Archive of Our Own

Gaon wakes up with a jolt, heart pounding a mile a minute, his back warm against the sheets, blankets tangled around his legs. For a disorienting moment, he forgets where he is.

Reason kicks in.

He's in his bed, in his room in Yohan's house.

The last remnants of the dream slips away leaving only a prickling at the back of his neck and a familiar stirring warmth in his guts. He pushes himself up and clambers to his feet. It's five minutes to the alarm. Gaon switches it off with a yawn, stretches and feels his back pop, muscles faintly sore like he had overdone a workout session.

Weird.

All he had been doing the whole week was sitting in a courtroom or at his desk, pouring over cases. It hardly counted as exercise.

He shuffles to the bathroom, ready to relieve himself when it hits him that something is amiss. Something feels a little odd. Lighter. Airy.

Gaon peers into his boxers, mouth falling open and eyes slowly widening in disbelief. His head swivels left and right around the bathroom, wondering if he's still dreaming. He looks into the contents of his boxers again.

Then frantically pushing his pants, boxers, everything, down his thighs, Gaon makes a mad dash for the large bathroom mirror. His shocked fearful expression stares back.

Gaon's gaze drops and he starts to hyperventilate.

His dick.

His dick is gone.

–

Screaming would be appropriate at the moment but some people just aren't born to scream. Some people die silently while being mugged in a dark alley. People like Gaon, who even at his lowest, like right now, can only manage a manly whimper.

Mostly he's still in shock, hands flying all over his body and between his legs checking if anything else is missing. He pinches himself more than once to no avail. It's all very much real even if it couldn't possibly be happening.

Where his cock and balls once hung, now a triangular patch of wiry hair sits on a smooth mound that leads to – Gaon gulps, fingers inching downwards almost too afraid to check. There's an opening. And soft folds. And the warmth of sweat. He's been with enough girls to know what he's touching but his mind just refuses to put a name to it.

A very small part of him is relieved that he hasn't been completely sealed, that he still can piss. The rest of him is numb with horror.

"This can't be happening," Gaon mutters again and again, palms braced on the bathroom sink, panic making him nauseous. He closes his eyes, breathes and breathes while counting to ten until he feels a measure of control. When he dares to face the world again, his reflection promptly informs him his dick is still very much non-existent and that he's been butt naked for at least ten minutes.

If he dawdles any longer he's going to be late.

What to do. What to do.

"Think, Gaon, think," Gaon chides himself, squeezing his eyes shut and rocking on his heels as if the motion would force some solution into his brain.

Surprisingly, it works.

An idea emerges. He should call in sick.

But if he did, Yohan is going to want to know why and he's going to come check which is the last thing Gaon wants. The downside to living with his boss.

His second instinct is to call Soohyun but the thought fills him with dread as well. Just imagining her reaction has him cringing. If Soohyun had called him stammering that she had grown a dick he would think she was nuts. Likewise, men just didn't wake up one day with vaginas.

What could Soohyun do anyway?

No, he needs professional help. Medical attention. A doctor. A specialist.

He needs to get a grip.

Gaon straightens and stares at himself straight in the eye. His pants slide mockingly down to his shins.

He's going to complete his morning routine and get to work. Then he's going to book an appointment with a urologist and have them figure this out.

–

He gets to work on time. Yohan had been a bit miffed at Gaon’s tardiness but he doesn’t have much room to complain since it’s usually the other way round (must be all the late night-whatevers Yohan gets up to; Gaon doesn’t want to know).

There's a staging rehearsal in the morning and a short meeting with both counsels before lunch after which Gaon will have time to go through the briefs in his office for the rest of the day. He might just be able to leave early to get his little problem checked out. But first he'll need to get through being poked and prodded into position under the eyes of a dozen crew members.

"You okay? You seem a little spaced out," Jinjoo remarks out of the corner of her mouth, lifting her face to smile at camera one.

"Fine," Gaon answers, trying not to shift too much. They are seated at the bench, waiting for the team to run through sound and equipment checks. An assistant darts forward to adjust Gaon's mic and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He shoots the startled assistant a weak smile. She nods politely and moves away, barely pausing.

Gaon lets out a breath, tries to untense but it's impossible not to think about his impossible predicament. His skin feels stretched wire tight across his jittering frame, hands itching to brush over his crotch to check if by some miracle his dick had returned even though he could feel - feel - the difference in the way his boxers is sliding across his skin, the drape of his slacks over his thighs, every minute brush of fabric.

It's torture.

It's all he can think about. The weight that isn't there. A phantom limb. Phantom sensations.

Gaon closes his eyes for the hundredth time that day, jaw clenching as he tries to calm his breathing. The worst part is – the very worst part is, that he feels tight.

