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Four years since he last saw Joonghyuk, and even from a distance, his face is as handsome as ever.
He wears clothes finer than he did as a young, abused prince; the very image of a conquering king decked in black, deep greens, and stunning golds, a heavy cloak lined with wolf fur draped over his shoulders. Dokja remembers mending the holes in his sleeves when Joonghyuk had worn them through, or torn them getting into brawls for stealing food from the kitchens.
Now, Joonghyuk has truly become the protagonist of this story.
People cheer his name as if they’ve forgotten how bloody the path to the throne truly was, as if Joonghyuk did not have to become a monster to be the man standing before them. Dokja isn’t allowed to forget, not when enough of the blood was spilled by his hands for Joonghyuk’s sake.
This didn’t stop him from running. The day Joonghyuk sat on the throne, Dokja disappeared in the night.
Remembering his abrupt departure, Dokja feels an uneasy flip in his stomach. He’s only in town for a few supplies, and then he’s heading for a nearby port city to board a chartered ship for another kingdom, finally out of Joonghyuk’s powerful reach. He should have left years ago, but Dokja was worried about the aftermath of Joonghyuk’s succession.
(Not that he needed to be. Joonghyuk took care of everyone that was a threat to him, as easily as breathing. Dokja can’t help but feel a bit proud.)
Despite his fears, Dokja forces himself to relax. Joonghyuk’s people stopped trying to find him nearly two years ago, so why would he be looking now? Black hair isn’t unusual. The hood covers most of his head. There are thousands of people in this crowd, how could Joonghyuk pick him out of the sea of people?
For a moment, Dokja thinks their eyes meet.
Dokja forgets to breathe.
Joonghyuk’s dark eyes seem almost golden in the bright sun, unnaturally sharp, something flickering in his expression—panicked, Dokja pulls his gaze away first. His eyes shake as he stares at the ground, head tilted forward until the hood obscures more of his face.
There’s no way, right? Dokja resists the urge to look back up, waiting for his racing heart to calm.
When he finally does, Joonghyuk has already continued down the road on his horse, showing Dokja the line of his broad back. It was only for a moment, if at all. Dokja is a fool. Is he really such a sucker for Joonghyuk’s face that he risked the last four years of being a fugitive for one last glimpse? Now that Dokja’s curiosity has been sated (yes, Joonghyuk is alive, and yes, he is still infuriatingly handsome), he can leave this land—
“Hey, ahjussi,” a voice calls from behind him, sending chills up his spine as he freezes in place.
As Dokja braces himself to run, sunlight glints off a sword suddenly whistling past his ear, stopping just before his shoulder. Turning his head just enough to see his attacker, his eyes track the line of the blade, lips pressing together as he finally looks at the woman in armor.
“My master wants to see you.”
Oh, shit.
_________
Dokja is thankful Joonghyuk hasn’t been poisoned.
However, this is probably worse.
After having Dokja on his side for the last several years, Joonghyuk’s reputation has skyrocketed. The attacks on the young prince’s person haven’t necessarily stopped, but they have gotten more troublesome—for example, not all of them are assassination attempts.
Joonghyuk is close to marriageable age. He has many admirers. Some of them are bolder than others. Joonghyuk’s life isn’t in danger, but Dokja is still worried. Even more so when Joonghyuk starts shoving him towards the bed. They tumble into the sheets together, Dokja with his arms filled of Joonghyuk.
“It feels weird, hyung,” Joonghyuk confesses, his hands squeezing Dokja’s waist.
In the summers before, Joonghyuk had shot up like a weed. The other changes are gradual, and Dokja only ever notices them at times like this, when Joonghyuk seeks out his touch as if he’s still a child, when Dokja was the only one to show him kindness, to offer comfort. A clingy, affectionate side of him that is endearing but dangerous, especially now that he’s filled out, grown up more. Especially now. His face is flushed, lips parted. Sweat beads on his skin, Yoo Joonghyuk is… hard, his cock outlined in his trousers as it presses against Dokja’s thigh.
"This is perfectly natural," Dokja assures him, petting the back of his head as he holds him. In his arms, Joonghyuk is like a docile wolf, generating enough body heat to keep them warm with only a light blanket.
“What do I do?”
"Just bear with it, Joonghyuk-ah,” Dokja wheezes.
He should have never taken his eyes off Joonghyuk at the party, but he thought it would be fine. How was he supposed to know that Sir Nirvana would slip something in Joonghyuk’s wine? They won’t be able to prove what he’s done, but that doesn’t stop Dokja from planning several different ways to destroy his reputation. Those plans will have to wait; he has to protect his chastity from Joonghyuk’s ansty touch.
