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"Say it."


"Fu-fuck... you– ah!"


"Say it." He stops moving, and Dokja shivers around him.


"How pathetic are you, sunfish-bastard? Do you want a sticker after this as well? A pat on the head? I–" Dokja makes a pitifully high sound as Joonghyuk grinds down in a messy undulation of his hips. He doesn't even flinch when Dokja yanks at his hair in retaliation.


Hot breath ghosts over Dokja's parted lips as Joonghyuk leans closer. He brushes his nose against Dokja's cheeks, dragging through the tear-tracks there in a manner that would be innocent if not for the way he was still rolling down into the trembling body underneath him.


"You, you, you," Joonghyuk mocks. "It's just a few words. Or is there something else? Are you embarrassed?"


"I just make it a habit not to lie to you."


[Yoo Joonghyuk has used 'Lie Detection' (Lvl. ??). He has determined your words are false.]


Dokja's eyes waver, and the punishing grip he has on Joonghyuk's hair loosens. The corner of Joonghyuk's mouth quirks up, and he tilts his head slightly into the cup of Dokja's sweating palm that on anyone else would be called a nuzzle.


"Lying bastard," he says fondly.


"You are the most infuriating pot I've ever met."


"Stubborn kettle."


"Sunfish bastard. Emotionally stunted bastard. Annoying bastard. Petty bastard– hahhwait, stop, don't–!"


And Joonghyuk does stop, pulls himself out and grinds gently against the spread of Dokja's legs, hands falling down to press against the reddening marks near the crease of his thighs for a moment before trailing up and slotting themselves in the matching stains around slim, flushed hips.


"You talk so much," he says, "so why can't you just say this one thing?"


The head of him, dripping and hot as a brand even though Dokja knows, objectively, how stupid that sounds, presses against him for a single choked moment. He melts like Pavlov's dog, and Dokja looks away from the smug shine in Joonghyuk's eyes as he watches how Dokja's body opens itself up for him, twitching each time he nudges a bit closer before pulling back.


"At least your body's honest," he says, and Dokja snarls. Stupid fucking fantasy protagonist and his stupid fucking pornstar lines–as if he hadn't come in Dokja like an overeager teenager less than half an hour ago.


"I'll say it over my dead body."


"Like that's worth anything," Joonghyuk says, and the incredulous laughter bubbling in Dokja's chest is punched out of him when Joonghyuk guides himself back in. Dokja clenches down on the head viciously, fingers digging into muscled forearms, and the grip on his hip tightens so much that Dokja imagines for a delirious second that he can hear his bones grinding together, before the thought is wiped from his head as Joonghyuk sheathes himself in one ruthless thrust.


"You are infuriating," Joonghyuk says, and any retort Dokja's prepared to throw back at him slip out of his mouth in the form of little, needy whines as Joonghyuk fucks into him. A calloused finger grazes the underside of his cock, and Dokja keens, legs tensing over Joonghyuk's hips and toes curling so hard he's worried that he's pulled them.


Precome drools all over his stomach as Joonghyuk presses a thumb under his head and rubs, lightly. He's going to come like this. With Yoo Joonghyuk fucking his ass and not even a hand but a single finger on his dick and Dokja's going to like it, going to enjoy it, going to lose himself in the rising rising sweet numbness, so close to that crest–


The finger pulls away, and Joonghyuk stops moving. It's only the hand on his hip that stops him from thrashing straight off Joonghyuk's cock.


His voice is trembling and wet as Dokja glares up at Joonghyuk with bleary eyes. "If you can't do it, I'll do it myself," he spits, hand reaching down to wrap around his dick. Just one, maybe two tugs, and he can finally come, can finally fuck off from this weird... obsession with edging Dokja like it's his path to salvation that Joonghyuk's holding, he's so close, he wants to come–


A large hand tightens around his wrist. Dokja immediately uses his other hand, and Joonghyuk snatches the other one out of the air, pressing them back down next to his head.


"You promised you'd let me do everything this time," Joonghyuk says, voice low. Angry, almost, if not for the way his face was distractingly close to Dokja's, sweaty hair brushing over Dokja's forehead in ticklish little strokes. Those eyes were amused, and hungry, like Dokja losing the remnants of his dignity on his cheat protagonist dick was simultaneously the best meal he's ever cooked and the most riveting of literary novels.


