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Every time Yoo Joonghyuk wakes, it’s an ordeal.
Pre-scenario life, or what he remembers as a pro-gamer, is that he’s never really needed a lot of sleep. Beyond his aptitude for gaming like his insanely high clicks per second record or quick strategy deduction, he’d also poured in the hours to practice like any other developed skill. Adding to that, taking charge of Yoo Mia’s arrangements like making sure she got up and was fed and went to school on time and back—Yoo Joonghyuk had survived on couple of hours of blink and you miss it rest time. During the scenarios, he also went through them at a pace most thought of as crazy. It’s at a rate not possible for the ordinary eight hours of sleep per night sort of cycle.
In a way, it’s always been advantageous for him. He gets things done at twice or even triple the speed. On the other hand, while he spent years trying to think of ways to get Kim Dokja back, or debating about the decision to group regress, or living through yet again the grueling demands of another turn with the Final Wall in sight, or living with the aftermath of Kim Dokja’s rejection of their rescue, or the nights he thought about getting Han Sooyoung to kill him to end the silence, or when he was in the tiny little spaceship traversing world lines and getting lost off the coordinates, or when he was hopping across universes with Biyoo, looking left, right and center for the one familiar face—it’d been a total living nightmare.
It’s one thing to wake and realise it’s a whole new day he has to live through again. It’s another to wake and realise the new day is meaningless without Kim Dokja, who makes him question if he’s done enough yet to call it quits.
If ever.
It can’t be called a routine just yet seeing how it’s only been a month, but the first thing Yoo Joonghyuk wakes is to reassure that there is a body beside him. Kim Dokja sleeps in fetal position like a small child, knees up and arms close to his chest, angled away from his bed partner. A thick book—Han Sooyoung’s novel as Yoo Joonghyuk recognises—is squeezed under his chin, like the other had accidentally dozed off reading it. Yoo Joonghyuk shifts, bringing his arm to pull Kim Dokja closer to him by the waist. Close enough that Yoo Joonghyuk can press his nose against the pale nape, breathing in the light warmth of human skin. Kim Dokja smells soft, a little flowery, from the soap he keeps stealing (and denying) from Han Sooyoung. Under Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips is a pink kiss mark in the curve of Kim Dokja’s neck, where Yoo Joonghyuk had put it last night.
The same Kim Dokja from the one he held in his arms last night. Not an avatar, or some kind of lousy replica. The real one.
Yoo Joonghyuk takes another inhale, squeezing the body closer to himself. He finds that the initial something is wrongwrongwrongwrong feeling in his brain eases into something quieter, where it maybe finally feels right.
“…Why are you sniffing me?” Kim Dokja jerks a little, a sign that he rouses awake, turning his head slightly sleepily. “It’s weird.”
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t deign to answer. He simply creeps his hand underneath Kim Dokja’s shirt, splaying it flat against the other’s stomach. Even though Yoo Joonghyuk tries to give Kim Dokja bigger portions during dinner, his frame is still smaller than Yoo Joonghyuk is used to in their journey through the scenarios. It reminds Yoo Joonghyuk of the time they first met, where he dangled Kim Dokja off a bridge and over the river. Then, Yoo Joonghyuk could’ve crushed his neck with ease; it seems like they’ve reverted back to that time again, when the star stream is no more. Yoo Joonghyuk slips his hand further up the bare skin that shivers under his touch, following the curves of it along the other’s ribs.
Kim Dokja already sports a rising blush up his neck and the tips of his ears, even though he refuses to turn around and give Yoo Joonghyuk the satisfaction of seeing his face. Yoo Joonghyuk presses his mouth to the base of Kim Dokja’s neck, licks right on the spot he’d kissed last night. His hand in Kim Dokja’s shirt never stops caressing the smooth skin, like he’s slowly mapping out every inch of it from memory. Before long, he reaches a protruding nipple, small and soft against his finger, and brings his thumb to it for a gentle rub. The nub hardens easily. Kim Dokja grasps him by the elbow, though the grip is fairly weak.
“Don’t…” Kim Dokja groans when Yoo Joonghyuk squeezes the nub gently.
Without Lie Detection, it’s a little tricky to judge when Kim Dokja is telling the truth, as the other lies like it’s running water he needs to guzzle. When Kim Dokja says ‘no’, it’s almost always not really a ‘no’. Especially in bed.
“You want me to stop?” Yoo Joonghyuk murmurs right by Kim Dokja’s ear, which goes even darker red.
When there is no reply, Yoo Joonghyuk continues to coax the nipple under his thumb to peak. His other hand slips down the jut of Kim Dokja’s hipbone, tracing it down to the thickening bulge in between the other’s legs. Kim Dokja makes another muffled groan, and this time, he’s given up all pretense of asking the ministrations to stop. Yoo Joonghyuk places another kiss on bare neck, squeezes the nipple again and dips his hand down under the fabric to cup the cock fitting snugly into his hold. It’s already semi-hard, and with a bit more teasing, Yoo Joonghyuk collects the slick starting to leak from the cockhead, spreading it around to ease the friction.
Sunlight starts to filter in through the edges of the curtains. Yoo Joonghyuk increases his pace; the suckle on Kim Dokja’s neck gets a little rougher, the fingers rubbing the nub on Kim Dokja’s chest gets a little faster, and the hand stroking the wet cock in Kim Dokja’s damp underwear gets a little more urgent. Kim Dokja is still relatively soundless, lips bitten together, but his hips jerking unsteadily betray his need and want.
“Did you want to stop?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks again, deliberately slowing his pace again.
“Joonghyuk-ah…” Kim Dokja squirms, impatient at the short lived crescendo. “Stop teasing already—hngh,“ he finishes on a gasp when the hand on his chest reaches to the other neglected nipple to edge it stiff.
The cock in Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand is filled thick, slipping all over due to the slick that Yoo Joonghyuk had been easing over while stroking it. It’s easy to tell when Kim Dokja is close; he starts to melt in the backward embrace, and his mouth parts ever so open to moan softly. His hands that once tried to pull Yoo Joonghyuk away by the elbow is now gripping Yoo Joonghyuk’s wrist tightly, trying to find something to hold on to. Yoo Joonghyuk inhales against Kim Dokja’s skin once more, the once pale expanse sporting a large splotch of pink.
It matches the colour of Kim Dokja’s ears. It’s so very pretty.
Before Yoo Joonghyuk can admire it some more, his phone alarm blares from behind him. He knew it’d ring soon due to the sunlight—but he didn’t think it would be that fast. With no warning he slips his hands away from Kim Dokja to reach for his phone.
“…Ngh—hnn?” Kim Dokja exhales shakily, turning his blurry eyes to see Yoo Joonghyuk pushing off the cover to sit at the edge of the bed. “Wait—…are you leaving me like this?” he asks when Yoo Joonghyuk flicks off the alarm on his phone and makes to stand up.
It’s no question that Kim Dokja is sporting a tent visible under his pants, his lips are bitten puffy and red, and his neck is adorning a bright pink hickey, like Yoo Joonghyuk had already taken him apart till he’s breathless.
“We’ll be late,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, nonchalant as he stalks out of Kim Dokja’s door.
He hears Kim Dokja swear at him, and he’s very sure that Kim Dokja is immediately unashamedly masturbating to finish the job that he didn’t do. It’s a nice picture to step under a hot shower with—Kim Dokja pulling his cock out, wet and red on the head from how much he’s already worked up, to jerk himself off with Yoo Joonghyuk’s name on his lips. He might be cursing Yoo Joonghyuk to hell, but he can’t deny that Yoo Joonghyuk had brought him to that state. Maybe he might even be squeezing his own nipple, trying to reach the heat of sensitivity that Yoo Joonghyuk has been bringing him to every time.
Yoo Joonghyuk comes to the image, his own hand desperate around his own cock under the dripping water. It’s not quite the same thing as having Kim Dokja under him, but the beauty of a new day is that he has plenty of chances to do so.
It isn’t quite so meaningless after all.
A morning in the <Kim Dokja’s Company> sharehouse, as the reporters like to call it, is hectic. Yoo Joonghyuk wakes the earliest, so he’s privy to the habits of all his house mates when they wake up. After his shower, he goes down to the kitchen to make breakfast. While there, Lee Hyunsung would come down about a few minutes later, nodding at him before the other goes outside for a morning run. Yoo Joonghyuk then rummages through the shelves and starts preparing whatever he feels like—today is scrambled eggs, because there’s a carton that needs to be finished before it goes bad. About this time, he’d hear Jung Heewon shuffle in behind him, yawning as she fills the coffee maker and turns it on.
Upstairs and downstairs, there are sounds of people entering the bathrooms, occasionally an argument if there is a fight over who gets in first—but for most part, they’ve eased it down to a routine.
Yoo Joonghyuk usually cooks about eight portions. One is for himself, which he eats quick enough that he doesn’t need to sit down for it. Four other portions are for the kids—Yoo Mia, Biyoo, Lee Gilyoung, Shin Yoosung. The other three portions are completely on first come first served basis. Lee Hyunsung tends to grab one when he comes back from his run. Yoo Sangah is the other early riser, dressed prim and proper already when she comes to the kitchen. Jung Heewon sometimes finishes the last plate if she comes down early enough from her shower, or else Lee Jihye will take it.
