Chapter Text
Originally, [Midday Tryst] was an object that had never captured Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention. What need did he have for long-distance communication when his companions were always kept close by? What would he need to say that was so pressing it couldn’t wait the few minutes it would take to just turn around and speak to them?
As a result, Yoo Joonghyuk would only purchase the item during emergencies, and never extended it for over the initial period.
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: You never answered me before.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: What is your Personal Attribute?]
So what the hell had happened since then?
One argument for Yoo Joonghyuk’s disinterest in a—and though this may be Kim Dokja’s opinion, that doesn’t make it any less factual—revolutionary item, could be that he simply kept his thoughts to himself, didn’t need to share them with others. A true lone wolf, and not just because he liked to fuck off to unknown sub-scenarios without a warning in this round. Even Kim Dokja had been unable to think of why Yoo Joonghyuk would need to use the blatantly obvious excuse for a texting system, because really, again, what would he even say?
It's not like TWSA’s protagonist was the type of guy to send u up? texts at midnight—
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja, are you awake?]
—nor would he ever ask his companions to abandon their warm beds for something that wasn’t of the utmost importance—
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: I need to speak with you.]
—and he certainly wouldn’t be so damn persistent in doing so—
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: ?]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: I know you’re awake.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: I can hear you.]
Bullshit. The only sound he's made in the past five minutes has been his eyes blinking. He'd even unzipped his bedroll so he didn't have to hear rustling every time he moved.
[—Kim Dokja: I’m not even doing anything. What could you possibly be hearing?]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: I knew you weren't asleep. Why didn't you answer sooner?]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: I can hear your breathing.]
Because it’s normal to monitor people that closely, of course. Is the protagonist really so idle?
[—Kim Dokja: You can tell if someone’s awake based on their breathing?]
[—Kim Dokja: I hope you didn’t waste any coins on such a useless skill.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Of course not.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: When you fall asleep, your breathing is stable and quiet. When I can hear it get louder and uneven, that’s a sign you’re awake.]
Torn between embarrassment that he’s apparently a gasping mouth breather, or reluctant praise for the protagonist’s keen observation skills, or maybe confusion on why this is even a conversation they’re having, Kim Dokja does a 180 and settles on something completely different.
[—Kim Dokja: Have you seriously been watching me sleep every night?]
[—Kim Dokja: And don’t bother me just because you’re bored. I’m trying to sleep.]
On average, Yoo Joonghyuk’s response speed can break the sound barrier. It's not unlike someone camping outside a stronghold in a video game, just waiting for the moment to spring a fully charged ult on a newbie player. So when there isn’t an immediate answer, Kim Dokja takes it as an admission of guilt.
He turns his head to the side and frowns at the thin tent, which is just translucent enough to make out the black silhouette of somebody sitting outside, barely a foot away from his nose.
To be honest, the first time he’d woken up to that looming shadow waiting outside in the middle of the night, Kim Dokja had almost leapt out of bed.
But whoever it was only sat beside his tent silently, the sun rising without that figure once moving.
“Do you have to be right outside my tent when you take watch?” Kim Dokja had desperately asked the next morning, scrambling for some form of sanity. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to sit in the middle of the camp, so you can see from all sides?”
But though he'd tried confronting the bastard about it, he’d only looked on coolly, as if to say: I can do whatever I want.
When he woke up to it again the very next night, Kim Dokja simply rolled over and pretended not to see.
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Since you’re awake, come outside.]
[—Kim Dokja: Voyeurism is a crime.]
“I can’t see you through the tent,” comes a familiar voice.
Kim Dokja watches as the shadow twists, and something vaguely hand-shaped reaches for the zipper on the tent.
Before he can even register the alarm, the figure yanks the opening up mid-way, and fumbles their way through inelegantly, coming face to face with Kim Dokja still laying on the ground.
Yoo Joonghyuk wrinkles his nose slightly in disdain. “What are you doing lazing about? Do something useful and take watch with me.”
“Go to hell,” Kim Dokja murmurs, rolling over again. Within seconds, he’s roughly yanked by his shoulder to lay flat on his back.
Yoo Joonghyuk hovers over him, frowning deeply. “Kim Dokja—”
[—Kim Dokja: You’re being too loud. Everybody is trying to sleep.]
After a moment of heavily scrutinizing him—as though he would be lying about people wanting to sleep at night—Yoo Joonghyuk closes his mouth. Then, without saying a word, he shoves Kim Dokja to the edge of his own bedroll and decides to lie down with him.
Technically still half asleep, Kim Dokja has no choice but to allow this grievous intrusion into his personal space. Yoo Joonghyuk’s elbow digs into his back as he’s forced right to the very end of the bedroll. At least there's no blanket to fight over.
[—Kim Dokja: Can you at least take off your shoes if you’re going to be invading my bed like this?]
Two thumps as Yoo Joonghyuk drops his boots off to the side. The elbow jabbed into Kim Dokja’s spine jolts into him again, and then the sound of the zipper closing back down rings through the tent. Within seconds, Yoo Joonghyuk has settled down again, crowding Kim Dokja from behind and wrapping his arms tightly around his middle, like he’s trying to squeeze the soul out of him.
Kim Dokja fusses, sleepily kicking his legs out and pushing weakly at the arms around his stomach, but he gives up quickly when Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t budge an inch. Tired, he simply resigns himself to being a body pillow for the night, and leans back into the warmth. This pleases Yoo Joonghyuk, who drops his head against Kim Dokja’s shoulder and sighs against his neck.
A tiny shiver up Kim Dokja’s spine at the gust of warm air against his cold body; Yoo Joonghyuk’s smirk presses against his skin.
[—Kim Dokja: Are you ever going to tell me why you insist on sitting outside my tent every night?]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Because that’s where I take watch.]
Bullshit. The only thing he’s been taking watch of is Kim Dokja.
[—Kim Dokja: Yes, but there specifically? We have an entire campsite.]
[—Kim Dokja: By the way, if you're here, who's taking over and being the lookout?]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: It’s Yoo Sangah's turn.]
[—Kim Dokja: ? Then, why have you been ‘taking watch’ too?]
A lengthy pause in response. Caught him.
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: It is more practical to have two people watching over everything. It’s safer that way.]
[—Kim Dokja: And yet, you’ve left her on her own.]
And, just because he's feeling irritable,
[—Kim Dokja: If you're going to make excuses for why you're acting weirdly, at least make sense.]
Though, it’s not so much of an imposition if Yoo Joonghyuk just wants a reason to hang around. Unreasonable, yes, uncharacteristic, certainly. A genuine bother? Not anymore.
