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"Kinetics. Downy. Japan. The raven has landed in the nest."
First, there was static. And then, a shrill voice broke through—
"The what?"
"Oh, come on." Dokja huffed a laugh. An upwards-travelling wind caressed the root of his neck, turning his nape frigid blue. "Lighten up, Miss Apostle. Why don't you entertain me, for once?"
Four floors below him, the clueless waiter had just exited through the backdoor. He rooted through his pockets for a cigarette, and cupped his hands around a warm light. A rough exhale pulled out a puff of grey smoke.
From where Dokja was watching, his fingers itched for the familiar sting of nicotine.
The sudden uptick of static indicated that Apostle had let out a pointed sigh. "Absolutely not. Why is it that out of all nights, you choose to speak in jargon now?"
"Forgive me," said Dokja as he rappelled down the side of the wall, his hand expertly unhooking the knife strapped to his right calf. "Ever since our first mission together, I thought every mission would work like those in the movies. Spy speak and all."
"Are you bored, Salvation?"
Dokja blinked through the shadows, his knife a dangerous glint of steel.
"Or do you need a lay?"
Finally, Dokja came upon the waiter's back. He surged forward and pressed the knife to his neck, his other hand clamped on his mouth, caging in his scream. The other man's entire body stilled, and his eyes had only a split second to widen before Dokja dug the blade into vulnerable skin, scything right through the jugular.
Bright crimson spurted into the air, filled by the sounds of choking. As the waiter's limp body fell forward, Dokja grabbed his keycard and simultaneously wiped the metal clean against his lapel.
Thud.
Blood began to pool. Dokja slipped the knife back into its concealed holster, and paused. He looked at the dead body in disdain.
The box of cigarettes had fallen out of the dead waiter's pockets, and a single stick had rolled out onto the cement. Dokja swiftly grabbed it, but kept it unlit. As he pushed against the door, he tapped his forefinger on his earpiece.
"Both." He sighed, the sound registering as subtle crackling as his voice transmitted through the line, wholly disinterested. "I foresee this to be a boring mission."
"I doubt it," answered Apostle, after a few seconds of typing. "Nothing that happens in the Yoo Estate goes unpunished."
A photograph was delivered to Dokja's wristwatch, and he perused it only briefly.
"The Asuka Family's heiress. Your target's soon-to-be fiancée."
Dokja had to admit, the woman was striking. How was he supposed to live up to her famed beauty?
"According to central intelligence, they have never met."
Dokja chose not to reply. He strode down the hallway in a hush, his footsteps quietened from years of expertise. With each corner he turned, he skimmed over the mission files, already committing to memory.
"Tonight's supposed to be the signing of their deal, the contract marriage a clause. The Yoos are not happy with this arrangement. It's known that the jopok have already gotten their hands full with the Mob, and would rather not establish ties with their close neighbours."
Dokja bounded up the stairs three steps at a time, and quickly ducked behind a pillar. A pair of maids ambled past, both in rapt conversation.
"...And she turned away the brandy, too? What exactly does she expect us to serve?"
"No idea. I had even brought the temperature to a boil, and it was still insufficient for her tastes. She yelled at me to leave, and claimed that her blind and crippled ancestors could do a better job!"
"What a bitch! Her and Director Yoo deserve each other..."
Below him, the floor shook with an unearthly bass, and it sounded as if the party was already in full swing. The private wing of the Yoo Estate was barren save for the handful of footmen seen flitting about; and, presumably, the guest room they had reserved for the unfortunate heiress.
Dokja waited for several more beats before peeling himself off the pillar, down the hallway, and up to a door. If he pressed close, he would've picked up on the splashing of water through the thin walls. It seemed that the heiress was already in the bath.
"Figures," he answered, after a long moment. "It seems they detest her so much that they've put her in the death suite."
"Do a clean job this time, will you?" Apostle warned him. "If the Director catches you, there's no telling the kinds of torture that backwards family employs."
The lock pick slid into the keyhole. Dokja made quick work with his hands; and within seconds, there was the telltale click of the lock.
"Baseless worries." Dokja grinned.
The poor woman had left the bathroom door ajar, her shadows dancing on the floor. Laid atop the bed was her dress — a daunting emerald dipped in glittering rhinestones. All else seemed to have been thrown into a whirlwind. The shards of broken glass on the floor. The tray of brandy tipped over to spill over the plush carpet. Even the ice had melted. How awful.
"I'll make sure to give him the ride of his life."
⟡
When Dokja reached the foot of the stairs, he was immediately accosted by an attendant. Every step felt restricted, keeping his strides short and delicate. The skirt was already stretched thin by his fuller backside, and the entire fabric threatened to unravel the further his legs parted.
Dipped in midnight blue, the garment had a scandalous slit riding up his right leg, on which Dokja adorned a particularly eye-catching accessory — a thigh garter made of 12 carat diamonds, with excess loops dangling around the circumference of his thigh, ending in a teardrop-shaped stone carved out of precious obsidian. It was one he specifically chose after racking through the heiress' wardrobe, and discarding the old one in the fire.
Only the thigh garter was retained. It was the Asuka Family heirloom, and had an estimated cost of upwards of 7 billion yen — which, by Dokja's rough calculation, amounted to only a quarter of the Yoo Family's annual profit in arms trafficking alone. Knowing that this was supposed to be an engagement gift from the Asukas to the Yoos, he doubted the former's true intentions.