It’s no question that Han Sooyoung never makes it. She rises the latest, even if she has a morning lecture to give. Kim Dokja as well—which Yoo Joonghyuk cannot understand, because he literally wakes Kim Dokja up. Yoo Joonghyuk puts the washed pan aside and goes back upstairs while most of them are eating by the dining table, trading sleepy hellos. The bathroom on the third floor is occupied, with the sound of running water coming from it. Yoo Joonghyuk frowns at it for a second before turning to open Kim Dokja’s room door, just in case. There was one time he’d assumed wrongly and Han Sooyoung was voted (10-1) the right to slap him across the face.
Again, the bastard has fallen back asleep in his bed.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk growls, yanking the covers off the body. “Get up.”
“Nghhhh…” Kim Dokja curls, reluctant to open his eyes. “I’m tired. Let me sleep.”
“Get up,” Yoo Joonghyuk is unmoved. “What time did you sleep? I told you not to read at night. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
Kim Dokja sighs, rubbing his eyes as he pulls himself up. Yoo Joonghyuk spies the slip of skin from his rumpled shirt, and his boxers still have a damp spot. Utterly shameless.
“You don’t need me to send the kids to school,” Kim Dokja says. “You don’t even let me drive.”
“Do you want me to mandate it as your duty in the house meeting?” Yoo Joonghyuk replies evenly.
Perhaps Kim Dokja knows that the vote will not be in his favour, because he exhales tiredly against his palm. “…Bathroom’s occupied.”
“Use the one downstairs,” Yoo Joonghyuk rolls his eyes. “If you’re not down in fifteen minutes, I’m dragging you into the car whether you’re ready or not.”
Blessedly, Kim Dokja does make it to front door in fifteen minutes, where the kids are already putting on their shoes. Kim Dokja hides a yawn as he greets them, smiling like he hadn’t just tried to weasel his way out of car duty. There’s a chorus of ‘see you tonight’ and ‘have fun at school’ from the adults at the dining table, still digesting their breakfast. Yoo Joonghyuk gets into the seven-seater SUV that they own, tuning his ears out from the inevitable argument that happens every morning on who gets to sit where. Today, Yoo Mia sits up front next to the driver’s seat while Kim Dokja is right at the back with Lee Gilyoung.
“Hyung,” Lee Gilyoung peers at Kim Dokja while the car navigates to the main road. “You have some sort of mark on your neck. Is it an insect bite? Where did you get that?”
Yoo Joonghyuk can feel Kim Dokja’s panicked gaze through the rear view mirror, but he ignores it and focuses on the traffic. From beside him, he knows Yoo Mia is giving him a look that’s not too dissimilar from what Yoo Joonghyuk himself sends to Lee Hyunsung and Jung Heewon when they’re being too public about their affection displays. Biyoo and Shin Yoosung automatically turn around to try and look at what Lee Gilyoung had mentioned, making Kim Dokja more nervous.
“I-I…It’s just a mosquito, that’s all,” Kim Dokja says, slapping his hand over it. “It’s nothing.”
“A mosquito? What kind?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t see it.”
“Then how do you know it was a mosquito?”
Kim Dokja winces. “It’s a little itchy, so that’s probably it.”
Lee Gilyoung folds his arms in thought. “…We should keep some spiders.”
It leads into a lecture of why Lee Gilyoung will not be allowed to rear spiders in their wall corners, but at least the heat is off Kim Dokja and his terrible decision to not wear a shirt that at least covers the base of his neck. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t even mark him that high up the throat. It’s not his fault.
“Oppa,” Yoo Mia stares at him, looking a little bit disgusted, when he drops them at their school. “No one will take him away. No one wants him but you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glances at Kim Dokja, who is counting out pocket money for the other three a couple of steps away.
“It’s not like that,” he says.
Yoo Mia gives him a look that spells her disbelief, but she shuts her eyes as though to move on from a topic that she never wanted to breach. She tugs Yoo Joonghyuk’s sleeve to make him bend down, and kisses him lightly against the cheek in farewell. He pats her head in return and lets her bother Kim Dokja for her share of the pocket money.
After seeing the kids off, Kim Dokja immediately turns to him, aiming a kick at his shin. Yoo Joonghyuk dodges with ease, getting into the car without so much of a retaliation. Kim Dokja slides into the passenger seat next to Yoo Joonghyuk and slams it close in a huff.
“It’s your fault, you know,” Kim Dokja grumbles, trying to pull his collar closer together.
“You didn’t want me to stop,” Yoo Joonghyuk points out. “I asked you.”
He knows Kim Dokja is seething because he’s telling the truth.
“…You damn bastard,” Kim Dokja lapses into curses when he knows he can’t do anything else. “Where are we going?” he asks when he doesn’t recognize the usual turn that Yoo Joonghyuk makes to go back home.
“Groceries,” Yoo Joonghyuk answers. “We’ve run out of eggs.”
Kim Dokja sighs and looks out of the window. “…It’s not a way to parade me around with a mark from you on my neck, is it?”
“You said it was a mosquito bite.”
“You—“ Kim Dokja starts, but Yoo Joonghyuk only rolls his eyes.
“If you had worn your jacket, it won’t be seen,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “Where is it?”
“I forgot to take it,” Kim Dokja mumbles.
“And whose fault is that?”
“You were rushing me.”
“I woke you up. You were the one who fell asleep again.”
“I wouldn’t have if you let me read in peace at night.”
Yoo Joonghyuk feels a tick pulsing in his eyebrow. “You begged me to let you come last night.”
“After you already started!” Kim Dokja huffs, irritated. “Of course I—…” he trails off, choosing to shut his mouth again.
“If you don’t want to have sex you can just say it.”
“I never said that,” Kim Dokja replies, ever frustrating. “I’m just saying that sometimes you can let me read without distracting me.”
“I was just sitting next to you,” Yoo Joonghyuk furrows his eyebrows.
“In the same bed!”
“And?” Yoo Joonghyuk presses, because he can’t follow Kim Dokja’s line of thought at all.
“W-well, you are very distracting,” Kim Dokja says, turning away.
By some miracle Yoo Joonghyuk manages not to crash the car in annoyance, pulling them both into the car park of a supermarket. Kim Dokja is still stewing to himself for whatever reason. Yoo Joonghyuk for any number of times he’s already Han Sooyoung’s novel, can’t fully understand that Kim Dokja is thinking. However, he can guess.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, before they exit the car. “Do you want me to parade you around with my mark on your neck?”
“W-what?” Kim Dokja splutters, face going red. “I’m not a pervert, you bastard—“
However, the faint quiver on Kim Dokja’s lips tells Yoo Joonghyuk that the other did think about it when it was mentioned earlier—quite thoroughly, in fact. Yoo Joonghyuk lets him flounder in denial for a second more before he grabs him by the jaw between a thumb and pointer finger to hold that face still. And then Yoo Joonghyuk leans in to kiss him.
It’s not so much a kiss then a bite to Kim Dokja’s bottom lip, and when the other is sufficiently distracted, Yoo Joonghyuk releases him to nuzzle his mouth on the underside of Kim Dokja’s neck. A warm lick and a hard suck, hard enough to graze his teeth and leave the skin sensitive pink again.
“Shit,” Kim Dokja wobbles out, breath already short. “You jerk,” he manages, gripping Yoo Joonghyuk by the hair on the back of his head.
Yoo Joonghyuk curls his lip, pushing Kim Dokja’s hand off his hair. “We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s go.”
Kim Dokja covers his face with his hands and takes a few deep breaths before he exits the car. Whether he’s horny or angry is hard to tell.
“Stupid sunfish bastard.”
One thing that Yoo Joonghyuk does miss about the star stream is the existence of the Dokkaebi bag. The convenience of it can’t be compared to home delivery, where it’s still a hit and miss industry in the current era. Yoo Joonghyuk absolutely does not trust random people to handle raw produce that he intends to prepare and eat, much less at a portion size of eleven people, so he has to take multiple trips to the supermarket throughout the week. It’s not too bad—its reminiscent of habits he used to have, stocking up food for him and Yoo Mia. But sometimes, when he gazes at the crowd of people inside the store, he wonders if it was better when he could just kill a monster, roast it, and be done with it.
Kim Dokja trails behind him when they enter. The other is decidedly not talking to him, but Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t need him to speak—they’re just here for a carton of eggs and some miscellaneous things. Kim Dokja knows better than to suggest things they should buy, especially when Yoo Joonghyuk has a shopping list he curates and sticks to on a budget. They have to get some peaches, some cucumbers, some laundry detergent and the eggs. While Yoo Joonghyuk is picking at the peach cart, Kim Dokja leans his cheek on Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm, pushing himself in between Yoo Joonghyuk and much more enthusiastic middle-aged woman ferociously squeezing the fruits.