Down there.

Tight is the only way he can describe it. A discomfort that seems to soothe if he presses his legs together just so. It's like an itch he can't scratch. And occasionally, mortifyingly, he can feel his heartbeat between his clenched thighs, pulsating softly.

Do women always feel like this? Probably not.

Gaon is not a woman.

He's just going crazy.

"Gaon?" Jinjoo's voice is soft with concern. She's interrupted by the doors opening and sharp footsteps echoing on the marbled floor.

"I apologise for the delay. Chief Justice Ji has much wisdom to impart today," Yohan's slightly harried tones carry across the chamber amidst stifled chuckles. "Producer Choi, where would you like me?"

"Judge Kang, we're just starting the soundcheck, please take a seat," a production assistant gestures with a reverential bow, eyes crinkling as she smiles. Yohan shoots one back easily before his gaze alights on Gaon, the mask of affability morphing into curiosity. He isn't worried yet and Gaon wants to keep it that way.

"You're late," he points out, shifting forwards in his seat, thighs pressed together. He feigns nonchalance rather than look at Yohan, pretends to watch the lighting crew fiddle with their equipment.

"And I've apologised," Yohan says as he settles down in his usual spot between his associate judges. He eyes Gaon a moment and asks casually, "Are you alright? Judge Oh." He nods to Jinjoo who is busy reviewing a case and making notes.

"Ah, yes. I'm good," Jinjoo replies, lifting the folder to show Yohan. "Keeping busy. How was the meeting?"

"Trivial," Yohan says dismissively and prompts further, "Judge Kim?" When they left the house earlier, Gaon knew he was being unusually quiet. Yohan hadn't pressed then but now he lifts his eyebrows at Gaon expectantly.

He wishes he had remembered to bring his work with him like Jinjoo. They would often read their cases while waiting. Even if he couldn't focus at least he could have used it as a cover.

"Just fine," he says, hooking one ankle over the other, trying not to fidget. Gaon manages for a few more minutes, staring absently into the distance before getting too antsy to stay still. He waves at the nearest crew member. "Excuse me, I need to go to the washroom." He gestures to the clip on mic. "Could you…? Thanks, sorry."

The moment the mic is off, Gaon jumps to his feet and makes a beeline for the restrooms, striding and fighting not to run. He slips into the nearest stall, locks it and slumps against the door, loosening his tie and popping the top button of his too tight collar.

"Fuck," Gaon hisses, pressing a hand between his legs and feeling an answering throb.

What is happening to him? Why him? He laments internally that he hasn't felt this distracted by his own body since he was fifteen years old and swimming in a hormonal soup of teenage angst.

Carefully, Gaon undoes his belt and pushes his slacks down, tugs the elastic waistband of his underwear to peer within. The sight is disturbing but no longer distressing. The tingling is another story.

Wetting his lips, Gaon slips a hand down the front of his boxers. His own touch has him panting, heart fast in his chest, face warm. The wiry hairs on his mound are slightly damp, skin hot to the touch. As he strokes lower, a sweet shiver climbs his back, warmth and sticky wet heat meeting his fingers. The tightness is getting worse.

Alright. No big deal. He just wants to check what’s going on down there, that's all.

Hips shifting, Gaon huffs, pressing down. The pressure of his palm eases the feeling a bit. So he does it again, then again, belly churning with shame and confusion. It feels ridiculously good. He's whimpering, arm flexing, hand buried between his legs. He strokes a finger up and down along his slit experimentally, feeling the lips grow wet and heavy.

“Oh fuck - mnphf.” Gaon bites back a shaky moan, head thumping onto the door, eyelids heavy with arousal, fingers pressing deeper.

"This is so wrong," Gaon can't help mumbling to himself. There's no one to refute him except the hum of ventilation.

It feels wrong, sure, but he doesn’t stop rubbing himself. Goosebumps break across his skin, body trembling as he curls forwards.

Struggling to quiet his breathing, Gaon slowly pushes the tip of a finger in, gasping at the warmth and softness he feels, shock at the slickness. The blood is pounding in his face as Gaon adds another finger, wetness dripping down his knuckles as he withdraws to rub the small nub that has his toes curling in his shoes. The pleasure throbs and throbs. He chases it, eyes scrunched shut and teeth digging into his lower lip, spine arching until at last he shudders, breathless, limbs weak and quaking from this newfound high.

Almost immediately, shame floods back with consciousness.

Gaon sighs, stares at his culpable hand with a grimace and reaches for some toilet tissues. His boxers are damp and sticky and despite the orgasm, he doesn’t feel wholly satisfied. “Fuck,” Gaon says again with feeling, stuffing tissues between his legs and wiping the best he can. He flushes all evidence down the toilet, straightens his clothes and steps out of the stall.

