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Oh, how Yoo Joonghyuk had hungered for this moment the first time he laid eyes on his aide.
Back then, he was young. Young enough to not understand the notions of desire, longing, nor lust. Pure love tainted his every word, his tone dulled and reticent—eager to please his aide who clung by his side. Interlaced fingers, flower crowns made of the garden’s tending, and promises that reeked of innocence marked their youth—leading to an endless complacency that lulled Yoo Joonghyuk into a false sense of safety. The belief that this peace would remain, that he’d maintain this innocence to spend with Kim Dokja, had been foolishly instilled in his mind.
Back then, after an assassination attempt that claimed the lives of his parents, Yoo Joonghyuk had been forced to claim the throne at a young age, facing the brunt of scrutiny from all opposition. A fundamental shift in his life had occurred—marking the beginnings of a new era.
Court politics. Mind games. Barbaric practices excused with affluence. The ilk that plagued the ruling class hounded on his every word, preying on each weakness he dared to show. In court, in parties—even in the confines of his own palace—Yoo Joonghyuk began knowing no peace, all eyes focused on his form at every moment. From dusk to dawn, even celestial bodies had begun to spy on him, waiting for a single slip up.
Yoo Joonghyuk grew tired of the unending meetings with ministers thrice his age, poisoned words delivered with posh tones. He grew tired of the constant work piled on his table, the visages around his palace blending together into a masked amalgam as more filth slipped into his ranks.
In the palace, there was no time for rest. Not when each day brought countless letters, policies needing approval, criticism aimed right at the core of this kingdom—right at the youngest king, Yoo Joonghyuk.
“All kings, young, will eventually fall.”
Hushed whispers carried such a sentiment far beyond the palace maids, delivering themselves right by Yoo Joonghyuk’s feet.
Such words broke him down, chipped at his young fragile mind, desperate to break down his psyche. With chins tipped high, he’d see such a sentiment reflected in the actions of the ministers in the countless meetings he attended—contrarian opinions held only to oppose the king.
And yet, Kim Dokja had loyally accompanied him through those years. In the shadows, he’d fended off the barbed remarks of other nobles, approving policies that would benefit his allies—dealing Yoo Joonghyuk a perfect hand in this endless card game with those determined to see him fall—fall down below into the depths of hell.
“Your Majesty,” he would mutter, soft, uncalloused fingers tracing whirls along his scalp. “Do not heed the words of those filth. In time, we will eliminate them all. Believe me—alright, Joonghyuk-ah? Under your rule, those who resist your orders will be crushed.”
To those words, tantalizing and strung like a carrot in front of his eyes, how could he not believe them? Spoken with the conviction of a man who could foretell the future, Yoo Joonghyuk would have chosen no other path—not when Kim Dokja had so eagerly reached out a hand to him like this.
And Kim Dokja’s words, in time, had been proven to carry zero deceit.
Opposition in his parties—those whose words carried veiled threats—had slowly thinned. Nobles who were unwilling to abide by the policies and the rules that Yoo Joonghyuk had set found themselves stripped of all of their luxuries, their titles crumbling to dust.
His aide, all too willing to stay by his side, had grown up to become a dangerous force. And, unlike their previous ignorance, none in the court were blind to the danger that he posed.
Yoo Joonghyuk had grown impatient, seeing the foolish members of his court aiming for his aide—gazes that used to vie for power from him now seeking out Kim Dokja.
If he could, he’d slash them all down, ridding the waste within his empire. But a kingdom would pay no heed to a tyrant, and a tyrant would be unable to rule without power—without majority.
Thus, Yoo Joonghyuk’s feelings grew to seek out a different urge. His fingers itched to clasp its hold onto his aide’s neck. His lips ached to take Kim Dokja’s mouth into his own. A trembling flutter in his throat had only grown in intensity as he watched Kim Dokja’s cunning siphon power towards Yoo Joonghyuk—a confession eager to slip from the confines of his mouth.
And yet he held out on his action, if only for the sanctity of his feelings and the sanctity of Kim Dokja himself.
But with Kim Dokja’s foolish words, Yoo Joonghyuk could hold out for no longer.