"Here we are, Miss Asuka," said the attendant, his eyes transfixed on Dokja's exposed leg.
Dokja took his hand and gave a flutter of his lashes, the lower half of his face concealed beneath his fan.
"Welcome to the End of the World."
The double doors heaved open. As soon as Dokja crossed the threshold, all five of his senses were immediately overtaken by the hall's oppressive sense. The bass was even louder once he was able to walk through it, and he blinked drearily through the flashing red lights.
A fountain pool occupied the centre of the room, upon which laid a stage. Women bathed in gold stood on display, waving at the crowd of onlookers. They each held a placard with numbers ranging from thousands to millions, and men with fattened bellies gathered to throw their money into the water.
Dokja shifted his eyes. Up by the second floor were loveseats, though they were mostly blocked from view. Faint moans echoed overhead, and he had only caught a glimpse of obscenity before he retrieved his gaze. He returned to inspecting the ground floor. Towards the back, the guests had their heads bent over the tables, flush with psychotics. In the centre was a writhing mass of bodies, dancing mindlessly to the Underworld's pulse. All adorned animal masks, obscuring their faces, though many of whom Dokja had once met—
Sons of diplomats, named aristocrats, and shady business moguls. The Underworld was the kkangpae's largest gathering, and it coincided with the ascension of the Yoo Family's youngest head.
"I heard the yakuza sent over one of their girls."
"Shit, and right after the Rebezovas were hit?"
"The Russians were too quick to jump on the gun. You know we only deal with the Crofts."
"And I don't trust those fuckers either. Why'd they choose to get involved now?"
"To strengthen ties, it seems. There are rumours the family's separating from the jopok. They'd need allies on this side of the globe if that happens."
"So a wedding's in the works. Fucking hell. How did the boss react?"
Dokja's ears were perked, and he kept his head low. His eyes darted to the nearby lackeys, observing their lips closely.
"Not good. Heard he disposed of the envoy who delivered the contract on sight. His lackeys weren't spared either."
"I saw their heads in the warehouse this morning. He made us feed the rest of their bodies to the dogs, and—"
His interest was quickly lost. Dokja had been led to the heart of the party, and seamlessly slipped into the crowd before the attendant could notice. With the fan to his face, he navigated through the dance floor, enduring several passes on his exposed back with a titillating curve of his lower eyelids.
The music had reached a crescendo; and Dokja's pulse dropped lower, fainter, heavier. All eyes were on him, breaths held all at once. His posture alone betrayed his identity, and it was known to the world that he was Yoo Joonghyuk's property.
And much to their dismay, they could only see, not touch.
Gasps fell upon Dokja as he snapped his fan closed, revealing the glossy tint of his lips, drawn into a sultry smile. Eventually, the crowd parted before him, and the sight which greeted him stunned him instantly—
Dark, tousled hair, a strong build, and a pair of broad shoulders. The roving lights dipped in and out of focus, highlighting the expensive material of the man's sleek black suit. At the moment, his head was bowed as he spoke to the woman by his side, turned away from Dokja.
As soon as Dokja drew close, however, the woman's eyes widened slightly, before bowing and leaving in quick succession. It was at this exact moment when Dokja chose to trip on his feet, and land squarely onto the man's side.
"Careful," a deep voice cooed in his ear; and when Dokja looked up, he was greeted by a grey wolf mask. An arm wrapped around his waist, holding him up with little effort.
Dokja blinked through thick lashes. His white fox mask drew all attention to the reddened corners. "Sorry. I wasn't looking."
"A little fox like you wandering around on your own. Do you want to get swallowed up?"
"Why would I when you're right here?"
A hand plucked down Dokja's spine, settling warmly on his lower back. "Flatterer."
"I could say the same for you."
Another hand came to grip his waist fully, and he felt the other stiffen under the tight press of their bodies. "The animals will eat you alive."
Leaning up, Dokja rested his palms on the other's chest and whispered, "Won’t you?"
Sighing audibly, the man replied, "I'd love to." He looked aside. "But you're someone else's. I can't just take you away."
And with that, he retracted his hands completely, leaving Dokja bereft of his touch and aching for more. Dokja kept his gaze trained on the wolf, his eyes half-lidded, before dragging his palms down the other's torso and stepping back just an inch.
"A shame. I love to play with wolf pups."
With their eyes trained on one another, Dokja blew the man a kiss and disappeared into the crowd. Once he had safely waded through the dance floor, he shifted his wrist, unveiling the access card he'd surreptitiously swiped from the man's suit pocket, scrutinising it briefly.
VIP access.
If there was any place the Director would be found, it'd surely be in the private rooms. Dokja approached the bar, intending to extract more information about his target's whereabouts. After thoroughly surveying the area, he quickly surmised that Director Yoo was not the kind to make his presence known, despite being the host of the party. It was inevitable that Dokja had to dig deeper into the belly of the beast.
"Pretty little fox," the bartender greeted him. "Care for a drink?"
Dokja grinned, and placed his chin on his hand. Beside him, another masked guest took his seat, leaning close.
