me? The crops must be flourishing with my good luck, right now.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: …actually, you mustn't have been acting before. You really must be dumb.
—Kim Dokja: Ooh, I mustn't have been acting. Seriously, musn’t? Who says mustn't?
—Kim Dokja: It’s not like you would know anything about big words anyways.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: I know more about big things than you do, you fool.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja, stop smiling. You’re too immature.
—Kim Dokja: What kind of big things, hm?
—Kim Dokja: Maybe the fucking sword that splits your thighs apart like Moses with the Red Sea?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: What.
—Kim Dokja: The rod in your pants that supposedly rivals Moses’ staff?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Why do you keep using biblical references to describe my dick? It’s disturbing and blasphemous.
—Kim Dokja: The trunk between your legs that was taken from the tree of Eden?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Stop this. Kim Dokja, I’m serious.
—Kim Dokja: You’re laughing on the inside. I know you are. It’s okay to admit that I’m hilarious, everyone knows that already.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Even your boss has a better sense of humor than you.
—Kim Dokja: Huh? Maybe the childbirth changed his personality to something more agreeable. The Han Myungoh I know has the worst jokes.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: …childbirth?
—Kim Dokja: You didn’t know? He was pregnant with Asmodeus’ daughter, and his current vessel.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: I knew that, but he is a man.
—Kim Dokja: An unfortunate man, but yes.
—Kim Dokja: Why are you so confused about this? Didn’t you have a child before? Are you unfamiliar with the idea of pregnancy or something?
—Kim Dokja: How unexpectedly innocent. It’s okay, Joonghyukie. When a man and a woman love each other very much, sometimes they hold hands and pray and a the baby jumps out of a rock, Sun Wukong-style.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: I know about conceiving children. I wasn’t aware that that man had a womb.
—Kim Dokja: But he doesn’t?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja. How the fuck did he give birth without a womb?
—Kim Dokja: It was a heart baby.
Yoo Joonghyuk gives a great, big aggrieved sigh, and Kim Dokja cackles in delight. He feels a rush in his heart from being able to mess about with Yoo Joonghyuk so freely again. He’s missed it, but not that he’ll ever admit it.
He feeels like a giddy student teasing his crush, and the joy is enough that he could ignore their wounded relationship to keep going.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: It was a what?
—Kim Dokja: She was conceived in his heart and he gave birth to her through that same heart.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: …what bullshit are you talking about now?
—Kim Dokja: Sometimes people love each other a lot and have a baby. Other times, you get orally violated by a demon tentacle which empties Asmodeous’ soul semen into your heart and forces you to conceive a child and give birth to it, before the father eventually comes down and possesses the child indefinitely as you beg for mercy, still in pain from the child bursting out of your heart.
There's a long moment following his detailed speech about demonic conception.
Then, the response comes, surprisingly tame.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja. Do not speak ever again about demonic sexual education, or I will cut your tongue out without remorse. In fact, don’t speak at all. Ever.
—Kim Dokja: Demonic sexual education? Did you seriously just say those words unironically?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: How else was I meant to say them?
—Kim Dokja: Uh, not at all?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: I wouldn’t have had to if someone hadn’t started talking about this kind of bullshit!
—Kim Dokja: Don’t pin this on me!
—Yoo Joonghyuk: I’ll pin you all I want if I have to.
—Kim Dokja: Oh my fucking god.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: You…
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Don’t renew your subscription to Midday Tryst next month. This thing creates nothing but hassle.
—Kim Dokja: Yeah, I figured. This is the one place I’ve ever said the words ‘soul semen’ unironically. Not that I have ever said it before ironically, but still.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: It’s surprising that you’re shocked by what you’ve said. Usually, you spew all kinds of bullshit without remorse.
—Kim Dokja: Listen! It’s not my fault. It’s like Minchi Kimchi all
He stops dead in the thought, but it's too late and Midday Tryst had decided that silence means he consents to send the message. (Spoiler: he did not!)
Panicking, Kim Dokja attempts to select the message he’s just sent but there is no such option, nor can he delete it. Go figure.
And then a small check mark appears next to the message to show that Yoo Joonghyuk has read it, and really, of course he has. If it's inconvenient for Kim Dokja, then this guy will always do it.
In a fit of uncharacteristic self-preservation, Kim Dokja immediately attempts to mediate out of panic. The pinging of Midday Tryst fills his head but he tries not to focus on it, his face warm.