When supplies are low, Yoo Joonghyuk always insists upon sharing with Kim Dokja every single time, so they’ve slept in the same bedroll before. Sometimes even when there’s enough to go around everyone, Yoo Joonghyuk might still sneak into Kim Dokja’s tent. No doubt, it's just a side effect of the few times Kim Dokja has rolled over obediently for him. Lust, it seems, really does drive people crazy with misplaced affection.
Sometimes it’s even nice to be so close to another person. After they’re done messing around in between channel breaks, they usually scramble back into their clothes and scurry off before anybody can realize what they’re doing. Even when the tension has been crackling for so long that Yoo Joonghyuk eventually corners him, and fucks him so forcefully that Kim Dokja’s left bruised and aching pleasantly for days, they still don’t linger afterwards. At most, Kim Dokja might crack his eyes open minutely, still gasping for air, and Yoo Joonghyuk might lean down and kiss him, a quick peck that belies the torment he’d just unleashed upon an innocent man’s body. But nothing more than that. That’s not how things are with them.
So Kim Dokja cherishes the quiet moments when Yoo Joonghyuk seeks him out for simple company, slipping into his bed at night just for a few moments of rest. Pulling Kim Dokja into his bare, unfurnished room back at the Complex for the sake of having him there as he polishes his sword in silence, like some kind of houseplant or decoration. He likes the warmth of touches that don’t flee when he opens his eyes, the ease of the quiet between them. Likes Yoo Joonghyuk, but that’s a given. Who wouldn’t like the protagonist?
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja, have you fallen asleep?]
For a few serious seconds, Kim Dokja genuinely considers thrashing about and kicking Yoo Joonghyuk out of the tent just so that he can actually get some fucking sleep.
But he’s tired today. All day today, he’d been running around like a headless chicken because all the [Theia’s Glass] they’d carefully collected for the next scenario had spontaneously shattered. Both the kids had shifted around in guilt as Yoo Sangah gently lectured them, Han Sooyoung occasionally tossing in a, “Of all the things you brats had to break, it just had to be the important stuff, huh?”
Perhaps wanting to support the children—or, equally as likely, to simply be contrary to Han Sooyoung—Jung Heewon had said, “Well, kids will be kids. It’s not like they meant to cause any harm. I’m sure Dokja-ssi has a back-up plan, right?”
Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t even blinked at the commotion. All he’d said was, “Shin Yoosung used to be well behaved. It’s only because of you that those kids learned how to make trouble, Kim Dokja.”
“So, I take it you’re not going to come along with me?” Kim Dokja had said, already resigned.
“It’s your fault for not protecting the items well enough, so you should deal with the consequences on your own.”
“Hey, isn't it also your fault that this happened?”
Without looking up from the herbs Lee Seolhwa had asked him to prepare, Yoo Joonghyuk scoffed. “I’m busy.”
After dragging Lee Jihye and Lee Hyunsung with him, Kim Dokja had finally managed to uncover a very, very rare scenario that replenished half their original stash of [Theia’s Glass.] With an exhausted teenager and a drooping soldier by his side, Kim Dokja was forced to suffice with only that much.
He’d only returned a few hours back, pretending he wasn’t out of breath when everybody looked hopefully at him—had literally only crawled into bed about thirty minutes ago. Yoo Joonghyuk appeared outside within seconds, and has since never ceased his endless barrage of messages.
A low voice speaks in his ear, provoking another involuntary tremble, Kim Dokja’s breath catching. “Are you asleep?”
This is the fiftieth time this guy has asked the same question. “How can I be,” Kim Dokja mutters, twisting his head away, “when you keep—bugging me?”
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, ignoring him entirely.
It’s obvious there’s something he’s trying to get at here, but Kim Dokja is too tired to bother figuring it out. Instead, he says, “You saw me barely an hour ago.”
Yoo Joonghyuk huffs in exasperation, as though Kim Dokja’s being purposefully difficult. And he is, but it’s still justifiable. What’s Yoo Joonghyuk’s excuse for being such a pain in the ass?
One hand slides under his shirt, idly skimming over his muscled stomach. Kim Dokja shuffles around, but ultimately allows himself to enjoy the warmth steadily seeping into his skin through that direct contact. It doesn’t even tickle like it used to. Has he started to get used to Yoo Joonghyuk’s greedy paws?
He reflexively holds his breath when a fingertip just about catches on his waistband, eyes fluttering open to see the outline of hands under his clothes.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You as a bald monk in a temple.” Kim Dokja thinks he knows the answer to this next question, but asks it anyway. “What about you?”
A pause. “That you're pressed right against me like this.”
“Yeah? Are you getting worked up over just that?”
“Only because it's you,” he says, although Kim Dokja doesn't think he's doing anything in particular.
It's exciting to hear anyway, and he bites his lip to smother a smile. As much as he can, he pushes his hips back. Never one to disappoint, Yoo Joonghyuk makes a noise like— Kim Dokja turns his head into the pillow, lips breaking free of his teeth to smirk.
Yoo Joonghyuk's hands shift so that he can get a good hold of Kim Dokja’s hips. He grinds them back against his dick, which is already a thick hardness against the back of his thigh. It's as much a warning as it is a promise. Kim Dokja takes the hint, already lightheaded from just that.
He hopes Yoo Joonghyuk isn't looking over his shoulder to see how he's slowly building up his own problem, otherwise he might actually be shaken awake by him.
But this time, Yoo Joonghyuk doesn't take it any further than just touching. At some point his wandering hands turn into arms wrapped fully around Kim Dokja’s waist, pulling him so that they’re pressed together without a single air molecule between them.
The rise and fall of the firm chest behind his back has Kim Dokja mirroring it unconsciously, entranced by the tidal movement of flesh. In. Out. In. Out. Hypnosis with each breath. It’s a strange thing to feel worked up about, since breathing has never been sensual in any way. Yet here, listening to each drag of air, feeling the way Yoo Joonghyuk sighs it out, their shared breaths in a space nobody can see, it feels weirdly like some kind of intimacy. The same rhythm as being fucked—in, out, in, out.
Kim Dokja thinks of his own mouth, lips falling apart on instinct. The image is hazy since he's already falling asleep again, but the ghost sensations have him feeling dizzy. Imagines being on his knees, head being pressed down on Yoo Joonghyuk's thick cock, seconds from squirming away. Sharp pain at the corners of his mouth as it's forced open wider than it was made for. In, out. Crying. The taste, skin and something intoxicating.