He glanced at him. On his face was an oni mask, which, upon closer inspection, resembled a monkey. Though he had no discernible features beyond his light-coloured eyes, the man rattled off a drink to the bartender.
"On me." He grinned.
Dokja had to suppress his annoyance. A hand landed on his exposed thigh, snaking up the slit in a less-than-discreet manner.
"You're the Director's, aren't you?"
Good. Then that would save Dokja the trouble of circling the topic. He nodded, and asked, "Has he finally sent someone to fetch me?"
The monkey laughed. "Trust me, you wouldn't want to be carted off into his bed. None of his partners have made it out alive."
The cocktails were served with little garnish, and rushed down Dokja's throat rough and bitter. As he waited for the aftertaste to subside, the other continued—
"Why don't I take you away from here, hm? That ngong hai doesn't have an eye for beauties." His fingers tapped against Dokja's leg. The one word was hissed between grit teeth.
"No can do." Dokja shook his head, playing the role of a subservient lover. "I only serve Director Yoo."
"After all this?" The man cursed. "Guess the Mob's gotten him shoved up his own ass."
"The Mob?"
The monkey gestured to the upper floors. "It seems he thinks dealing with those crazy old fuckers is more important than pleasuring a beauty like you."
His palm lay flat on Dokja's leg.
"Come home with me. I can send you to paradise."
"He sent back our envoy headless. Are you sure you want to do that?"
"The Koreans have nothing against the Triad. There's a reason why they chose to host the party on our turf."
Indeed, there is a reason. For the first time in history, the Underworld Party was hosted outside their home country. The Yoo Family, publicly known as the Yoo Conglomerate, had just established their newest subsidiary in Hong Kong, where the party was taking place. This came as a shocking turn of events, given the Crofts' position as longtime allies of the Yoo Family.
There were talks of a nuclear war, incited by the Americans targeting the north. It was said that the Yoos supplied raw materials for the construction of a nuclear weapon currently owned by the Crofts and part of the American Mob. However, the rest of the jopok did not agree to this, and feared that their country would become the grounds for a third world war. This was presumably why the family chose to separate from the Korean mob, and form new ties with the Triad as a form of security.
This was not why Dokja was here. The agency needed the weapons schematic, and intel reported that the data was stored offline on a ring worn on Yoo Joonghyuk's left middle finger. The intricacies of all else related to the organised crime circuit did not matter to Dokja; but now, after somehow catching the attention of the Triad, he had to be more wary.
"I have no reason to fraternise with your folks," Dokja sang, tipping his head forward. "So you can kiss your dreams of parting my legs and sending me to heaven goodbye."
The hand gripped his waist. "Great. The more untouchable they are, the more I enjoy taking them apart."
Dokja gritted his teeth. He glanced sideways, and caught a glimpse of the grey wolf stalking towards the bar. He was accompanied by several men, vaguely recognisable as the family's henchmen.
Their eyes connected for a split second. A knowing smirk split the wolf's shadowed face, and Dokja felt a shot of fear run down his spine. At this time, the other man's hand pulled at Dokja's hip, drawing him nearly into his lap.
It all happened within a matter of seconds. As the monkey's mouth cracked open around the side of his neck, Dokja inclined his head, letting him have his fill. He kept his eyes on the wolf as he wound his arms around the man's neck, a spark of raw, unbidden jealousy flashing through his irises. The pain of the bite was a dull, aching thing; and when they pulled apart, an angry bitemark could be traced along Dokja's skin.
The other's hand caressed up and down the length of Dokja's inner thigh, itching to split his legs apart. The wolf's gaze was hot and heavy, burnt to the touch.
"Had enough?" Dokja asked, after disentangling his body from the monkey's hold. "The family sees all. I wish you and your head the best of luck."
And without a second to spare, he opened his fan, and gave the other a pitiful wink. With a hand on the side of his neck, Dokja ran away before his pursuer could catch up to him.
His heels clacked against the floor as Dokja flew up the stairs, past the loveseats, and down the corridor. The rim around the bitemark was warm, a tasteless reminder of the things he had to sacrifice for the sake of finding himself a way out.
That monkey would've long been dead by now. Dokja could only thank him for buying him time.
Glancing behind him, he couldn't see a shadow of the wolf, or Yoo Joonghyuk's men. It seemed that he had escaped for now, although he cursed inwardly for letting the other man get too carried away so as to mar his skin. In the distant corners of his head, Apostle's voice rang like a blaring alarm—
Do a clean job this time, will you?
Well, fuck. Dokja scanned the access card by the door, and hastily slipped past the threshold. This isn't clean.
He'd made a mark on himself, gotten a man killed, and now had a wolf prowling for his neck. Maybe he should've chosen a more modest attire—But shit, I wouldn't have gone this far without this fucking slit!
The door opened to a long, darkened hallway. No sounds could be heard from the top floor, and all else seemed to still. Dokja mindfully slipped into the hallway, past windows the cameras could not capture. His heart, which rattled incessantly against his chest, had calmed to a steady rhythm, and it seemed as though he was in the clear.
Every footstep echoed along the hallway. Dokja envisioned the floor map in his mind, and recalled that the gambling room should be at the end of the hallway; though after witnessing the security on the ground floor, he doubted whether he could just stride up to the doors in his current disguise.