Calm thoughts. Calm thoughts. That didn’t just happen. Calm thoughts. Nothing happened. Haha, right, what happened? Nothing at all.
Finally, Yoo Joonghyuk roughly pushes his head forward. Kim Dokja relents with a weary sigh, and opens up the messaging application.
[ You have 8 unread messages from Yoo Joonghyuk ]
—Yoo Joonghyuk: ??
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Hey. What does that mean?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja! Stop ignoring me!
—Yoo Joonghyuk: What does that mean?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Has your brain finally rotted away? What is Minchi Kimchi?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Oh.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: You call yourself Minchi Kim-chi? Kim Dokja, you…
—Yoo Joonghyuk: …you really should seek psychiatric help.
—Kim Dokja: I should also see a brain trauma surgeon for all the banging your knee has been doing on my head this past half hour.
—Kim Dokja: Please, just pretend I never said that. It was a dumb nickname from highschool and I didn’t mean to say it. I can’t delete the message.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Minchi Kim-chi is… understandable.
“Hey, what does that mean?” Kim Dokja complains out loud. His cheeks are hot to touch at his slip up, so he attempts to distract Yoo Joonghyuk by talking out loud.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: It means you’re insane.
—Kim Dokja: That's rich coming from you.
There’s a great sigh from behind his head, but no reproach. Kim Dokja think, good, and then circles back to his natural territory of being a general nuisance.
—Kim Dokja: When you get on a plane, do you have to pay extra for the extra baggage you’ve got packed in your underwear? Do you use it as an inflatable in pools? Can you balance stuff on it too, or something?
Yoo Joonghyuk yanks his ear so hard it almost rips clean off. Kim Dokja almost shrieks in pain, but is so caught off guard by how it contrasts completely with Yoo Joonghyuk’s words that his tongue dies in his mouth.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: As I recall, you’re the one that balances on my dick.
The bastard is probably smirking over that shitty joke.
Unfortunately, Yoo Joonghyuk is many things, and funny is not really one of them. What a shit joke, honestly...
—Kim Dokja: If you ever leave the e-sports field, d on't ever pursue a career in comedy.
—KimbDokja: Unless it's to be one of those guys that work at bars where only drunk people laugh.
Despite this, Kim Dokja hides an incredulous smile behind his hand.
At some point after setting up camp for the night, Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand slips into the back pocket of Kim Dokja’s slacks, and the world screeches to a halt.
Everyone keeps talking around them, discussing the scenario they’d just completed (with great difficulty, since it was nigh impossible to fight whilst linking hands) but Kim Dokja can’t follow it anymore.
Sneakily glancing his way, Kim Dokja sees Yoo Joonghyuk’s face is as neutral as ever, leaning towards irritation, and not showing that he thinks anything of that small action.
Kim Dokja can feel every divot of his fingers through the cloth as they twitch when he awkwardly grabs Yoo Joonghyuk’s elbow to stop him from doing anything else.
Unthinkingly, Kim Dokja then slides his fingers along his bicep, heart stuck in his throat, and moves closer. He thinks he imagines the way Yoo Joonghyuk’s whole body releases a tension he hadn’t even noticed, the way the protagonist seems to sigh in relief without doing anything but breathing normally. When their sides touch and KIm Dokja’s arm bends awkwardly in his position, he drops his hand and sinks into the warmth of Yoo Joonghyuk’s body, just barely grazing his own and yet making every point of contact ring with awareness.
He assures himself that everything is normal. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just another way of following the scenario rules. It’s completely thoughtless.
Midday Tryst interrupts him.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Dokja?
He tries to ignore the stir of interest in his gut and Yoo Joonghyuk’s messages. It’s nothing.
The hand in his pocket flexes, like Yoo Joonghyuk is trying to cop a feel and doesn’t care if Kim Dokja can tell. Really, Kim Dokja should push him off. He said no to this when he walked away that time. The reasons to say no and pull away with their hands innocently are endless.
They’re not in that type of situation(ship?) anymore. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t want him like that, never has. They’re in public. If they walk away, everyone will know for sure. Kim Dokja is only going to get hurt if he lets this happen again—
—Kim Dokja: Yoo Joonghyuk, what do you think you’re doing?
—Yoo Joonghyuk: You know what I want.
—Kim Dokja: Joonghyuk…
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Just once.
The sole reason to say yes is that he wants; has intrinsic, gentle, breathless desires; has achingly alluring notions of giving this man everything he could ever want. Including himself.
