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my man's a dream

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Kim Dokja is a man of culture. He prides himself on that - someone who’s read so many webnovels, who’s been thrown into fictional and non-fictional worlds of all kinds to the point where he ended up being properly thrown into a fictional world and told to survive, well. He’s a man of many experiences, many thoughts and principles, and a man of culture. 

 

On a good day, he pretends he is as philosophical as Aristotles or Platos. To think like a renowned philosopher is to think critically and deeply. Kim Dokja stares at the stars and pretends he can read them. He stares at a fruit and wonders if gravity will still work on it in the Banquet of the Stars. If gods and deities were real in this world, then did they exist back in his world? Was this fictional world turned reality an existence that overlaid on his world, or was it a real progression of history, one that couldn’t be rewound? Kim Dokja had always been an atheist, but it looks like that had to change.

 

Then again, all the great philosophers were simply people who said whatever they wanted and subsequently declared themselves geniuses. All that “I think therefore I am”, “I know that I know nothing” - Kim Dokja definitely knows he knows nothing at all, so maybe he’s on par with Socrates, or at least the type of Socrates that Plato espoused to have existed. He can definitely say a bunch of crap and then declare himself a genius. He thinks he’s done it before.

 

Even if he can’t, Han Sooyoung is fresh and ready for him to tap out and rise up to take on that mantle. Now that woman, she is definitely a Greek philosopher in the making. Everything that comes out of her mouth makes Kim Dokja doubt his entire existence. She says words, separately, and they don’t make sentences inside of his head. Han Sooyoung can speak for a good hour and a half on the intricacies of novel writing and crafting a plot and how she definitely did not plagiarize tls123, but Kim Dokja stares at her mouth opening and closing and fails to process anything real.

 

Now, however, he is entrenched in a handful of deep philosophical thoughts. Kim Dokja worries at his bottom lip, his hands trembling as he stuffs them into his coat pockets, and he hopes no one can see how wide his pupils have dilated. He knows Han Sooyoung is cackling next to him, and Yoo Sangah is making some sort of light-hearted comment that makes everyone laugh, but he feels like he’s dissociating out of the entire interaction. 

 

It feels like he’s watching this go down from an omniscient point of view. He can see himself, shaking as he attempts to stifle whatever weak noises that threaten to leak from his lips; he can see Lee Hyunsung hiding his smile behind his hand in an attempt to be polite; he can see Lee Gilyoung staring wide-eyed and nudging Shin Yoosung so harshly that the girl almost falls over. Shin Yoosung yells, and turns on Lee Gilyoung, fists raised and ready to battle.

 

He takes a deep breath. It’s a struggle to even breathe properly. His lungs are rebelling against him, and his mouth threatens to drop open and stay open with every shaky breath he takes. Kim Dokja bites harder on his lip, afraid of what he’ll say when he opens his mouth.

 

Plato once wrote a ninety-page essay on Socrates’ doctrine on why one should pursue a good life rather than one’s own pleasure. Kim Dokja didn’t read it, but he heard it was full of circular reasoning that really didn’t make any sort of sense. For someone who was lauded as Socrates’ prized student, the man basically made no attempt to justify his conclusion that acting badly and in pursuit of pleasure would make one’s soul diseased. 

 

But maybe the man had a point.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk pulls irritatedly at the hem of the cheongsam, a vicious scowl on his face as he tries to stretch and realises his complete restriction of movement. It’s tight around the shoulders, around the chest, the fabric cinching at the waist and flaring slightly at the thighs- it’s red silk pooling over pale skin, the gold-trimmed edges glinting in the light with every aborted movement Yoo Jonghyuk makes. 

 

To make things worse, there are garter belts involved. Garter belts and stockings , Kim Dokja realises dizzily, and feels like a swooning maiden in the eighteenth Victorian century sitting at the window sill in her room and catching a glimpse of her gardener wiping the sweat off his forehead as he toils at her flower bed. 

 

Is this what people in the past felt like, when women were covered up from toe to neck, and then everyone went mad over a glimpse of a wrist or an ankle? Is this what delirium feels like, staring with a thumping heart at the sight of Yoo Jonghyuk’s forearms, that strip of thigh not covered by the cheongsam or the stockings?

 

If Kim Dokja breathes too fast, he might pass out. He’s lucky he’s standing behind Lee Hyunsung. The man is a giant, towering over him and blocking out whatever problems Kim Dokja might have going on below the waist. Kim Dokja’s hands shake again, his mind a hazy mess as he attempts to draw his coat tighter around him, hoping the fabric will hide the way his dick is straining at his pants, already drooling in its tight confines.

 

He realises that maybe Plato was right after all. That pursuing a life of pleasure just threw his entire soul out of proportion and he would end up with a miserable, terrible life.

 


 

It starts out with Han Sooyoung, because if it isn’t Kim Dokja giving bad ideas, it’s Han Sooyoung. They’re partners in crime like that, sharing terrible plans with fifty loopholes and leaving the rest up to luck. The rest of their team doesn’t say anything because they know Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung are the type of people to go off and execute the stupid plan on their own if no one will back them up. 

 

But this plan- Kim Dokja had no hand in it. He wouldn’t have touched this plan with a hundred feet pole. Kim Dokja knows his limits, and Yoo Jonghyuk is his only limit. Sometimes, he thinks to himself, “ What would Yoo Jonghyuk do? ” and he finds himself constrained by the desire to ensure Yoo Jonghyuk doesn’t get so mad he loses his mind and hunts him down. 

 

This is, of course, a recent development. A few scenarios earlier and Kim Dokja wouldn’t have cared what Yoo Jonghyuk thought of his plans. Sure, Kim Dokja wanted to leave a favourable impression on his favorite character, but Kim Dokja was also someone who was motivated by self-interest. 

 

He had a goal, and it was to survive. His secondary goal was to help Yoo Jonghyuk reach the end that he couldn’t quite find in the original timeline, and he would drag Yoo Jonghyuk there kicking and screaming if he had to. Using all the cheats he knew from the original plot, dying and resurrecting like the second coming of Christ, coming up with contingency plans for his contingency plans and hoping everything worked out in the end - for the longest time, Kim Dokja really didn’t care about what other people thought of his plans, only that they followed it.

