Chapter Text
Much to Yoo Joonghyuk's disappointment, everything is tight in all the wrong places. The fabric clings to his rough skin uncomfortably, scrunching up around his hips. It isn’t surprising to Yoo Joonghyuk, but it is fairly upsetting. He stares at his reflection for a moment before looking away out of shame.
But then, a whisper comes from over his shoulder, and slender, bony fingers settle around his waist.
“You look so pretty, Joonghyuk-ah.”
He stiffens, the hairs on his neck rising at the feeling of Kim Dokja’s digits curling into his muscles.
“...It doesn’t fit, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk mutters, quieter than intended. His voice sounds more insecure than he thought it would, a subtle strain audible in its tone.
“Hugs you so perfectly right here, though,” Kim Dokja whispers once more, the pads of his fingers caressing the slight curve of Yoo Joonghyuk’s obliques.
His eyes focus on different details in the mirror—the way his curls are messy and in need of a cut, the way the saturated red of the dress clashed with his tan, scarred skin, and the way the makeup on his face looks caked on. It was all a disaster, but the way Kim Dokja stared at him?
Maybe it’s not as bad as he thinks.
A pair of lips meet his shoulder, gently pressing into his skin and snapping him out of his thoughts.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” the voice murmurs, the heat of it warming Yoo Joonghyuk's skin.
Yoo Joonghyuk exhales sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides. He doesn’t understand what to do with Kim Dokja’s compliment, the words melting his brain for just a moment. He’s gotten so used to letting that happen, used to allowing his companion’s words to sink into his skin and warm his body.
“It looks ridiculous,” he grumbles, lips downturned into a slight pout.
Yoo Joonghyuk can feel Kim Dokja’s smile graze the slope of his shoulder, his own breath stilling. The fingers on his waist move down, the fabric smoothing wherever they went.
They stop at his hips.
“You don’t think you look beautiful, dear?”
Yoo Joonghyuk tenses, attempting to look away. Kim Dokja’s words burn their way into his flesh, accompanied with a tightening heat in the pit of his stomach. They burrow their way into his muscles and into his chest, filling them with a hot, familiar sensation. He distantly thinks he should pull away, and should argue against the teasing man. But, instead, he stays still, every part of him frozen.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips part to speak, but Kim Dokja stops him.
“Should I convince you?”
Kim Dokja’s thumbs rub gentle circles into his hips, the silky smooth fabric twisting under his fingers. He doesn’t allow Yoo Joonghyuk to reply, immediately following up with another tantalizing question:
“Would you like me to?”
A moment of silence passes, their breathing being the only sound in the room.
Kim Dokja leans in, his lips lightly brushing the shell of Yoo Joonghyuk's ear.
“Hm?”
A jolt of heat shoots through Yoo Joonghyuk's core at the soft, barely there contact, thoughts scattering. Quickly, he tries to recover, forcing himself to focus.
“I’m not–” His voice falters as Kim Dokja kisses the spot right behind his ear, warm and steady.
Yoo Joonghyuk can feel the heat, the weight of his companion’s gaze on him, doing him no favors in thinking clearly. His head is spinning, each softly spoken word absolutely dizzying.
“Not what, Joonghyuk-ah? Tell me what you aren’t, dear.”
Kim Dokja’s voice is smooth like butter, almost too soft to call it a whisper.
And—much to Yoo Joonghyuk's chagrin—the words wrap around and constrict his thoughts, everything slipping away.
“You can’t have me doing all the talking, right?”
Kim Dokja pauses, exhaling, his breath ghosting over Yoo Joonghyuk's neck.
“Do you like listening to my voice that badly, Joonghyuk-ah?”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowns, a blush creeping its way onto his cheeks, spreading to his neck and ears. He wants to say ‘no’, to make Kim Dokja realize how wrong he is. Despite his best wishes, his throat struggles to work around a response that refuses to form.
“You’re not denying it,” Kim Dokja hums, one hand moving down, “How cute.”