The restroom is blissfully empty.

Gaon washes his hands and splashes water on his face, dries off with a paper towel. Throat bobbing, he judges the crazed eyes of his reflection.

He did that. He made himself come with his new lady bits.

And he had enjoyed it.

The urge to laugh hysterically bubbles through him but he tamps it down.

Gaon runs fingers through his damp bangs and exhales so heavily his cheeks puff. His face still feels warm, skin buzzing under his suit, the material of his boxers still wet and clinging. The wrongness of it all eats at him, twists in his guts, shame rearing its head once more to gnaw at his insides.

He needs to calm down. He's still him no matter what was going on downstairs. At least now he knows everything is in working order. A small consolation for having to pee sitting from now on.

"You can do this," Gaon pep talks his reflection, straightening his tie in front of the mirror. Mirror-Gaon looks unconvinced.

Mentally reciting his excuses (stomach ache from some bad takeout), Gaon is so distracted, he nearly collides right into his chief judge as he exits the washroom.

Yohan steadies them both with a hand on his arm. "Easy," he says, like Gaon is a spooked horse. Rude. "Judge Oh insisted I check on you. She thinks you might be sick." He studies Gaon's face, concern warming his usually cold eyes. "Gaon. Are you feeling unwell?"

Heartbeat going a mile a minute, Gaon brushes him off with a step back.

Yohan can't know.

"Fine. I'm fine." The words taste like dried crackers in his mouth. He's not fine. He has no dick. Gaon changes course. "Actually I've been feeling a bit off. May I leave after the meeting with the lawyers, Chief Judge? I'll see a doctor." It doesn't take much for his voice to wobble and he lets some of the tension bleed out.

Yohan nods in understanding. "Of course," he replies easily. "Can't have my associate judge falling sick when we have a live trial next week."

"Thank you. We should get back. We're probably holding up the schedule," Gaon says a bit too quickly, trotting past Yohan and ignoring the inquiring stare burning into the back of his head.

–

Gaon doesn't go to see a doctor.

By the time he hurries out of the courthouse, he has managed to talk himself out of it completely, his mind providing an endless array of what-if scenarios. What if the doctor didn't believe him? What if they thought he was crazy? What if the information somehow got out to the press? And on and on until he had chickened out.

A part of him wants to go back to his apartment, hole up and hide until he figures this shit out. But Gaon has more sense than that. He has to keep up the pretense of normalcy. So for a few hours at least, he’s going to hole up in his bedroom in the mansion instead.

Mrs Ji arches her eyebrows to see him at the door this early in the day. Gaon feigns a pathetic cough and sad eyes at her, hoping for some sympathy. She leads him through the halls with tutting put upon concern. "I know a fortifying herbal soup recipe for coughs. I'll start making -"

"No!" Gaon says in alarm. Mrs Ji stops, her large eyes straining wider. "I mean, there's no need to trouble yourself, please." Gaon gives her a wispy smile. "I'm just tired. Nothing a bit of rest won't cure."

"If you say so," Mrs Ji sniffs, walking away, her displeasure at being denied evident in the dainty clicks of her heels. "I'll let Elijah know not to disturb you."

Gaon breathes a sigh of relief. If he has to stomach Mrs Ji’s cooking on top of everything he's going through, he might really fall sick.

In the shower, his fingers hesitate, brushing against crinkly hair and the sensitive skin beneath. He has a fleeting moment of disassociation from his own body as he stares down at the water running down his stomach, gathering and trickling to the tiles below.

Unobstructed.

Blinking water out of his eyes, he takes a breath and reaches for the shower gel, squirting far more than necessary and lathers himself in quick jerky movements. He just needs to climb into some clothes and he’ll feel better.

Out of sight, out of mind. Hopefully.

It doesn’t work but at least when he’s clothed, doesn’t have to stare his missing dick in the face. He wraps himself in the comforting confines of a blanket and turns on his laptop, determined to research the hell out of this phenomena. He can't be the only person in the world afflicted by this. If it can happen to Gaon, surely it has happened to someone else before.

Surely it can't all be porn, Gaon thinks to himself as he opens another page. He gets a good amount of education on female to male transitioning including all the sexual bits. On forums and chat groups, people share sexual encounters seeking advice. There aren't any stories of people magically swapping reproductive organs. The deeper he searches, the more porn he gets. Inadvertently he ends up watching some videos with long ass titles, face hot and body clenching. It's not his usual fare but his pussy twitches with interest like it's possessed.

Maybe what Gaon needs is holy water with the direction his thoughts are taking.