“Please, hyung, help me,” Joonghyuk murmurs into his skin, his hands gripping Dokja’s sides. The pressure of his hands on his body has him breathless, and not in a way that Dokja wants to put a name to. His hips rut against Dokja’s leg, and Dokja tenses up. What is Joonghyuk asking of him? Could Dokja even do that for him? Dokja has only ever jerked himself off. He’s never touched another, but… Dokja has never been able to deny Joonghyuk, not truly.
Joonghyuk shoves him back on the bed, his teeth clacking against Dokja’s as he kisses him, tasting of wine and the sweet, candied fruits Dokja had snuck him during the party. Joonghyuk’s cock presses up against Dokja’s hip, shoving up his shirt with each thrust against him. Taking advantage of the revealed skin, Joonghyuk has one hand running up his side, nails dragging across his ribcage, thumb flicking at a nipple. His other hand holds the back of Dokja’s head at the nape of his neck, holding him still for their kiss.
Soft, muffled noises slip from Dokja’s lips as his hips shamefully arch to meet Joonghyuk’s thrusts. Joonghyuk doesn’t even have to touch him, but the cage he’s created around Dokja makes it hard to breath, hard to focus on anything but the desperate grind of their bodies against each other. Dokja has never felt anything like this, not in this life, not in his past life, which was cold and devoid of touch—Joonghyuk is overwhelming in his intensity, the heat in Dokja’s stomach growing until everything threatens to spill over. He writhes, trying to escape Joonghyuk’s hold, but Joonghyuk growls, biting down on his lip almost hard enough to hurt. A warning, Dokja knows, but the pain still feels good, sharp in all the best ways and Dokja—
“Oh, fuck, Joonghyuk, Joonghyuk—” he breaks the kiss to gasp, burying his face in Joonghyuk’s shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of Joonghyuk’s formal jacket.
His vision whites out as he cums, his body pressed up against the line of Joonghyuk’s body as he rides the waves of pleasure.
“Hyung,” Joonghyuk grunts, shifting to prop himself up a bit, hovering over Dokja. Pre-cum and spit ease his motions as his fist flies over his cock. Still trembling from his orgasm, Dokja doesn’t have time to regain his senses before Joonghyuk goes tense above him. Hot cum splashes across his trousers, the exposed skin of his abdomen, just under his nipples, up into the pushed up tunic. Dokja could pass out here, he thinks, but when he looks at Joonghyuk, he looks anything but satisfied.
Joonghyuk is staring at the mess he’s made of Dokja’s midsection, lowering his hand to drag his fingers across the cum and smearing it. Admittedly, it’s an unpleasant feeling, and Dokja grabs Joonghyuk’s hand in his own. As if a man possessed, Joonghyuk stares down at him with wide, dazed eyes. He brings his hand upwards, towards Dokja’s mouth.
Dokja realizes the trajectory before he arrives, but the way Joonghyuk is looking at him is… confusing. When Joonghyuk presses his cum-covered fingers to Dokja’s lips, they part easily. He laps at Joonghyuk’s fingers, too dazed to do anything but.
Dokja is so fucked. There was nothing like this in the original plot.
_______
Three decadent meals a day, with endless drinks and snacks at his command. A lush, cloud-like bed that Kim Dokja melts into, sheets finer than any 200-thread count sheets he’d known in his old world. Comfortable silks and cottons that brush against his skin in any color and style he can imagine. Every aspect of his stay seems to be crafted to make him content and lazy.
Joonghyuk didn’t even give him shoes.
However, after three weeks of being a glorified prisoner in Joonghyuk's fancy private palace, Dokja only grows antsy. When will Joonghyuk visit him? He doesn't want to see him again, nor does he know what to say once he does. The thought of facing the king again is terrifying, especially when he doesn't seem to fully understand exactly what Joonghyuk wants from him anymore.
However, there are no answers to be found in the drowsy cups of milk the servants bring him at the end of the night, warm and soothing like the fondest memories of his time in this world.
Joonghyuk used to be skin and bones. Smaller than Dokja. His eyes had been too severe for a child, tongue too sharp to be loveable to most, but Dokja liked him in the novel for those same reasons. Joonghyuk’s story was inspiring to him, who wished he could have had someone on his side when going through his own hell. To wake up in the thirteen year old body of the brother of the main lead—more specifically, the ugly stepbrother trope—was more than surprising. In the novel, with no real claim to the throne, the stepbrother falls into a cycle of gambling and alcoholism until dying a fool’s death at Joonghyuk’s hands.