Then the vision changes abruptly, and it’s Yoo Joonghyuk behind him in a position like this. Presumably, they must be having sex in this daydream, but there's no feeling or visuals. It's just the sound of Yoo Joonghyuk gasping in his ear, low moans as if he's never felt anything better than being inside Kim Dokja. A small whimper that he definitely doesn't realize he makes every time he comes, but that always gets Kim Dokja. That breathing, much rougher than what Yoo Joonghyuk is doing in this peaceful moment. In, out.
Or maybe he’s just exhausted and overthinking everything. He's made me a pervert, Kim Dokja despairs silently.
Unaware of his being made a scapegoat, Yoo Joonghyuk kisses his hair, uncharacteristically gentle.
Kim Dokja can only respond by sluggishly dropping one hand onto the forearms around his stomach… dragging his voice out into a name, so low the words could just be in his head, mouthing out the familiar sounds. He’s falling back asleep within seconds.
A drifting thought passes by, Yoo Joonghyuk rocking into him in this position, fucking Kim Dokja straight to sleep like a lullaby. Slow and careful, rolling his hips until he’s so deep inside that Kim Dokja could choke. He can almost feel it inside, Yoo Joonghyuk’s dick stretching him out and filling him up.
They haven’t ever had sex so luxuriously before. It’s not the kind of thing they do—not enough time, patience, tenderness. One time Yoo Joonghyuk tried, and Kim Dokja hadn’t understood what he was doing and told him to hurry up. After he was obeyed and they finished up in another tangled mess, Yoo Joonghyuk sulked for two days. Kim Dokja had to get on his knees to coax him out of it.
He hasn’t stopped thinking about what he’d interrupted that night. It rises with every touch and brush of Yoo Joonghyuk’s body against his. Even as drowsy as he feels right now, Kim Dokja still feels the regret for what could have been, if he’d only caught on a little faster. Of course, it was still very, very enjoyable, but he still thinks about it. These past few nights staring at the broad, unapologetic silhouette of Yoo Joonghyuk through the thin tent walls, having to chew on his fingers to stay silent as he watched through eyes heavy-lidded from more than fatigue, he couldn’t stop thinking.
Everytime Yoo Joonghyuk sent a message through, Kim Dokja would read it over and over and remember the smoothness of his voice as he’d kissed his way around Kim Dokja’s neck like a collar. He would eventually fall asleep to dreams of being pressed into the mattress and made love to. His body only knows how to get fucked, but his mind somehow managed to figure out how exactly to torment Kim Dokja with thoughts of Yoo Joonghyuk’s breathing cracking open around a low, drawn-out moan.
He’d been so desperate for relief from this nightly torment that he’d tried to beg Yoo Joonghyuk to sit somewhere else when taking watch. Alas, when has this guy ever listened to him about anything he genuinely wanted?
…no matter how tired he feels, it’s clear that he can’t sleep with this guy plastered against his back. The constant fantasizing was bad enough when they were separated by the tent and darkness, but this close, Kim Dokja’s mind can’t even think straight without re-noticing Yoo Joonghyuk’s semi pressed against his ass. No wonder lust is a sin. Being this insatiable is surely a disorder of some sort. Kim Dokja should have quarantined Yoo Joonghyuk ages ago to prevent the disease from spreading, but it’s too late.
Well. If it’s already like this… then the person responsible should also be the one to fix the issue, right? It’s not as though Kim Dokja asked for this guy to come and spread his degeneracy around like a plague.
[—Kim Dokja: Yoo Joonghyuk?]
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t move an inch. His breathing ruffles Kim Dokja’s hair, slightly ticklish against his scalp.
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: I thought you were asleep.]
Kim Dokja slowly slides his hand along Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm to his wrist. He plucks at his fingers like he's playing an instrument, but they don’t relax, so he just continues to run his own over Yoo Joonghyuk’s knuckles. Then he tilts his head minimally, just enough to have Yoo Joonghyuk chase after him. A laugh bubbles out of him, but he doesn’t have the energy to let out more than an amused huff.
[—Kim Dokja: Why have you started getting hard already?]
The air around them feels so fragile that a single word could shatter it. Maybe that’s why Yoo Joonghyuk who is, ah, clearly alert doesn’t say anything.
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Complaining?]
Kim Dokja opens his eyes at last. The first thing he sees are strong, firm arms wrapped around his stomach, his hand resting atop one, fingers curled around it. The sight heats his blood, bringing a flush to his face that warms his ears.
[—Kim Dokja: Well, that depends on how you plan to deal with it.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: It seems like you have your own ideas.]
[—Kim Dokja: Oh? Would you follow through if I do?]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Depends on how you plan to deal with it.]
At this, Kim Dokja actually does laugh quietly. Yoo Joonghyuk’s entire body twitches at the sound, as though he’s trying to restrain himself. Kim Dokja contemplates using his skill to check on what he’s thinking, but it would ruin the fun to read every filthy thought racing through the protagonist’s mind. It’s much more satisfying to have him admit it through heaving breaths and gritted teeth.
[—Kim Dokja: Let’s just say it would be quite beneficial for the both of us.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Get to the point.]
Kim Dokja sniffs. How unromantic of this guy. Who taught him how to flirt? They should get their tenure revoked.
Perhaps sensing that his impatience has potentially ruined things, Yoo Joonghyuk sweetly kisses Kim Dokja’s scalp. Despite how he wants to teach this guy a lesson about playing along, Kim Dokja instinctively relaxes, instantly more agreeable. By this point, all thoughts of sleep have been completely cleared from his mind, which now focuses solely on the rhythmic lift of Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest against his back. In, out.
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: I want to hear you say it.]
[—Kim Dokja: Don’t push your luck.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: You’re usually so shameless, but this is where you draw the line?]
[—Kim Dokja: I don’t even know what you want me to say anyways.]
“You do know,” Yoo Joonghyuk rasps out, in a voice half a note deeper than normal. "Don't try to play dumb." When he clears his throat, the noise drags through Kim Dokja’s head on repeat. Something about it is sensual, the gravelly sound, the fact that it’s Yoo Joonghyuk trying not to seem as affected as he feels against Kim Dokja’s ass, already grinding forward like he can’t help but try to find some relief.
Following suit, Kim Dokja tilts his hips into the bedspread, thankful that it’s thick enough that when he grinds down in a tiny, miniscule circle, he isn’t shoving his dick into the hard ground. He does know. But he’s not so docile that he’ll offer it up that easily.
[—Kim Dokja: I really don’t…]
[—Kim Dokja: Is this your plan? Confusing me until I give up and go back to sleep?]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Give up on what?]
Kim Dokja refuses to say anything more, half-worried that he might slip up and give Yoo Joonghyuk something else to work with.