It was at this point when he heard two pairs of footsteps bounding around the corner. He stepped into the shadows in time, holding his breath as two guards walked past, speaking in hushed tones.
"They found her?" the taller one asked, his finger pressed to his earpiece.
Dokja could not hear the response. However, as soon as it was delivered, the two men looked at each other and sprinted down the hall, slamming open doors and leaving only the echoes of their dissipating footsteps in their wake.
Dread gnawed at his peripheries. Dokja released his breath, and peeked around the corner.
There it is.
Just as he had predicted, the door to the gambling room was heavily guarded. Two lines of security circled the perimeter, though their weapons were concealed. According to intel, all of Yoo Joonghyuk's men were armed with proper artillery. One of them, Apostle had forewarned him, is bigger and bulkier than the others. He's the Director's personal bodyguard. Stay clear of him.
That must be the grey wolf, Dokja thought to himself. I'm sorry, Sooyoung-ie. But I'm afraid I've strayed too close to the wolf's den.
Dokja counted the number of heads. There were at least a dozen of them — a number he could take down easily, but considering he had to reduce his presence, he wouldn't risk making himself known. As of now, his only alternative is going through the window.
In the floor plan, the hallway and rooms were connected by a balcony. With this in mind, Dokja unlocked the wall-length door to his right, and observed the distance between the two balconies. If he stepped off the edge of the railing, he could just barely make it across.
Dokja looked down; he was currently several floors above ground, and it looked as if the fall would hurt. Bad. But he had no other choice.
Placing a foot on the railing, Dokja hoisted himself up and over the side, and prepared to leap across. He squared his shoulders, hands gripped around the railing — and when he finally surged forward, something caught onto his ankle.
He lost his hold; and for a second, Dokja was free-falling before he was abruptly yanked by the ankle, landing onto the balcony floor. His head had been knocked upon impact, tossing his fox mask askew. Blinking through the confusion, his eyes could barely focus; but when they did, all he could see was the sliver of a grey wolf mask.
Fuck.
"A thief, a burglar and a liar." The wolf sneered. "What else do you have up your sleeve," he grabbed Dokja's neck, and effortlessly lifted him into the air, "Salvation?"
Dokja choked on oxygen. The man's grip was deathly, and his fingers pressed firmly around the column of his neck. His hands clawed against the man's forearm, seemingly succumbing to his suffocating hold. However, just as the other's grip loosened, Dokja reared back his knee, and delivered a sharp kick against his shin.
He was dropped to the floor. Dokja immediately gasped for breath, bent over. The fox mask obscured his peripheral view, and so he chose to throw it off, revealing his face.
When he stood back up, the wolf's breath seemed to have been caught in his throat. His eyes roved over Dokja's delicate features, as though he was seeing an angel in disguise.
But Dokja did not waste the opportunity. While his opponent was still regaining his footing, he quickly leapt off the railing, successfully landing on the other side. He had only a moment to steady himself before another body collided into his, wrapping around his sides and sending them both tumbling through the balcony door into the adjacent room.
Shards of glass cut along Dokja's bare arms, and his back was cushioned against a firm chest. Dokja propped himself with his right palm, the flesh digging into the sharp glass. His other hand snaked under his dress, unhooking the knife.
The wolf, however, was more vigilant than he'd imagined. As soon as his back hit the floor, his hand gripped Dokja's left thigh in a vicelike grip, halting him midway. The knife was unstrapped and flung to the side, skidding across the empty floor. A sense of loss overcame Dokja, and he could only bring both his hands down around the wolf's neck, mimicking the latter's action.
From how they landed, Dokja was fully straddling his opponent's waist. The wolf clamped his hand around Dokja's thigh, brushing a thumb against the diamond-encrusted garter. His eyes were unfocused, but his face was pulled into an expression of utter bliss.
"You look heavenly," he breathed, his voice strained.
Dokja was dumbfounded. "What?"
It was clear that this wasn't affecting the man in any way. Dokja paused for a moment before reaching out with his hand, grazing along the edge of the wolf mask. This, it seemed, startled his opponent back to reality, and he surged up and flipped their bodies around till Dokja was the one on the floor.
He was oddly gentle, his palm laid upon the back of Dokja's head so it wouldn't smash into the glass. Now, he was positioned in between Dokja's parted thighs, with both of Dokja's legs around his waist. With a lopsided smirk, the wolf slid a hand under his knee, bringing Dokja flush against himself and nearly folding him in half.
"Nowhere to escape now." He mouthed along Dokja's jaw, his other hand coming up to pin both of Dokja's wrists above his head.
"How presumptuous." Dokja snickered. "Rather than being trapped," he leaned up, his breath ghosting over the wolf's ear, "I believe you're the one who's stuck in here with me."
The hand on the back of his thigh dipped lower, teasing along the dangling obsidian stones. "A shame," he echoed Dokja's previous words. "I love playing with clueless little foxes."
Dokja hooked his ankles around the man's waist, flipping them over once more; but instead of straddling him, as soon as his knees hit the floor, Dokja leapt up and lunged towards his knife. He managed to retrieve it, and swiftly turned back around to brace against the wolf's counterattack.