The hand lowers a little bit more, fingertips playing with the hem of the dress. Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t really thought about how short the dress was until now. It barely reached his midthigh, almost certainly not enough to cover his lower extremities.
“And you’re wearing my other present, too. Such a good girl.”
Yoo Joonghyyk’s entire body locks up at the words, his ears burning a brighter red. His mind scrambles to find something—anything—to say, to counter Kim Dokja’s words. But all that comes to him? The suffocating, stifling awareness of his companion’s hands on him and the unbearable itch that’s starting to creep up on him.
“Shut up,” he finally mumbles, as if the words would ground him. His voice lacks the usual bite in them, leaving the phrase weak, unconvincing.
Kim Dokja continues humming an incoherent tune, his fingers rolling the pearly white lace on the hemming of the dress, slow and deliberate.
“Mm.. I don’t think you’d want that,” Kim Dokja croons, tone syrupy and thick with innuendo.
Kim Dokja’s hand dips under the skirt of the dress ever-so-slightly, thumb pressing against Yoo Joonghyuk's inner thigh.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s leg drifts out, almost on reflex, as Kim Dokja’s fingers trail up higher. The other hand on Yoo Joonghyuk's hip slides to the slit that runs up the side of the dress, palming the smooth muscle under it.
“You fill out the dress so nicely, Joonghyuk-ah. Why don’t you like it?”
Yoo Joonghyuk lets out a shaky sigh, turning his head just a tad.
“I do like it.” He pouts uncharacteristically. Yoo Joonghyuk finally built up the courage to take one of Kim Dokja’s hands and bring it to his chest. “I don’t like seeing it.”
Kim Dokja’s fingers splay out across the soft muscle, his touch light but unwavering. He tilts his head slightly, smirking.
“Why don’t you like seeing it?”
His thumbs gradually brush over the fabric, tracing the rise and fall of Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath. The latter tightens his grip around Kim Dokja’s wrist.
Yoo Joonghyuk wants to let go, to push his companion away. But instead, the argumentative words die in his throat, the only sound escaping his mouth being a soft whine.
“..It doesn’t look how I thought it would,” he grumbles, gaze flicking to the mirror before he quickly looks away.
Kim Dokja’s fingers press a little more firmly, teasing the skin under the thin overlay that runs along the bodice.
“‘It’s better than I thought it would look’,”
Yoo Joonghyuk bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from whining again. He just knows Kim Dokja is smiling.
“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
A look of irritation passes over Yoo Joonghyuk's face, mixed with a reluctant sense of euphoria. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t deny Kim Dokja’s words.
“That’s what’s bothering you, right? That I’m correct about you looking absolutely stunning in a dress,” Kim Dokja muses, making Yoo Joonghyuk scowl.
“You talk too much,” Yoo Joonghyuk hisses out, turning away in an attempt to shield himself from Kim Dokja’s gaze.
The man in question just chuckles, utterly unfazed.
“And you think too much, Joonghyuk-ah.”
Yoo Joonghyuk has to resist the urge to kiss Kim Dokja, the thought crossing his mind on reflex.
“Look at me. Now.”
Kim Dokja’s words slice a sharp pang of want through him and into the pit of his stomach. Yoo Joonghyuk feels like he shouldn't obey, should retreat back into the safety of his defiance. But something about his companion’s tone—gentle, but insistent—pulls him in. His eyes unwillingly flit back to Kim Dokja’s face, and he can’t look away.
Kim Dokja’s eyes narrow, his lips curl up into a knowing smile.
“There you go.”
The phrase has no real meaning, but with Kim Dokja’s tone of voice? It’s sickening, absolutely intoxicating for the younger. And Kim Dokja knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Wasn’t so hard, right? It’s easy to be a good girl when you have your husband to tell you what to do,” Kim Dokja practically purrs the words into Yoo Joonghyuk's ear.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath hitches sharply, an involuntary reaction he hates himself for. He’s torn between socking his lover in the face and kissing him straight on.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk rasps out, his voice wobbly. Why is he so nervous? “We’re not married.”