Unfortunately, his silence only gives Yoo Joonghyuk more space to work his magic. With a playful graze of teeth against Kim Dokja’s ear, he finally pulls out his trump card and murmurs lowly, “Dokja… let me hear you say it.”
For someone so cold, Yoo Joonghyuk is damn good at playing a lover.
A thrill screams through Kim Dokja’s blood immediately at the sound of his name being said with such longing—he chokes on nothing, and squeezes his thighs together. Immediately, he becomes aware of how empty he is, and how Yoo Joonghyuk is wasting time by not hurrying things up already. The warmth of comfortable desire roars into a flame that consumes all his rationality, and he realizes that he might actually die if Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t fuck him in the next five seconds. The desperation swallows him whole. Kim Dokja is no more than a blank space, waiting to be put to use, to be filled, to be—
The shit he does for this bastard. “Fuck you, Yoo Joonghyuk,” he practically hissed, trying to be quiet but still keening, feeling a damned smirk against his neck, “Just fuck me already.”
As if he’d been waiting for a cue—most likely, he’d been counting down the seconds since he’d pulled the zipper on the tent, the bastard—Yoo Joonghyuk rips himself away from Kim Dokja’s back and crawls over him. It’s so rapid and practiced that Kim Dokja doesn’t even get a chance to feel cold before he’s already being rolled onto his back and smothered from the front.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes gleam with smugness. “Say it again.”
“Absolutely not,” Kim Dokja immediately says.
By habit, his legs immediately tangle around Yoo Joonghyuk’s, trapping one thigh between his. The second Yoo Joonghyuk widens his stance for stability, Kim Dokja presses his knee just under the hard line of his cock, and the arrogance immediately shifts to a narrow-eyed glare. Yoo Joonghyuk sits up so that he can spare a hand to seize his wayward leg, and he squeezes the offending knee with enough strength to make Kim Dokja suppress a wince.
“Watch it,” he warns. “I’ll rip this leg of yours off if you keep messing around.”
Kim Dokja only looks up at him with a confused blink. “But I’m not doing anything?”
Fun fact: most humans have two legs. Surprise attack! This time Kim Dokja slams his heel into the back of Yoo Joonghyuk’s muscled ass with enough abruptness and force that he almost smashes his face onto Kim Dokja’s nose, only he manages to catch himself at the last second.
“Whoops,” he says. “My foot slipped. Joonghyuk-ah, I really didn’t mean to do that, don’t be angry…”
Barely an inch away, Yoo Joonghyuk’s glare is cold enough to make him shiver. “Go ahead and keep making trouble. Do you think I won’t break your legs?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try it.”
Kim Dokja laughs shallowly. “There’s something else I’d rather try.”
As though just remembering why he’d invaded Kim Dokja’s bed in the first place, Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes light back up. All traces of displeasure are immediately replaced with enthusiasm as he hikes Kim Dokja’s leg over his hip, with the easy grace of someone readjusting a belt. The casual handling of his own body has Kim Dokja biting his lip unconsciously, and Yoo Joonghyuk thumbs at where teeth dig into the dry, cracked flesh, tugging it free.
Kim Dokja meets his eyes by accident as he instinctively licks his lips to moisten them, brushing the tip of his tongue against the pad of Yoo Joonghyuk’s finger. Such brief contact only leaves a tiny, practically imaginary hint of salt. Hungering for more, and emboldened by the focused gaze, Kim Dokja ducks forward to take the tip of Yoo Joonghyuk’s thumb into his mouth, puckering his lips to kiss it, and then holding it between his teeth. Seeming just as dazed as Kim Dokja’s beginning to feel, Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes drop to his mouth. He slides further in until he’s able to press down against Kim Dokja’s tongue, which flattens obediently for him to continue exploring.
Yoo Joonghyuk hooks his thumb against the side of Kim Dokja’s mouth, and then leans heavily onto the forearm pressed next to his head to kiss him firmly on his forcibly opened mouth. Slowly, he slides his hand until it’s out from between Kim Dokja’s jaws, and now holds his face in place.
It feels like years since they last kissed. Kim Dokja thinks he might burst straight out of his skin as Yoo Joonghyuk sucks on his bottom lip, teasing the sensitive skin until it starts tingling. It’s all he can do to hold tight onto the godforsaken belt strapped to his chest, disguising his shaking desperation with his tight, forceful grip.
“Are you going to fuck me, or not?” Kim Dokja murmurs against his mouth, voice lower than normal.
“Be patient,” Yoo Joonghyuk tells him, letting out a breath that could be called an amused huff, or a quiet laugh from anyone else. “You just had it today.”
…alright, he’s been caught. They did, indeed, have sex earlier in the day—that’s why the kids had enough time to run around unsupervised. Sue him. If anybody else had a man like this hovering around them, they’d also fall into bed with him whenever possible.
Trying to recover, Kim Dokja says, “That was yesterday. Today is a new day.”
Yoo Joonghyuk kisses him again, draws back slowly. “You need it every day?”
“You wouldn't be able to keep up with that,” Kim Dokja can’t help but watch those lips move, entranced.
The sly, cutting remark falls short of its mark, but it’s fine. Neither of them are paying attention to the conversation anymore, not when Kim Dokja presses their lips back together, and then pulls back just to watch Yoo Joonghyuk chase after for another kiss.
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: We’ll see about that.]
Kim Dokja’s eyebrows raise when he glances at this message from the corner of his eyes. So intent upon kissing that he doesn’t even want to separate for one second to speak? So cute, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi.
The stripping of their clothes is a haze in which Kim Dokja loses track of his hands and time. It's too cold, even when sharing body heat, to get completely naked, but Yoo Joonghyuk has a particular fetish for seeing Kim Dokja’s stomach, so he unbuttons the bottom of his shirt and spreads his fingers over his navel. It's times like these that Kim Dokja is thankful that he's in the best shape of his life.
At some point, Yoo Joonghyuk tries to unbuckle his chest belt so he can take his shirt off, but Kim Dokja, still clinging tight to it, refuses to let him. He yanks on it harshly and breaks their mouths apart to say, “Keep it on.”
Yoo Joonghyuk keeps trying to kiss him again, but Kim Dokja refuses to let him until he also stops trying to untangle his fingers from the belt. He opens his eyes to see Yoo Joonghyuk’s face start to turn red, sweat glistening on the very edge of his hairline.
As soon as he realizes he’s being watched, Yoo Joonghyuk gives up on the strap and instead lifts Kim Dokja’s hand up to his lips, maintaining eye contact as he kisses his fingers.
