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Everything burns.
Kim Dokja can’t tell left from right, the constant thump against his skull deafening.
He’s disoriented. He shouldn’t be doing this. But his body screams for it, craving for something even he can’t name. Heating up, it’s as if he’s been dunked into a volcano, each inch of skin incinerating, sloughing off.
“Ugh, ack, hic,” he groans—or at least tries to—not before it’s swallowed up in Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth. It feels like he’s being eaten at,
Is Yoo Joonghyuk the one kissing him? Or is it someone else…?
He can’t tell. But, even with his mind blurred, there’s something that keys him to who it truly is.
This scent.
If it wasn’t Yoo Joonghyuk, then would it smell this good? Would it spread such heat throughout his body, rendering him unable to think of anything else? Would he be melting into this kiss right now, if it weren’t Yoo Joonghyuk?
He weakly grasps at Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt, pushing him away. In what feels like an eternity, he finally gets the respite he so desires.
“Ugh, haah,” he breathes. Gulping down air, he blinks the tears that have gathered in his bleary eyes. His hands quickly jolt down to his pants, pressing against his arousal—trying desperately to free it from the constricting sensation.
It doesn’t work. No matter how much he tries, he can’t get it off.
“Take, ugh, take it off—haah.” Kim Dokja pries at his own clothes, clawing at the fabric. He gets nowhere, not anywhere close to where he wants to be. He wants it off, wants to touch his length, to relieve himself of this unbearable sensation. But he can’t.
“Ugh, hic.” Kim Dokja tries again. But it’s no use. No use at all. “My clothes, hng, ugh, my pants, mn, get them off…”
His hands scratch at the fabric uselessly, weak against the zippers and the buttons that are too much for his current state. They rebound uselessly, his arms tiring, his mind fracturing to pieces.
Why? Why can’t he take them off? Why can’t he get relief from this?
Tears prick at his eyes. He sniffles, another sharp breath taken straight through his mouth. It feels like he’s dying, the heat eating, corroding at his body from inside out—swallowing him from his core.
Something stops him from moving his hands, endlessly scratching at his pants.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “Wait.”
Kim Dokja stops his hands. He blinks, his head slowly turning towards Yoo Joonghyuk. He can barely see a thing, his eyes clouded with an unidentifiable haze.
Shaky hands move, trailing behind him, before he’s pushed back into this searing kiss. His eyes burn, his face feverish, his mind whirring. His eyes snap closed. There’s little relief to be found in this kiss, his mind being driven further into the abyss.
He feels like he’s going mad.
But then he feels something trail further along his thigh. He doesn’t notice it until the calloused sensation of fingers brush against the swell of his ass, trailing right by his rim. It aches, jolting him backwards—away from the kiss. But, with the hold firmly on him, he can barely move at all—can barely breathe at all, can barely think at all. The hand on his back forces him to take all of this in, the slight breach of Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers inside of his hole, his own teeth clacking against Yoo Joonghyuk’s—his tongue being sucked until it’s completely numb.
Those fingers pry endless moans and jolts out of him, brushing against the ridges of his insides, bringing him closer and closer to that peak he desires. But something about it breaching in, inch by inch at a time, isn’t enough for him. It isn’t enough, isn’t enough for his starving body—isn’t enough for his needy hole, even as Yoo Joonghyuk prods against his prostate, milking him—each press forcing a little more precome out of his too-hard cock.
Kim Dokja hungers for something more, he hungers for something bigger. Something more filling, something that could shatter all thoughts of his in their entirety. Something that presses insistently against his own thigh, searing into his flesh akin to a hot iron brand.
He groans into Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth, the sound vibrating against himself. It sends Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers a little deeper inside of him, forcing a gasp from his throat. He isn’t even aware of his minute movements anymore, his body simply surviving off of instinct.
Kim Dokja pushes Yoo Joonghyuk away with all the strength he has left in his body—his mind spinning, his head heavy with lust. He’s more dizzy than anything else, yet, his stomach still tightens, taut as it craves more of Yoo Joonghyuk’s scent, more of his touch, more of him in every way possible.
“Ugh, hic, more,” he cries, “more, mmh, more—!”
He doesn’t even process that those words have escaped him, no. They’re instinctual, a plea to Yoo Joonghyuk, to his own body for release. It’s a plea for this tautness in his belly to subside, for him to finally get the thing that his form craves—whatever it is. Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock, his scent, his seed spread throughout Kim Dokja’s body. Anything that could relieve him from this painful, nauseating heat.
And, in no time, he gets what he desires.
Something hard presses against his rim, stretching him farther than any of Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers could have. The weight of it alone draws a sharp keen from Kim Dokja’s mouth, a breathless gasp escaping as it slowly enters him. It’s not painful at all, despite it being bigger—girthier than anything he’s taken before. The knotting dildos, his own fingers, even Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers couldn’t have ever prepared him for this stretch that seems to permeate through his being, but he loves it more than anything else.
Each inch that Yoo Joonghyuk sinks into him makes his eyes white out, stars blooming underneath his eyelids. Electricity jolts under his skin—each inch of him practically thrumming with the rush of blood through his veins, the constant thump of his heart. Yoo Joonghyuk’s member practically sticks to every ridge inside of his body, dragging so slow he can feel every individual inch of him—each vein of his cock sticking insistently against his hole, sending sharp trembles through his body.
Against his ear, Yoo Joonghyuk breathes out. Sharp, hot breaths fanning across his skin only add onto the pleasure he feels. Kim Dokja only remembers how to breathe after another thrust drags the head of Yoo Joonghyuk’s member across his prostate again.
“I’ve wanted this,” Yoo Joonghyuk pants, “I’ve wanted this for so long…”
“Ugh, ah, haah,” Kim Dokja groans. He’s so disoriented it takes him what feels like a minute to even process the words.
Wanted what? What has Yoo Joonghyuk wanted?
“I’ve wanted you,” Yoo Joonghyuk mouths. “Wanted you to take me, wanted you around me, Kim Dokja. I’ve wanted, haah, wanted to do this for so long.”
Kim Dokja’s breath stops, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as another slow drag forces the entirety of Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock almost completely out of him again. The tip just kisses his rim, before he’s taking in him completely again, a sharp slam marking his arrival.
He doesn’t know he’s come until nearly a moment later when he feels wetness splatter against his thigh—something that could barely constitute come making a mess of the pants that pool against his ankles.
“Haah, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk breathes. “I love you.”
A hot something flashes through Kim Dokja’s stomach, his heart stopping—beating in place. Another jolt courses from his head to his toes, his insides quivering around Yoo Joonghyuk again.
He came. Again. Just from Yoo Joonghyuk’s words.
His face should flush hot—he should be embarrassed, but none of that is something that comes to him with his mind jumbled, his belly running hot. With Yoo Joonghyuk’s girth inside of him, it’s something more than he’d ever be capable of.
Kim Dokja mumbles something garbled in return, something unintelligible. They’re words that are completely lost to the ether as Yoo Joonghyuk begins his ministrations once more.
In this state, Kim Dokja can’t think of anything else, but he’s still sure of one thing. They’re not going to stop tonight, not until Yoo Joonghyuk has knotted him, again and again until he knows nothing else—but that’s something he’s fine with, something he craves.