“They all look the same,” Kim Dokja says, already bored. “Just pick ten and go.”
“They’re not the same,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, because Kim Dokja has no idea what he is talking about.
“I’m telling you, they came from the same shipment, which means they came from the same plantation, which means—“ Yoo Joonghyuk slaps his hand over the talking mouth, earning a yelp. Kim Dokja glares at him, pushing it off. “Fine, whatever. I’m going find the eggs then.”
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk snatches the edge of Kim Dokja’s shirt before he fully pulls away. “You stay here and don’t cause any trouble.”
“What kind of trouble can I cause in a supermarket?” Kim Dokja rolls his eyes.
Yoo Joonghyuk slides him a look. Just last week, there’d almost been a stampede of people trying to talk to Kim Dokja, or get a photo of him, or get him to sign something—it miraculously does not happen when Yoo Joonghyuk is next to him though. There is still the staring, like how Yoo Joonghyuk has already noted the twenty people around them glancing and whispering under their breath, but at least they’re not stupid enough to piss the once strongest incarnation in the world off.
“Okay, there was one time,” Kim Dokja accedes. “But it’s not my fault.”
“It will be your fault if you don’t listen to me,” Yoo Joonghyuk returns.
When Kim Dokja stays resigned, Yoo Joonghyuk returns his attention to the peaches and chooses the ten he deems acceptable. They move on to the cucumbers, where again, Yoo Joonghyuk has specific requirements. Cucumbers are important since they eat them pickled at every single dinner—there’s nothing more disappointing then a terrible starter. It seems like the stock today is not that fresh, so Yoo Joonghyuk has to weigh the option of perhaps making another starter salad versus a mediocre cucumber one.
“Kim Dokja—“ Yoo Joonghyuk starts—and then whips around completely in panic when the body that is supposed to be next to him is gone.
It’s scary how someone can be right next to him one second and gone in another, like Kim Dokja’s existence flips within a snap. Rationally, Yoo Joonghyuk knows that the idiot has wandered off after specific instructions not to do that. But yet, he can’t help how tight his throat gets, throwing glances left, right and center to find that mop of black hair.
Fuck. Everybody in Seoul has black hair.
Yoo Joonghyuk quickly abandons his shopping basket with the peaches and cucumbers and storms down the rows of produce, trying to find that blasted moron.
Though it’s a weekday, but it still has enough people especially of the older crowd, to do their grocery runs. Yoo Joonghyuk methodically counts every person in all the rows, walking faster and faster when he doesn’t spot the person he’s looking for. Kim Dokja can’t be that far away—Yoo Joonghyuk literally just took his eyes off him for one second. One. But he doesn’t see Kim Dokja anywhere, not down the carts of fruits or vegetables, nor down the refrigerated section of cold cut meats, nor amongst the fucking cardboard carton stacks of eggs.
Belatedly, Yoo Joonghyuk is reminded of the time that he reflexively grabbed Kim Dokja when the other was being teleported to the court of justice in Olympus. It seems so far away now, but during that time, Yoo Joonghyuk was sick of watching this stupid man do his stupid plans with no care of how other people around him were affected by his sudden appearances and disappearances. In hindsight, reading Han Sooyoung’s novel, Kim Dokja’s decisions made sense, albeit it was heavily sold by Kim Dokja’s internal dialogue and his conversations with the Fourth Wall. To normal people, who are not privy to the extent of Kim Dokja’s stupidity, they are constantly left wondering and guessing.
Just like how Yoo Joonghyuk was left wondering and guessing and grappling for years with the fact that Kim Dokja was not really Kim Dokja at the end of the scenarios, that the bastard fucking dared to somehow evade Lie Detection that they would leave the subway together. Perhaps it had simply been instinct, that he knew Kim fucking Dokja is a liar and will always be one, that he looked back into the subway carriage that they stepped off. Perhaps like how he is tied with Kim Dokja, Han Sooyoung had thought the same, done the same, and they’d found themselves staring at each other, while the subway doors closed, sealing the 51% of Kim Dokja left behind.
If only they hadn’t trusted the son of the bitch.
Just like how he can’t fucking take his eyes off the idiot without losing him into the crowd.
Yoo Joonghyuk hasn’t let himself think of what he would really do if Kim Dokja disappears again. It’s—it’s just—…it makes him want to scream, to hurt someone, to kill someone, maybe himself, to—to—
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk finally finds the crouched figure in a corner of the store, picking at some packaged snacks.
Inwardly, the mess of tension melts like snow under the hot sun. It doesn’t mean Yoo Joonghyuk is still not pissed.
“Oh hey, there you are,” Kim Dokja blinks, pulling out a box from the shelf. “What do you think about—“ He doesn’t get to finish his question, because Yoo Joonghyuk grabs him by the collar so roughly that he chokes. It seems that he realises Yoo Joonghyuk is furious, because he winces. “Joonghyuk-ah—“
“What did I say?” Yoo Joonghyuk demands, voice starting to go out of control.
“Joonghyuk-ah, it h-hurts…” Kim Dokja coughs, hands frantically slapping at the grip Yoo Joonghyuk has on him, which has twisted his shirt till it digs into his throat.
Yoo Joonghyuk honestly debates strangling Kim Dokja with his bare hands just to make his point even clearer, but decides to let go after fixating a glare.
“You didn’t need me to look at the cucumbers,” Kim Dokja mutters, rubbing his collar. “Why are you so upset?”
“I told you not to run off—“
“It’s fine, it’s not that crowded today,” Kim Dokja huffs. Then he squints, casting Yoo Joonghyuk an eye up and down. “…Were you that worried about me?”
“Idiot,” Yoo Joonghyuk slaps Kim Dokja’s head before whirling around to stalk off. He needs to get his shopping basket back. “Are you coming,” he states in a tone that is absolutely not a question.
Kim Dokja sighs. They finish the rest of the shopping in total silence, with Yoo Joonghyuk planting at least half his eyesight on the other the entire way. Kim Dokja fidgets, once or twice tries to start a more lighthearted conversation, but is rebuffed every time by the glare that Yoo Joonghyuk sends him. Yoo Joonghyuk knows he can really hold a grudge, and that his anger does not wane easily—and he won’t be bought out by the pleading looks Kim Dokja tries to send him to end the stalemate. Not even when they drive back home, or when they bring the groceries in and sort it into the fridge and cabinets.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks when he spots Kim Dokja slinking off towards the stairs when everything has been put away.
“Uh…to my room?”
“Sit down,” Yoo Joonghyuk orders, pointing to a seat at the dining table. “I’m making lunch.”
“You want me to help?
“No, you’ll mess it up,” Yoo Joonghyuk returns evenly. “Sit and don’t move.”
Kim Dokja sighs, crossing his arms. His face is now plastered with annoyance, any traces of guilt from the earlier incident now gone.
“This is ridiculous,” he says, sending Yoo Joonghyuk a glare of his own. “You don’t want me to help, you just want me to sit there and do nothing? What do you want me around for?”
Yoo Joonghyuk stares back at him. It’s such a stupid question that he doesn’t want to answer it. So he doesn’t. He simply turns to get the knife and chopping board. He can hear Kim Dokja sigh under his breath, before a couple of steps come towards him.
“…Hey,” Kim Dokja starts, voice soft. “I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“Don’t block the way,” Yoo Joonghyuk says in return, elbowing the other.
Kim Dokja ignores it. “But I already spend almost twenty-four hours with you, surely you don’t need me to hover some more,” he continues. “In fact, you then keep getting pissed at me for being in the way.”
Yoo Joonghyuk purses his lips in mid cut. “…What are you trying to say?”
Maybe it’s something in the tone of his voice, but Kim Dokja curls his fingers faintly on the back of Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm. “I’m just going to get my book and I’ll come down and eat. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
Before Yoo Joonghyuk can snap Kim Dokja’s head off for the comment, Kim Dokja is already on his way upstairs. It’s a little better knowing where Kim Dokja intends to go and what he intends to do—but still. Yoo Joonghyuk tries his best to ignore the creeping feeling under his skin that Kim Dokja is lying, like the lying liar that he is, that when Yoo Joonghyuk actually goes to find Kim Dokja, the other won’t be in his room, but only an imprint of him left on the bedsheets, his soul scattered to the wind—
Yoo Joonghyuk clatters the knife in hand flat down on the chopping board.
The urge to follow the other is strong. With each passing second, Kim Dokja ascending the stairwell higher and higher, where his steps echo less and less, until it completely disappears due to the distance of the third floor. Out of Yoo Joonghyuk’s sight, there are just too many possibilities that could happen. Even within his sight, he’d let Kim Dokja remain in the subway train, watching it pull away and inevitably igniting their arduous journey to get the idiot back.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja’s voice finally floats from behind him. He’s got his book in hand, like he’d promised. “What are you cooking anyway?”
Yoo Joonghyuk picks up the knife again, and sets it back to an angle for chopping.