Kim Dokja’s attention flickers between both of those dark, endless eyes, and the overall sight of Yoo Joonghyuk hovering over him; his own legs wrapped around his waist, leather still straining against a broad, muscled chest; back to where Yoo Joonghyuk watches him silently. The heat in his lower abdomen pulses like a heartbeat, aching for more. He can’t tell if he wants to stay in this breathless moment forever, or shoulder past it.
Fingers shaking in anticipation, Kim Dokja slips his hand away from Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth to pinch his cheek playfully. Yoo Joonghyuk lets him without complaint, only a twitch of his eyebrows. Then, Kim Dokja draws him close again with that hand, and whispers, “Stop messing around, Joonghyuk-ah. Get to work already.”
“It seems like you’re enjoying it.” Yoo Joonghyuk looks down obviously at where Kim Dokja’s pants are tenting, and the smugness practically spills out of him.
Kim Dokja sniffs. “I’ll enjoy it a lot more once you’re inside.”
Though he raises an eyebrow, Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes twinkle. “You were so shy before. What happened?”
“You did,” says Kim Dokja.
Which is true, actually. Before this guy, he had a healthy amount of sexual desire in him. Now whenever Yoo Joonghyuk is near him, he starts feeling weird and tingly everywhere, like he’s about to burst into hives.
He doesn’t say any of that though, because it’s rude to suggest you’re developing an allergy to your dear companion.
“Then, I guess I’ll have to take responsibility.”
Something in Kim Dokja fractures. Unable to help himself, he abruptly lets out an embarrassingly frustrated, "Joonghyuk-ah.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowns at him, and instead of hurrying up as Kim Dokja is practically begging him to, he says, “You always complain that I never play along with your stupid games, but then you never have the patience for it yourself. What is it that you want?”
“What I want,” he grits out, kicking him in the back with his heel, “is for you to hurry up already.”
Yoo Joonghyuk sits back up, the flex of his muscles obvious even through his shirt. He grabs both of Kim Dokja’s calves and hefts them onto his shoulders, so that the ankles are by his ears; he turns to kiss one with a gentleness that belies the bruising grip of his hands. Then he looks back at Kim Dokja, who stares back at him uncertainly, starting to feel unsure about the predatory light in his eyes. Lone wolf indeed—he can't tell if he's about to be fucked or eaten.
His pants are taken off. Kim Dokja shivers in the cold, unhappy that Yoo Joonghyuk refuses to pull a blanket over the two of them.
“Do you want us both to die?” He says, and then slips a hand over Kim Dokja’s clavicle, smoothly undoing the top button as he goes. “If you want to suffocate so badly, I can just—”
Yoo Joonghyuk catches his bobbing throat in a loose grip that somehow still feels like his airways are being crushed.
Kim Dokja doesn’t insist upon the blanket.
There were patches of ice in the morning—the kids were playing and slipped on one, and the rest is history. But even though the frosty chill still lingers in the air, Yoo Joonghyuk still goes through the effort of taking his shirt off, begrudgingly parting with his new earmuffs so that he can pull it over his head, before immediately replacing Kim Dokja’s legs over his shoulders.
The only reason Kim Dokja allows this is because it allows him to run curious fingers over his bare skin, fascinated by how hot Yoo Joonghyuk runs. It must be all the exercise. Maybe Kim Dokja should join him one of these days. Another excuse to spend time watching his abs, if not one to get up close and touch them. They could have sex outside before anybody woke up, already sweating and worked up from a spar, or whatever it is Yoo Joonghyuk does when he trains. Cutting down trees with his sword. Kim Dokja could pin his hips down against the stump to lick the sweat off his dick, and then ride him as the ice glistened under the sunrise. Mmnggh, what a thought.
[—Kim Dokja: Don’t bother looking for more oil.]
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t stop patting down his pants. “I’m going all the way.”
For a moment, Kim Dokja is too sidetracked by the belt choking Yoo Joonghyuk’s thigh muscles to respond. Then he shakes his head to clear it. He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice dies at the thought of saying those words out loud, so he types it into Midday Tryst instead.
[—Kim Dokja: We did it earlier today. There’s no need for stretching or anything like that.]
“The oil isn’t just for stretching you out enough to take it,” Yoo Joonghyuk says unashamedly. Kim Dokja flinches at the crudeness, but his knee is squeezed in warning before he can kick Yoo Joonghyuk’s ear. “It’s so that you don’t tear open when I get inside.”
“That won’t happen,” Kim Dokja says, though the very idea is enough to make him cringe.
“And you like it when I open you up first anyway.”
[—Kim Dokja: Die, Yoo Joonghyuk.]
Without changing facial expressions, Yoo Joonghyuk absently kisses Kim Dokja’s ankle. God, this guy is enjoying wearing Kim Dokja’s legs as a collar a bit too much for his liking. It’s weird to see them so far away from himself—it feels like they’re no more a part of his body than the sternum belt Yoo Joonghyuk had unthinkingly tossed to the side so he can flaunt his pecs.
“You keep staring at that belt. Do you want to wear it?”
“Why would I need to wear it?” Kim Dokja rolls his eyes. “I don’t even know why you do.”
Yoo Joonghyuk finally fishes out the lube from his coat, which he quickly drops to the side of the bedroll. He rearranges Kim Dokja’s limbs like he’s some kind of mannequin, so that he can hold both of his legs over one shoulder. With his free hand, he leans over and grabs the chest belt, making Kim Dokja’s heart stutter.
“Want it?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, an evil light behind his eyes.
“You look like you’re about to beat me with it.” Kim Dokja still takes it, holding the same leather in his hands that he’s held so many times. There’s even nail marks from times he’d grabbed onto it frantically. It’s still warm from Yoo Joonghyuk’s body.
It almost seems ridiculously long up close; there’s no way it will fit on him.
Yoo Joonghyuk helps him strap it around himself, looking curiously more and more flustered with each moment. His fingers even shake as he brute-forces a new hole in the leather just so he can set the buckle.
Kim Dokja looks up at him with blank, watchful eyes. Then, just as Yoo Joonghyuk is making sure it’s laid properly, he says, “The other ones too.”
“Who is it that didn’t want to waste too much time?”
“You’re enjoying it,” Kim Dokja can’t help but snicker. “You like me wearing your belts.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glares at him, and defiantly takes a chomp of his calf. It has no effect on Kim Dokja because of how light it is, not even deep enough to leave teeth marks. Instead, it makes him want to laugh more.
“You can put them on me,” he says, doing his best not to smile too wide. “I don’t mind.”
“You’re just trying to use me as an excuse for your own kinks.”
Alright, but so what?