A fist hooked towards his side. Dokja deflected this and swung the knife diagonally, cutting a clean line across the wolf's torso. As his opponent staggered on his feet, Dokja spun the knife in his hand, laughing lightly. Despite the gash on his chest, the wolf seemed amused by this, and slipped into an offensive stance, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists.
They exchanged several blows, and it was not clear who would come out on top. With each swing of his feet, Dokja expertly dodged his blow, and countered with quick, shallow cuts that split open the man's immaculately-tailored suit. The wolf did not seem to perturbed by this, however, and pressed on.
He swept his leg out for a disarming kick, and Dokja stepped over it effortlessly. He was pushed further and further back into the room, till his back crashed against the cabinet, sending precious glassware to the floor. Although the wolf was unarmed, he kept pace with Dokja's full-frontal assault. Yet, as each hit was fully evaded by Dokja's quick reflexes, he knew that his opponent was holding back.
"What?" taunted Dokja as he swerved beneath another overhead swing. "Afraid of ruining this face?"
The wolf sidestepped Dokja's low blow, and barrelled into his side, slamming him against the wall. Dokja's mind was briefly knocked into a stupor, though he instantly regained his zeal. He pressed the knife on the wolf's throat, but did not dare press deeper.
A thin, red line appeared across his scarred neck, right beneath his Adam's apple.
"Afraid of ruining this dress," the wolf grumbled, his hands returning to find purchase on that damned thigh garter. "I'm impressed. You fight well in heels. Is this what they teach you in the agency?"
Dokja had long had his hunches. He supposed his impersonation of the spoilt heiress would be seen through soon enough; But not, he shivered, at the hands of the target's right-hand.
"The poor heiress. Dead in a pool of her own blood." The wolf hooked Dokja's right leg back around his waist, and pressed his body right against Dokja. "You couldn't have chosen a more conspicuous identity?"
"I needed the access." Dokja smirked; and stilled.
Previously, when their bodies were close, Dokja could feel the gun strapped to his waist. Now that they were face-to-face once more, Dokja's unoccupied hand could reach for the other's firearm, patting shamelessly around the lower half of his body.
Something hot and hard brushed against his palm. Dokja couldn't believe it.
"Are you hard?"
"You caught me." The wolf chuckled, unabashed. And then, he pressed his chin on Dokja's shoulder, whispering right where he could feel the words form upon his neck. "I really want to fuck you."
Dokja had had enough. He braced his shoulder and shoved the other man off him; and as he stumbled back, he swept his leg to knock him off his feet.
The wolf steadied himself with his palms, and let out an audible grunt. He looked up then, meeting eyes with Dokja, and slowly inched backwards. The sound of Dokja's stilettos were loud against the linoleum, stalking after him — closer and closer, till he was backed into the wall.
His opponent was playing weak. With a click of his tongue, Dokja lifted his heel, and pressed right onto the wolf's crotch, his sole working against him in slow, circular motions. At this angle, the slit of Dokja's dress rode up the full length of his thigh; and from where he was sprawled beneath him, the wolf could peer up the skirt to see flimsy, black lace.
Biting down a groan, the man circled his hand around Dokja's ankle.
"Careful." Dokja laughed. "These legs are insured, you know."
The click of the safety. Dokja cocked the gun at the wolf's head. His foot stepped down even harder.
"Give me a reason not to shoot you through the head right now."
"Fuck," the wolf gasped, tipping his head back. "If you shoot me now, it'd be a waste."
The gun remained pointed at him.
"Instead of telling you, let me show you why." The hand around Dokja's ankle tightened, and he pulled himself up, using it as leverage.
As soon as he was back on his feet, the wolf once again pounced on Dokja, spinning them around till Dokja was sandwiched between his larger frame and the wall. He showed no regard towards the gun as he pinned down Dokja's hips, rutting desperately into his front.
A warm hand tugged at the lace panties just low enough for a hand to make its way inside. The man's weatherworn fingers dragged up Dokja's slit, thumbing against the hardened nub of his clit. "So wet. Is this part of the disguise?"
"Fuck. You." Dokja exhaled. The oxygen in the room began to thin, and he couldn't help but drive his hips into the other's fingers.
The wolf slid his middle finger down his slit, and used his other fingers to spread Dokja open. Cold air kissed his bare insides, and Dokja felt his own cunt begin to slick up at the intrusion. The middle finger began rubbing up and down, dipping in just a touch, before pulling back out completely. Something smooth and metallic kept rubbing against his clit with each subtle press of the wolf's finger, driving Dokja nearly into a frenzy. And then, with his forefinger and thumb pressed together, the wolf slowly separated them, a sheen of slick connecting the two digits in a filthy evidence of Dokja's arousal.
"You taste so good," he murmured as he licked his fingers clean. "Can I eat you out?"
Dokja's breath hitched. This was not a clean job. Very definitely not a clean job.
But the man sank to his knees, and nudged Dokja's panties aside with the tip of his nose. And then, he breathed in his cunt, and sighed against the slick folds. He looked as if he had ascended.
"Since you asked nicely." Dokja rested the gun on the centre of his forehead. "If you make me come in less than 5, I might consider leaving you alive."
When the wolf smirked, he looked nothing less like the devil.
It turned out the wolf was right. Irritatingly so.