He chews on his lower lip and refuses to touch himself. There will not be a repeat of earlier he tells his bottom half sternly, pressing a palm between his legs to soothe the tingling tightness. The pressure only serves to remind him how good it had felt to come on his fingers.

Gaon squirms and curses.

He's on the bed which means it's easy, really easy to push the laptop aside, scoot up a few inches, back to the headboard and shove a hand down his pants like a horny teenager jerking off for the first time.

He's nearly thirty.

Thirty year olds should have more self control than this.

Pressing fingers against the seam, Gaon whimpers. He's already embarrassingly wet.

This level of libido can't be normal. God, why is it so hard to get off? It was so easy earlier but now Gaon can't seem to find a good angle or the right spot to stimulate. He's nearly tempted to search female orgasms but his mind draws a sharp no. It's an exercise in frustration.

He gives up, flings the blanket off and goes to wash his hands. His pussy throbs, sore and wanting, a weird sensation twisting in his guts. The laptop is still playing porn, Gaon winces and shuts it off.

What he needs is a distraction from this mess.

Hurtling down the stairs and into the comforting kitchen, he ends up making an early dinner. A lot of it. Elijah comes in at some point with a surprised exclamation.

"Gaon! What's going on? I thought you were sick?" She rolls up to the counter and eyes the multitude of chopped ingredients.

"I'm feeling better," Gaon smiles at her. "Wanna help out?"

"What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. Just felt like it."

She purses her lips and shrugs. They talk about Elijah's classes which Gaon understands almost nothing about until Mrs Ji walks in, eyes wide.

"What's this?" She breathes deeply and walks around the table studying the dishes, savoring the scent.

"Gaon is stressed," Elijah says, making Gaon splutter and add too much salt into the jigae.

"I am not," he denies vehemently. "Mrs Ji please join us for dinner," he says loudly over Elijah's continued observation on his stress-cooking habits.

"Should I inform Master Yohan to come home?"

Gaon shakes his head. "If he's late, we'll keep it warm for him."

Yohan, surprisingly, reaches home on time without prompting just as Gaon is putting the finishing touches to the dishes. He’s been coming home earlier since Gaon started cooking but this is early.

"I thought you were sick. Did you see the doctor?" is the first thing Yohan asks when he comes in and spots the feast on the table. Gaon doesn't miss the way he exchanges a look with his niece.

“I took some medicine and I feel a lot better,” Gaon hedges, scooping rice for everyone. Fingers wrap around his wrist and Gaon startles at Yohan’s sudden proximity. Yohan doesn’t touch people unnecessarily so the fingers pressed against his skin feel alarmingly intimate.

“You feel a little warm,” Yohan murmurs, assessing his face. Gaon is warm. Warm all over. Blood rushing everywhere, stomach flipping wildly. His denied release from earlier comes back in full force, squeezes between his legs and thrums.

He hands Yohan a rice bowl, breaking contact. “I was cooking. Of course I’m going to be warm,” Gaon says, trying to calm his traitorous body.

They sit down for a subdued meal because Gaon, the usual conversation maker, is distracted. In the absence of Gaon’s usual cheer, Elijah, Yohan and Mrs Ji try their best - complimenting the food, talking about their day and eventually making snide remarks at each other (mostly Yohan and Elijah, Mrs Ji is too dignified). It’s rather endearing to see them struggle to fill the silence and when it starts getting awkward, Gaon does pull his head out of his ass to save them.

"You should go rest," Mrs Ji says, kindly snatching the plates out of Gaon's hands. "A lie down. I'll handle the washing up."

"But -"

She pretends not to hear him.

"I'll help," quips Elijah. "So don't worry, go rest." She practically herds him out of the kitchen with her wheelchair. Gaon hears her saying to Mrs Ji. "Must be more sick than he's letting on."

"Gaon."

Gaon whips around.

"May I have a word?" Yohan asks, face serious and Gaon has no choice but to agree.

–

"What is going on with you?" Yohan asks the moment they are out of earshot of the kitchen. Gaon tracks him as he shrugs out of his coat, undoes his tie and the cufflinks at his wrists. "You've been behaving… oddly." He drops the cufflinks into his pocket and comes to a rest at the edge of his study's desk, arms folded and head an inquiring tilt.

Gaon swallows, feeling foolish that he thought Yohan wouldn’t notice. Of course, Yohan would notice Gaon being cagey. His hands clasps in front of him, nothing out of the ordinary usually but now the posture feels like he's trying to hide his issues away from Yohan's prying eyes. "Everything's fine," Gaon lies, smoothly he hopes. He's never been a good liar. Not when it matters.

