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[The kiss reminded him of chemistry lessons in school, when if the right two elements were put together, they'd explode]
From the very beginning, Kim Dokja knew it was a bad idea. Of course it was; how could it not be, when he’d been tossed off the bridge like a rag doll upon their very first meeting, not to mention straight into the waiting jaws of a monster?
No, it was never a good idea, and yet, when Yoo Joonghyuk brushed his hand against his shoulder absentmindedly after a long fight, too light to really mean anything, too heavy not to really mean anything, Kim Dokja couldn’t bring himself to care too much.
The prophecy dictated his fate. And his fate had been sealed, brutally, violently, gracelessly, with a sword through his heart. Just like the realization that the man who wielded that very same sword was the very same man who held that very same heart gently, protectively, preciously, in his hard, calloused hands.
Kim Dokja was a man of many words, but not even he could find enough of them to label the ache in the hole in his chest as Yoo Joonghyuk embraced him like a lover he would fall apart, a hollow defeat in his eyes.
Don’t cry, he tried to say, but his body was working against him.
I’ll be back, he tried to tell him, but he couldn’t make that promise.
From the very beginning, Kim Dokja knew it was a bad idea. In this destroyed world, Kim Dokja was like a god to Yoo Joonghyuk, a broken man with broken morals and a broken heart who traversed the broken realm with only a single goal to bring down the system. Kim Dokja was a god, a prophet, a calamity who knew the deepest secrets of the very thing Yoo Joonghyuk vowed to destroy, and he was helplessly entranced and ensnared by the weave of webs that had been laid around him.
Kim Dokja chased after death, and Yoo Joonghyuk chased after him.
A god and a mortal who hated the gods.
A reader and a protagonist who hated being read.
From the very beginning, Kim Dokja knew it was a bad idea.
Stumbling through the halls of the Industrial Complex, desperate hands grasping at each other's clothes, Kim Dokja told himself that over and over again, no matter how meaningless the words were.
When Yoo Joonghyuk kissed him, it reminded him of chemistry lessons in school, years ago, when if the right two elements were put together, they’d explode.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” Kim Dokja broke the kiss, panting. Yoo Joonghyuk, undeterred, nosed his way along his jaw, down the column of his neck, nipping gently at the skin. “The kids…”
“Don’t care.”
“I care.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned, annoyance clinging to his handsome features, but he backed away slightly, only to lace his hands with Kim Dokja’s and tug him down the hall, a man on a mission.
“Wait–”
“Kim Dokja, I’ve waited long enough. Don’t make me wait any more.”
There was a bite to his words, a scorn, but beneath all that, a plea; Kim Dokja swallowed, silenced.
Once inside his room, Yoo Joonghyuk pulled him into another bruising kiss, painful and exhilarating in the same breath. Kim Dokja had never been kissed like that before, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
Yet the hands that traveled down his body were still gentle, carrying with them a hesitation that didn’t fit Yoo Joonghyuk’s character.
Kim Dokja wanted it to hurt.
“Don’t touch me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like that.”
Like a lover.
Yoo Joonghyuk scowled, but he tugged off his coat with just the slightest more force than before, a hint of nail digging in pettily. Kim Dokja craved it.
“Kim Dokja, you’re a fool.”
How many times had he said those words before? Kim Dokja couldn’t even begin to count on his two hands.
Arguing about the scenarios.
Fighting to the death.
Bickering in the kitchen.
And now, pressed against each other, all roaming hands and rustling fabric, like tomorrow may never come.
For Kim Dokja, the world may very well end tomorrow.
For Yoo Joonghyuk, his world may very well end tomorrow.
“Bed,” Kim Dokja gasped out, fire sparking under his veins and clouding his mind, fogging his judgment. Judgment be damned, he thought faintly, when Yoo Joonghyuk slipped his hands under his dress shirt, searing hot against his skin.
Like he was burning a brand there, keeping him helplessly tethered to the protagonist.
In an unusual display of possessiveness, Yoo Joonghyuk sank his teeth into the crook of Kim Dokja’s neck, tipping him back against the bed with a hand cradling his skull. The constant teetering between gentle and rough was incredibly effective at shredding Kim Dokja’s coherency to pieces.
“Stop,” he mewled out as Yoo Joonghyuk sucked another bruising mark into his collarbones, apparently uncaring of their reputation the next morning.
He looked at him incredulously. “Stop?” A fire ignited in his dark eyes, almost as frightening as it was thrilling. “You want me to stop?”