Dokja would've missed this. He would've missed his tongue lapping up the middle of his slit, his fingers spreading him open so he could fully lick the inside of his cunt. The other's tongue prodded shallowly into him as if he knew his insides like the back of his hand, and when he pulled it back out, his lips closed around Dokja's folds, suckling tightly, before releasing them with a pop.
The man made a wet, slobbering mess of Dokja's already messed-up cunt, licking up, around and into his cunt, as though it was a second pair of lips. Naturally, it didn't take long before Dokja felt his climax begin to crest; and as if to work against this, he dug the gun deeper into the crown of the other's head.
Though his finger was no longer on the trigger. The wolf lifted his eyes and looked directly into Dokja's eyes as he opened his mouth and made love with his cunt, sending Dokja closer to heaven.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dokja hissed. The fingers around the grip came loose. "I'm c—close!"
"Come, love." The wolf mumbled from where his lips remained attached to Dokja's cunt. "Come all over me."
"Horny fucker...!" Dokja shouted, his head slamming back against the wall.
"Piss on my face." He patted his clit. "I know you can do it."
The wolf rubbed into his clit with the same punishing rhythm of his tongue thrusting in and out of his cunt, and so Dokja came unravelled, dropping the gun to run both hands into the other's hair, pushing his face up as he ground his hips down. Dokja rode his tongue as he climaxed, his body shuddering against the finger rubbing incessantly onto his clit.
He felt it then — the overwhelming urge to release, and as the other's nose caught onto his clit from the way Dokja rutted haphazardly onto the wolf mask, Dokja let himself go. Clear fluid gushed out, squirting across the man's hair, his shoulders, and dripping onto the floor.
"That's right. Just like that," he praised him as his fingers slapped on his clit lightly, smaller droplets of fluid spurting out at every deliberate hit. "You did well, little fox."
By the end of his orgasm, Dokja was left breathless, his head empty. Through the haze, he dipped his finger in his own release which stained the grey wolf mask, and felt the sudden urge to see his real face.
"Am I released?" the man, still on his knees, grinned up at him.
Dokja wanted to wipe that look off his face. With his fingers clasped on the straps of the mask, he yanked it off the man's face completely.
It was at this moment when the man surged up, his lips sealing Dokja's in a damning kiss. Dokja, still weakened from his orgasm, all but melted into his arms, and let his mouth fall open in a repressed moan. The other took it as his chance to slip his tongue in, licking into Dokja's mouth with the taste of himself still thick on his tongue.
The kiss left Dokja even dizzier than before. There was no need for the man to prove his expertise with his tongue any longer; Dokja was positive that his mind had run blank, pushed and pulled against the other's undulating waves. Dokja craned his neck, winding his arms around the other and letting himself be hitched in midair, his legs cinched around the other's waist. In this position, he was hoisted over the other, and he drowned in the wet, hot slide of their tongues, their heads drawing back only slightly before leaning back in with equal fervour.
When they finally separated, Dokja had been kissed within an inch of his life. "Huh?" he blinked, lethargically.
The other's features came into full focus, almost comically slowly — and the sight of it plunged Dokja into ice-cold water.
Oh. They're gonna kill me.
Yoo Joonghyuk smirked at him, all white teeth and sharpened fangs, and pulled out his flushed cock, slapping it gently against Dokja's tender cunt. For some reason, this made Dokja clench even harder at the prospect of sleeping with the enemy. Well. He had the choice to sleep with the enemy.
"Like the face?" Joonghyuk asked, his voice tinged with cockiness.
If Dokja hadn't been eaten out of his mind, he would've pushed the man down, took off the rest of his clothes and rode him like there was no tomorrow — which, given his circumstances, wasn't saying much. But at least he'd be in control.
"You—!" Dokja began, and gasped when he felt the hardened intrusion pressing against his entrance. "If I wasn't—"
The cockhead stretched, wide.
"—indisposed—"
Its whole length pushed in inch by painful inch.
"—I would've fucked you myself!"
When Joonghyuk was halfway sheathed, Dokja's words were cut off by a staggering moan, his toes curling at the sheer pleasure of being speared open so wantonly, it was as if Joonghyuk's cock was made for his pussy.
"And how would you have done that, hm?" Joonghyuk asked; though he gave him no chance to answer as he thrust the rest of himself in, shoving Dokja up the wall till it rumbled against their movements. "You can barely handle half of my length."
Dokja's voice cracked as he answered, "It's your fault you have a stupidly big cock...!"
Joonghyuk hummed as he began lazily thrusting up into Dokja. His left hand came down to the start of the slit, and feathered soft touches along the hem. The ring on his middle finger glinted in the moonlight. "Actually, I was incorrect."
His hand grasped the silk, and began to tear. The harsh ripping of fabric nearly made Dokja cry. For all the troubles the dress had given him, he'd at least found it pretty enough to take home.
"You chose an excellent disguise. I knew who you were the moment you stepped in with this tight little dress."
He dropped one of Dokja's leg so it could brace against the floor, the other held up by the underside of his thigh.
"I wanted to rip it off you as soon as I saw you."
Joonghyuk's hips moved in slow, deep strokes, and Dokja cried for more. His heavy cock dragged against his insides impossibly gently, as though he was afraid to brush against that textured spot within him that would otherwise drive him mad.