“Your Majesty,” Kim Dokja had said. His tone wavered in hesitance, his smile fracturing to pieces. His expression carried the lonesome hunch of regret.
Yoo Joonghyuk already knew his words wouldn’t bode well long before he had uttered them.
“We must find you a queen.” Kim Dokja’s fingers played lightly with the parchment he held. He bit down onto his lips, his eyes averted from Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze. “The nobles are growing increasingly restless as we speak…” He turned a page over, his lips thinning to a line. A sigh puffed from those mirthless lips of his as he massaged his brow. “The northern regions and the southern regions share the same sentiment about the instability of your rule. If we don’t consolidate your position with a child, a riot may ensue.”
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk growled. “How many times will I have to repeat this? I do not wish for a queen. I do not need a queen. How much longer will you pester me with the meaningless wants of those filthy nobles?”
His aide must’ve known. That his tone was nothing short of a dismissal. That his words carried a rejection of finality. And yet he continued, pouring words more caustic than acid into his ears.
“Your Majesty,” Kim Dokja kept his eyes averted as he hissed his venomous words. “You must understand. This measure is necessary. The nobles will not relent until they see that you have taken a bride. Countess Lee, one of our allies, is willing to undertake this position for you, Your Majesty. Out of all the candidates, her proposal offers you the most freedom.”
Foolish as those words were, Yoo Joonghyuk knew to entertain Kim Dokja. A pure refusal would be met with another plea. His aide was a stubborn man, honed by the conniving politicians he’d been reared alongside.
“Is that so?” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice had been flat, muttered with a frost that rivalled the snow-capped mountains found in the northern regions of the continent.
“Yes, Your Majesty. This is for your own good.” Kim Dokja offered a small smile to him, his expression twitching. His eyes glistened, a sorrow threatening to fall. But with a swallow, all of that had disappeared as Kim Dokja composed himself once more.
His hands shook as he uttered his words. “Please, Joonghyuk-ah. Trust me one more time. My judgment has never been wrong before, has it?”
An acrid taste filled Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth, a haze of anger clouding his senses.
Kim Dokja, this ignorant fool, knew nothing of what would be good for him—nothing of his personal wants, and nothing of Yoo Joonghyuk’s wants. In such a state, unwilling to let go of his tether on his king, Kim Dokja persisted in pushing this pure nonsense down Yoo Joonghyuk’s throat.
“After all these years by my side,” Yoo Joonghyuk breathed, “it is unfathomable that you continue to remain this oblivious.”
“Your Majesty—”
Yoo Joonghyuk had shut him up with a palm to his lips, muffling any further babble that could spill from his mouth. He wished to hear none of it—none of Kim Dokja’s delusions, nor his endless pandering to the noble class he had already reformed not once, but twice.
If Kim Dokja would remain this foolish, then it would only be natural for his king to teach him that he needed no other being in this kingdom by his side.
An obscene sound, flesh upon flesh, suffused through the bedchambers, accented by Kim Dokja’s bated moans, breaths stuttered from exertion.
Kim Dokja sat perfectly atop him, body rocked into with soft thrusts that wrought trembles from his form. Tears marred his once-pristine face, his eyes clouded over with lust. Several climaxes had taken the majority of his thought away, but not all.
“Hm, Kim Dokja?” Yoo Joonghyuk offered another sharp thrust, upwards into Kim Dokja’s divine heat. “When will you understand?”
His cock had molded Kim Dokja’s insides around him, fluttering and clenching intermittent between sharp gasps and groans spilling from Kim Dokja’s mouth. Kim Dokja was the picture of ruin, his eyes half-lidded with desire.
“Ugh—Your, mmph—! Your Majesty—haah, hic… ugh…” His arms clasped ineffectually against Yoo Joonghyuk’s form, a brave attempt at escape. Though, until Kim Dokja finally succumbed to this fundamental truth, Yoo Joonghyuk would not relent.
“Do you understand?” Yoo Joonghyuk spoke right by Kim Dokja’s ear, relishing in his immediate flinch, the recoil of his action. A sight more gratifying than anything wealth could bring, Yoo Joonghyuk grew insatiable for more—for signs of Kim Dokja’s sensitivities.