Kim Dokja scrambled for control. Since the scenarios started, no, since before the scenarios started, there was really only one thing that scared him: the lack of control. He knew what his party members thought of him, what the constellations knew him as: a cold, calculating, and unyielding man who saw the ruined world in numbers and hard facts.
Honestly, he liked it; preferred it that way. He embraced it proudly, stepping up to make the decisions and sacrifices he knew his companions couldn’t.
But here, under the dark cover of nightfall, stripped of his coat that he wore like armour, control slipped between his fingers faster than he could grab onto it.
And somehow, in some way, he found he didn’t hate it.
“Kim Dokja.”
He tumbled back to reality to Yoo Joonghyuk’s uncharacteristically soft voice and even softer grip on his jaw, turning his face upwards.
“Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“Stop running away.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
This time, Yoo Joonghyuk kissed him not with desperation, not with hunger, not with passion, but a deep longing and unspoken words. A prayer to a merciless god.
Kim Dokja answered with a moan and pulled him flush against his body.
“Then make me stay.”
***
“Ah–” The air was punched out of his lungs the moment Kim Dokja opened his mouth to speak. “Yoo – ah fuck – Yoo Joonghyuk, wait!”
The three fingers shoving themselves unceremoniously into him did not wait. In fact, Kim Dokja swore they sped up.
“I thought I told you to stop telling me to wait,” Yoo Joonghyuk said conversationally, like he wasn’t knuckles deep into a constellation, of all people.
Kim Dokja sobbed helplessly, digging his nails into the protagonist’s shoulders.
The moment he’d handed Yoo Joonghyuk the reins, he knew he’d tempted hell itself. The way his face had slackened in shock was almost comical, the hungry desire in his eyes terrifying.
And yet, Kim Dokja couldn’t regret it, not when his favourite protagonist was stretching him so well, sucking bruise after bruise into his pale skin. Not when Yoo Joonghyuk looked positively delicious , all hard muscles and tousled hair.
“This is a good look on you.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes snagged on the crumpled white fabric slipping off Kim Dokja’s slender shoulders, his fingers tightening around his waist hard enough to leave angry imprints behind. “You should be quiet more often.”
He’d been strangely insistent on keeping Kim Dokja’s shirt on, unbuttoned and wrinkled beyond recognition, but on nevertheless. Kim Dokja could never really say no to him.
He pulled his fingers out, dragging them against Kim Dokja’s walls wickedly, and the whine that slipped from his throat was swallowed by the kiss Yoo Joonghyuk pressed against his swollen lips.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Kim Dokja threatened, though the effect of it was considerably lessened with the rasp in his voice and the flush on his body.
“I would never dream of it.”
Pliant and limp, Kim Dokja let him rearrange him to his heart’s content, until Yoo Joonghyuk’s back was against the backboard of the bed, Kim Dokja perched prettily on his lap. When he looked at him expectantly, Kim Dokja turned away, unable to withstand the onslaught of emotions pouring into the air from a wounded heart.
He was never a strong man to begin with.
“You’re still running away from me.”
Among those emotions, there was only one Kim Dokja dared to name.
Anger.
If it could even be called that.
“How do you do it, Kim Dokja?” Contrary to the seething fury in his words, Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands were still tender as he lifted him up and slowly eased him down onto his cock. “Answer me.”
Kim Dokja tried, he really did, but his jaw fell open in a silent scream as he was breached, Yoo Joonghyuk’s dick carving its way into Kim Dokja like it had every right to be there. All that came out of his mouth was a drawn out whine.
“How do you give me everything,” Yoo Joonghyuk bullied his way deeper into his body, one agonizing inch at a time, “and yet withhold what I want most from you?”
“I don’t– ah!”
“You do.” In one smooth action, Yoo Joonghyuk thrust his hips up, sheathing himself to the hilt. The sound that ripped from Kim Dokja was nothing short of a wail. “Even now, you’re barely here.”
Kim Dokja wanted to scream. What do you mean, barely here? he wanted to say. He was never good at being vulnerable, and still he wanted to at least try. For Yoo Joonghyuk. For his protagonist.
Reaching a shaking hand out, he pressed his palm against Yoo Joonghyuk’s cheek, valiantly trying and failing to ignore the wrench in his heart when he leaned into his touch, lashes falling shut.
“I’m here.”
Yoo Joonghyuk shook his head, eyes still closed, like he was refusing reality. “Don’t lie to me, Kim Dokja. If you’re going to lie, I’d rather you not speak.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat.