 

Then he met 1863!Yoo Jonghyuk. And suddenly, Kim Dokja wonders what Yoo Jonghyuk’s opinion on his plans are. He starts to want to include Yoo Jonghyuk in discussions, regardless of how non-verbal the man is. Yoo Jonghyuk is a firecracker waiting to explode, and he’s a chess piece that plays by his own rules. Kim Dokja can’t do anything but stare helplessly as his king moves by himself, and he wrings his hands when the king wanders too close to checkmate. 

 

Han Sooyoung tells him it’s because his wires got crossed when 1863!Yoo Jonghyuk smiled at him. The subsequent self-sacrifice probably also impacted Kim Dokja’s opinion of him, but Han Sooyoung insists that when it comes to Yoo Jonghyuk and Kim Dokja, just a single uptick of the lips is enough to make Kim Dokja question his entire purpose. 

 

Kim Dokja insists it’s because 1863!Yoo Jonghyuk said he wanted Kim Dokja to go back and experience the scenarios with the third rendition of himself. He can’t place it, but hearing 1863!Yoo Jonghyuk say that, with that sort of helpless, satisfied expression on his face- it made his heart feel prickly. Like Kyrgios performed emergency AED on him at triple the intensity. 

 

Regardless of the cause, Kim Dokja is now very, very weak to Yoo Jonghyuk’s opinions whenever he formulates plans. He always takes the time to approach Yoo Jonghyuk, quietly discussing in low voices as they sit near the fire, in a corner of the train station, at the mouth of Yoo Jonghyuk’s tent. 

 

A plan like this, involving Yoo Jonghyuk crossdressing in a cheongsam and garter belts , Kim Dokja has no hand in it. He wiped his hands clean of it when Han Sooyoung got that glint in her eye and the words Yoo Jonghyuk spilled out of her mouth. He knew that Yoo Jonghyuk wouldn’t be happy about it, because Han Sooyoung looked especially gleeful, and if he pretended he couldn’t see or hear her plan it, he had no part in it.

 

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Kim Dokja was not an accomplice to the crime. 

 

Persephone, however, was apparently all for it. 

 

Frankly, it doesn’t surprise him. There’s only one place that a cheongsam and garter belts can miraculously appear from, and it isn’t the Dokkaebi Bag. Well, he supposes Bihyung could whip it out if he really begged for it, but it’s highly unlikely that the dokkaebis will cater to them like this. It’s unlikely that any dokkaebi would cater to Han Sooyoung like that. 

 

Kim Dokja sits miserably on an overturned wooden crate that used to store food at the back of a ripped up convenience store, and puts his head in his hands. His coat is still pulled around him, the excess fabric pooling in between his thighs to cover anything incriminating, and he does his best not to look over at where Yoo Jonghyuk is attempting to draw his sword while in the cheongsam.

 

He takes a peek. The red silk stretches tight over Yoo Jonghyuk’s shoulders, creasing at the waist when he twists to jab at an invisible foe behind him, and when Yoo Jonghyuk ducks and does a sweeping kick, the end of the cheongsam flies up and exposes the insides of his thighs. The black makes a stark contrast against Yoo Jonghyuk’s skin, dark lace digging into a place that Kim Dokja never thought he would ever have the privilege to see in his wildest dreams, and he deliriously wonders if Yoo Jonghyuk has an inbuilt SPF 5000 sunblock in his DNA. 

 

It’s not fair that he’s so pale. Kim Dokja is paler, true, but he isn’t dressed in a cheongsam and garter belts that throw his paleness into the light right now. Yoo Jonghyuk is all hard lines and stiff planes and him in a cheongsam is really doing things for Kim Dokja, but he finds it hard to imagine that anyone would be fooled into thinking Yoo Jonghyuk is a female. 

 

If he squints, he imagines he can see the faint outline of Yoo Jonghyuk’s dick, curved slightly to the left under the cheongsam that clings to every line of his body. 

 

Kim Dokja flushes, and buries his face in his hands again. It’s not like he’s actively looking. His eyes are just- drawn to Yoo Jonghyuk’s hot spots. It’s a crime to look at a man like that and not double-take, even if Yoo Jonghyuk is dressed in full black with a sword and looking like a menace reborn to drag people down to the Underworld. It’s simply physically impossible.

 

And Kim Dokja, as a man of culture, appreciates things. It’s not his fault that Yoo Jonghyuk is just so easy to appreciate. There are so many things to take in, to sit back and watch and let his hands wander as he stares at the way the collar fits under Yoo Jonghyuk’s Adam’s Apple, pushing into it; the way the sleeve cuts off right before his shoulders, the golden trim curving around his biceps; the way the garter belts - has Kim Dokja mentioned the garter belts? Has he? If he has, it’s still worth repeating - pull against the stockings and disappear under the fluttering red silk.

 

Kim Dokja wants to put his hands on Yoo Jonghyuk and find out exactly what the man is wearing below that cheongsam. What is the garter belts connected to? It’s impossible for Yoo Jonghyuk to wear boxers beneath that sort of body-hugging fabric, so briefs, maybe? Or maybe even- 

 

He throws the thought out of his head before he can entertain it. If Kim Dokja lets himself think about it, it’s going to grow into an Eldritch monster that haunts every waking moment. He’ll never be able to look Yoo Jonghyuk in the eyes again, and that’s not a good enough trade-off for the fantastic orgasm he’s going to have later in his tent if he lets himself think about it. 

 

Yoo Sangah settles next to him with an inquisitive look. She takes one look at his despondent figure, and a smile immediately flits onto her face. Kim Dokja looks sadly at her and holds his tongue. There’s absolutely nothing to say. It’s not like Kim Dokja can look Yoo Sangah straight in the eye and attempt to convey his pain at being forced to sit over here, consumed by lust, waiting for Yoo Jonghyuk to finish whatever harebrained plot Han Sooyoung conjured up just so Kim Dokja can pretend to revert to normal daily living. 

