Work Text:
In this line of work, it was natural to gain scars as you progressed.
It was for the greater good, the public would say. The powerful must protect the weak. That was how it always went, the sentiment unchanged, upheld by the system, the establishment, the history of the world.
As S-class hunters, this was the burden they had to bear. They had to continue to fight for the peace and safety of the country. Of the entire planet.
If they didn’t, all hope would be lost.
Despair would wreak havoc across all the institutions that had formed throughout human history. The natural balance of the world would be upset.
Dungeon breaks were always on the verge of bursting. They had to work themselves, continuing to toil endlessly for the safety of the citizens. Their duty was to protect the ones who hadn’t awakened—to protect the infrastructure and history built by hands before them.
As always, the powerful had a duty in protecting the weak.
But even still, seeing such things mark themselves across Yoo Joonghyuk’s body made his heart ache. Ache in a way completely foreign to him. Even the most painful attacks hadn’t rendered a pain within him this intense.
He’d been slashed at before by dragons, their claws grazing the muscle fibers beneath his skin. They’d spilt his blood all over the dungeon floors, pulsating masses of flesh—his organs—visible underneath the yellow of his fat. But still, such a pain didn’t render itself so deep within his being, boring a hole through his heart.
The scars criss-cross themselves on tanned skin, what had previously been unmarred before. If Yoo Joonghyuk had never gone into this field, if Kim Dokja had never known him, he wouldn’t have had to suffer through such pain.
But Kim Dokja couldn’t fault him for such a thing. He couldn’t, not when Yoo Joonghyuk was his savior. Not when he had been the one to bring him into this world as well. The world of hunters.
Yoo Joonghyuk had been his reason for living. An S-class hunter manifesting at a young age was a miracle to see. Of course, because he was an S-class hunter, it meant he had a duty to protect, even when he was as young as fifteen.
Those times that he’d seen Yoo Joonghyuk on television, he desperately wished to be able to help him. His existence was the sole reason for his survival. If someone his age could fight so hard for the existence of humanity, hailed as a hero worldwide—Kim Dokja surely could be able to survive in his day-to-day. His issues were miniscule when compared to something of such a magnitude.
“Dokja…” Yoo Joonghyuk groans. The lips which the words emerge from look tantalizing under the low lights. His voice carries a tinge of want, unsuppressed.
In moments like these, he could afford to be weak. Such a sentiment causes Kim Dokja’s heart to thump faster, the heat pooling within his stomach overflowing. His movements don’t stop against Yoo Joonghyuk’s scarred skin, drawing pecks again and again along the rough.
He paves a new pathway across Yoo Joonghyuk’s body, placing kisses across the skin again and again as if it would somehow heal him. He knows it won’t—such a thing would only happen in fairy tales, after all—but if it could relieve even a fraction of his pain, it would be worth it.
Against his pecs, trailing down to his abs, Kim Dokja leaves no place on his body unkissed. Even so, he has to force himself to close his eyes once every while, unable to face the sheer damage caused to Yoo Joonghyuk’s body. The sight of it forces a discomfort into Kim Dokja’s throat, one he can’t will away with breathing. But, dwelling on the past wouldn’t fix anything either.
That’s why he continues his kisses. Again, down to his hipbone, almost no place on his body is unscarred. It’s all rough, the smoothness of his skin driven out by the constant gates, but it’s still beautiful nonetheless. Like roughened mountains and hills which have yet to be explored, Kim Dokja travels across each plane of his body, featherlight touches gracing all points.
Soon enough, he makes it to where Yoo Joonghyuk needs it most. His length stands up, desperate for attention, and Kim Dokja is all too willing to give it the attention it needs.
He laves his tongue against the skin, the taste of salt coating his mouth. It’s slightly bitter, but it isn’t unpleasant. Rather, he wants more, wants to feel the entirety of Yoo Joonghyuk within his throat, filling him deep, reaching in his body deeper than any wound has. He licks against the head, small kitten licks, before taking it into his mouth. Taking mind of his teeth, he takes Yoo Joonghyuk almost halfway before he has to stop. He strokes the rest of the length with a hand, cupping his balls and teasing the sensitive skin of his member.
