Kim Dokja manhandles Yoo Jonghyuk to the edge of the bed, his face red and flushed, both hands tangled up in Yoo Jonghyuk’s collar, his fingers wrapping around familiar black cloth. His mouth is pressed against Yoo Jonghyuk’s throat, wetly scraping his teeth against the sharp jawline begging to be licked, the long stretch of neck enticing him to mark it up, the small dip in his collarbone taunting him.
He doesn’t have the guts to look Yoo Jonghyuk in the eye right now. The rising heat in his abdomen is messing with his mind, making him float in and out of lucidity, but he knows what he is doing is very, very strange. Accosting Yoo Jonghyuk out of nowhere, suddenly saying that “I really need to fuck you, right now-” – he’s frankly surprised that Yoo Jonghyuk hasn’t taken out his sword to slice him in half. He’s astonished that silent, stoic, irritatingly independent Yoo Jonghyuk is going along with it all right now, letting himself get attacked, letting himself get mauled by Kim Dokja, letting himself be pushed back on the bed and leaned over.
If he had to describe it, Kim Dokja is hovering between a delighted, incredibly aroused state, and a terrified, but still incredibly aroused state. There’s something complex in Yoo Jonghyuk’s gaze, and Kim Dokja can’t quite read him through the haze in his mind, but Yoo Jonghyuk looks softer, somehow. It might be the lighting. It might be the potion.
“Sorry,” he pants out, his mouth open and wet, biting a bruise into the curve of Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck. Kim Dokja licks it after, whatever’s left of him feeling a bit apologetic. He doesn’t want to hurt Yoo Jonghyuk, but he’s feeling the urge to fuck. Or get fucked. Frankly, he doesn’t matter, but he isn’t sure if he can wait while he slicks himself up.
There’s a high chance he’ll just impale himself onto Yoo Jonghyuk’s cock without any preparation at all, which doesn’t bode well for his future. At least, if Yoo Jonghyuk is the one slicking himself up, he can probably do it with one hand, the other hand left to hold a feral Kim Dokja at bay.
Yoo Jonghyuk opens his mouth, and Kim Dokja feels the words before he hears them, feeling the tremor passing through the chest below him, the rumble in his throat. “What happened?”
A little late to ask, huh?! “Mm- hhngh,” Kim Dokja replies intelligently. Yoo Jonghyuk’s somehow- his hand- it’s-
His brain, weak enough as it is from the potion, short circuits even further. He’s still taking it as slow as he can, not wanting to freak Yoo Jonghyuk out, sticking to areas like the mouth, jaw, neck, but while his hands were preoccupied to hold Yoo Jonghyuk in position, Yoo Jonghyuk’s hands were wandering into his pants.
Kim Dokja groans, his hips tilting forward into the warm grip around his cock. It’s a sweet pleasure, delight coursing through his veins with every twist of Yoo Jonghyuk’s hand. He’s leaking from his head so much that Yoo Jonghyuk doesn’t even need lube of any sort, just swipe a thumb over his slit and it’s enough.
The thought makes Kim Dokja whine, burying his face in Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck. It’s shameful, that’s what it is! His trembling hips, fucking desperately into Yoo Jonghyuk’s grip even though he knows he has to actually have sex to stop the potion’s effect; his hands have left Yoo Jonghyuk’s collar, interlocking behind Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck instead; his stiff, wet, weeping cock-
“Po-tion,” Kim Dokja hurriedly says, ignoring the way his voice cracks in between, biting his lip to try and muffle the sounds escaping him. It takes him a while to recollect himself. Almost all of his higher brain functions are switched off, and what’s left is insistently focusing on Yoo Jonghyuk’s languid, smooth strokes, the way he thumbs at the thick vein on the underside of his cock, rubbing at the head, digging into the slit.
A hot breath passes over the back of his head, tickling the exposed skin of his neck. Kim Dokja shudders in Yoo Jonghyuk’s hold, his body trembling. He really is going to die from this. He doesn’t know why Persephone thought it would be a good idea to introduce this potion to Uriel, who subsequently bribed a weak, spineless him with a glittering sword to take it.
He regrets with his entire body and soul.
But Yoo Jonghyuk’s large hand stroking his dick, bringing him closer and closer to an edge that Kim Dokja can only reach by fucking something- maybe he doesn’t regret it that much. It’s not like he would have gathered up the energy to do it himself. Proposition Yoo Jonghyuk with a clear and lucid mind? Preposterous.
“Mm,” Kim Dokja moans, nodding his head weakly. His hands are scrambling at the base of Yoo Jonghyuk’s head, trying to find a grip, his fingers tugging at the strands of hair. “Have to- I have to-”
Yoo Jonghyuk hums understandingly. “You have to fuck or get fucked in order for the potion to leave your system?”
A shudder finds its way through Kim Dokja’s body. It feels filthy to hear such dirty words, in this context, from Yoo Jonghyuk’s pretty lips. Kim Dokja mildly suspects he’s actually hallucinating, in some sort of weird fever dream.
He makes a noise that he hopes sounds like a question.
It makes Yoo Jonghyuk laugh. Through his half-lidded eyes, Kim Dokja can barely make out the slant of his lips, the way Yoo Jonghyuk appears to be smiling at him. “Uriel tried to bribe me to take it yesterday.”
What? Kim Dokja frowns, his entire face scrunching up even as he fucks into Yoo Jonghyuk’s hand, his hips moving in tiny aborted movements, stupidly chasing the building pleasure behind his eyes. What did Yoo Jonghyuk say? The words aren’t registering right. Uriel tried to bribe him? Then why did she come to Kim Dokja-
“S-sorry,” Kim Dokja grits out through his teeth, forcing the groan back into his throat. “Must be funny, huh?”