 

She puts a hand on his back and pats once. Her touch is gentle, and Kim Dokja’s face grows redder. He doesn’t even have to say it, but he suspects she already knows. He surreptitiously checks his coat to see if it’s still blocking the way his cock is straining to jump out of his pants, and lets out a quiet, relieved sigh. 

 

“How is this supposed to work?” Kim Dokja asks her. “Did Han Sooyoung explain it?”

 

Yoo Sangah puts a hand over her mouth to hide the way her smile grows bigger. It doesn’t work, because Yoo Sangah is the kind of person to smile with her entire face when she’s delighted, and he can see the smile in her eyes. He’s unsure if this means she’s sadistic since she appears to be taking pleasure in his pain. 

 

“Well, Sooyoung-ssi said Jonghyuk-ssi would infiltrate the enemy’s base and catch them off-guard and then it would be up to his, uh,” she coughs, as if holding back a laugh, “I think she said it would be up to his discretion as to what he’ll do with them.”

 

Kim Dokja stares blankly at her for a few moments. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it. For a brief moment, he looks at his hands, and wonders if he should put his head between his knees to prevent himself from hyperventilating. 

 

“She what ?” He asks, in what he hopes is a calm voice. “Is she aware that Yoo Jonghyuk can rip apart the enemy without having to be that get-up?”

 

Even as he says it, he knows it’s not true. If it were, they wouldn’t be gathering in another wrecked train station, wracking their brains to conjure plans to divide and conquer. Kim Dokja raised the possibility of poisoning them. He was shot down by Lee Hyunsung, who still had morals. However, since Jung Heewon looked legitimately thoughtful at his idea, he maintains that it was a good one.

 

But did they really have to sink so low? To the point where the best idea is for Yoo Jonghyuk to crossdress in a bid to throw them off guard? Is this the best idea that the top writer Han Sooyoung could come up with?

 

He’s interested in knowing how Han Sooyoung even convinced Yoo Jonghyuk to change into that get-up. From what he knows of Yoo Jonghyuk, the man is a train driver steering a reckless steam train and frantically laying out the tracks before the train as it moves. He is someone that moves at his own stubborn pace, and Kim Dokja grudgingly respects that. He would respect it a lot more if Yoo Jonghyuk listened to him more often. Yoo Jonghyuk could be someone who wanted to do things his way, but Kim Dokja wanted to be his singular exception. 

 

“Sooyoung-ssi says the leader has a thing for guys who cross-dress,” Yoo Sangah says abruptly. Kim Dokja was in the midst of formulating an argument against Han Sooyoung and her terrible, fantastic idea of forcing Yoo Jonghyuk into a cheongsam, and he almost falls off the wooden crate when he realises what Yoo Sangah just said. 

 

“He- how does Han Sooyoung know this, exactly?!”

 

Yoo Sangah shrugs. “She didn’t tell us.”

 

Kim Dokja is mortified to think he might share something in common with the leader of his current enemy faction. They’re not even really enemies, it’s just that they have to claim territory as part of the scenario and the two groups were forced into a tight situation. Kim Dokja has never met any of the enemy faction before, but he’s heard of what they’re capable of, and he holds a healthy dosage of wariness for the unknown. 

 

Specifically, the enemies are made up of individuals who weren’t in the book. They’re people who would come up blank if Kim Dokja attempted to scan them. He’s a pretty useless prophet in this current situation.

 

“She probably has an avatar running around somewhere,” he says eventually, sighing as he brings his knees together and flaps his coat over his lap. Kim Dokja slouches, leaning forward to prop his chin in his hand as his elbow rests against his thigh. “I can’t believe he agreed to this.”

 

Yoo Sangah smiles faintly, something suspicious glinting in the corner of her eye, and Kim Dokja wonders if devils walk on Earth. “Maybe he wanted to get your attention, Dokja-ssi.”

 

His mouth drops open and he turns to her in a flurry. His face is red hot, burning up so quickly that he’s sure his ears have colored as well. Kim Dokja levies a betrayed look at her. “I told you that in confidence , Sangah-ssi.”

 

“You didn’t tell me anything. I figured it out on my own!” Yoo Sangah smiles benignly at him, and Kim Dokja feels shame crawling around his heart and claiming it as a home. “I think Jonghyuk-ssi is looking over here.”

 

Kim Dokja whips around so quickly he’s ashamed. His eyes are wide, falling onto Yoo Jonghyuk’s stiff frame like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done, and his entire body relaxes from the upright position he had adopted the moment he thought Yoo Jonghyuk was looking at him.

 

“You’re terrible,” he accuses, but he doesn’t even look at Yoo Sangah. His eyes are trained on Yoo Jonghyuk, wondering what it’ll be like to peel him out of that cheongsam, and he thinks he can hear Yoo Sangah laughing behind him.

 


 

It’s five in the evening and Kim Dokja has been in a haze of arousal for the past hour and a half. He takes due care in ensuring he is nowhere near the children so he won’t accidentally say something that compromises their innocence, and he keeps a distance away from the rest of the team members so he doesn’t say anything incriminating. 

 

However, whenever he sees Han Sooyoung, he stares at her like he imagines he can murder or severely cripple her with his gaze alone, and she cackles every single time she makes eye contact with him.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk doesn’t do much. Kim Dokja keeps the man in his peripheral vision, stiffening whenever Yoo Jonghyuk moves. He has to discreetly adjust himself every few minutes or his dick will start to ache in his pants. Even if it hurts, even if Kim Dokja’s mind threatens to explode down a few hundred different fantasies every time Yoo Jonghyuk does something while in that outfit, he can’t take his eyes off him. 

 

Kim Dokja can’t bring himself to just enter his tent and sink into the vivid imagination he owns as a reader to have the most mind-numbing orgasm he’ll ever have. It’s like the world’s longest drawn-out game of chicken where Kim Dokja is the only player.

 

He fiddles with the sleeve of his coat, wondering how he’ll survive the next few days. Yoo Jonghyuk is going to pop over by the enemy’s faction later, just briefly passing by so that one of the members - or if they’re lucky, the leader himself - catches a glimpse of him and enters the same state of dizzy arousal that Kim Dokja finds himself trapped in. 