This is a bad idea.
From the very beginning, Kim Dokja knew it was a bad idea.
“Tonight,” he whispered. Yoo Joonghyuk opened his eyes, and stared at his god, the one who stabbed him with his own sword over and over again. The one whose hand he led to his own sword, if only to hold him for a moment longer. “For tonight, I will be here.”
From the very beginning, Kim Dokja knew it was a bad idea, but he was never a stranger to bad ideas.
***
“How many, Dokja?”
The calm composure in Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice was infuriating. He sounded almost completely unaffected, if not a touch out of breath.
“I don’t know,” Kim Dokja moaned brokenly, sounding fucked out to his own ears even through his delirium. “Five?”
“Not quite.” Yoo Joonghyuk thrust in languidly, like he had all the time in the world, punching a sob from the constellation’s throat. “We’re at four.”
In all honesty, Kim Dokja stopped counting after two orgasms. He was certain that was his body’s limit, but he unfortunately did not account for the expensive high grade elixirs Yoo Joonghyuk shoved between his lips to coax more and more from his worn out body.
“I can’t,” he choked out, feeling another knot of pleasure slowly coil together deep in his gut, desire simmering under his skin. He felt like he was going to die.
It was only when Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip tightened dangerously on his body that Kim Dokja realized he’d said it out loud.
“I won’t let you,” he promised, the vow hanging heavily between them. “You will not die.”
The assault on his prostate as Yoo Joonghyuk slammed inside was almost as painful as the declaration itself. Tears flooded Kim Dokja’s eyes as he sang moans after moans, helpless to do anything but take it.
“Y– Joonghyuk-ah!”
A hand reached for his cock, twisting harshly in time with Yoo Joonghyuk’s brutal thrusts. Kim Dokja cried out incoherently, straining his already wrecked vocal chords as pain and pleasure wrestled against each other.
“You’re so pretty like this, Dokja.”
The words were lost in the white noise clouding Kim Dokja’s mind, his senses only narrowing down to the scent of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shampoo mingling with the smell of sex in the air, the warmth of his skin, the bite of his teeth along his neck, the slap of his hips against his ass.
The white hot arousal sparking through his exhausted body was overwhelming, overstimulation driving his sensitivity to unbearable levels. Still, he chased after the paradise Yoo Joonghyuk promised him.
“Please,” Kim Dokja begged, blindly reaching for his salvation. “Joonghyuk, please, it hurts, please–”
Yoo Joonghyuk pounded into him, hips snapping up and hitting his sweet spot mercilessly, ignoring Kim Dokja’s whimpers. His forehead was slick with the sheen of sweat, breath hitching as he finally chased after the pleasure he’d been denying himself.
“Come,” he panted, jerking Kim Dokja’s length with smooth twists of his hand. With a wail, Kim Dokja came dry, his dick giving a small twitch as Yoo Joonghyuk spilled inside with a low groan.
The last thing he heard before he lost the fight to the promise of blissful sleep was three soft words.
***
“We will be going to war soon.” Kim Dokja leveled a cool stare at Yoo Joonghyuk, fighting to keep a look of neutrality on his face.
“I am aware.”
“Then you should know what I am about to say.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed in dark, boiling anger. “If you are about to suggest what I think you are–”
“I’m not,” Kim Dokja interrupted. “But if it comes down to that, then I need you to make the right decision.”
“The decision I make is to keep you alive.”
“Don’t be selfish, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
He glared at him. “You’re the one being selfish. I reject your plan.”
Sensing a meaningless fight, Kim Dokja sighed dejectedly, walking to the door to leave. There was no point staying when the protagonist was clearly looking for a fight.
“Do you remember what I promised you?”
Kim Dokja startled. He racked his brain, but nothing came to mind. He remembered nearly everything there was to remember about Yoo Joonghyuk, and yet he couldn’t remember this supposed promise.
A promise to him, nonetheless.
“I won’t let you.”
You will not die.
Kim Dokja inhaled sharply.
“I will follow you to the end of the world to bring you back if I have to.”
***
Yoo Joonghyuk’s trembling hand grasped the door’s handle.
He was scared. What if there was nothing beyond this door?
What if all this was nothing more than a sweet lie?
I will follow you to the end of the world to bring you back if I have to.
The words that he spoke so long ago, the ones that kept him from giving up as Yoo Joonghyuk drifted between worldlines for eons, chasing after the constellation that had scattered into stardust.
The door creaked noisily as it opened.