Not that Dokja was going to fall for that.
Convincing Joonghyuk not to murder him should have been easy; he just needed to stay out of sight until the battle for the throne ended, but seeing an adorable eleven year old Joonghyuk treated like trash was harder to bear when witnessing it firsthand. His admiration and affection for the protagonist overshadowed his trepidation, and Dokja found himself trying to pry his way into Joonghyuk’s heart.
At the beginning of everything, he thought if he was careful, the plot shouldn’t change too much even if he were to… help. Thoughts like: Did Joonghyuk have to be miserable all the time? Could he not have one happy memory? Perhaps it was selfish that Dokja wanted to be the one that gave him that. He supposes this is his penance for being greedy.
His body feels heavy; the warm room is comfortable enough that this doesn’t seem too out of place… but the servant that brings it to him always waits for him to finish the cup before they leave. It’s chilling, in a way, to see the product of his efforts; Joonghyuk is vigilant, and knows what signs to look for. Even the friendly, chatty servants Dokja sometimes crosses on are agents of Joonghyuk: they gather tidbits of information—what he eats, what he says, what he does—and report it back to their master.
“When will his Majesty be back?” Dokja asks.
“This is the first time you’ve asked for him!” The servant gasps, remembering her place. Sheepishly, she apologizes, “My deepest apologies, sir, I was just thinking that his Majesty would love to know you asked for him. I’m sure he will be back as soon as he can.”
She beams at him, and Dokja wonders which vassal Joonghyuk has deal with the servants for them to believe such a wholesome story. She is endearingly innocent, Dokja thinks. Joonghyuk only sends young servants that don’t realize they’re spying. Dokja won’t hurt a child. He wonders if he should start, if only to prove him wrong. Dokja hums, smiling as he traces the edge of the rim.
On days that Dokja shows more anxiousness, they increase the dosage. To hide the taste, they add more honey to the milk.
Cinnamon was sprinkled into the foam dolloped on top, leftovers dotting the sides of the cup. Dokja licks up the last of it from his upper lip, returning the cup and saucer to the awaiting servant as he crawls into bed. Led begrudgingly into a dreamless sleep in the nest of pillows and feathered comforters, Dokja closes his eyes.
Joonghyuk isn’t taking any chances with this gilded cage. Bastard.
________
“What does it feel like, hyung?” Joonghyuk is too old for Dokja to believe the innocent words, not when his voice drops to a low, sinful murmur. His hands are hot on Dokja’s thighs, thumbs brushing close to Dokja’s dick, traitorously hard beneath the fabric of his trousers.
“Will you show me?” He asks, laying his hand on top of Dokja’s.
Dokja wants to scowl, wants to curse Joonghyuk’s uncontrollable sex drive, but Joonghyuk has fought off no less than three assassination attempts in the last week. The two aren’t directly related, but it makes Dokja more hesitant to brush him off. This is a weakness, but a necessary and understandable one; Joonghyuk is under a lot of stress. He relies on Dokja for so much, what’s one more thing? It’s not the first time they’ve crossed a line.
When Joonghyuk guides Dokja’s hand to his trousers, Dokja gives him a rueful smile. Joonghyuk leans back as Dokja undoes the front of his pants, freeing his cock.
“You’re too old to play innocent,” Dokja says, mouth dry. Joonghyuk’s length twitches in his hand. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Joonghyuk doesn’t respond, eyes focused on Dokja’s lips as he settles awkwardly between his legs. Kim Dokja licks his lips sheepishly.
"I've never—" Not that it matters, Dokja realizes, as Joonghyuk’s hand curls possessively in the hair at the nape of his neck. Leaning in, Dokja laps at the head of Joonghyuk’s dick. The salty taste of precum covers his tongue, and curiously, he savors the flavor.
“Hyung.” Joonghyuk tugs on his hair, face flushed and impatience in his eyes, “Don’t tease me.”
Dokja’s breath catches at the sight; the guilt hits immediately after, but he tries to shoo that thought away before it takes hold of him. Let’s get this over with.
However, once he starts… It’s hard to stop. It’s strange to have a sexual awakening in his sort-of thirties, but Joonghyuk has a way of messing up all Dokja’s plans. The breathlessness that comes with Joonghyuk’s dick in his mouth is unexpected, exhilarating, shameful, Dokja’s hips grinding against the sheets to chase the heightened pleasure.