 

It’s essentially a honey trap. Kim Dokja never read about honey traps being used in the original novel, but then again, Han Sooyoung lives to defy expectations. Apparently, Yoo Jonghyuk also lives to defy characterizations. 

 

While Kim Dokja isn’t paying attention, there’s a tussle, a low, heated argument from somewhere in the distance, and Yoo Jonghyuk abruptly turns to him, stalking over in large, furious steps. Kim Dokja straightens, eyes wide and feeling very much like a deer in headlights, and wonders if he can make it to the confines of his tent if he sprints. 

 

His gaze slides quickly over. Yoo Sangah is sitting right in front of his tent, talking to Lee Jihye. He isn’t sure if she’s seated there on purpose, but he suspects she is. Yoo Sangah is secretly someone as devious as Han Sooyoung, and there’s a strange feeling roiling in his chest when he stares at his blocked exit. It feels a lot like betrayal, but a part of him says it feels like anticipation.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk comes to a stop in front of him. Kim Dokja is sitting down on a low wooden crate made to carry bread, and Yoo Jonghyuk is tall and broad-shouldered. It just so happens that fate decides to make Kim Dokja eye-level with Yoo Jonghyuk’s hips, and Kim Dokja’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. 

 

He feels parched. He swallows tightly, directing his gaze to the side. It lingers on the ground for a brief moment, counting the gravel particles, and then it traitorously slinks back to the crease around Yoo Jonghyuk’s upper thigh, greedily tracing over the suspicious bulge at his crotch that’s only visible upon close inspection, the place where black disappears under red, where the slit at the side of his thigh goes up and up and up

 

“Can I help you?” Kim Dokja asks weakly, and forces himself to look up at Yoo Jonghyuk. It takes him a while to get there- his eyes decide to take the scenic route, and they wander all over Yoo Jonghyuk’s body, the clear line of abs straining through the silk, the way the sleeves threaten to burst with every tiny movement Yoo Jonghyuk makes, the pebbled nipples poking through the thin fabric that might be the cause of Kim Dokja’s death. 

 

This is it, he thinks faintly. This is how he dies. With a leaking cock that’s definitely stained the front of his pants, before his favorite character who’s currently in a red silk cheongsam and garter belts, and without having ever fucked anyone. Kim Dokja allows himself a moment of self-pity.

 

“Han Sooyoung said-” Yoo Jonghyuk pauses, and closes his mouth. He looks like he’s deep in contemplation about something. It’s a good look, Kim Dokja thinks. Yoo Jonghyuk in general is a good look. He could be wearing a trash bag and Kim Dokja thinks he could pull it off as high fashion.

 

He flaps his hand in front of him, barely avoiding brushing against Yoo Jonghyuk’s crotch. It makes his breath catch in his throat at the missed opportunity. “Don’t believe anything she says. She’s a harpy.” 

 

Kim Dokja side-eyes his hand, and wonders if he could nonchalantly attempt to flap his hand, grope Yoo Jonghyuk, and then die happy as the man beats him up for violation of privacy. He feels like it would be a worthy death.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk’s face does something complicated. “Do you think I look good?”

 

He asks it like a challenge. Like he’s throwing down the gauntlet at Kim Dokja and beckoning him into a field of death instead of asking Kim Dokja for his opinion on- what? What exactly is Yoo Jonghyuk asking? 

 

Does Kim Dokja think he looks good? Has Kim Dokja ever thought Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t look good? Even when Yoo Jonghyuk threw him over the bridge, Kim Dokja just kept thinking of how attractive the protagonist looked. The protagonist halo really isn’t fair. Gamers in real life don’t look like that .

 

He swallows tightly, throat working furiously as Kim Dokja flicks his gaze up and down Yoo Jonghyuk’s body. “You don’t look bad,” he says eventually, clearing his throat. A calm, neutral statement that wouldn’t betray the way his cock jumped in his slacks when Yoo Jonghyuk asked that question.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk just looks at him. Kim Dokja can’t tell if there’s any emotion behind it. It might just be the overbearing desire to murder him. “That wasn’t the question.”

 

Kim Dokja’s breath stutters in his throat. What sort of interrogation is this? He’s seen this before, in stories when the wife is trying to use her sexual wiles to coax the oblivious prince into her bed. The prince gives dumb answers while the wife traps him into saying he thinks she’s incredibly sexy and wants to sleep with her. Then she shows him a night of unbelievable pleasure and he becomes her dog.

 

Is he supposed to be the dog in this story? Is Yoo Jonghyuk trying to play the role of the seductive princess? There are so many things wrong with this hypothesis that Kim Dokja doesn’t even know where to begin, but it’s the only possible explanation his mind can come up with right now. Granted, about ninety percent of his upper brain function is being monopolised by the tantalising sight of Yoo Jonghyuk just standing before him. 

 

“You look good,” he says slowly. Yoo Jonghyuk rolls his shoulders slightly, pulling them back, and something that looks like what Kim Dokja thinks is satisfaction settles on his face. 

 

It’s as if Yoo Jonghyuk is preening . Kim Dokja can’t take too many hits to his brain. There needs to be a limit somewhere to ensure he lives to see tomorrow. 

 

“Then the plan against the enemy should work,” Yoo Jonghyuk says after a moment. He stretches his neck, cracking it to the left and right, and twists slightly in his outfit. It looks uncomfortable, but Kim Dokja’s dick has been extremely uncomfortable in his pants for the past few hours, so he thinks Yoo Jonghyuk can suffer a bit longer. 

 

He registers what Yoo Jonghyuk said, and bristles, throwing a dirty glance at Han Sooyoung. “Did she say that? That if I thought it looked good, it probably meant it would be able to seduce the enemy too?” Kim Dokja huffs, insult radiating through his entire body. “Look, just because my standards are on the ground and because I find it sexy doesn’t mean everyone would find it sexy. I don’t want to think I have the same tastes as the enemy .”