It takes Dokja half a minute to stop staring at the rosy flush over Joonghyuk's too-close cheeks before he answers. "Yeah, but that was when I knew you knew what you were doing," he retorts.


Joonghyuk doesn't cock his head, but the way his eyes squint is about the same. "I don't know what I'm doing?" he asks. It's not a question, but a challenge.


Dokja's not sure he'll win. Joonghyuk starts moving again, slowly, like they have all the time in the world, and he's not sure he wants to.


"A senior citizen could move faster than this," Dokja says, as an answer. Joonghyuk doesn't react, still moving at a pace more suited for morning strolls along the beach, fingers pressing down on Dokja's wrists.


"If you're that embarrassed, you don't have to say it out loud. Kim Dokja," Joonghyuk breathes into his ear, and Dokja resents the way he tenses, and doubly resents the amused huff he feels against his neck, squirming away at the ticklish sensation.


"There's nothing to say," Dokja says. and he's right, he thinks. Joonghyuk's still moving at the same maddening pace, though he brushes against that with every slow pull out like the world's greatest tease.


"And yet you never stop talking." Joonghyuk leans down and kisses him, properly, this time. Dokja can't help the content sigh into his mouth as he tugs on Dokja's bottom lip. The bastard's been avoiding it the entire day, pressing his stupid sharp teeth everywhere except where Dokja's really wanted them.


His eyes flutter shut as he's lulled into it, the slow, slow back and forth of Joonghyuk's hips, the sweet, wet press of his of mouth against his own. Joonghyuk pulls back after Dokja's lips are pleasantly buzzing, and he makes a hurt noise without opening his eyes.


––You're so needy when I fuck you slow like this.


His eyes fly open. "Yoo Joonghyuk–"


Joonghyuk's lips crash against his before he can continue, and Dokja struggles against the tight lock against his wrists, making muffled sounds that are swallowed up in Joonghyuk's greedy, dirty, waiting mouth.


––Fuck, you feel so good. Joonghyuk disconnects their lips with a slick pop and Dokja wheezes, trying to catch his breath as his legs instinctively tighten around Joonghyuk's waist. "Kim Dokja," he says, smoky deep, and the bastard actually has the audacity to laugh at Dokja's hitch in breath.


––You like me this much?


––Don't get fucking cocky.


––So stubborn.


He sounds fond in the direct channels of Midday Tryst. Right in his ear, in his head, with that stupid voice–


Dokja doesn't grace him with an answer, turning his face away when Joonghyuk leans down for another kiss. Joonghyuk stares at him, and shrugs, peppering kisses over his cheeks, his eyelids, before he moves lower, worrying the side of Dokja's neck between his teeth.


––What are you, a dog? Joonghyuk bites down into the junction between his throat and shoulder in retaliation, and Dokja yelps, the sound slipping into a groan as Joonghyuk starts to speed up. He migrates back up in a slow, winding trail of muted red, nudges at Dokja's face with the tip of his nose not unlike a dog until Dokja gets the hint and turns back around, lets Joonghyuk slot his mouth atop of his again.


––Say it.


––Say what.


Joonghyuk squints at him. Dokja has a moment of intense, raw regret.


––You want an example, is that it? Kim Dokja? You want me to give you some guidance first?


––No, i'm fine, thank you for the–


––You're doing so good, taking me so well like this. How long has it been? Joonghyuk's hips stutter like the mere memory of all the ways they've debauched each other in the past hour is enough to trip him up, before his thrusts get faster and faster and all Dokja can do is lie there and take it and hope he can survive.


––I can still feel myself inside you, did you know that? it's so wet. He pulls out with an incriminating squelch. Dokja would say something if he wasn't sure that if he opened his mouth something truly embarrassing would come out. A thumb presses against his puffy hole, hooks down on it and spreads it slowly, and Dokja's face burns as he feels Joonghyuk leak out of him. His free hand twists into the sheets by his head. He doesn't even want to come anymore, he just wants Joonghyuk to shut his big, filthy mouth.


But if he admits it, then he's lost, and they both know that. Joonghyuk's lips quirk up again, and he grips himself as he pushes back in, before untangling Dokja's fingers from the mussed up sheets and linking their hands together.


––And you're complaining, but look at you. Fucking yourself on my cock. Why don't you just say it? You know I'll let you come if you do.