“Dokja, Dokja… Ngh…” Yoo Joonghyuk’s groans escape uninhibited, his voice deep with unbidden lust. His hand has cemented itself along his scalp, almost pulling against his hair. He’s stuck between pushing Kim Dokja further onto his length or pulling him back.
Kim Dokja makes the decision first, taking him even deeper. His airway feels blocked, his nose almost entirely buried in the tuft of hair at the base. The smell of musk fills his lungs, and he almost comes on the spot. His thighs subconsciously rub together, looking for more friction. But he won’t be able to get what he truly wants until he feels the entirety of Yoo Joonghyuk inside of him.
It’s too much, the sensation of Yoo Joonghyuk pulsating within his throat, his tongue having no space to move. He can taste Yoo Joonghyuk so deeply, can smell the entirety of what makes him who he is. It’s as if he’s become one with Yoo Joonghyuk completely. But it’s not enough, not enough.
Yoo Joonghyuk starts moving slightly within him, drawing back in small motions before moving forwards again. Small groans are elicited from his lips, but Kim Dokja can clearly tell too that it’s not enough for him. Still, he can feel the flesh within his mouth and throat cling desperately onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s length, as if trying to pull him farther in.
The lack of air makes him dizzy, but it sends pulses through his stomach all the same. The heat grows, growing, larger and larger. It burgeons, his thighs rubbing together some more, a hand desperately coming to palm at his own hardened cock. It’s enough, building high enough for him to finally splatter all over himself.
Just as Yoo Joonghyuk releases his grip on his scalp, Kim Dokja pulls off immediately. He takes in large gasps of air, his breathing irregular as he does so. Wheezing, he blinks away the tears that have gathered in his eyes.
Kim Dokja coughs, spittle flying out. His face is a mess, saliva coating his chin in an uncomfortable wetness. Still, he needs it, needs it too much to care for anything small like his own discomfort. Like the needy bastard he is, he’s already gotten hard again.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s length is still hard. Somehow, it seems more intimidating than it was before. Kim Dokja swallows, the soreness in his throat having been long forgotten as he prepares himself mentally for what’s next.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja rasps. “You’re ready, right?”
Under the low light, he distinctly sees Yoo Joonghyuk nod his head. It’s a small movement, but nothing escapes his eyes. It would be embarrassing if it did, as an S-class hunter. In moments like these, his enhanced perception was more of a blessing than anything else.
With his approval, Kim Dokja finally makes the move.
Against his own hole, he presses fingers inside, stretching himself open slightly. He’d prepared himself before this entire thing, but he had to do a little extra if he wants to accommodate Yoo Joonghyuk properly. This bastard is surprisingly big, no matter how many times he takes him in.
His fingers prod against his insides, already wet from prior preparation. It’s not enough though. It’d never be enough. After he’d been with Yoo Joonghyuk, nothing would be enough. Until he had Yoo Joonghyuk inside of him, buried in his heat, he wouldn’t be satisfied at all.
His fingers press around some more, exploring, sending starlight underneath his eyelids as he presses against a particular spot inside of himself. He hisses briefly, his sounds stopped as he bites his lips in time.
“Hurry, Dokja…” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice is needy. Kim Dokja can catch each of the little crackles to his tone. They’re like little dying embers of flame on hot coals. It’s enticing, too much so.
“Okay,” he snorts. Ah, seeing Yoo Joonghyuk like this would never grow old. Though he showed sides like this only briefly, it’s always enough to light a flame inside of Kim Dokja. Seeing him needy like this, needy for Kim Dokja, brought him a pleasure he hadn’t known existed before all of this.
His fingers pop out of his own hole. He swallows down the emptiness, his wet hands quickly grasping onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock again. It’s a heavy feeling against his palm. He guides it against his rim, hissing at the contact. Slowly, while keeping his hands angled, he presses himself in, deeper and deeper.
Each inch of his hole seems uncertain on whether to block Yoo Joonghyuk out or draw him deeper in. It’s tight, unfathomably so. Kim Dokja can feel each detail of Yoo Joonghyuk’s length press against him, deeper and deeper into his own tight heat.
He feels as though he can’t breathe, all the air punched out from his lungs as Yoo Joonghyuk sinks further in. His breaths, irregular, fill his ears along with his deafening heartbeat.