 

Han Sooyoung must have heard him venting, or maybe she just felt the devil on her shoulder, but she turns around and makes a face at him. Kim Dokja makes one back. He is well aware this makes them no better than Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung, but exceptions must be made every once in a while. This is one of those exceptions. He simply has to lay into Han Sooyoung at every opportunity he gets or she will tear him apart.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk makes a strange noise, immediately drawing Kim Dokja’s attention. He’s red, a faint flush coloring his cheeks, and Kim Dokja’s heart aches. Yoo Jonghyuk looks embarrassed, of all things, and it’s really a great look. It makes Kim Dokja want to wrap him up and carry him back to his tent, and then fuck him until he turns even redder. 

 

It must be hard, being such an attractive protagonist that everyone in his group is at least a little bit in love with him. Lee Seolhwa actually got together with him, and Kim Dokja will bet his contract with Bihyung that Lee Hyunsung and Jung Heewon liked Yoo Jonghyuk in one of the rounds. Lee Jihye obviously has some sort of mentor worship going on, and he has a feeling that Kim Namwoon just feels grudging appreciation that may turn into attraction to anyone who defeats him. It’s the reason why the boy chased after Lee Jihye for so long, after all. 

 

“I suppose Persephone was right,” Yoo Jonghyuk says abruptly. Kim Dokja looks up in confusion. 

 

“She’s usually right,” he replies cautiously. What is Persephone right about? Did the topic suddenly change from how attractive Yoo Jonghyuk was? Kim Dokja can’t remember what he said previously. His mind is addled by the sight in front of him. “What is she right about?”

 

Yoo Jonghyuk levies a long, heavy look at him that makes his dick twitch. It leaks a little more, and Kim Dokja strives to maintain a straight face even though it’s seriously starting to feel uncomfortable. He is going to kick Yoo Sangah away from his tent right after this so he can take care of it. 

 

Then something strange happens. The sides of Yoo Jonghyuk’s lips curve upwards, a sinuous start of a smirk while he blinks, and Kim Dokja’s mouth instinctively drops open. The faint smirk on Yoo Jonghyuk’s face, the half-lidded gaze, the way his entire body just seems to suddenly melt into a lazy stance - Kim Dokja pulls his coat around his lap frantically.

 

It had fallen open earlier, and he had opened his legs in instinct. Yoo Jonghyuk had crowded so closely that if Kim Dokja hadn’t opened his legs to make space for him, Yoo Jonghyuk would be standing a very awkward distance away.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk’s gaze flicks downwards, and back up. It happens so quickly that Kim Dokja is unsure if he hallucinated it. Still, he draws his coat around him even further, as if he can bury himself and his shame into it. 

 

“Wait for me tonight,” Yoo Jonghyuk murmurs after a while. “I’ll tell you what Persephone said.”

 

He is being surprisingly vague. The Yoo Jonghyuk that Kim Dokja knows is always straight to the point because he hates wasting time. Does the cheongsam have some sort of character altering trait? 

 

Yoo Jonghyuk still stands patiently before him. Kim Dokja blinks up at him in confusion. Isn’t he supposed to go off and wander by the enemy soon? Seduce the enemy and make them drop their guard?

 

Kim Dokja bites his lip, and offers a smile. “I’ll see you later, then?” He phrases it like a question because he has no clue what Yoo Jonghyuk expects of him. He feels like maybe he should attempt a salute to send Yoo Jonghyuk off.

 

The faint smirk softens into a smile, and Kim Dokja thinks two hits might just be enough to make his heart rate rise so quickly he enters cardiac arrest. His body was not built to withstand such shock. Kim Dokja is a weak, frail man who can’t handle the sight of Yoo Jonghyuk smiling. 

 

Seeing 1863!Yoo Jonghyuk’s hapless smile was already enough of a shock to his system. Seeing an actual smile on this Yoo Jonghyuk’s face- it does strange things to Kim Dokja’s heart. It feels like his heart is attempting to try out for the Olympics in his chest cavity, tumbling and somersaulting around like there’s no tomorrow.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk turns and leaves without saying anything else, and Kim Dokja sits there for a while, frozen on the crate, before he stiffly gets up and wobbles over to his tent.

 


 

When Yoo Jonghyuk ducks under the entrance to Kim Dokja’s tent, he is slightly disheveled. His hair is tousled and the garter belts are a little loose. Kim Dokja looks him over once and then hurriedly looks away. 

 

If he can tell with one glance that the garter belts, of all things, are looser than normal, he doesn’t want to know what that says about him as a person. Kim Dokja will pretend the thought never passed his mind.

 

“I told you to wait,” Yoo Jonghyuk says, sounding mildly annoyed. He opens his mouth, and Kim Dokja sits up. 

 

“I waited in here,” he shoots back, and points at the ground a short distance away from him. A second sleeping bag has been set up because he wants Yoo Jonghyuk to ensure the gorgeous cheongsam stays clean, and because Kim Dokja has so much money he can afford it. 

 

Yoo Jonghyuk takes his own sweet time to settle down. He ends up sitting cross-legged, and the cheongsam stretches over his crossed thighs. It’s low enough to barely cover what’s going on beneath it, but Kim Dokja can see a faint glimpse of the pale insides of his thighs, the black lace leading up to unknown territory beneath it, and his mouth immediately goes dry. 

 

He had even taken special care to drink more water before Yoo Jonghyuk came back. But now he’s in the same pitiable state as when Yoo Jonghyuk confronted him before, with a parched mouth and an erect cock. He places the folded coat over his lap to hide it. 

 

Kim Dokja may have money, but he thinks he might run out if he has to keep changing pants. 

 

A silence stretches across the room. Kim Dokja doesn’t know what to say, but Yoo Jonghyuk is lounging around like he owns the place, and it seems highly unlikely that the man is going to initiate conversation of any kind.

 

“How was it?” He asks eventually. “Did you see the leader? Did the leader see you?”

 

Yoo Jonghyuk shrugs, idly leaning over to pick at the garter belts, tugging lightly at the lace and letting it snap back in place. Kim Dokja is a weak, weak man, and his eyes are instantly drawn to that sight. Is this how the lace got so stretched out, he wonders hazily, his gaze focused on the fingers snaking beneath the lace and wishing it was his own hand. 

 

If he were braver, he would probably reach over and push Yoo Jonghyuk down and just do it. Just slide his hands under the garter belts, put his tongue against the glimpse of skin that keeps making his dick twitch, follow it up all the way to figure out exactly what Yoo Jonghyuk is wearing below the cheongsam. 

