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As always, Yoo Joonghyuk ends up finding himself in trouble whenever Kim Dokja’s eyes part from his form.
“Dokja-ssi,” Yoo Sangah calls. She jogs up to him, her usual kempt appearance unruly. “His Majesty is…” She exhales, heaving. Her lips purse into a thin line, and her eyes dart to the left. She remains silent, swallowing as she gathers her breath.
What had His Majesty gotten up to in the time Kim Dokja was gone? He’d parted from his side for no more than half a turn of an hourglass, and in that short amount of time, Yoo Joonghyuk had already found himself in, frankly, what seemed like a deep pile of horse dung.
If it were something enough to render Yoo Sangah’s appearance this wild, it must be an affair that requires immediate attention. His heart pounds in his chest, dropping down into his stomach. He sighs, running a hand across his face.
“Where is he?” Kim Dokja’s eyes dart up, alert. He meets Yoo Sangah’s gaze, catching her shaking pupils and her poorly concealed grimace.
Her hand shakes as she points to a general area to her left. It’s a large stretch of hallway, leading to the main banquet hall. Filled with the bulk majority of the partygoers for tonight’s feast, Kim Dokja already knows that finding the king there would be as difficult as scrounging for a needle in a haystack.
He sighs. He turns his head, surveying the hallway, before giving Yoo Sangah a departing nod.
“I will deal with the aftermath,” she says.
“Thank you, Sangah-ssi.” Kim Dokja doesn’t look back as his steps resound across the hallway, his feet racing to a destination unknown.
In all honesty, finding the king was the easy part of all of this. Yoo Joonghyuk had been leaning against one of the walls in the hallway, half slumped over. Slouched near the entranceway to one of the many rooms in the palace, his entire body weight supported solely by the intricately patterned stone, it would be a hilarious sight—he was seeing a human giant trying not to collapse, after all—if not for the dire situation Yoo Joonghyuk was in.
“Fuck,” Yoo Joonghyuk grits.
Kim Dokja quickly runs to Yoo Joonghyuk’s side, placing a hand right on his shoulder.
“Your Majesty, how, no… What—”
“Someone… The food. My…”
Yoo Joonghyuk was clearly in a state of disarray, his hair mussed up, his face flushed with a heat greater than what wine could provide. Kim Dokja instinctively backs away, a rush of pheromones hitting his nose.
If it weren’t for the collar hiding his mating gland—worn by all unclaimed omegas who worked in the palace, he would’ve gone into heat immediately. Kim Dokja frowns.
With his scent flooding the hallway, Kim Dokja doesn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence to understand the general gist of the situation.
This was something he’d heard about at other parties, but not ones held by Yoo Joonghyuk. Kim Dokja’s fellow advisors had mapped out such incidents with relative scrutiny, preparing for such cases of misconduct to the best of their abilities. Aphrodisiacs and all of the sorts that could induce ruts or heats were screened for on each guest who entered the party, ensuring that no illicit substances could be slipped in.
If it could even pass these checks… This… must’ve been something new. A drug that they hadn’t accounted for. One that a noble must’ve gotten their hands on through underground means.
“You—” Yoo Joonghyuk throws him an accusatory glare.
Kim Dokja releases an indignant huff. “Your Majesty… Don’t blame me for issues not of my fault. If you weren’t such a trouble magnet, you wouldn’t be here right now, would you?”
Yoo Joonghyuk offers him a glare.
“Stop nagging,” Yoo Joonghyuk groans. His hand massages at his forehead, another sharp exhale released into the air. His scent exudes out in a constant wave—and if he doesn’t drag Yoo Joonghyuk somewhere else as soon as he possibly can, Yoo Joonghyuk might set off the heats of all the omega nobles at the party.
Kim Dokja gulps. He takes another step back. “Can you deal with it? Your rut. You can bear through it, can’t you? I’ll bring you to a room—”
“Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw bulges. “I’ll kill you.”
His words are an immediate disapproval.
“Fuck,” Kim Dokja says.
If even Yoo Joonghyuk—who famously dealt with ruts alone, without any sort of magical suppressors—found this difficult to endure, then… This was a particularly potent drug. One that they would need to discover the identity of, once this entire ordeal was taken care of.
Kim Dokja knows he need not worry. Yoo Sangah’s assurance from before was as good of an assurance as one could be. Her diligence is unparalleled, even when compared with Kim Dokja himself.
Dealing with this certain circumstance was a different matter. An obvious solution was placed in front of him, but it was a solution he didn’t wish to take. However… It was the one and only way out of this if Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t deal with it alone. And even if Kim Dokja wished for anything but such an option, yet… This was the only option forth.
A sour taste fills Kim Dokja’s mouth. “I’ll help you deal with it, Joonghyuk-ah. I’ll get an omega for you. Just… just be obedient and stay here. Stay here until I come back.”
Kim Dokja’s head snaps away from Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. It’s a foolish thought, but he wishes to not see Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression, just this once—just to pretend such a thing wasn’t about to happen. He wouldn’t want to see what Yoo Joonghyuk looked like while having sex—knotting another omega, mated to another omega. It was something that… for some unknown reason, pricked at a point within him, forcing pain into his chest.