Yoo Joonghyuk may not be a pro-gamer anymore, but it doesn’t mean that he’s completely given up on it. He still streams his gameplay, time to time. After he resigned from that pro-team (Kim Dokja’s fault, like he could concentrate on e-sports when there’s a bigger issue to address) and traveled for years, he hasn’t bothered to attempt to rejoin the scene again. After all, he’s visibly older than the common e-sport athlete. Even if his reflexes are ranked better than the young upstarts, he’s not keen to play in a group where people start calling him ‘ahjussi’. They may not do it to his face, but still.
Besides, he became a pro-gamer because it had been necessary to earn a living for Yoo Mia, and now that he has enough courtesy of his own investments of his star stream coins before it became obsolete and Han Sooyoung’s novel, he doesn’t need to get a job. Not really. Also, since Kim Dokja had returned, he’d felt it was imperative that he keep an eye on the one who has also decided to remain unemployed.
So while Kim Dokja reads, as he does, as the reader, addicted to their story and other webnovels, Yoo Joonghyuk streams his games online. He doesn’t do any introductions or small talk or speeches, like the celebrity streamers do. He simply lets his laptop camera point at him while he destroys domain after domain, akin to his dominance in the past scenario life. Naturally, his name brings a following that is unrivaled—either people are curious about him due to his status, or curious about his actual gaming ability, or just to fawn over his face. Either way, he gets coins for it, all within his leisure time and without participating in tournaments.
Today is just like any other, where he ignores all requests for co-op and enters the domain by himself. Behind him, on Kim Dokja’s bed lies Kim Dokja, flicking through Han Sooyoung’s novel and scribbling lengthy messages on post-its. At first, Kim Dokja hadn’t been keen on letting him invade his room to stream his games, but Yoo Joonghyuk has discovered he can get Kim Dokja to relent with bed related activities. The other can’t be seen by the camera, but it makes Yoo Joonghyuk feel a bit better that he can physically sense Kim Dokja within the vicinity of the same room.
Once or twice Kim Dokja peers over his shoulder, completely ignoring the wave of comments on the chat, and then makes some remark like ‘you can do this is your own room, can’t you’ before the other wanders off to read on the bed. Yoo Joonghyuk can’t be bothered to answer since he needs the concentration to tackle the new domain—of course he earns the first domain clear of the server. He’s not a (ex)pro-gamer for nothing, and a healthy proportion of his subscribers actually do play games obsessively. Yoo Joonghyuk casts a glance backward minutely, just out of habit, to see Kim Dokja—
Kim Dokja is not on the bed. The sheets are strewn like there had been a person sitting here, but it’s empty.
How can he just be…gone?
Yoo Joonghyuk immediately slams his laptop shut and stands up to look around. The windows are cracked slightly open for ventilation, but it’s not big enough for someone of Kim Dokja’s frame to climb out. Besides, Yoo Joonghyuk would’ve heard him. The more reasonable explanation is that Kim Dokja has left the room via the door, but again, Yoo Joonghyuk should’ve heard him. Yoo Joonghyuk swallows, yanking the door open in haste, and meets an empty corridor. Next to him, his own room door is shut, and beside that, Han Sooyoung’s room door is also shut. The bathroom door is, too, shut.
Once Yoo Joonghyuk confirms that Kim Dokja is not in his room, he goes to Han Sooyoung’s, ignoring the likely chew out he’ll get if she realises he’d entered without permission. It’s not that inconceivable that Kim Dokja sneaked in here to read a manuscript draft or something. The curtains and windows are drawn shut but even under the dim light he can tell that the room is void of human presence at the moment. Nonetheless, he checks just in case—under the bed, in the closet. When that turns up empty, Yoo Joonghyuk turns to the bathroom impatiently. There’s no sound of running water, but when he tries to open it, he finds it locked.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk raps the door, but no answer. “Kim Dokja—I’m coming in.”
Yoo Joonghyuk rams against the door without pause, putting his whole strength into it. Unsurprisingly, there is a loud crack sound and the door busts open, nearly folding from the effort pushed into it. If Kim Dokja is not in there, he—
“Wait, you—“
A naked body more or less falls right on Yoo Joonghyuk, and he catches it as it tumbles.
“Yoo Joonghyuk, what the fuck?” Kim Dokja snaps when he finds his ground, wet hair sticking to his eyes and covered in subs. He shoves Yoo Joonghyuk irritatedly. “I was taking a bath!”
Yoo Joonghyuk eyes the angry face, and then feels his shirt stick to his chest from Kim Dokja’s damp hands. “You didn’t answer.”
“I was going to—“ Kim Dokja breaks off, frustrated. “You didn’t even give me a second! Why the fuck did you break the door down instead of waiting for my answer?”
“You didn’t answer,” Yoo Joonghyuk repeats.
If he gets silence in return, isn’t it natural that he should confirm it for himself? And he can now, with Kim Dokja dripping water all over the tiled floor and the filled bubble bath behind him.
Kim Dokja sighs, clearly agitated. An uneasy expression flits across his face.
“Look. Joonghyuk-ah,” he starts. “I, I-I need you to be more…normal about this,” he pleads. “About me.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stares uncomprehendingly. “…More normal,” he repeats slowly.
“Yes,” Kim Dokja exhales, looking up. His teeth snags the bottom of his lip worriedly. “You know. Like not having me in your sight every single second. Like letting me walk around the supermarket by myself. Or letting me read in my room alone. Or like letting me take a bath. In peace. Without you freaking out,” he gestures to the door that’s now swinging limply off a broken hinge.
“What are you trying to say?”
Kim Dokja’s eyebrows furrow, like he’d expected the combatant tone. “I know you feel…unsettled…when you can’t see me or don’t know where I am,” he says carefully. “But Joonghyuk-ah, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Of course you’re not,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “I’ll kill you if you tried to.”
“I know you mean it, and that’s what worries me,” Kim Dokja says helplessly, waving his hands around. “I love you,” he exhales tiredly, raising his finger to point at the broken door. “But this cannot keep happening. Go…go to my room and wait for a bit. I’ll finish my bath and we’ll talk.”
Yoo Joonghyuk eyes the hand gesturing him away for a bit before he pushes the door shut behind him. Kim Dokja frowns, and then yelps when Yoo Joonghyuk abruptly lifts him and puts him back into the bathtub. Water sloshes everywhere, but Yoo Joonghyuk is already wet so he doesn’t care. He steps into the knee high water, ignoring the spluttered burst from Kim Dokja’s mouth, and sits himself on the opposite end of the tub. It’s a tight fit.
“W-what—“ Kim Dokja kicks him, causing a tide of water to slosh, “What are you doing? You’re dirtying the water—“
“You wanted to bathe, so do it,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, reaching to grasp Kim Dokja’s head lightly and dunks it down into the water. “I’ll wait.”
Kim Dokja struggles, almost slapping him in the process. “You—you clingy bastard!“ he yells. “…Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, sending Yoo Joonghyuk a glare. “You really can’t live without me, can you?”
Yoo Joonghyuk picks up the extendable shower head behind his back and flicks it on, pointing it at Kim Dokja. He earns another curse in return, but Kim Dokja gets the hint and starts washing the suds out of his hair.
“…If you had to leave, would you tell me?” Yoo Joonghyuk says, earning a surprised glance from under the water spray. “When you left all those times before, have you ever told me you would come back?”
Kim Dokja wipes his face multiple times when Yoo Joonghyuk turns off the water stream. “That’s, that’s in the past,” he says. “I didn’t know you cared about me. Now, we’re different.”
“Did you not know they cared about you?” Yoo Joonghyuk returns. “Jung Heewon. Lee Hyunsung. Yoo Sangah. Shin Yoosung. Lee Gilyoung—“
“I—“ Kim Dokja sighs. “Are you just trying to make me feel guilty? I can’t change what’s happened.”
“I’m telling you that you can’t be trusted, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk states. “Whether you love me or not—you would lie to me in a heartbeat.”
Kim Dokja stares before he breaks out into a watery laugh. He leans his weight forward, onto his knees, crawling up to sit on Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap. It’s an incredibly alluring sight, with Kim Dokja’s lithe body all pressed up against him. His pale skin glistens with water droplets, and Yoo Joonghyuk can smell the scent of the body wash he’d used.
“I tell you I love you,” Kim Dokja starts, placing himself right on Yoo Joonghyuk’s crotch, “And you tell me I’m a liar?” he says, cupping Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. “You’re a right bastard,” he murmurs before leaning in for a kiss.
Almost ten times a day, Yoo Joonghyuk wants to kill Kim Dokja. But equally, he wants to kiss Kim Dokja, to hold Kim Dokja, to be in Kim Dokja—so he meets the mouth with an intent of his own.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja whispers, soft. “I am not going to disappear again.”
Yoo Joonghyuk wants to believe him, but his Lie Detection skill is no more.
“I’ll be here, with you,” he continues in between Yoo Joonghyuk trying to nibble his lips. “To the final page of the epilogue. It ends with us. Together. So please,” he utters, holding Yoo Joonghyuk’s head between his palms still seriously. “You can’t keep doing this.”