––I don't… Dokja's mind goes misty as Joonghyuk entwines their tongues, fucks his mouth the same rough way he's fucking Dokja. Searching, merciless. I don't wanna.


He can feel Joonghyuk's amusement. I didn't think you were shy.


––Who the fuck is shy?


Joonghyuk switches tactics. Come on, Kim Dokja. Dokja. Dokja-yah. "My Dokja."


––No no no fuck you Yoo Joonghyuk, fuck you fuck you


––I want it. Dokja shudders, breaking apart with a gasp. The reprieve lasts for a mere breath before Joonghyuk chases back his mouth. Give it to me, I know you can. Didn't you say you would give me everything I wanted, Dokja-yah? I want this.


––Shut up.


Joonghyuk groans breathlessly. Come on. Please.


Fuck him. Fuck Yoo Joonghyuk for using his weakness against him. You'd think a grown man would be ashamed begging for scraps.


Dokja says as such through Midday Tryst, and Joonghyuk's fingers tighten between his.


––It's the only way to deal with stubborn bastards like you. I'll do it again if I have to. Please, Dokja. Say it. For me.


Dokja's burning, even though nothing's been said out loud. Before he can regret it, he lets himself think, as quietly as a direct link between two minds allows for.


––...I... It. It feels good.


Joonghyuk moans, low and loud, and Dokja's ears heat.


––You're so easy, sunfish-bastard. In response, the next thrust is just on the side of too rough, Joonghyuk pressing his cock right against his prostate, and Dokja can't help the raw shudder that courses through him.




––Don't be greedy.




––...It feels good. You're doing… well, Joonghyuk-ah. "Fuck! W-why are you so fucking rough–" His words break over a hitched moan.




"It feels– no!" It feels good. Good, it's good, Joonghyuk-ah, Joonghyuk-ah, Joonghyuk– "Ah, ah, ah, Joonghyuk-ah, it feels goo– stop trying to trick me into saying it! I won't!"


Joonghyuk doesn't seem to hear him. Kim Dokja.


––Fuck you.




Joonghyuk cuts off Midday Tryst with a rumbling groan, and Dokja finally notices the stuttering of his thrusts, an uneven, maddening staccato. He's close, Dokja realises. He – Kim Dokja – and his words, they're what made him like this, eyes wild and snapping, arms trembling against Dokja's grip as he holds himself up.


...Fine. If he's going to be this desperate about it.


"...You're doing well. Do you see how–" Dokja stumbles over the words. Maybe he should've accepted that offer for an example. "How good you've made me feel? Joonghyuk-ah, you're good, so good–" and Joonghyuk groans, pressing up close to the back of Dokja's thighs as he spills inside of him.


Dokja blinks, then laughs. "You actually came from that?" he says, as Joonghyuk pulls out with a wince before flopping onto Dokja's sweaty chest. "Crazy fucker."


"Pot, kettle," Joonghyuk murmurs into his skin. They catch their breaths for an quiet, eternal moment, before Joonghyuk pushes himself up, hands still tangled with Dokja's own.


"Where are you going?" Dokja says, eyes heavy. He could fall asleep like that, with Joonghyuk's weight and his scent and hair in his nose, hands linked with each other. If he wasn't crushed to death first, but even then that would hardly be the worst way he's gone.


His eyes fly open at the sensation of dry fingers pressing against his rim.


"Hey, what– hmm."


Two fingers split him open, nothing compared to the girth of Joonghyuk's cock only a few moments ago, but plenty enough to set the pit of his stomach on a low, simmering fire. They press around, idly stretching him and itching particularly sensitive places in uneven intervals, so fleeting that it had to be accidental, and Dokja kicks at Joonghyuk's back with the leg winded over his shoulders. When had that happened?


The fingers pull out, and Dokja feels horrifyingly empty for only a moment before another one joins them and thrusts back in. Joonghyuk twists his wrists in a way that must be ungodly, and then does it again. And again. And again.


"Joonghyuk-ah, stop playing around," Dokja gasps, squirming. Whether it was away or towards the fingers, he hardly cared to clear up.


"You know what I want."


"Again?" Dokja snaps. "You've came what? Four times? How many times have I come, huh, greedy bastard? What do you even want it for? To record? To cherish? Keep it in a journal?"


