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“Your Majesty,” Kim Dokja cries, “Your Majesty—ugh, nh—e-enough!”
A terrible decision it was, it seemed, to approach His Majesty while he neared his rut. A terrible decision that Kim Dokja had no choice but to make, after coming out of a disastrous meeting, attended by, quite possibly, the worst people in the entire kingdom—haughty nobles and scheming merchants.
Given the deluge of letters His Majesty had received in the past moon, the economic state of their kingdom had faltered, a downward trend imminent. With the famine ravaging large parts of their country, it was an obvious progression that all of Kim Dokja’s fellow aides had seen coming from a mile away.
In other words, the kingdom is going to shit.
Given Yoo Sangah’s face during the entire meeting, it was entirely possible they’d be royally screwed, in more ways than one.
It was thus up to Kim Dokja to approach His Majesty with the news, and with a plan to head forward.
That is… it would’ve been a simple meeting, a come and go of sorts, if not for His Majesty’s propensity to tomfoolery.
No. Rather than tomfoolery, it was perversion. Having gone up to Yoo Joonghyuk’s room, sets of documents in hands, the pheromones that seeped from his study should’ve been an obvious sign to run. But, this information was necessary to convey, no matter how urgent His Majesty’s situation may be.
To say he had been swooped away would be underselling how quickly Yoo Joonghyuk had grasped onto him, both hands pulling him towards the bed nearby, tearing his clothes off. Before Kim Dokja could even utter a damn word about the situation ravaging their kingdom, Yoo Joonghyuk had already stripped him of his pants, shed to reveal his perky clit and his cunt, beginning to wet in the face of His Majesty’s pheromones.
Perhaps Kim Dokja himself had been infected with an inkling of the king’s perversion as well. For why else would his damn body react in that way, shaky hands scattering the documents to the wind as Yoo Joonghyuk began lapping at his cunt like a parched man?
It had started simple. Laves against his entrance, before laying deep into his assault on Kim Dokja’s entrance, licking and sucking at his hole, at his folds, until Kim Dokja’s legs had gone numb. His legs had been thrown over Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders, unlimited access granted to him to do whatever he so desired. Then, lips pursed against his clit, the suction on it enough to blank out Kim Dokja’s vision. Even with hands grasped in his hair, tugging at those silky black locks, Kim Dokja had little strength, not enough to pry His Majesty off of him.
And his body continued to listen to Yoo Joonghyuk instead of his mind. His Majesty’s scent, strong, had only seeped into his body with time, and with the king’s ministrations alongside the steadying pressure of his hands keeping Kim Dokja still, his cunt had only gushed further, body desperate for release.
Such a progression had continued until now, where Kim Dokja has half given up on stopping Yoo Joonghyuk on his reign of terror.
Pressing his hands against Yoo Joonghyuk's scalp uselessly, Kim Dokja tries again. To pry him off, that is.
Uselessly, his hands only bring Yoo Joonghyuk closer, and another lick draws another keen.
“The ledgers from—uh, mmm, the merchant caste, the financial—ah!”
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk rumbles. He looks up from his place between Kim Dokja’s bent legs, chin sopping wet. The line of his throat bobs up and down as he licks his lips, akin to a satisfied wolf after rending through a fresh carcass. “Your cunt—it’s dripping.”
“Joonghyuk-ah,” he wheezes in response. “L-listen… Listen to me… ah—!”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers plunge right into his cunt, his blunt nails scraping against his walls. Kim Dokja’s body is sent reeling, thrashing against the sheets as the girth pervades him.
Something like this—it should be nothing, compared to what Kim Dokja has faced before. Yoo Joonghyuk’s length was an entire other ordeal that he’d have to deal with, approximately triple the size of the two fingers scissoring him open right now. Still, his body, molded to His Majesty’s liking, seems to have changed, craving for more, yet unable to handle even this much.
“Ah, ah—fuck, nh, hng—!”
Those fingers, knowing and as cunning as the owner of them are, scrape against that peculiar spot inside of Kim Dokja that makes him clench down impossibly tight onto them, desperate to milk whatever is inside of him. But, unfortunately, Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers won’t ever tire of teasing him, at least, not until their owner does.
“Joonghyuk-ah, just—hng—! E-enough, ngh, Your Majesty—!”
Kim Dokja stills as he feels something press against his folds. His lower half is nearly entirely numb at this point, but he processes the retreat of Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers, and the presence of a much, much larger girth.
“My cock,” Yoo Joonghyuk breathes. “Like you wanted, Kim Dokja.”
“Joonghyuk—ah!”
It slips in with almost no resistance—thanks to Yoo Joonghyuk’s careful preparation of him—stretching Kim Dokja, a girth that is thick enough in presence to fill him up to his throat. Drowning, Kim Dokja nearly forgets to breathe as it pounces, plunging into his cunt, deep enough to bump against his womb.
“Your Majesty, uh, ah, hng,” Kim Dokja sobs, “Joonghyuk-ah—!”
Kim Dokja’s fingers uselessly grasp at the sheets, tightening and curling deep with the harsh, swipes of Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock fucking deep into him. In no time at all, he’s nearly fully out, with Kim Dokja’s cunt fluttering around nearly nothing, his body begging, pleading for Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock again.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk grunts, slamming in again. His hands tighten on his legs as he sinks in further, further than Kim Dokja has ever taken him before. “Fuck, fuck—you’re so fucking tight. Your smell—”
“Ah, hng—!”
Kim Dokja’s sharp keen interrupts his speech. He really doesn’t require a play-by-play of this situation, thank you very much. His body is already halfway to breaking, almost bent in half by Yoo Joonghyuk’s harsh slaps against his cunt, his mind inundated by the constant smell of Yoo Joonghyuk’s arousal, his pheromones driving the taut skein of yarn in his stomach even tighter.
With a stroke, a grunt, and the twitch and swell of Yoo Joonghyuk’s knot, Kim Dokja finds himself crying out, his mind blanking and his face overly wet, soaked with hot tears that slip readily from his eyes.
Panting, and having caught his breath, Kim Dokja jolts up, pulled down by Yoo Joonghyuk’s quick hand.
“The documents…” he protests.
“I’ll pick them up,” Yoo Joonghyuk mumbles, hand splayed on Kim Dokja’s chest—his uniform wrinkled beyond recognition, “later.
The following day, Kim Dokja passes by Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah in the marble hallways. His steps, resounding off the floor, stop suddenly as he spots them.
Han Sooyoung snickers at him as he nears.
“So—” she calls out.
“Hey,” Kim Dokja interrupts. “Let’s talk about it later.”
Yoo Sangah offers him an apologetic look. It’s worse than getting a blank-faced look from her.
If it were really up to him, Kim Dokja would rather talk about it never. This entire situation—his horrific meeting with the king. But… such matters regarding the kingdom were not to be kept hidden from the other advisors.
He palms at his face. Damn Yoo Joonghyuk and damn everyone in this kingdom.
(Would he do it again, though, knowing the outcome? Probably. It’s all Yoo Joonghyuk’s fault.)