Yoo Joonghyuk can. He’s sure of it. He can keep Kim Dokja under a literal tight leash, cage him, monitor him twenty four seven—he can do it, he would it, if there is any sliver of threat that Kim Dokja may scatter into nothing. Even if he feels his skin prickle, his heart hammer, his breath choke, or his mind throb; he can live with it if the exchange is to have Kim Dokja present in this world line, in one whole.
But he knows what Kim Dokja is saying—that he doesn’t need to do this.
“Stop getting into trouble,” Yoo Joonghyuk says.
“That was one time,” Kim Dokja’s mutters.
“And you wake up on time on your own.”
“Done.”
Yoo Joonghyuk does not believe the promise made quickly—he knows Kim Dokja better than that. Yet, Kim Dokja has a…point.
The other is still looking at him intently, with that creased expression on his face. It drops when Yoo Joonghyuk creeps his hands up to rest on the bare skin of Kim Dokja’s back. Even if they’re fighting—or just having a conversation, really—it can hardly be expected of Yoo Joonghyuk to not be distracted with a naked Kim Dokja sitting on his crotch. Yoo Joonghyuk’s sweatpants make it difficult for him to really feel anything but the weight on his thighs, and that’s enough for his cock to stir. Kim Dokja looks down as if recognising their positions for the first time. Before he can move off, Yoo Joonghyuk places his hands down on Kim Dokja’s hips to keep him firmly there. There’s nothing that can hide the rising interest of Kim Dokja’s cock pressed against Yoo Joonghyuk’s navel, not even the soapy water.
Kim Dokja’s complexion is rosy by now, like shame matters to him. “…We can continue this after I take my bath.”
Yoo Joonghyuk scoffs. “Finish what you started, you coward.”
“You are the weirdo who crashed my bath time—“ Kim Dokja started heatedly, but the protest quickly dies when Yoo Joonghyuk surges to kiss him again.
Yoo Joonghyuk has never been shy with his affection, but he withholds a lot of it. If he doesn’t, he probably can’t function; he would keep Kim Dokja in bed for twenty four hours rolling on to the next day, and the next, through days, weeks, years, eternity. When Kim Dokja had returned, Yoo Joonghyuk found himself at a loss of how to comprehend having someone you’ve yearned for until it became part of his identity. For years, and it is incomparable to the length of scenario life he had with Kim Dokja, Yoo Joonghyuk had solely focused his thoughts on seeing Kim Dokja one more time.
He’d been more greedy in the beginning, of course. He wanted Kim Dokja back to where they left the subway after the Fourth Wall the very first time. He wanted time to rewind, to erase all that they’d spent without Kim Dokja, back to the true ending they should have had. But regressing as a group, finding Kim Dokja so in reach but not really, spending more years living with the rejection, and even more attempting Han Sooyoung’s crazy plan—Yoo Joonghyuk volunteered not only because only he could do it, but because if he didn’t, he might not find a reason to keep going on. The wish for Kim Dokja erodes along the journey to a pathetic prayer of just seeing the other for one more time.
Just one.
So now when Yoo Joonghyuk has Kim Dokja, the whole him, there’s every reason for Yoo Joonghyuk to fear that it’s too good to be true. When he wakes, he thinks its a dream he will wake up from eventually, bringing him back to the low whir of the spaceship he floated like an insignificant speck of dust in the expanse for the universe with Biyoo.
Kim Dokja makes a soft moan when his mouth is invaded, tongue pressed and curled by Yoo Joonghyuk’s, where every breath is consumed. It leaves little for Kim Dokja to think, hands curled in a half slack against Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders. Yoo Joonghyuk has played with this body enough to map out the spots where Kim Dokja is left panting and dazed, like the dip in between his tail bone. The skin there is soft, and Yoo Joonghyuk caresses a finger down to rub at the entrance of the pucker between Kim Dokja’s ass. Kim Dokja jerks on his lap at the touch, pushing his cock against Yoo Joonghyuk’s abdomen again.
“Ahh…d-don’t…—“ The breathless murmur is useless, because Kim Dokja’s hole gives barely any resistance to Yoo Joonghyuk sliding one finger in after he plays with it.
It’s tight inside, but Yoo Joonghyuk knows it can stretch to take him perfectly well, so one finger is nothing. Kim Dokja exhales shakily near his ear, fingers gripping his shoulder tighter. Yoo Joonghyuk wrestles a kiss from him, releasing it with a loud wet sound to suckle down Kim Dokja’s throat. He chases the water droplets down the curve of the neck, to the collarbone and to bony sternum, to the left stiff nipple peak. The pink nub is pebbled already, sticking out for Yoo Joonghyuk to lick and worry it between his lips. Kim Dokja keens, water splashing when his knees shift.
“Joonghyuk-ah—….hahh…fuck,” he groans. “You know water is not lube, right—nghh—…you’re being…rough…you jerk…“
“You don’t care anyway,” Yoo Joonghyuk replies.
It’s true. Yoo Joonghyuk presses his finger in as far as it’ll go, earning another stutter of the hips, grinding hard down on Yoo Joonghyuk’s own swollen cock. Kim Dokja is so warm on the inside, and so soft. Yoo Joonghyuk thrusts his finger in and out slowly, savouring how the pucker clenches on him from knuckle to fingertip. He bats Kim Dokja’s sneaking hand that reaches for his own cock away, twisting it hard and locking it up behind Kim Dokja’s back. With only one free hand left to balance himself on Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap, Kim Dokja whines, impatient.
“Are you going to make me come or—n-nghh…not?“ Kim Dokja demands.
His eyes squeeze shut when Yoo Joonghyuk bullies his second finger into his hole. Kim Dokja’s back arches, and his ass unconsciously lifts a little to grant Yoo Joonghyuk more access. Yoo Joonghyuk presses in, until he can feel Kim Dokja’s balls brushing the back of his palm, and then slowly crooks his fingers, searching for that sweet spot.
“Joonghyuk-ah!” Kim Dokja shudders, mouth open in a gape. “Fuck—“ he exhales rough. “Fuck.”
Yoo Joonghyuk eyes how Kim Dokja tries to rut against his fingers, chasing that jolt of pleasure, completely ignoring Kim Dokja’s hard cock pushing at the water line with each motion. He rubs his fingers over the bump of the prostrate, earning a dribbled out moan. The sight is obscene, with Kim Dokja staring at him with a blissed out gaze.
“I, I want…” Kim Dokja licks his lips, words coming out in a pant. “I want you,” he finishes, making a pointed grind on Yoo Joonghyuk’s clothed cock. “Quick, before I…I—“
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk states, continuing to thrust his fingers in and out languidly.
“Wha—what do you mean ‘no’?” Kim Dokja garbles, eyebrows coming together in a pinch. He makes a frustrated groan when Yoo Joonghyuk dips his head down to tease the other neglected nipple. “Fuck—you bastard, if you want me to beg for your cock, I—“
“You can,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, looking up at the other, lapping at the pink teat. “But I still won’t.”
“Why,” Kim Dokja cries, clearly on edge. He’s slowly but surely clambering to a peak to come, but Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t give him that yet. “You, you—this morning, you—and in the car, you—fuck, I want more than your fingers—“
Kim Dokja’s sentences are getting incoherent, betraying his desperation. Yoo Joonghyuk places once last kiss on the sensitive chest before he leans up to tug on Kim Dokja’s ear lobe with his teeth.
“If I fuck you with my cock, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk murmurs, darkly. “I’ll want to keep you there forever.”
It’s a rumour, or running joke, that Yoo Joonghyuk keeps Kim Dokja locked up in the basement. Given that it’s public knowledge what the <Kim Dokja’s Company> had gone through in search of Kim Dokja, and how Yoo Joonghyuk became the defacto co-leader in Kim Dokja’s absence, not to mention that act of terrorism Yoo Joonghyuk committed in the height of his despair—keeping Kim Dokja in a place where he would never be able to leave is probably believable.
The thing is, Yoo Joonghyuk has thought about it. He can handcuff Kim Dokja in the basement, to a bed post. He’d feed him, take care of him, resting well in the full knowledge of where Kim Dokja is twenty four seven. If the handcuffs are a step too much, maybe he could make Kim Dokja take his cock, impaled on the shaft from morning to night, night to morning—and Yoo Joonghyuk would be able to feel him thoroughly each and every minute of the day.
“Would you prefer that, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk continues, not oblivious to the stuttered hitch of breath he gets with every word. “You can keep my cock inside you. When you’re sleeping, when you’re eating, when you’re reading,” he says. “All day, everyday, you will take my cock, and think of nothing else.”
“Fuck,” Kim Dokja returns, the curve of his ear blushing red.
“Or would you prefer to have my cock in your mouth,” Yoo Joonghyuk goes on. “While I game, you can warm me on your tongue, and swallow every drop of seed when I come. I will keep you there for hours, Kim Dokja,” he promises, “Do you still want my cock?”
“I-I—“ Kim Dokja breathes, choking on a moan when Yoo Joonghyuk slips his fingers in and out faster into his hole, making sure to push onto the pleasure spot with brutal efficiency. “I, I, oh fuck,” he gasps, clutching Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt so tightly that the water squeezes out from the fabric, and comes.