Kim Dokja tries to slip one finger under his thigh strap, but it’s so tight it won’t let him through. “They’re so long. Though, I think this one could fit perfectly around my neck.”
“Want to try?” Yoo Joonghyuk snaps, but Kim Dokja actually does. He feels feverish, lightheaded. Excited. Just the idea of a belt that had been wrapped around Yoo Joonghyuk’s strong thigh around his throat—he can’t help but feel that it’s like wearing somebody’s garter as a choker. That kind of lewd thrill.
“No, but you can put it on my leg.”
“I don’t want to. It'll take too long.”
“Joonghyuk, come on,” he breathes, in the same desperate, choked voice that he’d earlier asked, Just fuck me already. “Put it on me.”
Yoo Joonghyuk finally lets his aching thighs drop down to lunge for Kim Dokja’s mouth. He dives straight in like a starving man, running his tongue over Kim Dokja’s teeth and swallowing every word before it forms. Overwhelmed, he clings to Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair and probably pulls half of it out, trying to give back as good as he gets.
It’s not fair that Yoo Joonghyuk is so good at kissing. Kim Dokja can barely keep up, but he does his best to try and reciprocate. He’s not a talented learner, but at least he’s able to do more than just lay there limply.
Yoo Joonghyuk had told him that much: It doesn’t matter that you don’t know what to do. At least you kiss like you want it. Some people expect the other person to take over for them immediately. You meet me in the middle.
Is that why you do this with me? Kim Dokja had asked, trying to seem casual about it. Because it's not as… boring?
Sex with you is… He looked far away for a moment, leaving Kim Dokja on edge. Then, shaking his head, Yoo Joonghyuk had instead said, That’s part of it, and then never finished his first sentence. It could have been, Sex with you is amazing, or the best I’ve ever had, or maybe even, all I can think about. Any of those would be acceptable.
They don’t make it to properly stretching him out. Instead, Kim Dokja breaks the zipper of Yoo Joonghyuk’s pants when trying to pull out his dick; Yoo Joonghyuk throws Kim Dokja’s underwear onto a part of the tent floor that’s slightly muddy; they strap a belt on Kim Dokja’s bare thigh, and Yoo Joonghyuk mouths at it like he’s trying to eat it off his body.
By the time he’s found the lube and is testing the give of Kim Dokja’s ass, Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips are red and slick with saliva. Kim Dokja’s body welcomes the intrusion well, and he bites his tongue at how good it feels to finally have something inside. It’s still not enough, though. It won’t be enough until Yoo Joonghyuk is seated so far within him that he gets stuck inside.
“It’s already tight again,” he concludes, voice three octaves too low to not be pleased about it. "How is it feeling?"
“It's fine. It's barely a stretch."
"Maybe just a little more," Yoo Joonghyuk breathes out roughly. In the darkness, Kim Dokja can barely see the way he’s starting to turn red, and he can’t help but get worked up again.
"Don't even… ha, don’t even try it," he warns, impatient. He rolls his hips down on the two fingers sliding into him, unable to keep himself away from seeking the pleasure of bearing down on something. One thrust even finds that one place that has him burning up, dizzy with the sudden spark. His dick throbs in pain, so hard it almost burns before he gives it a desperate, conciliatory stroke.
Kim Dokja just about manages to keep himself under control enough to not just start getting off like that, because he needs more. He won’t let this end without getting more. There’s something bigger—much bigger—and better coming. He can’t let himself finish before he gets it, whether by jerking off or from those talented fingers.
He says again, so needy he could vomit, “Joonghyuk-ah, hurry up and get inside.”
“It’s still too tight,” the lying bastard tries again, but there’s no denying how easily his hand is rocking inside. He clicks his tongue when Kim Dokja glares at him, and reluctantly pulls his fingers out.
It leaves him feeling somehow even more emptier than before, as though the reminder of being fucked had only awakened the greedy lust within him. Kim Dokja squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees new constellations behind his lids. Bites his fist so that he doesn’t start begging for it.
There’s a wet noise that is no doubt Yoo Joonghyuk slicking up his cock generously. Kim Dokja wants to look, but he knows that it’ll make him sick with desperation if he sees it so close to where it needs to be, so he can only imagine the scene behind closed eyes.
Now that he's completely awake, the fantasies are even more vivid and dirty. He sees Yoo Joonghyuk’s head tilted back as he strokes himself lazily, in pace with the slow rhythm he can hear, his neck and chest somehow already chewed up. He’s holding something in the other hand, something suspiciously like a black rope, the length of which leads back to Kim Dokja’s vision. It’s the end of the belt.
Kim Dokja’s mind refocuses on Yoo Joonghyuk, who is now heaving for air and jerking off almost violently, grip so tight it could cut all circulation off. He’s so handsome, a little blurry in the fantasy, but still so handsome. His voice is spilling out in cracked syllables, gasps of Kim Dokja’s name, the high edge it reaches when he’s about to come.
He’s holding the leather strap—wait, no, now Kim Dokja is—and the other end is wrapped around the wrist of the hand Yoo Joonghyuk’s hips are bucking into, fucking into.
Kim Dokja’s eyes fly open with a gasp when the belt around his thigh is pulled, and he’s yanked down over Yoo Joonghyuk’s knees. Above him, the protagonist’s gaze is focused solely on where he’s suddenly pressing the tip of his cock against Kim Dokja, who almost moans at just that much. He claws at his arms, tearing angry red streaks down Yoo Joonghyuk’s biceps as he hauls him down. Their noses press together.
This close, all Kim Dokja can do is stare deep into Yoo Joonghyuk’s fathomlessly endless, blown pupils, swallowing every breath shared between them. One of those warm hands is rubbing against his stomach as if preempting the ache soon to come, and both of his own are holding on tightly to Yoo Joonghyuk, wrapped around his back and anchoring him down.
It's different than normal. They don't get this... close when they have sex. Yet right now, it feels as though he's being smothered, surrounded on all sides. He can't tell if it's a good feeling, only that he has to bear with it either way.
Slowly, the head of Yoo Joonghyuk’s thick cock forces its way inside, and... fuck, yeah, maybe he was right about it being too tight, but it feels so good at the same time—Kim Dokja finds himself whispering, “Joonghyuk, Joonghyuk, it—” and being reassured in an equally strained voice that, “It’s in,” and then it finally, finally is actually in, because suddenly the head sinks inside fully, and Kim Dokja forces himself to give way to the rest that’s soon to come, because Yoo Joonghyuk never does any of that ‘just the tip’ bullshit and neither does he.