Yohan's jaw works. "If you have something on your mind," he says slowly. "Any doubts about our work, what we're doing, you can tell me, Gaon. It doesn't help us if you're this unfocused." The tone is gently chiding. "You're not even really sick, are you?"

Oh. Yohan thinks he's getting cold feet about joining the team. Ever since Gaon agreed to commit to the fight for justice and equality, things have been going a little too smoothly. Gaon debates leaving Yohan to his misunderstanding then decides against it. "Um, it's a personal matter," he mumbles. He can hear the sound of dishes clanging too loudly together. It goes on for a while. He hopes Elijah hasn't broken anything.

"Anything I can help with?"

"I doubt so. Sir."

"Try me."

Gaon shifts, hands clenching. Yohan really could be the most persistent annoying nosy person. "With all due respect, Chief, it's none of your concern."

Yohan just stares at him, eyes narrowed. He pushes upright and saunters near, his usual tactic. As always Gaon holds his ground, watching him approach warily, stomach growing tighter and tighter. Just because he's seen Yohan do this countless times, doesn't make it any less unnerving.

Yohan stops short of touching him, looks Gaon right in the eyes as he says, voice quiet, "Everything about you is my concern."

Gaon clenches his teeth, fighting the unexpected electric jolt to his crotch, breath lodging in his throat.

This is so unfair.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," Gaon tries desperately, dropping his gaze. His face is warming. He's caving, he knows. The confession is already on its way out of him. It's just a matter of how and when.

"You'll have to tell me first," Yohan replies, taking a step back to give him some breathing space.

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"Gaon," Yohan warns.

Gaon takes a deep breath and blurts out, "Mydickhasbeenreplacedwithavagina." Yohan's wide eyed stare is kinda hilarious if Gaon isn't internally panicking. There he said it. And now Yohan is going to want proof. He can see the gears in Yohan's brain turning, judging if Gaon is joking or truly earnest.

"Uh…" says Yohan for probably the first time in his life, his gaze naturally dropping to Gaon's clasped hands.

"I told you you couldn't help," Gaon says, miserable and vindicated at the same time.

"Do you mind if I…?"

"I do, actually."

"But why do you think-"

"I don't think, Yohan, because it's true. I knew you wouldn't believe me. But you insisted so -"

"Judge Kim, it's a lot to ask of a man without some proof. And you forget. I had to undress you when you were injured," Yohan points out.

"It's not the same thing," Gaon hisses. "Anymore," he adds, and feels like crawling under the floorboards and staying there for the rest of his life.

Yohan pauses. "This is clearly very distressing for you," he says after a sobering moment. "All the more reason for a second opinion."

He really is a persistent bastard.

–

This is how Gaon finds himself lying on his back in Yohan's bed, his bottom half bare, legs spread and knees pointed heavenwards, quivering with the urge to snap close.

"Well?" he grits out, face buried under his arms, stuffy enough that he can feel sweat beading at his eyebrows. His body is pulsing all over, hot with embarrassment, sweat on the small of his back, under his bent knees, between his armpits.

Yohan had promised not to touch and keeps true to his word but Gaon can almost feel the weight of his shocked stare with how quiet the room is. It's worse than being fully naked. "Does it look normal?" he squeaks into the silence, taking a peek at the top of Yohan's head.

Yohan sits back on the chair he dragged to the end of the bed, struggling to contain whatever he's feeling. He has to clear his throat twice to get the words out. "I, admittedly, haven't seen that many women for comparison, but it seems perfectly fine. Symmetrical." Gaon watches the stunned look wither away at the next slow blink, replaced instead by careful neutrality. "You should still get yourself checked. Why didn't you?"

"Got scared," Gaon admits with a sigh, sitting up.

"Elijah's doctor is very discreet. I can arrange for an appointment tomorrow morning." Yohan hesitates. "Gaon… are you always this," just the briefest of pause, an aborted swallow. "Wet?"

The word rings in Gaon's ears, joining the chorus of rushing blood into his face. His grip on his pants tighten, palms sweaty, shaky. His mouth opens but no words form. He had been trying very hard not to think about it, hoping Yohan wouldn't have noticed but -

"Forget I asked," Yohan says, jumping to his feet, averting his gaze, the color high in his cheeks. "That was… inappropriate. I apologise."

Gaon pulls on the rest of his clothes in silence with his head down. He can't look at Yohan. If he does, he might combust. The silence that settles over them makes it hard to breathe, the kind of silence right before a lighter drops onto gasoline. Yohan tellingly doesn't look as Gaon dresses, not until Gaon is at the door.

"I hope you're satisfied," Gaon snaps with his hand on the doorknob, his back to his chief judge. That came out a lot more savagely than he intended but it isn't every day he lets a person stare unsexily at his non-existent dick. He's entitled to his bad temper for once.