He suddenly feels something hot against his length. It’s long and thick and warm, and he involuntarily glances down, pushing forward to get closer to that slick warmth.
Kim Dokja stares for a good second at the sight of Yoo Jonghyuk’s dick hanging out of his pants, next to his own, and one scarred hand wrapped around the two of them, pressing the wet lengths up against each other.
“Oh my god,” he says brokenly, giving up all pretence of keeping himself together. “Please, please- let me just fuck you-”
“Okay,” Yoo Jonghyuk murmurs, something terrifying in his gaze, and reaches up to flip them over.
The first thing he does when he wakes up is kneel next to the bed. Kim Dokja has no qualms about what he did. He ingested a dubious potion disbelieving the side effects, ended up getting heavily affected by said side effects, and pretty much dragged Yoo Jonghyuk into his bed.
Was the sword really worth it? Kim Dokja already has one sword, Yoo Jonghyuk has his own sword, Jung Heewon has her own sword; does he really need one more? Yes, it looked pretty, and fit the description of a sword that Yoo Jonghyuk used in Ways of Survival in the past, but was it worth it?
He peeks up at the bed, the blanket haphazardly covering only half of the body buried in the pillows, the broad shoulders with bruises all over them and quietly reaches forward to pull the blanket up.
If he can’t see it, he can pretend that it is clean and holy. He can pretend that all this never happened.
The body on the bed shifts. Kim Dokja hurriedly looks up, making eye contact with one lazy golden eye looking him over, and barely avoids jumping out of his skin from the shock. He looks away, pulling his coat further around him.
The entire room is incriminating. Yoo Jonghyuk’s clothes are strewn all over the place, with his shirt having some newfound holes and tears in strange places. The zipper on his pants might be broken as well, and Kim Dokja is simply too afraid to check.
“I apologise,” he starts off, filling his voice with as much awkward sincerity as he can muster. He really is apologetic. He is also slightly thankful because of how fantastic a fuck it was, but he thinks he should probably apologise. Yoo Jonghyuk might not have wanted to get fucked by him, after all. He was only doing his civic duty. “I really am- I am very sorry.”
Yoo Jonghyuk hums, and stretches, the cloth falling further down, pooling in the divots of his hips, leaving nothing to the imagination, and Kim Dokja struggles to keep a straight face.
He remembers the tight warmth around his dick, Yoo Jonghyuk riding him without abandon, and hopes he isn’t visibly red.
“Hm,” Yoo Jonghyuk says finally. Kim Dokja wilts a little at that sound, dropping his head so low that his chin touches his sternum. “I’m not very sorry.”
His head flies back up. Kim Dokja blinks for a few seconds, wondering if he heard right, and takes a good long pause to swallow tightly. “You’rewhat?” He asks lightly, in the politest tone he can muster.
Yoo Jonghyuk makes some sort of dismissive noise and sits upright. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the sight of his clothes messily thrown everywhere, and Kim Dokja immediately rises to his feet, rushing to collect them.
He carefully offers Yoo Jonghyuk his clothes. Yoo Jonghyuk slowly changes back into them, taking his own sweet time while Kim Dokja hovers behind him, trying and failing to avoid looking at Yoo Jonghyuk.
“I’m not sorry.” Yoo Jonghyuk’s voice is as steady as ever, and the hand that abruptly grips Kim Dokja’s hand, pulling him into Yoo Jonghyuk’s lap – the hand is warm, and Kim Dokja is distracted by the way their fingers tangle together.
Kim Dokja looks up at the expressionless man, and the thought he had before, while he was delirious out of his head, floats back into his head. Somehow, Yoo Jonghyuk really does look softer. More malleable. Like Kim Dokja could push him back down into the bed to cuddle and Yoo Jonghyuk would actually let him.
“Well,” Kim Dokja says quietly. “I’m not that sorry either.”
The smile that lights up Yoo Jonghyuk’s face is- it’s arrogant, of all things. It’s more a smirk than anything. Kim Dokja can’t help but bristle at the sight; it’s triggering his fight or flight instinct, but some part of him wants to fumble for his phone and take a picture, because Yoo Jonghyuk so rarely smiles.
“Good,” Yoo Jonghyuk murmurs. He leans down, gripping Kim Dokja’s hand, and Kim Dokja wonders if he’s hallucinating the tender look in his eyes. Is this how all one-night stands are supposed to go? The movies and stories were very clearly wrong. Kim Dokja expected to be viciously ripped apart with Yoo Jonghyuk’s sword, and his ashes would scatter with the wind to herald the start of the next scenario.
He sure didn’t expect Yoo Jonghyuk to say that he liked it, of all things. That Yoo Jonghyuk was into it? Is that what this is? He hasn’t come his mind out in so long – it’s difficult to find privacy when moving in such big groups – and suddenly, not only is he coming over three times in one night, he’s also coming because of his favourite character?
Silver lining in every cloud, Kim Dokja thinks dazedly, and instinctively opens his mouth when Yoo Jonghyuk presses his lips against his. It’s a slow, sweet kiss that does strange things to Kim Dokja’s insides, making his face heat up all over again.
His heart flip flops inside his chest.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Jonghyuk murmurs, in that low, gravelly voice of his.
“Hm?” Kim Dokja replies, still a little dizzy from the kiss.
Another smile. He really feels like he’s being rewarded, getting to see Yoo Jonghyuk’s easy smiles so early in the morning. If he could wake up like this every morning, even if he has to face the scenarios… he thinks he might not mind that much.
“I’ll be fucking you next time.”
“Ah, okay… wait, what?!”