Joonghyuk stares up at him flatly, and his free hand grips the leg handing over his shoulder, before he leans forward, bringing it with him. Dokja hates the fact that he has the ability to bend with it now, knee almost pressed down next to his head.


The fingers inside of him pull out, slow slow slow as Dokja's body tries to drag them back in, until the pads of them rest lightly against his hole, pressing down. A promise, if only Dokja paid the price.


"Kim Dokja," Joonghyuk says, in that Constellation-damned voice. his fingers push back in the slightest bit, and spread his rim. Dokja throws his head against the pillows and bites back a whine.


"Fine! Fine, just get on with it. I'll do it later, okay?" Joonghyuk stares at him, suspicious, and Dokja glares back. That's as good as he's going to get.


It must be enough, or maybe Joonghyuk really is just a desperate sad fuck, because those stupidly long fingers finally start moving again, in and out and faster and faster until the vague plan to trick Joonghyuk into finally letting him come without saying a single word falls out of his mouth in parts of a confession, disjointed ah ah ahs that Joonghyuk kisses the borders of, like he's scared to block off the possibility of what he really wants.


Joonghyuk's ungodly long fingers finally stop inside of him, twisting around until Dokja twitches. There's a pause, as they both realise what exactly Dokja just revealed, and everything else collapses as those calloused fingers press down and rub.


Dokja might have screamed.


––Joonghyuk-ah, he cries, "Joonghyuk-ah––" I feel, it's– "too much, too much, I can't–" good, good good good "good, you're so good, so– ah! It feels good," Dokja chants, Midday Tryst and spoken words and thoughts blending together into mush as he comes.


He would like to maintain that he didn't pass out, no matter what that smug upturn of Joonghyuk's lips said when Dokja woke up to roughened hands through his hair. He shuts the one squinting eye he used to peek up at Joonghyuk, and contemplates going back to sleep.


Joonghyuk knows he's awake, but he doesn't say anything, lets Dokja burrow in deeper against the bend of his thigh. The hand slows, before starting to scratch, like Dokja's some overgrown ugly-but-charming cat.


He makes a pleased noise anyway. "'s good," he says, voice sleep-thick, and jolts when Joonghyuk tenses so quickly that Dokja's face is almost smashed between his thighs and his abs. Dokja pulls back, rubbing at his squished cheek. "What...?" he begins to say, and stops.


Joonghyuk's hand covers the lower half of his face, pressing hard as if the pinched white would blot out the red of his cheeks. Dokja stares, unabashed, before both their gazes drop down lower. And lower.


Joonghyuk glares at himself with eyes so poisonous anything else would have wilted, and stays silent.


"...You sure are healthy, Joonghyuk-ssi," Dokja says slowly, before a smile spreads over his face. "I thought it was just a, you know, 'during sex' thing." Joonghyuk turns that glare to him. Unfortunately, Dokja's the only other existence in the world who has immunity.


He plays with the fresh synthetic sheets for a few moments, almost pensive, before plucking at the clean underclothing covering his chest. "Yoo. Joong. Hyuk," Dokja tests. Joonghyuk glares harder. "Good job changing the sheets," he drawls, making sure to emphasise what needed to be emphasised for the optimal predicted reaction. "And changing my clothes. Feels good."


A hand slaps over his mouth. Dokja's eyes curve into little crescents as he obediently stops talking.


"Your hair is oily."


He tugs Joonghyuk's hand away before entangling their fingers, and when Joonghyuk is distracted, says, "Well, that might be because someone did such a good job making me sweat."


Joonghyuk surges forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes, before he catches himself. He runs a hand over his face. Such an obvious tell, Dokja thinks, fond despite himself. Just for him.


"What." Joonghyuk grinds out. "Now you're not embarrassed?"


Of course he was fucking embarrassed. Like he wasn't blocking out his memories of the last 24 hours with extreme prejudice. But he hadn't realised that this could be a weakness for both of them, and not just him. "I would be," Dokja says smoothly, "But someone made me feel so good that I mfph––hmn!"


Even his ears turn red, Dokja notes with glee.


"If you're so eager for a repeat," Joonghyuk rumbles, knees nudging Dokja's own apart.


"Ahaha, are you going to make me feel good again, Joonghyuk-ah? wait, wait, I was joking, wait–!"