He focuses on breathing, but it’s hard when there’s so much else to focus on too. Yoo Joonghyuk is still staring into his eyes, but neither of them are seeing anything so much as feeling every inch as it rocks in.
Yoo Joonghyuk pulls back a short distance, and then feeds himself back in, sinking further in this time.
Kim Dokja tastes blood in his mouth. He doesn’t know why it’s feeling like this. It feels so much different than any other time they’ve had sex. He’s been fucked by this man so many times, it’s never felt like this before.
There’s no space for any of the usual snark and bickering. If Yoo Joonghyuk stops, Kim Dokja will die. If Yoo Joonghyuk keeps going, Kim Dokja will die, but at least he’ll be satisfied. He’ll use Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint Stage 3 and watch Yoo Joonghyuk bottom out since his body will be all loose and pliable. Use First Person Perspective and see how Yoo Joonghyuk feels as he makes the first real thrust, find out what exactly it is that makes him so enamored with somebody like Kim Dokja, who was so pathetic he couldn’t even survive four inches of the Supreme King’s dick. Imagine all eight. Or is it seven? Maybe it’s nine. Kim Dokja wouldn’t know, he died before he got halfway. Talk about a quitter.
He wishes Yoo Joonghyuk was wearing that stupid chest belt instead of him, so that he could have held onto that instead. The sweat on Yoo Joonghyuk’s skin makes his hands slide off too much.
“You've got it,” Yoo Joonghyuk murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Breathe."
A bead of sweat trickles down Kim Dokja’s scalp and disappears somewhere in his hair. He sucks in a deep breath. He’s sure he'll come if Yoo Joonghyuk kisses him again. Yoo Joonghyuk kisses him again. No, wait, listen, this time he really will orgasm if Yoo Joonghyuk gets any deeper into him. He gets deeper. Fuck. Fuck, it… shit. God, it’s never-ending. In a good way. It’s so far inside it hurts.
For some reason, Kim Dokja feels like using his broken, hoarse voice to say, I love you, I love you, I love you, but now is not the time for such behavior, so he settles for, “Joonghyuk-ah, is it all inside yet?”
He should know if it is or not—it’s his own ass. He’s taken this dick so many times and walked it off without any issue. But right now, like this, it feels brand new. Kim Dokja can’t stop bearing down on Yoo Joonghyuk like a virgin getting fucked for the first time.
It feels so much bigger today, or has he just shrunk down? Fuck, he should have just let Yoo Joonghyuk open him up properly. Still, he's put too much work into this stupid incarnation body, it better be able to handle this much.
After what feels like forever, Yoo Joonghyuk’s pelvis meets Kim Dokja’s ass. “It’s in,” he says breathlessly, like it’s some kind of wondrous phenomenon and not something that happens every other day.
He’s shaking, trembling fingers hooking into Kim Dokja’s chest belt and holding onto it. Kim Dokja has never seen the fearless protagonist like this before. What’s happening to them? Kim Dokja’s almost terrified by how much it all is, how—oh, right. He must have died already. He died fighting those fucking mirror-ghouls for the [Theia’s Glass] shards, and now he’s using his skill to peer into one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s daydreams. Sooner or later, they’ll all find his body, and he’ll resurrect in a few days with an erection. Ha... ah, fuck...
Where the hell is that damn Fourth Wall skill when he needs it? He hopes Yoo Joonghyuk is at least sane, because one of them needs to be.
“Are you going to move any time soon,” he manages to get out of his tight throat, before belatedly adding a hm? to make it a question.
Yoo Joonghyuk says nothing. After a moment in which Kim Dokja digs his fingers into the carved valleys of his collarbones, he rises to sit up.
Kim Dokja feels bereft, arms falling to the strap around his own chest just for something to hold. But the sense of loss doesn’t stay for too long.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s ears must have been cold this whole time; they’re flushed red. It’s strange, because Kim Dokja’s never been anywhere more swelteringly hot than this tent. Still, Yoo Joonghyuk effortlessly lifts his legs back onto his shoulders, reclaiming his ear warmers without once tearing his eyes away from where they’re connected. He does it so casually it almost seems like he just needed to do something with his hands.
In this position, Kim Dokja can actually see some of it too. He looks at where Yoo Joonghyuk’s dick disappears between his legs, but he feels the movement before he registers the sight properly.
The sensation of pulling out is somehow just as stimulating as when he slides back inside, and Kim Dokja lets himself groan through the slow thrust.
Yoo Joonghyuk says something else—he doesn’t hear it. Digs his fingers into the leather belt. Lays there and lets Yoo Joonghyuk start a rhythm, in and out, in and out. It’s enough to stoke the fire until it reaches a height that burns straight through him, leaving him sick, he must be sick to feel like this, so tight in the chest and aching throughout his body, skin full of static.
“You can do… better than—than that,” he tries to tease, attempting to sound a little more normal. Distantly, Kim Dokja thinks he might have come a little without realizing it, because his dick is weeping so much there’s no way he hasn’t.
"You look..." Yoo Joonghyuk stares down at him for a second. Like a mess. So desperate. Sweaty. "...good like this. It suits you."
"What does," Kim Dokja says, not in the mood for flattery.
"Taking it."
He laughs, unamused. "I could give it just as good."
One of Yoo Joonghyuk's eyebrows raise, along with Kim Dokja's hackles. Why does it feel like he's being mocked?
"You like it like this too much," the protagonist says, voice smooth and authoritative. He always talks like that—like his words are always the real truth of the universe. "You like the way I fuck you."
He does. Dear god, he loves it.
"Keep wasting my time, and I just might have to find somebody else anyway. It's a shame, though—I don't think I'd be able to find someone as handsome."
Or as entertaining. Something about those words makes Yoo Joonghyuk falter, scowl dark for an instant before regaining himself.
It makes Kim Dokja feel drunk, seeing him lose the rest of his composure. He must be furious—Yoo Joonghyuk hates whenever he jokes like that.
Obviously, he would never sleep with another person. It wouldn't be fair on them, he'd just constantly compare them to the god-like figure and skill of the protagonist... and, to be honest, it makes him feel uncomfortable.
Besides, other people wouldn't be able to keep up with him. It sounds cocky, but it's true. He's built up his stamina well, and Yoo Joonghyuk is like a walking siren call. If it was up to Kim Dokja, they'd be fucking so often they'd shrivel up and die of dehydration. Only Yoo Joonghyuk can match his need, fight him for control, fuck him like he needs. It's a small miracle that they manage to be so compatible in this way. Nobody else could ever measure up.
