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The poets always advertised to never meet your heroes.
But they never said anything about fucking them.
"Whore," is sneered at him from above, but he couldn't find it in him to do more than weakly deny it with a half-lidded glare. The picture he paints is damning on its own—tear tracks and dribbling spit and body littered in red marks—and he is half sure his voice will be as wrecked as he is. Maybe more, if the dryness of his throat is any clue. They’re due for a break soon.
Of course, Kim Dokja can’t stand any sort of slight against him, so he bucks his hips and relishes the punched-out groan from his companion. "Only for you," he croons prettily, knows that Yoo Joonghyuk is good as gone when he growls (and doesn’t that make his dick jump a little, fuck why does he sound so hot when he does that—)
"Dokja-yah." More erratic thrusts and he is seeing stars and white and Yoo Joonghyuk’s face is adorable when he's about to cum—
"Pay attention to me."
Kim Dokja is a weak man for his favorite protagonist, and he cards his trembling fingers in Yoo Joonghyuk's damp hair as his companion obligingly bends forward so he can reach, tugging and scratching at the scalp. Yoo Joonghyuk is so distractingly breathtaking like this, riding Kim Dokja with wild abandon, and looking no less wrecked than the constellation himself.
"Dokja-yah I’m close, close, so close — "
Yoo Joonghyuk is even more distracting when he whines and moans like that, airing out his pleasure for Kim Dokja to know, like he doesn’t feel how the insides of his regressor tighten in the face of an impending climax. The bastard hasn’t slowed at all and he’s pretty sure they’re just about to break another bed the way Yoo Joonghyuk is bouncing on him.
“Come on, a little more baby,” he pleads, pistoning into that tight heat, chasing his own release. “Please? A little more—” is his last semi-coherent thought, before the bastard does something inside that squeezes that coherency out of him with a rough garbled swear along with something that could have been Yoo Joonghyuk’s name.
Kim Dokja lets the man above him ride his high out as he struggles with the increasingly tempting urge to flip them over and bend him in half again, despite his own battered and overstimulated body. Yoo Joonghyuk above him lazily grinds down in small circles, sighing in contented pleasure and twitchy with the afterglow of post-coitus.
His companion below him however, grits his teeth and bears the increase in stimulation by clamping down harder on the regressor's rock-hard thighs. They probably won’t even bruise, with the monster bastard's physique. He mourns it for a scant second anyway. Bruises suited Yoo Joonghyuk, but he preferred biting his marks into hard muscle rather than imprinting his shape into flesh.
He's doing that more than often enough already, what with their near-daily coupling.
Seriously, it always falls on Kim Dokja to make a reasonable excuse to have their party separate from them and have another excuse as to why they came back with ragged clothes and looking like they fought a monster wave.
Which, a few times was honestly correct, but you could only use 'monster waves' so much before others started to get suspicious. Others being Han Sooyoung and Jung Heewon. Yoo Sangah probably already knew the actual truth seeing as she almost walked into them when they (read: Yoo Joongyuk) almost got it on right then and there, but she probably wouldn't spill it all without a hefty price.
(He would know. He's paid an even heavier price to ensure she does just that.)
“Kim Dokja.”
He brings his gaze up to his regressor, wondering why there was ire behind it. Yoo Joonghyuk still hadn’t gotten off of him so it wasn’t like he could get them to shower their mess off. He makes an inquiring noise instead, tracing circles into the flesh of the bigger man’s thighs. He needs a distraction. He wants to see how hard he’d need to bite before it would bruise for a week, but maybe next time. He needs to calm down.
Yoo Joonghyuk might not even want another round at this point.
(Blatant lie. Yoo Joonghyuk is always up for extra rounds. Kim Dokja ignores that anyway.)
They’d been gone for hours at this point. The Company would no doubt be looking for them if they don’t get back before dark—
Yoo Joonghyuk lifts himself and drops abruptly and Kim Dokja is left with his face twisting in the unexpected spike in pleasure. The bastard does it twice, thrice more, until he’s got a steady rhythm and Kim Dokja has his head filled with cotton and his own lewd sounds.
“I told you—” Yoo Joonghyuk is mouthing at his neck again, like he isn’t marked up enough. “Eyes on me.”
And Kim Dokja is a weak, weak man for his protagonist. He lets Yoo Joonghyuk have his way on top, content to pound irregularly just to throw off his pace, relishing in the utterly debauched whining when Kim Dokja strikes fast and hard exactly how he likes.
And only when Yoo Joonghyuk is finally spent and boneless on top of him, having wrung out two more loads from his overstimulated body, does he flip them over and away from their newest puddle of fluids.
(They’re going to have to burn these sheets after. No way they can be salvaged now.)
Another breathy moan crawls out from Yoo Joongyuk’s battered throat, just as roughed up as his own, when Kim Dokja finally pulls out and collapses right beside him. Yoo Joonghyuk eyes his marks with satisfaction and hums, snuggling under his Dokja’s chin to settle their breathing together.
Kim Dokja snakes an arm around to bring Yoo Joonghyuk even closer despite their sticky, sweaty bodies. Clean up is for later, for after they’ve bought another set of clothes from the Dokkaebi bag and had an impromptu dinner of smoked monster meat and maybe some edible monster plant stew. A point to bring up later. They could make a date out of it.
“You good?” he asks when Yoo Joongyuk finally settles. His hand is tapping at a steady pace on that muscled back and he can feel the humming answer in his chest the most. He thinks Yoo Joonghyuk might feel his own fluttering heartbeat the way Kim Dokja can feel his.
“Mhm.” Of course, it’s a monosyllabic response. Why would he expect anything else? “Sleepy.”
Kim Dokja laughs, running his hands through wavy strands. Maybe they were long enough to plait now. “Alright,” he replies, kissing the top of that rock-solid head. “We can stay a little while.”
They needed to get up soon to clean up and eat and then get back to the Company because a rundown suburban house isn’t the most secure place to be in the apocalypse, but they could probably spare an hour for a nap.
Kim Dokja settles down, a knocked-out regressor in his arms, some hundred thousand coins richer, and relaxing himself to the feel of Yoo Joongyuk winding around him like a snake.
He deserved a good long nap, he thinks, and promptly falls asleep to the rhythmic breaths of his companion.