Dokja felt full, but not sated. Teased, though only towards the edge. He wanted — needed — to be fucked, ravished, and broken in two so he had no use for his own two legs.
"Then are you going to fuck me, Yoo Joonghyuk?" Dokja enunciated the word with harsh tones, tipping his head coquettishly. "What use is that fat cock of yours if you're not gonna do me senseless?"
Joonghyuk's movements came to a halt. Dokja whined in retaliation.
"You sure about that, little fox?"
As a response, Dokja clenched around the other. "Come on." He pressed two fingers around his cunt where Joonghyuk had penetrated him, and asked, "You don't want to fuck this pussy?"
Instead of answering, Joonghyuk leaned up, bit down on his collarbone, and yanked Dokja down onto his cock as he thrust up, plunging himself whole into Dokja's fluttering cunt. Dokja let out a drawn-out moan as he bounced on Joonghyuk's cock, up and down and up again, till he could memorise the curve of his cock as it carved into his insides.
Joonghyuk fucked hard and fast and merciless. Dokja's manicured nails came to claw down Joonghyuk's clothed back as he was driven further and further up the wall, rattling the paintings off their hooks and straight towards the ground. The other's oversized cock rammed in without pause, the head of it hooking onto the place where Dokja wanted him most.
As soon as he hit that spot, Dokja knew it was over. He cried helplessly as Joonghyuk petted his insides over and over, dragging the thick head of his cock along where he was most sensitive, drawing more slick out from his thoroughly abused cunt. Dokja had nearly gone cross-eyed at the pleasure, his tongue lolling out, and his face pinched in sheer ecstasy.
"Fuck. You're so gorgeous." Joonghyuk gave a pointed thrust. "Where have you been all my life?"
"Joonghyuk, Joonghyuk, Joonghyuk—" Dokja chanted, like a disgraced follower to his god. His hand clutched on his navel, and he felt for the protrusion. "I can feel you all the way up here. So deep."
Joonghyuk's hips stuttered. "Don't say things like that." His thrusts had grown clumsy, and he was rutting into him like a dog in heat.
There was no use trying to stand on his own. Dokja's one foot was slipping against the floor, struggling to find purchase amidst Joonghyuk's erratic trusts. As the heel dragged against the floor, Joonghyuk drove his hips in deep and fast, rendering the entire lower half of Dokja's body useless.
"Fffuck, Joonghyuk—!" Dokja screamed, completely disregarding the possibility of being heard. Being caught. "Harder! Faster! Deeper—please!"
And who was Joonghyuk if he didn't oblige? Lifting Dokja's other leg, he gave short, quick thrusts deep into Dokja's swollen cunt. Dokja felt the other's cock throb inside him, and so squeezed his insides deliberately so as to milk him to completion.
"Don't!" Joonghyuk warned him, his grip on both Dokja's thighs tightening imperceptibly. "Let me pull out first—!"
Dokja squeezed even more. "Don't pull out, please?" he pleaded, eyes turning glassy.
Joonghyuk was but a taken man. He growled, and surged up to claim Dokja's lips in a soul-stealing kiss.
"Come in me," Dokja murmured against his lips, "my wolf pup."
Warmth flooded Dokja's insides, spilling ropes and ropes of come deep into his cunt — So deep, it nearly breached his cervix. Dokja screamed through his second climax, his walls spasming against the oversensitive cock sheathed inside him.
"Shit, shit, shit," Joonghyuk hissed, pulling out and gently lowering Dokja to the floor.
His come seeped down Dokja's thighs, painting the insides a translucent white, and Dokja felt an unnerving sense of emptiness despite having been filled. With a huff of his breath, Dokja turned around, arched his back, and pushed his ass flush against Joonghyuk's half-hard cock.
From here, the silk dress stretched obscenely over his curves, ending right above his tailbone where Joonghyuk had carelessly ripped the material in two. His plump ass rubbed against Joonghyuk's cock, the cockhead dipping in and out of the cleft of his backside; and the sight of it left Joonghyuk's mouth dry.
"That couldn't have been enough for you, Director." Dokja teased over his shoulder, his starry eyes shimmering despite being shrouded in the shadows. "One more time, please?" He blinked. "I still feel empty inside."
"Fuck, Kim Dokja."
Distantly, this should've set off alarm bells in Dokja's head. Unfortunately, he was too cock-drunk to even register that his target knew his name.
Hands came to wrap around his waist, and Joonghyuk pulled back so that the head of his cock caught onto Dokja's entrance, painted white and leaking come. "If you let me come inside you again, I'm afraid I'd have to make you mine."
By this point, Dokja no longer had the cognisance to parse through the implications of the other's words. All he knew was the exact length of his cock, its girth, and how it was curved beautifully towards the tip so it could reach deep and hard.
Dokja reached back, and grasped Joonghyuk's cock with his own fingers. He blindly angled it towards his entrance, nearly slipping into his hole instead of his cunt. "Then make me yours."
No more words needed to be said.
Joonghyuk fucked him from behind, his eyes trained on the way Dokja's plush ass rippled at each punishing slam of his hips into his backside. This position let him plunge just that much deeper into Dokja, digging against his oversensitive walls as though he could carve his name inside his cunt. Now, Dokja could no longer stand; and Joonghyuk lifted him by the hips, and then, once more, completely off the ground as his legs kicked in the air at the other's relentless pace.