–

He dreams, that night, of being fucked enthusiastically in his brand new pussy, tight sopping heat clenching around a hard cock plunging into him over and over again. He cries out, wanting it so badly he can taste it behind his teeth. No matter how deep he's fucked, it never feels deep enough, completion frustratingly out of reach.

Gaon wakes up covered in sweat, mouth dry from panting, heart racing in that particular way when he is aroused. He shifts in alarm, so wet between his thighs that for a moment he thought he had peed himself.

Gaon, are you always this wet?

Gaon sinks back onto his pillow Fucking Yohan.

His pussy is throbbing rhythmically, needy and tight for something, anything. Groaning, he rolls onto his side and slides a hand into his sticky boxers, fingers tracing slick folds, still leaking, still hopelessly wet just like Yohan said.

He buries his face into his pillow, mouth open, keening, thinking of a thick heated length plunging into the tight heat of his cunt instead of fingers.

Mind still half caught in his dreams, the fantasy shifts easily to Yohan framed between his legs, Yohan's fingers in him, Yohan's cock fucking him while he clenches and drips with want.

He comes, pulsing wetly around his fingers, Yohan's name lost in a wordless moan.

When it's over, Gaon stays huddled, inhaling the fibers of his blanket and feeling pissed off with himself. His body buzzes pleasantly, heart rate slowing back to normal. Gaon slides his messy fingers out, wipes the mess on his boxer shorts and ignores the sticky slick feeling.

It's still dark outside. He closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep.

–

In hindsight, Gaon realises it was a mistake to let Yohan in on his problem.

Breakfast and the ensuing car ride to the clinic is marked by a blanket of awkward silence which neither Yohan nor Gaon attempts to break. Yohan drops him off, offers to wait – to which Gaon politely declines – and gets a shrug in reply.

"Call me, if you need… help," Yohan says before he leaves. Gaon can't imagine what he might need. A new dick maybe.

Thanks to Yohan's connections (being rich does have its uses), Gaon barely has to wait at all before he is called in. Dr Kwon examines him with professional curiosity and thankfully, only raises her eyebrows when he explains what happened.

"I know it sounds crazy. But I have my birth certificate to prove that I wasn't born with a… vagina."

The professional smile he receives in return isn't promising. "Let's do some tests first before we proceed, alright, Gaon-ssi?"

Twenty minutes later he's back in Dr Kwon's office staring at the ultrasound scans with her. "Everything looks normal. No abnormalities. The uterus looks healthy as well."

Uterus.

Gaon feels faint.

"So everything's fine…?" he chokes out.

"From what I can see, yes." She checks her notes. "You say you aren't on any prescriptions or hormone therapy?" Dr Kwon is trying her best but she can't hide the skepticism in her voice.

"No."

"As for your increased libido, it'll take a day or two before we can get the blood test results… Gaon-ssi it would help immensely if you're honest about your medical history. I am a professional. I won't judge."

Gaon opens his mouth, ready to mount an argument then falters. He can give her all the proof she needs but there's no way she would believe him. Even he can't quite believe this is happening. One reason why he didn't get checked yesterday. Still it's good to know he's healthy. He stares at the desktop screen and his perfectly fine uterus stares back at him.

Gaon thanks Dr Kwon for her time.

–

Gaon doesn't think himself as particularly unlucky. After all, lots of people experience tragedy at different points in their lives. But he doesn't think anyone can claim to have lost both their parents and their dick in the same lifetime. He doesn't believe in the supernatural. At least he didn't but this amount of misfortune is unprecedented. He's starting to think he must have angered some higher power. Disappearing dicks seem like a supernatural sort of thing.

Morose doesn't even begin to encapsulate the mood he's in when he reaches the courthouse. It doesn't help that Yohan is very deliberately looking at him as normally as possible every time they make eye contact, trying so hard not to let on that he's thinking about last night when it's obvious to Gaon that he is thinking about it. He's thinking about it a whole lot.

"Judge Kang, any opinions?"

Anyone else would mistake Yohan's pause for consideration. "We've heard Lee Eunsae's testimony during the deposition," Yohan replies, picking up the threads of their meeting by the skin of his teeth. "Perhaps a small clip would do from…" He checks his laptop. "Four thirteen to twelve twenty. We risk losing the audience's attention if it's too long."

“Oh yes! Good call,” Producer Choi enthuses, making small notes in the schedule. “Does everyone agree? Judge Oh? Judge Kim?”

This is Gaon’s least favorite part of running a live court show. While the live court isn’t staged, a lot of planning goes into the presentation. Information needs to be easily digestible, sufficiently concise to hold an audience’s attention so they can make an informed decision. It’s not all that different from a deposition to an actual trial, just a lot more controlled. Yohan, Gaon, Jinjoo and counsel from both parties review every piece of evidence and testimony with the production crew, a lengthy and tedious process.