 

“He probably saw me.” He pauses, and then- “Kim Dokja, would you like to know what Persephone told me?”

 

Kim Dokja is about to get whiplash from the topic change. Yoo Jonghyuk dismissed the thing about the enemy like it was a non-issue. It clearly isn’t a non-issue, if it forced Yoo Jonghyuk to wear this sort of get-up! 

 

But he isn’t about to lie and say that he isn’t curious about what Persephone told Yoo Jonghyuk. It’s rare that Persephone speaks to anyone other than him, actually. He nods, slightly hesitantly, and gestures for Yoo Jonghyuk to continue speaking. 

 

That damned smile flits onto Yoo Jonghyuk’s face again. He leans forward, rising from his seat to go on his knees, and then he’s- he’s leaning over Kim Dokja, crowding him into the back of the tent because the tent is too damn small, it’s so small that Kim Dokja doesn’t have anywhere to run to, and Yoo Jonghyuk looms over him like he’s about to introduce Kim Dokja to his maker.

 

He can’t breathe. He’s holding his breath, eyes wide and pupils trembling as he stares at Yoo Jonghyuk hovering over him. Kim Dokja is leaning back, as far back as the tent will allow, but Yoo Jonghyuk matches him inch for inch, and their knees are touching even as Yoo Jonghyuk leans forward.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes are so close that Kim Dokja imagines he can see flecks of gold swirling inside of them. His eyelashes are insultingly long, and those cheekbones framing the smile that’s still on his face are sharp enough to cut diamond. 

 

Kim Dokja doesn’t know where to look. He thinks his mouth is still open, tongue slipping out intermittently to wet his lips. He wants to put his mouth on Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck, feel the pulse at his jugular vein and leave marks below the cheongsam’s high collar where Yoo Jonghyuk will feel it when he goes off to complete his honey trap mission over the next few days. He wants to reach up to grip Yoo Jonghyuk’s waist and tug him down to sit in his lap so Yoo Jonghyuk can feel exactly what he’s done. 

 

“Please.” The word had been resting on his tongue for a long time, longer than he even knew, and it slips out of his weak mouth easily. His gaze wanders all over Yoo Jonghyuk’s body, darting from one sharp plane to another, like he can’t decide what he wants to look at. Kim Dokja drinks in the sight before him, one dehydrated man scrambling at a tall glass of cold water. 

 

The smile widens. It’s like a challenge. The game of chicken is back in play, and Kim Dokja is filled with relief that he’s not the only player now. 

 

There isn’t any way to misinterpret this, right? He gives it a single millisecond of thought, and then throws it out of the tent. Kim Dokja isn’t dumb. Yoo Jonghyuk is pretty much lying over him, dressed up in something out of a wet dream, wrapped and personally handed to him - Kim Dokja isn’t going to be an idiot and sit there while thinking but does he like me, though ?

 

He surges forward, giving into the desires flooding up and spilling out of him. One hand throws the coat in his lap away; the other slides up to the back of Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck, pulling him down into a furious kiss. Kim Dokja doesn’t know how to kiss, but Yoo Jonghyuk apparently does. He guides him into it, pushing his tongue into Kim Dokja’s mouth. 

 

Everything is a challenge with them, Kim Dokja thinks hysterically as his free hand pulls Yoo Jonghyuk down into the position he’d been dreaming of. Yoo Jonghyuk in his lap, thighs spread out to either side of his hips, their cocks pressed up tightly against each other and Yoo Jonghyuk is dressed like that . He bites at Yoo Jonghyuk’s bottom lip, a muffled moan leaving his mouth when Yoo Jonghyuk grinds down in punishment. 

 

“Persephone told me you liked this sort of outfit,” Yoo Jonghyuk says, his eyes lighting up. There is a lamp in the tent, entirely electric to prevent any fire hazards, and Yoo Jonghyuk’s frame is backlit by it. He seriously looks like something out of Kim Dokja’s wildest fantasies.

 

“She- what ?!” He says, indignant and slightly hysterical, but arousal wins out over all other emotions and Kim Dokja cants his hips upwards, jerking upwards so furiously he almost dislodges Yoo Jonghyuk from his lap. 

 

Suddenly, he remembers Persephone’s teasing. Yoo Sangah in the cheongsam and black garter belts; he remembers telling Persephone to cut it out, that he never thought of Yoo Sangah that way. He certainly didn’t, but Persephone also wasn’t lying when she said she could sense that he liked that outfit.

 

Looking at Yoo Jonghyuk, the way the fabric clings to his skin, the wild look in Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes when Kim Dokja gives in and runs a hand along the garter belt and the inside of his thighs- yeah, Persephone wasn’t wrong. He really does like this outfit. He likes it a lot .

 

Kim Dokja glances down and he can see the head of Yoo Jonghyuk’s dick straining through the silk. He groans, a low, drawn-out noise, and he rests his head on Yoo Jonghyuk’s shoulder as he moves his hand from beneath the cheongsam to over it, pressing down against the leaking head, feeling the damp cloth and making a bigger mess.

 

A wicked noise leaves Yoo Jonghyuk’s mouth, a bitten-off curse, and Kim Dokja cups what he can see through the cheongsam. Four fingers around the bottom of the head and his thumb swirls around the tip, rubbing at the slit and dipping in to feel how wet Yoo Jonghyuk is. He can feel the way Yoo Jonghyuk shudders, the desperate movements of his hips as he fucks into Kim Dokja’s grip, and Kim Dokja’s dick spurts out another string of precome into his pants at the sight. 

 

“I need to- clothes, get them- pants ,” he says eventually, putting as much feeling as he can into the word, and nudges Yoo Jonghyuk to get off of him. He takes his shirt off quickly, unbuckling his belt and kicking his pants off, and then throws himself at Yoo Jonghyuk when the man reaches up to undo his collar and the knots along the side. 

 

Kim Dokja swallows, eyes dropping to where Yoo Jonghyuk’s leaking dick bobs below the cheongsam, where the fabric is ruined beyond belief because of how drenched it’s become, and he inhales shakily. “Leave it on,” he murmurs, and looks up at Yoo Jonghyuk. 