Yoo Joonghyuk makes sure to watch every inch of it. Kim Dokja mewls like a desperate man devoid of breath, body taut and hips jerked to shove his cock hard against their bodies. Come splatters onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s damp shirt, dripping down to the water line. Kim Dokja’s hole is still clenching tight on the fingers within, like he’s still got more to squeeze from himself. Yoo Joonghyuk marvels at the slackened jaw, the lidded eyes, and how Kim Dokja slumps himself onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck like a boneless heap. Against Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest, he can feel the rise and fall of Kim Dokja’s hard exhales, chasing air.
Yoo Joonghyuk retracts his hand from under Kim Dokja, ignoring the little cramp he earned from their activity. He wrings it in the water, glances to see that his fingers have pruned, and then rests it on Kim Dokja’s back. He gives them about ten seconds before he hooks his arms under Kim Dokja’s thighs and proceeds to stand up. Kim Dokja squawks, scrabbling for purchase at suddenly being lifted. The rush of water from the motion deafens over Kim Dokja’s muted protest, even if the other is clinging to him tightly in case they fall. Yoo Joonghyuk steps over the tub edge and brings them under the shower head in the separate shower stall, turning it on to wash the colder chill from the air away.
“Could’ve given me one more minute,” Kim Dokja mutters, hands splayed on the wall to balance himself after Yoo Joonghyuk sets him down.
“Your bath is taking too long,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “If the water bill goes up again—“
“You’re the one wasting this water,” Kim Dokja retorts.
“You got me dirty,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, and he moves to strip.
His wet shirt, the wet sweatpants, his wet boxers. His cock is jutting up from how hard he still is, having watched Kim Dokja come shamelessly on top of him. He notices Kim Dokja glancing behind at him, but doesn’t let the other’s stare linger because he pulls Kim Dokja backward towards him, close enough that his cock slaps between Kim Dokja’s ass cheeks. The cock head is flushed, and it looks darker in colour against Kim Dokja’s milky white skin. Yoo Joonghyuk grasps the meat of the ass, pulling it apart to reveal the hole he’d just penetrated with his fingers. It’s now pink and slightly puffy. The pucker clenches on nothing the further Yoo Joonghyuk stretches it open with his thumb. Yoo Joonghyuk aligns his cock on it, and ruts the tip slowly.
“I…I just came,” Kim Dokja whines, but he makes no move to stop Yoo Joonghyuk’s movements.
Yoo Joonghyuk finds his cock hardening to its brink. It’s a miracle he can wait this long with Kim Dokja spread open for him like this.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja moans—or begs. “Put it in. Come on.”
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t listen. He rubs his length up and down over the Kim Dokja’s hole, which winks at him on every swallow thrust. Kim Dokja groans breathily, shifting his feet to spread his legs apart wider. He makes no hidden pretense that he’s ready for another round already, hand beginning to stroke his cock to stiffness again. Kim Dokja must still be sensitive from his earlier orgasm, because his shoulders shudder with every slow pump on his length, like he’s trying his best to ignore it.
“Please,” Kim Dokja devolves into a plea. “Fuck me with your cock. I want—…it. I want…everything you…said—“
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk says again, slipping his cock down to rub up Kim Dokja’s balls, up the underside of his cock. It earns a beautiful tremble, and the automatic action to squeeze his cock between the thighs. “Not today,” he amends. “I…I’m driven crazy by you, Kim Dokja,” he finds these words pouring out, guttural. “If I fuck you, I’ll chain you to the bed, I’ll make you come again, and again, and again, until you’re crying for me to stop, and I won’t care, I’ll fuck you until you pass out, and I’ll keep fucking you until you wake—“
Yoo Joonghyuk grits his teeth as he yanks Kim Dokja’s hips by rough hands on the other’s hipbones, pulling it high enough that Kim Dokja has to brace himself against the wall on tiptoes. He fucks his cock in between the slip of Kim Dokja’s thighs, made slippery by his own precome. Kim Dokja’s cock edges sharp again from arousal, twitching whenever Yoo Joonghyuk makes a thrust up, slapping their cocks together in the movement. Kim Dokja grasps them together in a desperate moment and squeezes tightly.
The pressure is enough for Yoo Joonghyuk come, and he does, all over Kim Dokja’s cock and hand. Kim Dokja follows barely a second later, his leg slipping from how his knees buckle under the sudden wave of pleasure, but Yoo Joonghyuk holds him still by the hips.
“…Don’t ask me for things you cannot give, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk exhales before he bites down on Kim Dokja’s shoulder.
The warm water immediately washes away proof of their coupling. Yoo Joonghyuk finds himself relaxing a little when he releases his mouth from Kim Dokja’s shoulder, eyeing the teeth mark that he’s sure he’ll get a whine about later. He’s surprised when Kim Dokja’s hand comes to press against his cheek after the other turns, pulling them chest to chest.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja whispers against his mouth.
Kim Dokja kisses him breathlessly, desperately, sweetly. There’s a sentiment in there that’s too pure for how Yoo Joonghyuk had used Kim Dokja’s thighs as a fleshlight.
“What you want from me,” Kim Dokja says. “How much you want. Tell me everything.”
The bathroom looks like it’s been through a flood after they leave. Yoo Joonghyuk remembers to crack open the window to let the humidity out, but he highly doubts that the floor will dry in time when Han Sooyoung comes back in the evening. Well. He’ll blame it on Kim Dokja as always. The broken door too. Back in Kim Dokja’s room, Kim Dokja is dressed and is in his usual curled position at the head of the bed, with Han Sooyoung’s novel in hand. Yoo Joonghyuk would normally sit next to him and—as Kim Dokja keeps saying—hover, but it’s already late in the afternoon.
“I’m going to make dinner,” Yoo Joonghyuk says.
“Mm,” Kim Dokja responds, eyes not leaving his book. “Do you…need me to be there?”
It’s asked in a very casual way, but the hesitant tone is anything but. Yoo Joonghyuk fiddles with the edge of the towel hung across his neck.
“…I won’t die without you, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk says finally.
“Ha,” Kim Dokja begins, looking up to send him a smirk. “Are you really—“
Yoo Joonghyuk closes the door behind him, effectively cutting short the inevitable tease that was leaving Kim Dokja’s lips. Yoo Joonghyuk knows he’s said something similar to that effect before, but it doesn’t mean that Kim Dokja has the right to state it himself.
Anyway. Dinner needs to be cooked, and Yoo Joonghyuk will be damned if his food is anything less than perfect. He goes down to the kitchen and gets things ready. He’s always been quite efficient about knowing what he wants to make and getting it done and getting it done to a standard where they never eat out anymore. He’s thinking it will be kimchi jjigae tonight, with the usual combination of his four side salads. He gets out the pork belly, tofu, mushrooms and onions to make quick work.
In a house as large as theirs, it’s always a bit obvious when there’s a lack of people in it, like Yoo Joonghyuk alone in a kitchen that has three table counters and an island counter. It’s inevitable that he feels the vast space of it, where his eyes automatically try to track an existence that is Kim Dokja’s. He knows Kim Dokja is upstairs, reading in his bed like he’d left the other mere minutes ago. Yet, there’s that irrational echo of are you sure or what if he’s not or maybe you should check, just in case.
Yoo Joonghyuk sets down the knife when the thoughts bleed into his skin by accident, a line of blood dripping from his finger from a way ward cut. He sighs, tosses the bloodied onion piece, and tries again.
“Joonghyuk-ah. I am not going to disappear again.”
The knife shakes on a jagged cut.
“I’ll be here, with you. To the final page of the epilogue. It ends with us.”
The onions sting his eyes, making them water a little, but he doesn’t need to stop.
“Together.”
‘Together’ is a promise Kim Dokja makes, one that Yoo Joonghyuk still finds hard to trust. But also—
“You can’t keep doing this.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glances at the stairwell. Kim Dokja is too far away for him to humanly sense the other’s presence. All he can do is to believe. Believe that Kim Dokja will be there for him to return to, will be there to greet him, kiss him, make fun of him, argue with him,
Believe, for the next millennium of years that Kim Dokja owes his life to him, swore his life to repay him for bringing him back, and—
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” The slow saunter in is unmistakable for anyone else but Han Sooyoung. He’d been a little too distracted to hear her come in through the front door. “That pot will overflow.”
“It will not,” Yoo Joonghyuk returns blandly, because he’s the one who actually knows how to cook.
Han Sooyoung huffs, setting her bag on the closest table counter. It’s also where Yoo Joonghyuk had prepped the salad dressing, so he gives her a dirty look. She ignores it, as he expects. Instead, she shuffles over to the fridge and picks out a can of beer.
“Han Sooyoung,” Yoo Joonghyuk finds himself saying as she pops the tab open. “Am I…clingy?”
Han Sooyoung stares. For that second which she looks at him with a dumbfounded expression is long enough for Yoo Joonghyuk to regret having opened his mouth. She doubles over in roaring laughter right after.