At his utterly brutal pace, with his hand pulling on the garter, it inevitably snapped, sending the diamonds, gemstones and pearls tumbling to the ground in an unceremonious clatter. Amidst the jewels, a single stick of cigarette fell to the floor, rolling away inconspicuously. Dokja, at least, had enough clarity to whine at the loss of such priceless jewellery, and seized around Joonghyuk as if to admonish him.
"Not too tight, love," Joonghyuk groaned. "I can buy you a thousand more of these."
His words somehow worked to console Dokja, and he lay loose-limbed as he braced against the wall, hanging his head low. The white splatter of come had coated Joonghyuk's length, and he watched himself go in and out. Dokja was already leaking, occasionally spurting slick each time Joonghyuk pushed in, the sound of it wet, loud and terribly obscene. With Joonghyuk's fingers rubbing against his clit in time with his thrusts, Dokja could only blabber nonsensical words, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes rolled back in unbidden pleasure.
His clit had been rubbed raw, his insides distended, and his folds were soaked with a mixture of his and Joonghyuk's spend. Dokja was a sobbing, sopping mess, and he was sure he was ruined for all eternity.
"Y—Yoo Joonghyuk," he called out, meekly, his left hand grasping for the other in utter desperation.
As if sensing his distress, Joonghyuk clasped Dokja's hand in his — and, in contrast to his pounding into Dokja's overused cunt — placed a kiss on each of his knuckles. "Hm?"
"Promise me—" he gasped, "—you won't pull out, okay?"
Although he couldn't see it for himself, Dokja knew Joonghyuk struggled against an inhale. "Promise."
Without warning, Dokja pushed further. "Kiss me, please?"
His answer came in a searing kiss, surprisingly tender, full on Dokja's bitten lips. "What should I do?" His hips gave that telltale stutter, a sign that he was coming close. "I really want to make you mine."
They came in unison once again — Joonghyuk spilling deep into Dokja, and Dokja milking the life out of him with his rippling insides. Before Joonghyuk could pull out, Dokja took the initiative to push him off and onto the floor, before settling on his lap. A word of protest formed on Joonghyuk's tongue, though he was too sex-addled to properly convey it.
Dokja sank onto his cock, and guided Joonghyuk's hand so it rested on his abdomen. "Here. You can feel yourself here."
This was his only warning before Dokja lifted his hips and slammed back down, riding Joonghyuk with reckless abandon. Joonghyuk could not have been a stronger man; he tipped his head back, letting Dokja use his cock like a toy as he kept squirting all over it — once, twice, three times too many.
Then came the snap of a fuse. Something was lit, and the smell of smoke climbed into the air. Joonghyuk finally opened his eyes, and propped himself up on his elbows.
Dokja, seated on his cock, and with a lit cigarette in his hand, was a thing of beauty. His hips moved ruthlessly, swallowing Joonghyuk's cock completely, his ass slapping down onto his thighs in a resounding slap.
Joonghyuk's hands came to grip Dokja's waist, and his fingers clenched in a way to have him still. Or at least, Slow down.
A dissatisfied huff answered him. Dokja leaned down, took a drag of his cigaratte, and blew the smoke right onto Joonghyuk's face. Even while hunched over him, Dokja's hips persisted with their original pace. This instantly had Joonghyuk coming, the hands which gripped his waist tightening into a suffocating hold.
Dokja laughed, his breath heavy with the smell of smoke. When he was done with his cock, and Joonghyuk's stamina could no longer catch up to him, Dokja crawled up his body, swung his leg over his face, and sat down, his full weight suffusing Joonghyuk with his scent and taste.
Dokja rode his face till all Joonghyuk knew to breathe was his intoxicating musk. And then, he let himself be manhandled onto the floor as Joonghyuk pressed his knees to his chest, seemingly intent on filling him full of his seed.
Hours passed, and none dared to knock on the doors of the empty gambling room. As more and more glass could be heard shattering through the walls, the walls themselves threatening to give in, Dokja simply closed his eyes, and let himself be taken under with Joonghyuk in tow.
The ring was clasped loosely in his grip. He had taken it off Joonghyuk's hand, multiple positions ago, when the other was unguarded and taken by Dokja's show of vulnerability. Deep down, he knew the man had a soft spot for pretty faces like his, especially if they were torn with tears, and begging him not to let go.
Dokja had never felt more satiated.
⟡
The crackling of static.
Beep.
Crackle.
Beep. Beep. Beep—
"Mission status: Over."
"It's done?"
"..."
"Good job, Salvation. Expect a pick-up at—"
"No need."
"What—?" Crackle. "Who are you?"
"Salvation is well taken care of."
Joonghyuk glanced to his right. Buried beneath the duvet, with both his hands tied to the bedpost, and his own panties stuffed into his mouth was beautiful, beautiful Salvation. His pale skin was doused in white, his pupils blown wide. Countless red marks littered the expanse of his body — though the one on the side of his neck had turned purplish-blue, as though to cover up a previous bruise.
"Nothing that happens in the Yoo Estate goes unpunished. Farewell."
"You motherfucker—!"
And then, there was only white noise.