Kim Dokja looks deep in thought for a moment—but really, it fades so quickly that Yoo Joonghyuk assumes the man only made that expression to mess with him.
“Are you saying that because there’s no ring here?”
Kim Dokja takes one of Yoo Joonghyuk's hands, trailing his fingers up the man’s palm to interlock their fingers. He leans in, his chin brushing against the gold necklace that rests around Yoo Joonghyuk's neck. A soft kiss is pressed where Kim Dokja’s lips land, which sends an impulsive shudder through Yoo Joonghyuk's entire being.
“Because I could get you one if you want me to,” Kim Dokja murmurs, his voice dropping nearly a whole octave.
That’s what gets Yoo Joonghyuk. The way his companion can just change the entire ambience of the room with a simple switch in tone. The way Kim Dokja’s voice is so quiet, so eerily low but somehow deafening and all-mind consuming.
Yoo Joonghyuk glances down at where their hands meet, fingers rubbing against each other. He tried to imagine it. A wedding band, since neither of them enjoy showing off too much. Maybe in private, when Kim Dokja dresses him up again, he’ll wear a fancier one—a prettily fitted, gold ring, finalized with a small, black obsidian stone right in the middle. Then, Kim Dokja would place a gentle peck at each of his knuckles, lingering over his ring finger before—
“Joonghyuk-ah,” his lover hums, interrupting his racing thoughts with a breath that blows right past Yoo Joonghyuk's sensitive ear. “I can practically hear your thoughts, you know. But I want to listen to you say it.”
Yoo Joonghyuk knew for sure this time that he was just being stubborn. All Kim Dokja is asking for is a verbal agreement. Yoo Joonghyuk has to admit he wants a ring, that he needs that sign of ultimate ownership. Even after all of these years.
“Kim Dokja, we don’t.. need a ring,” Yoo Joonghyuk blurts out, the words a deflection to try and get Kim Dokja to stop insisting. But what is Kim Dokja, if not patient?
Kim Dokja doesn’t release Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand, instead opting to focus on his ring finger. He holds the base of it between his thumb and index, rubbing it slowly and deliberately.
“Just think about how pretty your hand will look with a ring.” The shorter man’s voice is coaxing as he whispers to Yoo Joonghyuk, even after ignoring the latter’s previous words. He brings Yoo Joonghyuk's hand to his lips, his breath tingling the latter’s scarred knuckles. “What color do you want?”
Kim Dokja’s fingers dance gracefully over the defined ridges of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand, dipping into his palm. “Maybe gold… ah, you look gorgeous in gold..” Kim Dokja’s lips quirk up into a soft smile before he gently kisses Yoo Joonghyuk's hand again, treating it as if it were glass. “Should it have a gem, perhaps? Or would that be too extra?”
“I said we don’t—” Yoo Joonghyuk cuts off, shocked by the intensity in his lover’s eyes. It wasn’t the usual ‘look’.
Kim Dokja always teased, always had that curiosity burning in his eyes (if a bit overwhelming, occasionally). But Kim Dokja’s pupils are sharp, his gaze darker than usual. The air between them is far too tight for Yoo Joonghyuk to resist sucking in a hot breath of air.
“I’m sorry.” Yoo Joonghyuk forces the words to escape, straining to even let out a whisper. He can’t help but stare at the ground as he gnaws at his bottom lip, a habit he had picked up after the scenarios ended.
Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t really noticed that Kim Dokja had started. It was usually customary for Kim Dokja to tell him. Maybe he did? He doesn’t know.
All he knows is that he wants to keep Kim Dokja’s eyes on him. When Kim Dokja smiles, Yoo Joonghyuk knows he’s in trouble.
“Joonghyukie, could you tell me what you were going to say?”
A shiver runs through Yoo Joonghyuk. He's in trouble, huh?