“Oh, oh god,” she snickers, waving a hand at herself. “Kim Dokja finally confronted you, has he?”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowns.
“Don’t give me that look, like you’re surprised he talks about you behind your back,” Han Sooyoung says with a raised eyebrow. “In fact, it’s fucking annoying that he only talks about you, nowadays.”
“Get to the point.”
“I wasn’t making any points,” Han Sooyoung grins, shrugging. “If you want to know what he said, you give me an extra slice of pork belly.”
“It’s not up for bargain,” Yoo Joonghyuk grinds out. “I cut eleven slices.”
“Give me yours then.”
Yoo Joonghyuk pauses for a moment. “I’ll give you Kim Dokja’s.”
“Deal,” Han Sooyoung smirks. “Tell me what happened, first.”
“…He told me to be more…normal,” Yoo Joonghyuk says reluctantly.
“Ha,” Han Sooyoung snorts immediately. “Like he knows what’s normal.”
Yoo Joonghyuk inwardly, agrees. If there’s to be a standard of normality, Kim Dokja is on the far end of the distribution.
“But then again, neither do you,” Han Sooyoung continues, with a more serious look in her eye. “To answer your question first—Yoo Joonghyuk, yes, you are fucking clingy,” she says with full honesty. “If you haven’t noticed, you don’t ever let him out of your sight. Even when Kim Dokja doesn’t know—you’re there, like a creepy stalker.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glares at her.
“It’s gotten worse since you two…” she makes some vague rude hand gesture, probably to mimic a fuck, “Before, you watched. Now, you’re in his space. All the time. It’s not a wonder that he doesn’t want you there sometimes, like when he’s trying to take a morning shit.”
“I’ve never watched him use the bathroom,” Yoo Joonghyuk retorts—although, now that point could be debatable.
“As obsessed as he is with you, you are a lot, and you know that,” Han Sooyoung says in return. “So. You need to chill.”
“I need to chill,” Yoo Joonghyuk repeats with raised eyebrows.
Han Sooyoung sips her beer slowly. “Yeah. You know, it’s not just you, none of us want him out of our sight. The kids—especially Shin Yoosung. How do you think she’s coping, after chasing her father figure for most of her formative years? You think she doesn’t want to cling to Kim Dokja all the time?”
“…I’m not a child.”
“You’re worse than that,” Han Sooyoung agrees. “You’re in love with that bastard. Even I…find it difficult to leave him alone,” she admits. “That’s why I got a job. I have boundaries, a structure, that doesn’t let me have the time to worry about Kim Dokja,” she pauses. “Maybe you need a job.”
It’s marginally helpful advice, but Yoo Joonghyuk knows he won’t get a job just because he struggles in trying not to suffocate Kim Dokja. He doesn’t say thanks, because that’s not how his relationship with Han Sooyoung is like.
“Kim Dokja is the one using your bath soap,” he says.
Han Sooyoung’s expression immediately turns murderous. “I knew it, that bastard,” she hisses under her breath. “As if I can’t tell someone has been diluting it!”
She snatches her bag and storms up the stairs, a name muttered darkly under her break. Yoo Joonghyuk watches her go, marginally at ease at the knowledge that he knows Han Sooyoung will bust open Kim Dokja’s door any minute now. Indeed, there is a loud slam and yelling—two voices, where Kim Dokja’s one is obvious. Yoo Joonghyuk returns to his pot, and readies for it to be served.
Dinner is a noisy affair, like it is everyday. As the rest of them trickle back into the house, Yoo Joonghyuk dishes out the portions into eleven perfect ones. Not everyone is back at the same time, but there are enough of them to beg him to start eating. Kim Dokja is still squabbling with Han Sooyoung over the table, and Yoo Joonghyuk silently puts his pork belly slice into Kim Dokja’s bowl. Under the table, Kim Dokja’s foot prods Yoo Joonghyuk’s, even though their gazes never meet. Yoo Joonghyuk kicks him back, full force, causing Kim Dokja to choke on a tofu.
It’s perhaps a first that Kim Dokja trails after him up the stairs post dinner. Since Yoo Joonghyuk cooks, he’s not on washing duty, and he intends to retire and escape before someone suggests playing board games. He knows Kim Dokja had jogged after him, the other’s steps not quite silent enough for Yoo Joonghyuk to be fooled. He goes to the third floor, heads to his room, and swiftly shuts the door in Kim Dokja’s face. His lips curl when he hears Kim Dokja bang on his door.
“You bastard,” Kim Dokja says, banging another fist the door. “You knew I was behind you!”
Yoo Joonghyuk opens the door again. Kim Dokja is seething a little.
“You didn’t have to tell Han Sooyoung about the bath soap.”
“She knew. You’re not as subtle as you think. Also,” Yoo Joonghyuk snorts. “You tried to say it was me.”
Kim Dokja crosses his arms. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
“I can.”
Kim Dokja scoffs, but his sour look is betrayed by a silver of worry in his eyes.
“What is it?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks impatiently.
“You…are you mad that I called you clingy?” Kim Dokja says finally.
Yoo Joonghyuk lets him fidget for a few seconds. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says slowly. “Because I cooked. I will go to your room after, Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja reddens. “I wasn’t asking you to,” he sniffs.
Yoo Joonghyuk rolls his eyes, closing the door in the other’s face again. Predictably, when Yoo Joonghyuk enters Kim Dokja’s room after his third shower of the day, Kim Dokja is reading. Nestled in his little corner of the bed, legs up and his phone pressed into his nose. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t ever ask if Kim Dokja is sick of the story—because for years, Yoo Joonghyuk had consumed it to keep on living. The bed dips when Yoo Joonghyuk takes his place on the right side of it. He peers over Kim Dokja’s shoulder, and is surprised when the text isn’t Han Sooyoung’s novel.
“I’ve been reading,” Kim Dokja begins, setting his phone down when he feels Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath on his shoulder. “About separation anxiety.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looks at him.
“…You know,” Kim Dokja swallows nervously when Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t react. “Like uh, the thing you have about me.”
“Get on with it.”
“Oh, you—you’re not disagreeing. Okay,” Kim Dokja fumbles, eyes wide. “I thought I’d needed to do a lot of convincing to get to this point.”
“Lee Seolhwa has spoken to me about it before,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “When you were…not here.”
“Oh. Oh,” Kim Dokja stares. “You bastard. We could’ve had this conversation ages ago. I thought you were going to freak when I—”
“Is that why you told Han Sooyoung first and not me?”
Kim Dokja winces. “To be fair,” he says. “You don’t want to talk about shit. You always close the door in my face.”
“If you really wanted to talk, you would make me listen even if I close the door in your face.”
Kim Dokja looks like he tries to get mad, but fails. “…You could make it easier.”
Yoo Joonghyuk accedes. “Fine.”
Kim Dokja peers at him as if to gauge if he’s lying, which is annoying because he’s not the liar. “About your separation anxiety about me,” he starts. “We should spend some time apart slowly. Just now was good, and maybe tomorrow we can do something longer. Like…taking the kids to school by yourself.”
“You just want to sleep in.”
Kim Dokja does not deny that. “You can game in the afternoon, in your room. No barging into the bathroom when you can’t find me in my room.”
“Fine,” he says again.
Kim Dokja blinks like he didn’t expect such a fast agreement. “There are a couple more things that could help,” he says, turning back to scroll on his phone. “Ah, it says that when we part, we have to make it a good time. No frowny face, else you’ll feel sad and think about me,” he continues, and Yoo Joonghyuk totally knows the other is making shit up. “We should also talk about what we’ll do together later, so you have something to look forward to. For example—“
“For example,” Yoo Joonghyuk says over him, snatching the phone out of his hands. “I’m going to make you come on my cock, Kim Dokja.”
It shuts Kim Dokja right up, immediately. Yoo Joonghyuk puts the phone on the bedside table on his side, and then moves to straddle the other. Kim Dokja goes slack with the looming presence over him, hands clutched loosely on Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me,” Kim Dokja says, bewildered. “Not today.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him intently. “Can you take it?”
“What?”
“Can you take what I want to do to you?” Yoo Joonghyuk elaborates.
Kim Dokja swallows faintly. There’s a shine in his eyes that’s not fear. “I—…yes.”
“Do you want it?”
The answer this time has no pause. “Yes.”
When Kim Dokja tells the truth, he lays everything bare to Yoo Joonghyuk. Yoo Joonghyuk reaches to tilt Kim Dokja’s chin up and kisses him. It’s tender, just a mere press of the lips, a passing impression of how Yoo Joonghyuk tries to cherish the other, deep in his heart. It doesn’t last, it never does, losing to the more primal desire of wanting; to eat, to own, to make Kim Dokja his in every crevice in his warm, pliant mouth. Kim Dokja grabs the back of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt as their kiss deepens, tongues entangled and breaths exchanged. Their forms sink into the bed, with Yoo Joonghyuk’s weight pressing on top of Kim Dokja, who can only cling on and fight to breathe amongst the fervency of it all.
