Work Text:
Yoo Joonghyuk didn't mean to look.
But when it’s Kim Dokja, how can he look away?
It starts as the sky falls from noon to dusk. He's just finishing his training for the day; hours of sweat soaked muscles relentlessly drilling the same repetitive motions. His tired body and strained limbs the proof of his hard work. It’s satisfying knowing he’s climbing the steps of a master, his skill with a blade honed to perfection.
It helps, too, that many of the Constellations watching him found his training mind numbing. Only a few deign to stay, lowering the volume of the eyes watching him and cutting the constant pressure of their voyeuristic gaze. Sickening, disgusting creatures that they are, many only finding pleasure in the Incarnation's suffering. Rather than the quiet in between.
The lights are low, twilight long since settling into night, when Joonghyuk hears the sound. He’s heading back inside from the training grounds, freshly washed and dressed, when he hears a soft muffled 'ah' coming from one of the rooms he’s passing. He recognises the voice, he recognises the sound. He's caused that very sound time and time again.
He steps forward, measured and quiet, his mouth dry as dust and the sounds grow louder.
"Haaa, hnng, ah.. f-fuck." The soft moans are accompanied by the slick sound of wet flesh against wet flesh. A long fingered hand stripping a needy cock. Joonghyuk stops near where the sound is loudest, leaning back against the stone wall separating them.
Separating him from his life and death companion.
There's a window by his coat clad shoulder, cracked just enough for a pale golden glow to escape. It flickers over Joonghyuk's body, casting him in dappled light. His head hits the wall, his throat bared to the night sky and eyes shut, taking the muffled noises in. Like closing his eyes will hide the madness of what he’s doing.
The sounds continue, rhythmic wet smacks, and Yoo Joonghyuk can imagine the man behind those noises. Dokja's hand gripping his cock in a firm grasp, wet with lube and the beginning strands of arousal from his hard length.
The slide of his grip upwards, sheathing his cock in the snug cradle of his foreskin, the slide down revealing his thick plummy head, red with arousal and urethra expanding around his pre as it spills with every squeeze. With how loud the noises are, Joonghyuk imagines his knuckles are connecting with his testes whenever he reaches the thick base of him.
Perhaps, like he does with Joonghyuk's own cock, he's cradling their heavy weight in his other hand. Rubbing along the sensitive skin pulled tight. Massaging and squeezing them lightly and playfully, as they churn with the spend he's getting closer to releasing.
"F-ffff, aaah, J-Joonghyuk-ah! Nnng, p-please..." It's a whimper pulled from reluctant lips, the type of mouth prone to lying and demurring. Kim Dokja is never so honest when Yoo Joonghyuk is in the room with him. For Joonghyuk to stay and hear that honesty, the honesty he refuses to share, is crossing a line he can't return from.
But Yoo Joonghyuk can't help but falter, to draw closer to that alluring voice. It's a lure wrapped around his heart, tugging tight. He wants to know this man like he knows Joonghyuk. Wants to see him vulnerable. Wants to know he's trusted, not just with Dokja's life, but his heart.
It's wrong of him, but he finally opens his eyes. He wants to see to man who’s consumed his thoughts and his future. So he shifts just enough to see through the crack in the window, the back of his hand nudging it just slightly wider to expose the vulnerable man himself.
The window’s right beside him, close enough that should Dokja look, he could be spotted. It's angled just so, towards the bed, meaning Joonghyuk can see the entirety of Dokja's lean figure, and everything between his legs. It’s earth shattering, a sight not meant for his prying eyes. For a moment, the briefest of moments, so quick he won’t remember he thought it; he wonders if this is what it feels like to be a Constellation.
Dokja's lit by the golden glow of a lamp, bare against simple sheets. His back is arched, hips propped up by a pillow, and he is indeed using both hands between his spread, slender thighs. His fingers, wet with lube, are pistoning into his slick hole. His rim in an abused dusky pink, glossy and twitching around the fingers bullying him open.
His cock is leaking against his stomach, his other hand slowly stroking it. The duality between the two, the fast paced squelch of lube oozing from his hole with each thrust and the slow gentle barely there glide against his cock is fascinating.
Dokja's chest, neck and face are coated with a gentle peach flush, his eyes are closed and his head thrown back in pleasure. His mouth parts as gasps of air and needy moans escape his wet lips. He's radiant, sublime, something unearthly and beautiful, who defied fate just to meet with Joonghyuk. To change this round for Joonghyuk. To write an epilogue with Joonghyuk.
He hopes their epilogue is the same. He hopes Kim Dokja yearns to be with him with even a fraction of the intensity Joonghyuk feels. He hopes their epilogue contains the words 'together'. He would write it himself if he could, spill ink on the vast empty pages of their future if it meant he could love Kim Dokja. If it meant Kim Dokja would love him too.
Joonghyuk sighs, a barely there sound and freezes. His own hands have been cupping his cock through his trousers. It's damp, pressed tight against the layers of fabric encasing him. It's dangerous, exceedingly so, here and now. But he can't help but grind painfully against the palm of his hand, as he watches Kim Dokja's fingers scissor his wet entrance.
Kim Dokja lets out a high, clear noise as he runs his fingers against his prostate. His cock twitches a thin, clear, fluid against his stomach as Dokja hones in on that sweet spot, milking it. His nipples are pebbled, and his hips are shaking, humping back on his awkwardly angled wrist to force his fingers in harder. He’s fucking himself on them, the pink gape twitching in pleasure as he gasps and moans.
Joonghyuk's own hips are twitching in pleasure as he rubs his covered cock with bruising pressure. His climax will hurt, leave him chafed and hungry for the man he yearns for, and it will be punishment for his crimes. It’s foolish that he thinks it’s enough punishment, for how can it be when he doesn’t regret his crime?
Dokja's voice changes in pitch, and his hips jerk and stutter where they thrust in the air. His slick, pink hole is pulsing around his fingers, and his cock is squirting out pearly jets of cum.
"Joonghyuk-ah! Nng, ha... So... Good." He slurs out, milking his prostate and cock to extend the last of his orgasm. It’s Kim Dokja's final cry that propels Joonghyuk over the edge, spontaneous and messy into his pants. His climax is quick and unsatisfactory, a bandaid pressed to a gaping wound, and the only pleasure he feels is the yearning soothed and sated by this tiny meal. He swallows blood, his tongue and cheek bitten raw in his attempt to silence himself. And he’s left with another mess to clean, another sin to wipe away.
He casts a last, lingering look over Kim Dokja's pale form, the slick mess on his stomach and his parted, panting lips. He's embarrassed by his lack of control, by his weakness, but not by his desire. This moment of weakness, this moment of truth strengthens Yoo Joonghyuk's heart. He resolves himself to finally bridge the gap, to finally talk about it, even if it breaks them.
He turns from the window, from the warm golden light, and leaves. He misses Kim Dokja's lazy gaze watching him walk away.