“Ugh, hic, Your Majesty, stop this, hic, ugh—! No more, haah…” Kim Dokja’s voice pitched unimaginably high, a sound Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t ever imagined hearing. Him, a composed man, coming apart under Yoo Joonghyuk—it was more than he could’ve ever asked for.
“You are the only one I need in this kingdom, Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja’s body began its futile flailing at his words. “You can’t, Joonghyuk—ah… haah—!”
He clawed at Yoo Joonghyuk, a violent touch hasty to flee from reality. His body, endlessly struggling, held little power in between Yoo Joonghyuk’s biceps.
“You can’t, you can’t, ugh, you can’t…” Uttered like a mantra, that phrase spilled constantly from Kim Dokja’s throat, more prevalent than even his delectable moans.
How bothersome.
Yoo Joonghyuk would take none of this. No, even opposition from his humble aide would not be accepted.
“Your Majesty, ngh, mmm, you must—mmph—!”
A molten kiss was nearly enough to meld both Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips together.
Kim Dokja’s lips were as soft as they looked, if not even softer. Plush, against his own lips, Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind had melted as his tongue made contact with Kim Dokja’s own, consuming and lapping at him.
This decorum he displayed was more repugnant than what could come from an untamed, rabid wolf, but Yoo Joonghyuk held little care for such matters. He could not pay heed to such trivialities when Kim Dokja squirmed at his touch, choking on his tongue. An indecent dance played out between their tongues, as Yoo Joonghyuk lapped at every single tooth within Kim Dokja’s mouth, eagerly gulping down the noises beginning to form at the base of Kim Dokja’s uvula.
In due time, Yoo Joonghyuk separated from Kim Dokja, leaving silk strands of saliva between them, if only to allow Kim Dokja a breath. Kim Dokja took harsh intakes of air from his mouth, his tongue slipping whimpers in a constant torrent.
“You, mmph, Your Majesty—we, ugh, nh, haah, you can’t…”
It was perplexing.
After coming so desperately atop Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock—his own member squirting a liquid closer to water than come, walls clenching down on him with a force greater than that of a guillotine—Kim Dokja still had the energy to babble nonsense like this.
“The nobles—mmph, mm, hic, uh!” Kim Dokja squirmed against his touch, writhing away from Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms. “A child, uh, haah—! They will, mmph… Your Majesty… you can’t, haah, be with me… You must bear a child… Your—Majesty—!”
Yoo Joonghyuk released a short huff.
With Kim Dokja’s pale stomach distended like so, filled to capacity with his come, hadn’t he practically already bore him a child? He placed a palm right against the swell, marvelling in the strength of Kim Dokja’s body. A sharp hiss emanated from Kim Dokja’s throat at his small action, violent thrashes contorting his body into blurred shapes.
Perhaps, if he continued to batter into Kim Dokja, ramming his cock into his hole until his passage would readily accept him at all points of the day—then, Kim Dokja would be able to bear a child for him. Perhaps, when with his child, belly wonderfully swollen and teats leaking milk—Kim Dokja would no longer utter these foolish words, too preoccupied with maintaining his health. Perhaps then, he’d willingly stay by Yoo Joonghyuk’s side, ruling this kingdom beside him as an equal.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk mumbles. “There’s a child here already. What other child would I need?”
Kim Dokja’s insides quivered around him, his body twisting to escape the palm placed on his stomach. It was completely fruitless. Yoo Joonghyuk would never—could never—allow him to escape from his grasp.
“Your Majesty—!”
A shout marked another climax, wetness splattering itself across Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. Yoo Joonghyuk clenched his teeth, mind swirling closer to insanity.
Until Kim Dokja finally understood his place, Yoo Joonghyuk would continue to ravish him like a famished beast. No, perhaps his own urges had overflowed, tainting Kim Dokja’s saintly image—but a matter of this urgency had to be dealt with immediately.
Kim Dokja must understand that he is Yoo Joonghyuk’s. Kim Dokja must understand that Yoo Joonghyuk is his.
After all… No one could dare oppose the king’s rule. Not with Kim Dokja by his side.