Still, Yoo Joonghyuk takes the bait. He forces the first few joints of his fingers through the strap around Kim Dokja’s thigh—so tight it’s basically a tourniquet—holds it in his fist like the reins to a wild horse, and then grips the bedroll with the other. With all they’ve done so far, they’d already slid it even further to the tent’s entrance. Under Yoo Joonghyuk’s grasp, it wrinkles even more.
No doubt, it’s already wet from… whatever. The lube Yoo Joonghyuk had dumped all over their lower bodies. The sweat that sticks to Kim Dokja’s thrice damned shirt; the hair on his arms is basically plastered down smooth.
His legs burn from being held so high. He really should start working out.
He’s going to die and haunt Yoo Joonghyuk forever. He’ll murder him if he doesn’t fuck him right after all of this. Didn’t let him rest in peace after a hard day of work, so he better give Kim Dokja a good reason to stay awake, lest he just end up snoring through it. He’ll do it. He’ll knock himself unconscious if he has to, just to teach this guy a lesson. Beat him black and blue.
Yoo Joonghyuk uses his various handholds for leverage, and then finally, finally, properly fucks in once, twice, three times.
His focused expression is one of fury, like he’s incensed, like he’s mad, like he’s going to kill someone for this. Kim Dokja meets that gaze head on with his own knotted eyebrows and open, wanting mouth.
Each thrust is hard enough to make his whole body jolt, and he hears the rasp of the bedroll crawling across the ground with each heedless buck of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hips. The belt is digging into the skin of his back, and it’s tied so firmly it’s probably going to leave blisters after this.
"Breathe," Yoo Joonghyuk has to remind him once again. He even rubs Kim Dokja's chest once, like he's manually trying to coax the air out. This sweetness means nothing when he immediately starts to tighten the rhythm of his hips, until he's plunging in deep and quick like a stab.
Kim Dokja's body must rebel against this, because Yoo Joonghyuk then asks, "Does it feel good?"
Kim Dokja doesn’t know if he’s moaning or sobbing at this point. He grips the sternum belt desperately, once again wishing this leather piece of shit was still on Yoo Joonghyuk so he could hold onto it as he’s fucked out of his last senses, to tear it off and yank on it, or somehow use it to bring him closer.
Instead of replying, he does the next best thing and squeezes the sides of Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck using his legs, trying not to wince at how badly they’re aching from the position.
He comes down obediently at the summons, and thankfully drops Kim Dokja’s legs so that they hang limp around his hips, which never once let up. The kiss that he wants is broken into a thousand pecks and licks.
"You're too big," he moans, because even saying it is a pleasure of its own. "It's ridiculous." He thinks he's whining, but his awareness of his own body is starting to fade. Even though it's embarrassing, Yoo Joonghyuk loves when he gets like this.
"It feels good?" Yoo Joonghyuk murmurs in a low voice. Cocky.
Before Kim Dokja can answer, he moves back in and takes his lower lip between his own. It must excite him, because his hips break the rhythm to grind in slow and dirty, settling deep inside before dragging out and slamming back in again. This time, it hits something that makes Kim Dokja's head fall back with a strangled noise. He loves it. He loves the way Yoo Joonghyuk fucks him. He's one tiny breeze away from coming all over them both. Yoo Joonghyuk's dick feels like it's in his throat with how far it reaches, he can almost taste it.
He’s never going to recover. It's so good; he doesn’t know whether to rock away from the pleasure or shake his hips to get closer for it. It's overwhelming in a way that’s so good it fucking hurts. Kim Dokja doesn’t know how to deal with all the sensation, calling Yoo Joonghyuk’s name like it’ll keep him from washing away with the pleasure.
Fuck it. He gives in. “Joonghyuk, Yoo Joonghyuk,” he keeps babbling between tortured moans, “fuck, fuck, yes, it does, it does.”
Yoo Joonghyuk makes a small noise and reaches a hand up blindly, presumably to muffle some of Kim Dokja’s lewd noises in case somebody else outside hears—isn’t there supposed to be someone on watch or something?
Instead of that though, he misses and his hand catches onto Kim Dokja’s throat. Immediately he freezes, every muscle stiffening as his breathing suddenly gets cut off by Yoo Joonghyuk’s accidental squeeze. It makes his head feel empty with the sudden lack of air, so unexpected and thrilling he starts enjoying it, lightheaded as he’s fucked hard into the ground. In—out. In—out.
It’s brief and immediately over, but the rush of oxygen back to his brain feels like a whole new kind of high. Maybe... maybe next time, they can do the belt on the neck thing. Fuck it, they might as well, Yoo Joonghyuk seemed really excited to try it. Kim Dokja should just—yeah, he’ll bring it up next time, just for the sake of making sure his partner feels heard and accepted. It—yeah, it would be. Fun. Good.
Yoo Joonghyuk says something, but if the idiot wanted to be heard, he should have timed his words better—Kim Dokja’s more focused on how the head of Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock keeps slamming past his prostate, which both relieves and infuriates him.
On one hand, that kind of bruising force directly against that sensitive place would probably shock the soul out of him. On the other, damn Yoo Joonghyuk, damn him, damn him, and his stupid big cock, and hard muscles and slick tongue, and his beautiful eyes and his soothing voice, and his large, rough hand wrapped around Kim Dokja’s dick, and—and—and—!
Fuck you! his instincts want to scream for some reason, or maybe it was, I love you! Kim Dokja has no idea, he’s so far gone. Instead, he moans, long and ruined, “Yoo—Joong—hyuk!”
Kim Dokja loses time after that. He doesn’t even notice much of the orgasm itself, only the blinding, paralyzing force of it, and the fact that Yoo Joonghyuk makes that tiny, quiet whimper, and then they’re both twitching and curling into each other.
At some points when cooling down, they end up kissing, but it’s so lazy it’s basically just panting into each other’s mouths, with the occasional brush of their tongues. A light pet from one hand. A nudge.
Eventually, they settle into a silence in which they slowly regain themselves.
Then,
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja, are you awake?]
Tired as he is, Kim Dokja manages one breathless laugh. He turns his head to Yoo Joonghyuk, who lays next to him on the soiled bedroll. He's looking at Kim Dokja like he’s never seen him before.
[—Kim Dokja: I certainly am now.]
The hand still wedged into the thigh belt for some godforsaken reason twitches, like it’s just remembered it’s alive.
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Let’s go again.]
[—Kim Dokja: Go to hell.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Just one more time. I’ll do it gently.]
[—Kim Dokja: Stop looking at me like that. It’s embarrassing.]
[—Yoo Joonghyuk: Come here.]
[—Kim Dokja: Oh, alright. But only one more time.]
Ah... he should really get a larger bedroll.