“Gaon, answer,” Jinjoo nudges him.

“Great,” Gaon says, meeting Yohan’s gaze with a glower of his own. He takes a breath and flicks through his notes. “Sorry, I’m uh… still not a hundred percent recovered from that stomach bug.” Stomach bug has him thinking of organs, has him thinking of uteruses - or was it uteri - has him thinking about the sorry state he's in. He sighs, looking up just in time to catch Yohan watching him. There’s a momentary look of naked lust before the shutters come down, gone in a flash but unmistakable. From one man to another, Gaon knows exactly what Yohan is thinking about.

“Ah, Judge Kim. I understand. Just the other day I ate some bad seafood. I spent the whole day in the loo. Just take it easy. Alright, where were we….”

Gaon is only half listening; stomach hot and tight, core tense, ears blooming with warmth. He’s not guileless. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of Yohan with sexual desire, if last night’s wank session was any indication. Gaon's body clenches pleasurably at the memory, his cunt pulses, gentle, a cruel reminder. The next sigh that leaves him is breathier but soft enough that no one pays him any attention.

Except maybe Yohan.

He meets Yohan's eyes across the table. His own gaze feels heavy, loaded, tinged with want and irritation at wanting. It should be mortifying. It kinda is.

Gaon jerks his gaze away, wrangles his wayward thoughts under control. Tries to focus on the words coming out of Producer Choi. Making eyes at his boss is the last thing he wants to do. Yohan is incorrigible enough without further encouragement. He doesn’t think Yohan is intentionally trying to provoke him. The novelty of the situation will wear off eventually - for both of them. Gaon is past that age of impulsive actions; never got into impulse fucking and he plans to keep it that way.

With that in mind, he grits his teeth, ignores the clenched up feeling between his thighs and soldiers on.

–

Things calm somewhat at lunch. Producer Choi insists on treating them and they crowd into an already packed restaurant taking up two tables, representatives from both defense and prosecution tagging along.

It's warm in the restaurant and they are sitting almost shoulder to shoulder. Yohan is, thank god, seated diagonally across Gaon next to Producer Choi so Gaon doesn't need to look at his face if he doesn't want to.

"Did you and Judge Kang get into a disagreement again?" Jinjoo asks, in a low voice while Gaon stabs at his tteokbokki. "You've barely said a word to him since you arrived. And you've been staring him to death."

"Have I?" Gaon doesn't have to feign the surprise, cheeks warming. He didn't think he was being that obvious. "No, I'm just in a mood I guess."

Unabashedly eavesdropping, Assistant director Jang Misun butts in with a teasing, "Are you on your period, Judge Kim?" Loud enough for several people to overhear.

Gaon's tteokbokki lands on the table. Amidst a multitude of aish and headshakes and some chuckles, Yohan is coughing into his fist, having nearly choked on his tea.

"What? I can joke about stuff like that! I'm a woman!" AD Jang defends. She's fifteen years his senior, a bit of an ahjumma but never malicious. "Don't be offended, Judge Kim. It was just a joke."

Gaon manages a smile although deep down, he's balking in horror. He gazes at his tteokbokki, mind racing. Perfectly fine uterus was what Dr Kwon had said. Perfectly fine. Which means.

Periods.

Is it possible?

It can't be. But he has a perfectly healthy working uterus. If this is the new de facto biology then the possibility of bleeding from his vagina monthly is high. Soohyun used to have really bad cramps. Gaon recalls her pale sweaty face, lying on her bed like she was near death, making him heat hot water bottles for her.

"Oh god," Gaon whispers, the tteokbokki swimming in and out of focus.

"Gaon?" Jinjoo touches his hand, her voice floating from far away. "Are you okay?"

A strong hand slips around his shoulders, one under his arm, hoisting him to his feet. "Judge Kim isn't feeling well. I'll take him back to the office." The room spins, Gaon would have slipped if he wasn't braced against Yohan. The silence he leaves behind is embarrassing. He feels like he just ruined the atmosphere for his team but he also can't seem to get enough air into his lungs.

The restaurant is barely five minutes from the courthouse by car. Yohan has the AC on full blast while Gaon focuses on breathing. He's feeling a lot calmer by the time they pull into the parking lot, pulse rabbiting and all appetite gone but no longer panicking. "I can walk by myself," he protests, trying to shake Yohan off but his chief has a firm grip on his arm, and refuses to budge as he marches Gaon into his office.