“Does hyung like this?” Joonghyuk says.
His hands rest on his head to keep him from pulling away, but they aren’t pushing him deeper. However, if Dokja were to allow it, gravity would carry Joonghyuk’s cock deeper into his throat. Doesn’t Joonghyuk know that Dokja needs to breathe? There’s no way it’s a great blow job. Dokja chokes and drools clumsily on his cock, gag reflexes nearly triggered then soothed by an attentive Joonghyuk until their rhythm returns. His jaw aches, tears prickling the corners of his eyes—but this only seems to spur Joonghyuk on further. The lack of air makes the edges of Dokja’s vision blur as he’s used like a toy, uselessly rutting his hips into the sheets.
Startled, Dokja cums with a shout around Joonghyuk’s cock, nails digging into Joonghyuk’s thighs as his body goes taut. Joonghyuk groans, spilling into Dokja’s mouth. He coats Dokja’s tongue as he pulls out, final streaks of cum catching on his face. One hand holds Dokja’s head in place by his hair, the other holds his cock in his hand. He smears the head of his dick over Dokja’s shiny mouth, making a mess of his lips, his chin.
“Swallow it, hyung,” Joonghyuk says, voice hoarse; lightheaded, Dokja feels like he’s in a dream. His mouth parts to lick at the cum Joonghyuk’s cockhead pushes back between his lips.
Obediently, he swallows.
_________
Joonghyuk doesn’t return the next day. The day after that.
A week passes.
Dokja should wait for him patiently, Joonghyuk is a king now, after all. He has responsibilities that don't include terrorizing his captive older brother, believe it or not. Perhaps if he talks nicely to a servant, Joonghyuk will return. But that would be exactly what Joonghyuk wants, and Dokja isn’t feeling cooperative.
He tries to break out no less than fifteen times in this month. Dokja stops drinking the milk. He throws it at one servant; the chatty, friendly one that had been happy to hear him ask for Joonghyuk. Ha.
After this, he stops talking to the servants altogether. He stops eating. Refuses to drink. He refuses to sleep in the bed, opting to doze in the grass during the day and trash nearby, unused rooms at night.
Following his refusal of the sweet milk, Dokja struggles to sleep nightly, shaking and sweating in his bed. He curses Joonghyuk’s name. Whatever he’d been giving him was addiction forming?
Bastard, what an utter bastard—Dokja grins. Sure, Joonghyuk-ah. If Joonghyuk wants to do as he likes, then so will Dokja.
It’s time to throw a tantrum.
The servants have no idea how he got his hands on fire. The fireplaces have heavy grates in front of them with locks, and Dokja refuses to admit what method he’s using when they lose an entire wing to the roaring fire he sets loose in the gardens.
Honestly, they’re lucky he didn’t make any explosives. Dokja would feel sympathy for the workers, but he has other goals in mind. The only one that needs to feel sympathy is Joonghyuk.
Enough for him to come to Dokja.
________
“Are you awake?” Joonghyuk murmurs, hands tracing the curve of the small of Dokja’s back with his thumbs.
Dragging over Dokja’s skin, they fall to the loose pajamas resting on his hips. He wouldn’t dare—Dokja bites the inside of his cheek as Joonghyuk dips fingers under the fabric. He tugs them down easily, gently moving Dokja as if he doesn’t want to disturb his rest. If he really didn’t want to disturb Dokja’s rest, he wouldn’t be doing this.
“Hyung, wake up and stop me,” Joonghyuk says, “or I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Who taught him these things? Dokja remains faithfully still. The hands on his bare ass tense and tighten, gripping his pale bottom. Dokja holds back the surprised gasp, silent as Joonghyuk parts his cheeks. He hears Joonghyuk spit, and a thumb prods at his asshole. It takes every ounce of Dokja’s control to not jerk away. Sparks jump up the line of Dokja’s spine, and the urge to snap upright and scold Joonghyuk flares up in him.
“Dokja.”
Dokja’s heart lurches in his chest. Joonghyuk’s thumb properly breaches him, and Dokja forces himself to relax his body. Joonghyuk’s spit isn’t appropriate lubrication, and the drag of skin is a bit uncomfortable… but, horrifyingly, Dokja doesn’t dislike it. Dokja has never been more thankful to have fallen asleep on his stomach.
What a fool. He should have stopped Joonghyuk at the beginning.
“Are you really asleep? Are you sure you’re not pretending?”