A static fills his ears. There are groans, there has to be, coming from Yoo Joonghyuk, but he can’t make sense of anything. He can’t make sense of anything at all with Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock clinging onto each ridge inside of him, pressing incessantly, a heavy weight within his hole. As if he was made to be Yoo Joonghyuk’s toy, the fit is almost perfect, his entire being clenching down on Yoo Joonghyuk, desperately keeping him stuck inside.
“Ugh, hah—hah—ngh, ha—hu…” Sounds, almost inhuman, escape Kim Dokja’s throat. Grumbles and groans, nonsensical things babble outwards. He doesn’t have control of his body, not with Yoo Joonghyuk’s length inside of him, inside each and every crevice, flooding all the pores in his body. It’s almost too much, too much for him to bear. His hands clench uselessly at air, trying to find anything—anything—to steady himself.
“Dokja, ngh… Fuck,” he hisses. Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands grip against his thighs, the pressure likely strong enough to bruise. With
Each thrust fucks into his hole sloppily, and Kim Dokja almost can’t contain the cries for more, more, more. His insides, betraying him, cling onto Yoo Joonghyuk, making it nearly impossible for him to extricate himself entirely.
It’s not a problem for Yoo Joonghyuk. He grinds his hips against Kim Dokja, chasing pleasure, faster and faster. The pace, Kim Dokja finds himself trying to catch up, his breaths an entire beat behind. His cock leaks against his stomach, his eyes unable to see through the tears.
His head feels too hot, dizzying pleasure striking through without stop. The onslaught inside of him is too much. It feels like he’s a cocksleeve with how desperate Yoo Joonghyuk’s thrusts get, his hole battered and bruised. If he couldn’t walk for a week after this, it would be the best outcome.
“Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk groans again. His noises don’t stop, but the wet, obscene sounds of flesh-against-flesh strike harder than anything else. With rough hands, calloused through years of sword-use, he pulls Kim Dokja deeper and deeper onto his cock.
He could almost feel it in his throat, the fucking boring through his entire body. Entirely, his being has been molded to Yoo Joonghyuk’s pleasure. He’s become nothing more than that. A sex toy, purely for Yoo Joonghyuk’s use.
All of his thoughts, his needless worries about the future, past, and present, have been fucked out of him. Yoo Joonghyuk is relentless.
It’s not a surprise then, when he comes again. It brings a shiver through his entire body, his breathing stopping for a split second before resuming. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t stop, fucking into Kim Dokja even more desperately than he had been doing before. It’s harder for him to, when Kim Dokja feels himself clench down in rhythmic waves as he rides out his climax.
“Ngh, ah—! Hah, ngh, hah… Joong—Joonghyuk-ah, ngh, fuck—!”
He can’t get anything coherent out. He can’t see anymore. His eyes have been rendered useless. What use would eyes be for someone like him, when he’s simply a cocksleeve for Yoo Joonghyuk?
Everything’s white, and the only thing he can feel is the constant pressure inside of him, fucking him sloppily. Again and again, he squirts, wetness everywhere, a mess. He can’t—he can’t focus on it though. He can’t focus on anything. Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands press against him, drawing endless moans.
It’s too much for him to handle, it’s simply too much. Again and again, his traitorous body squeezes down on Yoo Joonghyuk, but no matter how much he fucks into him, it seems like he has a will of steel. His groans have deepened, pitching higher, and yet he still hasn’t come.
Kim Dokja doesn’t even have the mind to lament such a thing, coherent thought having been driven out of his head since his nth climax. Again, he feels something splash onto him. Jolts flood his body. Where Yoo Joonghyuk touches him with his calloused hands clenches down harder, and he almost comes again on the spot.
He’s been ruined, ruined completely by Yoo Joonghyuk…
When a warmth finally fills him, Kim Dokja’s mind almost takes a full minute to register it. His hole—fucked so much—had become too sloppy for him to tell between precome and the seed that Yoo Joonghyuk had finally managed to release. It’s only with the collapsing weight, the stuttered breaths that his perceptive ears manage to catch—that he realizes that Yoo Joonghyuk had finally come.
The comfort of another beside him, the warmth of his body—even with the damage that this world has caused to it—makes Kim Dokja appreciate living to this point.