 

Yoo Jonghyuk looks at him consideringly. The silence goes on for a moment too long, when Kim Dokja starts to feel slightly ashamed and is about to release Yoo Jonghyuk, then the latter opens his mouth. 

 

“It’ll be hard to fuck in this,” he says thoughtfully. “The fabric is tight.”

 

Kim Dokja is a rich man. “I’ll pay for it,” he replies fervently, and lets go of Yoo Jonghyuk’s wrist, trusting that the man will stop trying to take off the sexiest outfit Kim Dokja has ever seen in his life. “I’ll buy another set, just don’t take it off.”

 

The smile that Yoo Jonghyuk directs to him is devilish. “Okay,” the man agrees, acquising easily, and then he’s back over Kim Dokja, his hips bearing down viciously against Kim Dokja’s dick.

 

It’s not fair, Kim Dokja thinks wildly. Yoo Jonghyuk is full of sharp planes and sinuous muscle, and every single movement is carefully calculated to make Kim Dokja whine with arousal. Some part of him points out that it is impossible that Yoo Jonghyuk is that good at sex. It is highly likely that Kim Dokja is just so out of his mind from arousal and pent up frustration that anything Yoo Jonghyuk does is mind-blowing.

 

Kim Dokja judiciously tells it to shut up. Then Yoo Jonghyuk bites a mark into Kim Dokja’s skin, right at the point where his neck meets his collarbone, and Kim Dokja melts into Yoo Jonghyuk’s grip. 

 

A wandering hand slips beneath his briefs. Kim Dokja jolts, the feeling of a warm, foreign grip against his dick making him tremble. Yoo Jonghyuk does something, twisting right below the head of his dick and a full-body shudder courses through Kim Dokja. He moans, burying the sound into the bottom of Yoo Jonghyuk’s jaw, mouthing at the skin there. 

 

It’s instinct to sink his teeth into the pale skin. Kim Dokja bites, pressing his teeth against Yoo Jonghyuk’s jaw and sucking. He breaks apart to lick at it, tasting sweat-slicked skin and breathes messily against it, his hips making tiny aborted movements to fuck into Yoo Jonghyuk’s hand. 

 

Yoo Jonghyuk slides his palm over the head of Kim Dokja’s cock, rubbing furiously at the slit, and it sends a blinding spark of pleasure coursing down Kim Dokja’s spine. It spins through his body, a shuddering jolt of electricity pulsing through his veins, and he mouths wetly at Yoo Jonghyuk’s jaw. 

 

“I’m gonna- ah, shit, Jonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja says, the words slurred as his gaze turns half-lidded. He’s delirious with pleasure, hips rocking up as he chases the slick palm around him. There’s a thumb pressing against his slit, digging into the pool of wetness and drawing out more spurts of precome- a tight grip sliding up and down his length, twisting at the base and making him pant.

 

Kim Dokja whines weakly, his hand spasming around the hard length hidden beneath the cheongsam, and Yoo Jonghyuk squeezes around the head of his cock. It’s a rising pleasure, surging up beneath his skin and making him see stars behind his eyes. It comes on fast, pulsing furiously with every stroke around his cock, and Yoo Jonghyuk’s low whispers into his ear only propels him further towards the edge.

 

“Do it,” Yoo Jonghyuk hums into his ear, a rumbling noise erupting from his chest. Kim Dokja can almost taste it, fitting his mouth to Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck and feeling the way his throat pulses with the satisfied growl he’s making. “Come for me.”

 

Kim Dokja chokes, his mouth open as he gasps for breath, and he comes with a long, drawn-out shudder. He shakes from the aftershocks, tiny moans escaping him as he presses his face into Yoo Jonghyuk’s neck. 

 

It takes him a while to come down from it. Kim Dokja attempts to catch his breath, shaky and unbalanced. Yoo Jonghyuk is still stroking him through it, his grip lighter to prevent from aggravating Kim Dokja’s oversensitivity. It makes Kim Dokja shudder with every pass of his hand.

 

When he has enough control over himself, Kim Dokja leans up, pressing his mouth to Yoo Jonghyuk’s. It’s less hurried, slower and gentler, and something warm unfurls in Kim Dokja’s heart when Yoo Jonghyuk moans into his mouth.

 

Yoo Jonghyuk’s dick is still stiff under the cheongsam. Kim Dokja almost pities it, being trapped under all that sticky fabric. He tightens his grip around it, twisting his wrist with every upward stroke, and a weak noise leaves Yoo Jonghyuk’s throat.

 

Okay, Kim Dokja thinks abruptly. He’s always wanted to do it, so he’s going to do it. He tips them over, pushing Yoo Jonghyuk down on the sleeping bag and leaning over him. It’s a change of positions from before, and it’s Kim Dokja’s turn to smirk down at Yoo Jonghyuk.

 

The smirk doesn’t last long on his face. Yoo Jonghyuk looks like a vision, even if he’s spread out on material as terrible as a sleeping bag. His hair is messy and all over the place, and there’s a slight flush dusting his cheeks as his breath comes quick from arousal. His chest rises and falls like he’s just run a marathon, and Kim Dokja licks his lips when he sees the stiff nipples poking out from the silk.

 

He wants to mouth at them until he leaves visible wet spots against the cheongsam. He wants to utterly ruin Yoo Jonghyuk with the cheongsam, but if he’s going to have to beg Persephone for a replacement, maybe he should reduce the damage done to it. 

 

To that extent, he puts the pads of his thumbs to each nipple and presses. Yoo Jonghyuk keens, his eyes going wide as his back arches up off the ground. Kim Dokja eagerly rubs at him, pinching them between his fingers and making them stand even more than they did before. 

 

He imagines what they look like beneath the cheongsam. Pink and begging to be bitten, Kim Dokja pictures, and rolls them between his fingers. Yoo Jonghyuk keeps making these weak noises, and his chest and hips buck up in equal measure, like he can’t decide if he wants Kim Dokja to pay attention to his nipples or his dick more.