—Kim Dokja: Now? Everyone will know.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Only one more time. I won’t ask you ever again after this.
Liar, Kim Dokja hears in his head. His heart pounds away like it has its own mind.
—Kim Dokja: I don’t know…
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Please.
—Kim Dokja: I’m only going to do this with you one more time, okay?
Liar.
—Yoo Joonghyuk: Alright.
Liar.
It’s so easy to fall back into it.
Yoo Joonghyuk falls back against the bed and Kim Dokja goes tumbling down over him, breathless with excitement. His entire torso is bare, his shirt and coat thrown somewhere random. It doesn’t matter when Yoo Joonghyuk’s thumbs are running along the divots of his abdomen, appraising the muscle he’s grown into after so much time spent fighting to survive, sucking on Kim Dokja’s tongue like it’s the best candy he’s ever had.
Kim Dokja tries to straddle Yoo Joonghyuk’s hips to be sexy, but the body underneath him keeps undulating without a thought and throwing Kim Dokja off balance. Every kiss steals Kim Dokja’s attention, making him lose focus. He compromises and sits on one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s thighs, leaning all his weight on the arm he’s bent over Yoo Joonghyuk’s head.
It’s intoxicating to cover all of his body with his own. When Kim Dokja’s free hand fists Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair, presses against the thrum of his pulse, he feels powerful.
“Fuck,” he hisses when Yoo Joonghyuk’s thigh rocks into his dick.
Yoo Joonghyuk always knows how to match him, sword for sword.
In the blink of an eye, Kim Dokja is catapulted onto his back and Yoo Joonghyuk prowls over him, not unlike a predator. He looks every part a hunter with his dangerous eyes, his hands pushing Kim Dokja’s hips down against the bed, his mouth devouring Kim Dokja’s neck like a wolf savoring the best cut of meat.
Kim Dokja sees stars and breathing becomes difficult with every moment that passes of Yoo Joonghyuk’s skilled hips grinding downwards on him, lips and teeth against his pulse and nails scratching against the sensitive spot just above his ear.
This is not the pace he’d anticipated when they snuck away from the others. It’s too intimate, too indulgent. Kim Dokja wants more of the feeling, the simultaneous descent and ascent into pleasure, but he knows this isn't what he agreed to. This is what he said goodbye to.
“You said you'd be quick,” Kim Dokja groans out. “What part of this is quick?”
Yoo Joonghyuk sits back and rises up on his knees. His hands snap to his own pants, working furiously to pull his belt from the buckle. His forehead is glistening with sweat even though they haven’t done much yet, his lips red, no doubt matching Kim Dokja’s.
He looks like a dream. He looks like someone who could be Kim Dokja’s.
“I never said that. You like when I take my time with you anyways,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, his eyes sharp and knowing. He fumbles about with pulling his pants down but then seems to give up when Kim Dokja yanks impatiently on his arm, leaving them open just enough to pull his cock out.
Every thought of saying no disappears the moment Kim Dokja lays eyes on it again. All he can think about is how stupid he would have to be to push Yoo Joonghyuk away like this when he’s tugging down Kim Dokja’s pants. He’d have to be an idiot to make Yoo Joonghyuk stop when he’s so worked up.
Yoo Joonghyuk pulls Kim Dokja’s dick free and he just lets him, lays there underneath him without protest.
Everything is good. Kim Dokja’s missed Yoo Joonghyuk so much in the past week and he just realizes it with a gasp when Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth is back on his, when he’s wrapping a hand around the protagonist’s cock and falling into the frantic pace he’s well accustomed to.
“Joonghyuk-ah, we’re being too loud,” his voice comes out torn and ragged. The pleasure mounts, but the intimacy of having Yoo Joonghyuk with him like this is even more addictive. “They’re going to know.”
Yoo Joonghyuk kisses his complaints away and keeps working his hand skillfully. “Let them know.”
The way he says it rings warning bells in Kim Dokja’s head. It sounds layered.
For a second, Kim Dokja deliberates using his skill to see just what is going on in Yoo Joonghyuk’s head to make him act like this, so—so desperate and wanting.
He doesn’t even need to, because Yoo Joonghyuk comes right out with it.
“I want you,” he whispers shakily into Kim Dokja’s ears, raw and vulnerable and everything Kim Dokja has ever wanted to see Yoo Joonghyuk as, human and alive, driving him insane with his hands and keeping him in place with a hand on his jaw. “I want—I want you so much, Dokja.”