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk growls. “Not… a stranger. I’m… not doing it with a stranger. You fool. I’ll kill them. If you bring an omega to me…”
Yoo Joonghyuk grasps Kim Dokja’s arms before he has a chance to depart, spitting out the words like caustic acid. Kim Dokja nearly finds himself stumbling back at the sudden jerky movement.
Someone like him—stuck in such a state—was still willing to be picky? Kim Dokja laps at his lips, frustration building in his head. This damn drug would wear out before Kim Dokja could find someone that fit the criteria of this stubborn bastard. Frankly, it pissed him off.
“Don’t be stubborn, Joonghyuk-ah. If you don’t want to do it with a stranger, I’ll get an aide. Someone else. I’ll see who can—”
“Don’t.” The command washes over Kim Dokja, stilling him in place. “Stay with me… Do it with me.”
Kim Dokja’s mind freezes, his blood running cold. He blinks, breathing, before he tilts his head dumbly.
It takes him another solid ten seconds to process that he wasn’t dreaming.
Kim Dokja averts his gaze, nodding slowly.
Grasping onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm, he begins to lead him to somewhere. Somewhere. His mind blanks… but his legs continue to carry him forth. He knows of a secluded corridor nearby… So naturally, it would be there where they did it.
Doing it here, of all places. In public, at a bustling party—all while surrounded by festivities, inebriated nobles, and raucous conversation… It would be a lie to say that Kim Dokja’s heart didn’t thump a constant beat in his chest, an anxiety coursing throughout his body.
Yoo Joonghyuk had already eased Kim Dokja open with his fingers, Kim Dokja’s undergarments practically soaked with slick even with the collar still tightly clasped against his nape. Although an embarrassing admittance, he was weak to His Majesty’s scent.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock had slipped in with almost no resistance after what felt like a millennium of teasing, opening Kim Dokja up with fingers so thick he could only sob and choke on muffled moans. His cock dribbled everywhere then, but when Yoo Joonghyuk’s fat knot finally pressed on Kim Dokja’s prostate, his pants were immediately drenched with his squirt, his cock dripping pathetically against himself.
Since then, Yoo Joonghyuk has been slowly rocking Kim Dokja against his knot, forcing him open, wider than anything he’s had inside of him before. It wouldn’t surprise him if after all of this, his body was irreversibly changed, changed and molded to fit Yoo Joonghyuk’s needs.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” he whimpers, “Joonghyuk-ah…”
His hips jolt backwards as Yoo Joonghyuk’s knot catches on his rim again, his cock battering his prostate.
Yoo Joonghyuk mouths against his collar, but he suddenly stops. Kim Dokja whines, an arm reaching behind him to touch Yoo Joonghyuk—just to see why, why he had stopped, but…
The sound of footsteps near them, conversation coming close enough for Kim Dokja’s hazy mind to catch onto the words. Their shoes click and clatter against the polished floors, loud voices echoing in the hallway.
“He’s… rather impudent, you see.”
“Marry him off! That’s one way to teach them a lesson. They remain ignorant, lest you force them to grow up. “
“Hm? Are you offering your daughter up?” The noble cracks a hearty laugh. “If so, I’ll gladly take you up on the offer.”
“Of course not,” the other scoffs. “I’m advising you to—”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands clasp atop his mouth, and Kim Dokja swallows dryly. Yoo Joonghyuk jerks forth, his movement catching on something inside of Kim Dokja, something that makes his vision blank.
“Focus on me, Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice rumbles through his body, his hand grabbing onto his chin. “Not on the nobles.”
Kim Dokja wants to cry. There’s nothing else for him to focus on except for Yoo Joonghyuk.
His sharp, stuttered breaths fanning out across Kim Dokja’s ears, lightly grazing the collar keeping his nape sealed. The slow slaps of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hips against his own, the head of his cock insistently clinging onto his insides—dragging them with him on his way out. The scalding touch of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands branding against him, pressing against his clothed chest with so much force he could come from the pressure alone.
“Want to mate you. Want to mark you,” Yoo Joonghyuk slurs, “Want to—”
A stuttered groan escapes his throat, his hips bucking into Kim Dokja’s hole.
Kim Dokja feels so full—feels like he’s about to burst from the seams with how full his stomach feels. He can sense the loads of come Yoo Joonghyuk has dumped into him sloshing in his hole, plugged up right by Yoo Joonghyuk’s knot. After this… there was not a chance he wouldn’t be pregnant, full of Yoo Joonghyuk’s pups.
His cock twitches at the thought, another harsh slap of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hips meeting his own.
Kim Dokja’s eyes roll back into his head as he releases a pathetic keen, drool slipping out of his mouth. Something wet—something that could barely constitute come joins the mess made on his pants. If someone came by him right now, they’d think he pissed himself.
“Focus,” Yoo Joonghyuk groans. “Stay awake, Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja releases a sob.