Yoo Joonghyuk finds himself desperate to taste more than Kim Dokja’s mouth. He racks up Kim Dokja’s shirt, revealing the skin he so loves to tease, especially the baby pink nubs on the heaving chest. They still have the imprint of being rubbed this morning and afternoon, and now Yoo Joonghyuk wants to make them so red and sensitive that Kim Dokja can come with them alone. He divest his own shirt when he feels Kim Dokja pulling at it, ignoring where it falls off the bed. Before Yoo Joonghyuk can latch his mouth to the small chest, Kim Dokja’s hands are going lower on Yoo Joonghyuk’s hips, pulling on the waistband and yanking them quickly. The cool air hits Yoo Joonghyuk’s bare thighs, leaving the bulge in his boxers clear to see.
“You want it that much, Kim Dokja?” Yoo Joonghyuk can’t help but remark at the sudden rush to get him undressed.
“Shut up,” Kim Dokja hisses, struggling to pull off his own pants. “You teased me from the second I woke up, and I even begged you to fuck me like a whore,” he grinds his teeth. “So do what you promised me, you stupid sunfish.”
Yoo Joonghyuk should not get hard at the insult, but he does anyway, because it comes from Kim Dokja’s mouth. He pulls Kim Dokja’s pants off in a motion much faster and smoother than the other was attempting, and even hikes up the other’s legs over his shoulders, pressing Kim Dokja into half. Kim Dokja yelps at the position, where his head hits the pillow roughly, and his boxer-covered crotch is nearly pressed to his face. Yoo Joonghyuk lowers his head down and presses his nose into fabric.
It’s musky, and the outline of Kim Dokja’s cock is already clear from how it tries to push against the underwear. Yoo Joonghyuk finds the tip of it, wets over the area with his tongue, tasting a little bit of precome soaking into it. Kim Dokja bites his moans poorly, spilling muffled from his lips, as Yoo Joonghyuk laves and licks the tented erection.
“Joonghyuk-ah….” Kim Dokja grunts. “It’s not enough….”
Not enough to come, and Yoo Joonghyuk knows it. It’s on purpose. He wants to drive Kim Dokja crazy first, crazy to the height of where he breaks and only can think about wanting Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock in him, and nothing else. Yoo Joonghyuk bites some kisses up the side of the thigh, remembering how these thighs had milked him so wonderfully earlier. Kim Dokja huffs another impatient quip at him, so he returns back to the center, using his finger to tug the boxers slightly out of the way to reveal Kim Dokja’s hole. It’s winking at him again, and it does even more when Kim Dokja realises that he’s staring at it.
“What are you…hahh…”
Yoo Joonghyuk rims him. The sphincter muscle quivers under his tongue, barely even pushing a protest when he pushes in. Kim Dokja groans so loud that Yoo Joonghyuk is sure it can be heard from outside their door. He doesn’t care that much, not when he’s stretching the hole with his tongue, prodding all the places that his fingers had reached earlier. Just above him, Kim Dokja’s cock is straining tight against the boxer front, the wet spot where Yoo Joonghyuk had sucked larger than before.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kim Dokja manages coherently, hands gripping the edge of the pillow. “I’m gonna, gonna—“
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t let him. He retracts before Kim Dokja’s back arches, absentmindedly wiping off the saliva dripping off the edge of his lip. Kim Dokja’s legs slip off the sides of his shoulder and flops onto the bed, splayed out like a breathless mess. The other is very easily manhandled to turn around on his stomach, face shoved into the pillow and ass bared for the taking, when Yoo Joonghyuk swipes the underwear off. Yoo Joonghyuk pauses to clamber towards the edge of the bed to reach the drawer.
“…I thought you were going to fuck me,” Kim Dokja sounds annoyed with the pause, even with how much he’s panting.
“You said it was too rough,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, retrieving the lube bottle and condom packet unto the bed.
Kim Dokja might be already wet down there, but it might not be enough for how deep Yoo Joonghyuk intends to take him. Lube drizzles onto the hole when Yoo Joonghyuk spreads it out, and he rubs it easily in with a finger, pucker loose from his tongue. One is nothing, two requires a bit more time; with fingers slopping in and out, Kim Dokja resumes his moans into the pillow. Three asks for more delicacy, even if Kim Dokja is trying his best to rut himself on Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand like a common whore. Yoo Joonghyuk makes sure that he brushes against the pleasure spot on every thrust in. Kim Dokja gasps, face coming up for air.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja sounds feverish, desperate. “Please,” he begs. “Fuck me now.”
Yoo Joonghyuk considers, watching Kim Dokja’s red face tearing at the edges of the eyes. “You can come on my fingers,” he says. “Seems like it’s enough.”
“No, no…” Kim Dokja whimpers. Yoo Joonghyuk’s finds his own belly curled with dark heat at the pathetic sight. “You said you’ll give me your cock. Joonghyuk-ah, you said you would fuck me, ruin me—“ he babbles. “You can keep me here, on your cock, forever, I want—“
Yoo Joonghyuk pulls his cock out. A similar sight from the afternoon, with his swollen cock head resting in the curve of Kim Dokja’s ass. Kim Dokja rocks his hips back, trying to catch the tip into his hole. Yoo Joonghyuk completely forgets about the condom when his cock slips in, eased by the lube. Engulfed with heat and pressure, Yoo Joonghyuk grips Kim Dokja by the shoulders and presses his length further in. It earns another garbled moan. It’s tight, like Kim Dokja wants to snap his cock off. Yoo Joonghyuk leans forward to shift his weight, caging Kim Dokja’s frame underneath him, and presses a kiss to the back of the nape.
“Fuck,” Kim Dokja exhales, hard. “You—you…you’re too much—“
“You wanted this, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk reminds him.
He makes a slow jerk of his hips, watching Kim Dokja swallow him another inch. There’s still a bit more to go, and they’ll get there. Yoo Joonghyuk will make sure of it.
“You wanted my cock inside you,” he continues, grunting. “Can you feel it?” he slips a hand underneath Kim Dokja’s belly, pressing on the small protruding bump. He pushes his cock in to the hilt. “You open up so nicely for me, Kim Dokja,” he murmurs. “You were made to take me.”
Kim Dokja groans. “Nghhh, you…are you ever going to fuck me—”
Yoo Joonghyuk pulls Kim Dokja’s hands up above to the headboard, and pins them there. He starts with a short thrust, the squelch of the motion already obscene. The feeling is—intense. Yoo Joonghyuk is at the point where he could come if he’s not careful. Watching Kim Dokja take him so desperately, so wantonly, it sends fire to his core. Yoo Joonghyuk can believe that he’s not the only one who dreams of railing Kim Dokja so hard that the other passes out. The one obsessed with him would too.
Yoo Joonghyuk fucks him. Hard and deep, like he’s withheld since this morning. The tip of his cock slams into a spot that has Kim Dokja moaning with uncontrollable shudders. Yoo Joonghyuk feels the rush running up his veins, like a buzzing high. He ruts, faster and more jerky, swept in the current to chase it. Kim Dokja starts to struggle his hands from under Yoo Joonghyuk’s vice like grip.
“Touch me,” Kim Dokja whines, mouth agape. “Joonghyuk-ah, please, make me come, touch me—“
“You can come on my cock alone,” Yoo Joonghyuk tells him, breathless while fucking into him harder.
Kim Dokja clenches on him tightly. “I—…I—“ He’s nearly on the burst of tears, frustrated. “I need—hahh…more—“
Yoo Joonghyuk knows what he needs. It’s something of Yoo Joonghyuk’s own doing. He leaves Kim Dokja’s hands still pinned above them with one hand, and the other moving to cup Kim Dokja’s chest. Even though Yoo Joonghyuk hasn’t played with them this time, Kim Dokja’s nipples are pointed and sticking out. Yoo Joonghyuk flicks his thumb against the nub, and just like that, Kim Dokja comes.
“Ah, ah, ah—“ Kim Dokja’s voice echoes in a staccato, his back arched into a sharp angle. “Joonghyuk-ah!”
Under the shameless cry, Yoo Joonghyuk comes too, buried deep into Kim Dokja. His release is like a tension snapping in half, like he unloads all his frustration and worry and doubt and want and love into Kim Dokja. He slides his hand down to Kim Dokja’s abdomen again, where he knows his cock reaches. Slowly, he pulls out his cock from Kim Dokja’s hole, watching the creamy liquid collect over the rim before thrusting it back in again.
“How are you still hard, you bastard…” Kim Dokja murmurs drowsily.
“We’re just getting started. You said you can take what I want to do to you,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “I want you to take my cock all night. I’ll come inside you, paint you full of my seed, over and over again, until you are full of nothing but me. If I make you pregnant, Kim Dokja,” he leans down to whisper directly into Kim Dokja’s ear. “You cannot leave me.”
Kim Dokja turns his head slightly. It’s obvious that the words have shaken him, because his cheek is flushed dark.
“…I can’t get pregnant, you pervert,” Kim Dokja whispers. “Also,” he licks his lips. “I dare you to try.”
Yoo Joonghyuk steels himself.
There’s nothing more he likes than to prove Kim Dokja wrong. He has eternity for it.