A puzzle piece called Realization clicks in Kim Dokja’s head. As it does, the entire world seems to come into focus.
It doesn’t feel so startling to realize how Yoo Joonghyuk feels about him with that little confession. Afterall, Kim Dokja feels the exact same.
Kim Dokja feels his orgasm come hurtling down towards him. He tries to speak but can’t say anything more than, “Me—me and you, Joonghyuk,” because that’s all he fucking wants, all he could ever want, all he’s ever wanted since that damn story showed up on the hospital computer. “Mhm. Okay?”
He thinks he imagines the feeling of tears against his neck as he gets so, so close to climaxing.
“Just for us,” Yoo Joonghyuk forces out with an audible effort. He sounds like he might be choking on it.
Kim Dokja feels the way Yoo Joonghyuk starts to buck harder against his hand, hips swivelling madly as he fucks into Kim Dokja’s fist and his breathing taking a ragged, gasping turn. He’s never seen Yoo Joonghyuk so worked up, and it drives him straight over the edge with an unexpectedly soft call of, “Joonghyuk.”
He could care less if anyone hears them. Like Joonghyuk said, let them know.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s frantic rhythm stutters and he’s collapsing down onto Kim Dokja, both of them furiously tugging on each other’s cocks to drive the other to the very end of the pleasure they could possibly milk out.
Kim Dokja thinks they’re both crying, which is a little embarrassing, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters because Yoo Joonghyuk said he wants him and then came all over his own turtleneck and—
“I love you,” Kim Dokja says.
Yoo Joonghyuk body over his is completely immobile in the half-second after he confesses this, but he’s not scared. He’s made his peace with it.
“I love you too,” Yoo Joonghyuk says after a long moment of silence.
"This is why we should communicate."
"Is this a new revelation to you?"
"Oh, whatever, Joonghyuk."
Extra(s):
Kim Dokja becomes well accustomed to Yoo Joonghyuk’s clingy side. Everyone else? Not so much.
“Dokja-ssi, do I need to go beat that guy up?” Jung Heewon says one day after seeing Yoo Joonghyuk follow Kim Dokja around for about fifteen minutes without a single word.
Kim Dokja looks up in absolute bewilderment. “What?”
“He’s planning something,” she tells him with full confidence. “That’s why he’s been keeping such a close eye on you. Is there something I should be worried about?”
He opens his mouth to tell her that No, what? We’re— but stops when he remembers Yoo Joonghyuk saying, This is only for us, so desperately.
“I appreciate the concern, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he says cryptically. He gives her the very best smile he can conjure, hoping to dissuade her worries.
Jung Heewon stares at him like he’s just confessed to a deep desire to be run over by an army tank.
“So… I should go beat him up?”
“No.”
“I want to sleep with Dokja-hyung today,” Lee Gilyoung announces.
Shin Yoosung rolls her eyes. “As if Ahjussi would let you come near him when you stink like mud.”
“You— you stink!”
“No, you do!”
“I’m going to tell Hyung you said that!”
“Do it, I don’t care! I’m gonna sleep in Ahjussi’s bed today, not you.”
Lee Gilyoung stomps his foot on the ground and glares at Shin Yoosung like he wishes she’d just vanish, right then and there.
“No way. You’re so ugly you’d give Hyung nightmares.”
Behind them, a large shadow creeps up on the steadily until it engulfs them in its darkness, halting them in their tracks mid-argument. Lee Gilyoung turns around and cranes his neck up to see Yoo Joonghyuk glowering down at them.
“Move,” he demands, already reaching above them to pull down the zipper of Kim Dokja’s tent that was a little too high for either of them to reach on their own.
“Joonghyuk?” Kim Dokja’s voice is heard saying from inside the tent.
Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung share looks of pure dread.
“You’re not going to sleep with Ahjussi, are you?” Shin Yoosung asks. It’s not a question. It’s a test.
Yoo Joonghyuk genuinely has no fear for his life and so boldly says, “Yes, I am. Move out of the way.”
That might be the moment Yoo Joonghyuk signed his own death warrant.
“They’re going to drive him insane, aren’t they?” Yoo Sangah notes from a little further away.
Han Sooyoung shrugs. “It’s free entertainment. I’m not complaining.”
Your velvet turtleneck / Falling apart at the seams / My favorite thing about you / You always say what you mean / I love the way I light up when you call me.
—Cigarettes & Feelings, by The Haunt.