At some point, Dokja heard the pop of a vial, and one thumb turned to two fingers, three—Dokja forgot that he was supposed to be asleep, panting into the pillow. Joonghyuk’s slick cock stuffs itself into the space between his thighs, thrusting against his ass. The disparity in their sizes offends Dokja to this day, but having the long, hard length of it rubbing messily under his cock feels too good to ignore.
The tip of Joonghyuk’s cock slips up, catching on the rim of his asshole and pushing in—Dokja groans, “I knew you were awake.”
Joonghyuk buries his face into the crook of Dokja’s shoulders, biting at his skin. Of course Dokja is awake, he thinks. How could he sleep with Joonghyuk begging to be inside him, the head of his cock shallowly thrusting inside him already. Dokja’s hole flutters around the motions, sucking him in despite himself.
“You’re driving me crazy, hyung...” Dokja presses his lips together. He hides his flushed face in the pillow, silent.
Shamefully, his legs shift, parting to allow Joonghyuk more into his space. Joonghyuk sucks in a breath.
The slow breach of Joonghyuk's cock is endless. Dokja lets out a pathetic, broken sob into the pillows. His body wants to reject Joonghyuk's domination, but his Joonghyuk is relentless; he doesn't stop until his curls rest soundly at the curve of Dokja's ass. Dokja cannot breathe, he can feel Joonghyuk's cock pushing the air out of his lungs, filling his throat with a shout. Joonghyuk trembles against him, his hands clutching Dokja's body, desperately mouthing at the sweat beading on his skin.
Dokja has barely begun to remember how to be human when Joonghyuk starts to thrust. Joonghyuk's thick cock rubs against his inner walls in a maddening way, preventing Dokja from catching his breath.
Joonghyuk, spoiled bastard that he is, seems to not want to let him do that anyway. He keeps a steady past for a few thrusts, just enough that Dokja starts to accept his cock—and then he snaps his hips, and Dokja shouts into the sheets.
He buries his face in the pillows, unable to protest as Joonghyuk pulls him up by his hips until his weight is barely supported by his knees on the bed—and he takes him. Takes him apart, takes him to pieces—Joonghyuk is merciless, gladly taking the opportunity his hyung has so generously allowed him.
Dokja closes his eyes.
It is easier to focus on the pleasure, to let it overwhelm him, rather than think about anything at all.
_________
“Be honest with me, Joonghyuk,” Dokja laughs. “You hate me, don’t you? That’s why you’re doing this to me.”
“I don’t hate you.” Like lifting off the paw of a kitten with its claws bared, Joonghyuk tilts his head to the side, “Is there anything that troubles you specifically?”
“Where do I begin?” Dokja turns his head to the side.
“We’ve lived through worse,” Joonghyuk says, dryly. That was before they killed Joonghyuk’s half-brothers, his father, their supporters… But he doesn’t say this, vitriol tucked under his tongue. They were stuck in a terrible situation together. This time, Dokja is trapped at Joonghyuk’s hands. When Joonghyuk stares back at him, there’s a slight twitch to his mouth that gives away his displeasure at Dokja’s attitude.
He’s been cooped up in here with nothing to do, just waiting for Joonghyuk to come and relay whatever punishment he’s devised for Dokja’s betrayal. Everyone else that was a threat was killed within the month. Is what he’s planning for Dokja so cruel? Is Joonghyuk trying to fatten him up before roasting him alive?
“I’m not torturing you.”
“Your hospitality has no limits, your Majesty,” Dokja sighs. Although he thought he was once familiar with Joonghyuk’s methods, Dokja is less and less sure what torture from Joonghyuk would be like.
“If there is anything you want... tell me.” Joonghyuk reaches forward to fix his rumpled collar, burning him with the brush of his knuckles against Dokja’s collarbone, as easily as Dokja might have done to him when he was younger. “Within reason.”
Without asking to be let go, he means, and Dokja crosses his arms petulantly. It’s not in Dokja’s usual nature to act childish, not in the face of the boy he considered his younger brother… but Joonghyuk somehow picked up a terrible attitude.
Dokja certainly didn’t raise him this way.
“Books.” Dokja sighs. He leans out of Joonghyuk’s reach, pushing his hands away, “Give me something to read.”
Joonghyuk doesn’t say anything at his touch being spurned. He doesn’t get angry like Dokja might have hoped for; any reaction would be better than his endless, OOC patience. Ultimately, Joonghyuk looks pleased by the interaction. The smile that crosses his face at Dokja’s request sends shivers up his spine.