 

Kim Dokja makes that decision for him. He presses a quick kiss to Yoo Jonghyuk’s mouth, murmuring that he’ll have more fun with his chest another time, and backs away to rest between Yoo Jonghyuk’s spread legs. 

 

His eyes widen. He thinks his breath audibly hitches, because he can hear a clearer laugh from Yoo Jonghyuk, who spreads his legs as wide as they allow. Kim Dokja absentmindedly runs his hands up and down the insides of Yoo Jonghyuk’s thighs, mouth open as he gapes at the lace encased dick staring back at him.

 

“Seriously?” He asks, voice so quiet it’s barely a whisper. 

 

Yoo Jonghyuk laughs breathlessly and lifts a foot up, the stocking a smooth glide against Kim Dokja’s back, and pushes him towards his dick. “Persephone said the full look was important.”

 

Kim Dokja stares at it a while longer, unsure of what to do. He pushes Yoo Jonghyuk’s thighs, attempting to push them up so they’re bent at the knee and providing access to that dick that he wants to get his mouth on, but he realises the fabric is at its limit. 

 

He makes a broken noise, testing the give of the silk, and then rips it apart. 

 

Yoo Jonghyuk gasps at the sudden burst of cold air against his groin. It doesn’t last, because Kim Dokja immediately leans over and puts his mouth against the fat, purple head lying against Yoo Jonghyuk’s abdomen, leaking precome all over the solid line of his abs. 

 

It doesn’t taste like much of anything. A little bitter, but Kim Dokja has tasted far worse in the journey through the apocalypse and he’s too turned on to care. He wants to suck Yoo Jonghyuk’s brain out through his dick. 

 

His hands press into Yoo Jonghyuk’s inner thighs, squeezing so hard Kim Dokja suspects he’ll leave marks. The thought excites him- leaving fingerprints all over Yoo Jonghyuk to show how much he wants him. Yoo Jonghyuk would probably do the same to him too, marking him up and making him remember what they did with every move he makes.

 

Kim Dokja’s already wearing Yoo Jonghyuk’s mark on his neck. It’s starting to hurt, a throbbing ache common of a bruise, and he revels in it. Han Sooyoung is not going to believe it when she lays eyes on him. He’s marking up Yoo Jonghyuk, and Yoo Jonghyuk marked him up too. 

 

It satisfies something primitive in his hind-brain. That leaving his mark means establishing his territory.

 

He mouths at Yoo Jonghyuk’s dick, pressing the flat of his tongue against the base and slides up, grinning at the curse that leaves Yoo Jonghyuk’s mouth. Kim Dokja’s already pulled the panties down, the lace bunching up below Yoo Jonghyuk’s heavy balls, and it makes for a pretty picture. Garter belts, stockings, lace panties and a thick cock that’s leaking because of him .

 

Kim Dokja feels really proud of himself. He isn’t sure how he managed to end up here, but he isn’t about to complain. 

 

It’s a bit of a struggle to get Yoo Jonghyuk’s dick down his throat. Kim Dokja doesn’t have any experience in this field, so he goes slow, suckling on the head and cleaning it with tiny kitten licks, dipping his tongue into the slit to draw out as much precome as he can to swallow it down. 

 

He moves down. Slowly, inch by inch, his mouth works furiously around the hard length resting heavily against his tongue. It takes some getting used to, sucking and licking as he sinks further down. 

 

But the noises that Yoo Jonghyuk makes are fantastic. He whines, hips jerking when Kim Dokja accidentally scrapes his teeth against the sensitive underside of his cockhead, and groans when he finds out Kim Dokja is largely capable of holding his hips down because of how much he’s invested into his strength. When Kim Dokja swallows around his dick, throat trembling around the fat head, a long, drawn-out moan is teased out of the man above him.

 

“Please,” Yoo Jonghyuk says, his voice shaky as he runs a hand through Kim Dokja’s hair. He’s propped himself up on his elbows, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon as he stares at Kim Dokja swallowing around his cock. Kim Dokja looks up, gaze half-lidded as he digs the tip of his tongue into the slit, and Yoo Jonghyuk goes back down with a groan and a weak pull of Kim Dokja’s hair. “Please, Dokja-ah.”

 

Honestly, even if Yoo Jonghyuk begs him, Kim Dokja has no clue how to push him over the edge. He does his best, sucking harder and pressing him against the sleeping bag. Yoo Jonghyuk is really into being restrained, apparently, Kim Dokja notes with great delight. Yoo Jonghyuk makes the best noises when he tries to jerk his hips up, chasing Kim Dokja’s wet mouth, and realising he can’t. 

 

Kim Dokja goes down again, swallowing the entire length of Yoo Jonghyuk’s cock, and presses his teeth lightly against the skin when he pulls back up. He looks up at Yoo Jonghyuk, mouth hovering over the leaking head, and uses only his tongue to lick. Tiny, quick motions of his tongue, pressing against the underside of his cockhead and tracing along the fat throbbing vein, and Yoo Jonghyuk comes with a weak moan.

 

He immediately swallows Yoo Jonghyuk’s cock, sucking and licking as it spurts out strings of come, and satisfaction curls up inside of him when Kim Dokja sees Yoo Jonghyuk tremble on the sleeping bed, his eyes wide and focused on Kim Dokja. 

 


 

“What happened to your hand?” Kim Dokja suddenly asks, remembering the mess he had made on Yoo Jonghyuk’s hand. He peers around warily. “What did you wipe it on?”

 

“The spare sleeping bag,” Yoo Jonghyuk says sleepily. He points at the balled-up sleeping bag in the corner, and pulls Kim Dokja back into his embrace. “We can deal with it tomorrow. Think more on how you’re going to answer to Persephone about the ruined cheongsam.”

 

Kim Dokja blanches, body going stiff, and he can feel Yoo Jonghyuk’s chest rumble from his laugh. He huffs, rolling his eyes as he presses further into Yoo Jonghyuk’s chest. “I’ll figure something out.”

 

He feels a tiny bit of regret for destroying the cheongsam. But it was for a good cause. A fantastic cause. A cause that Kim Dokja feels very strongly for, so he isn’t very sorry about ripping it apart after all.

 

Kim Dokja decides that is a problem for tomorrow’s him, and drifts off to sleep.