"Sit," Yohan instructs, pushing him onto the couch. He tinkers with his cabinet and comes back with a glass of – Gaon takes a tentative sniff – diluted whiskey, presses it into Gaon's hands. "Drink this. It'll help."

Gaon sighs and downs half the contents in one gulp. The alcohol warms and sits like a hot ember in his empty gut. Maybe it's a placebo effect, but it does help.

"Feel better?" Yohan asks.

Gaon shoots him a sharp glare. "No," he snaps, fingers tightening around the glass. "I don't feel better. About any of this," Gaon says gesturing to the general vicinity of his pelvis. "Periods, Yohan! What's next? Babies?" His hand is in his hair tugging hard enough that pain sears through his scalp. "Why is this happening to me?" Gaon nearly wails. The pressure in his chest lodges in his throat, behind his eyes and nose, threatening to spill out.

Yohan's face goes through a variety of expressions. He clears his throat. "What did Dr Kwon say?" Yohan asks carefully.

Gaon chokes down his hysterical laughter. "She said," he hisses savagely. "My uterus looks normal."

Yohan purses his lips. "That's…"

Gaon places the half full glass of whiskey on the coffee table loud enough to be threatening. "Don't," Gaon warns. If Yohan ends that sentence with good, Gaon is going to kill him. Anger is so much easier than wallowing in misery. It grounds him. "What I need is… for you to stop butting in," he says. Taking it out on Yohan is not the most healthy thing to do but it beats the alternative which is bursting into tears.

Yohan's eyebrows shoot up. "Should I have left you to drop more tteokbokki?"

"This isn't funny. You have no idea what it's like. You can't possibly even imagine. I'm freakish. Freaky unnatural things are happening to me. Easy for you to stand there and smirk. You're not feeling the things I'm feeling. I'm horny all the time-

"All the time?"

Gaon leaps to his feet. He's snarling in Yohan's face before he can think better of it. "Shut up. One moment I'm pissed, then next I'm worried sick. I feel crazy. I feel like I'm going through puberty a second time. And I'm fucking scared. Is this it? Am I going to pee sitting down for the rest of my life?"

"Gaon, calm down."

"And you're not helping by - " He struggles to form the words.

"By what?" Yohan asks.

"You know what," Gaon scowls, face warming even more.

For a moment he thinks Yohan is going to feign ignorance but instead Yohan says slowly, "It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable. I'll try to be more careful."

Gaon narrows his eyes and steps closer. The large office windows illuminate everything including Yohan's visibly expanding pupils. "You're thinking about it right now," he seethes, half incredulous, the other half is livid. Here he is losing his mind and Yohan is being a complete ass.

A small annoyed furrow appears between Yohan’s eyebrows. “Gaon, you’re being irrational. You were telling me about your uterus. How can I not -”

If he could put his hands over his ears and scream, Gaon would have done so. Instead he makes an attempt to slam a hand over Yohan’s mouth but ends up getting shoved against a bookcase for his troubles, arms pinned to his chest by Yohan’s steel grip.

“Are you seriously attacking me over this?” Yohan asks, pressing into him and it feels strangely good. Maybe that’s why cats like to be squished. “Just calm down.”

“I wasn’t trying to hit you,” Gaon says, breathless from the sudden motion. His body chooses this time to decide it really likes being crowded against walls and Gaon can feel a familiar dampness seep into his boxers. Panicking, he tries to push Yohan off; it doesn’t work. “Let me go.”

Yohan is so close. He must be doing it on purpose, the bastard, and oh - Gaon’s eyes go wide at the thigh that slots firmly between his legs. There’s not even the slightest hint of pressure but the suggestion is enough to make Gaon squirm. Yohan’s eyelashes dip, gaze dragging back up to bore into Gaon. “Just because I fantasize,” Yohan says. “About fucking you doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

The words are soft and slightly cruel. They curl in Gaon’s gut like hot twisted metal, sears the blood in his veins, sucks all the air from his lungs. His cheeks are twin buns toasting on a fire. Sweat breaks out on his skin and his cunt cramps so tightly Gaon nearly moans.

He stays plastered against the bookshelf when Yohan releases him. The whiplash of emotions is making him light headed. Gaon doesn’t understand himself anymore. He’s still angry and miserable but he’s also hopelessly turned on, scraped raw and pulsing with need. Forcing down the small sound of distress, he pushes himself upright.

Yohan is tugging his suit jacket into place, his profile to Gaon. “You should stay here and rest. Sit the interview out. Jinjoo and I will handle it.”

Interview.

Right. In all the insanity of the past few days, Gaon had forgotten they had a short interview scheduled after lunch. “No. I’m going,” he grits out. “I ditched the previous two. I promised Jinjoo I would go this time.” His knees feel weak and his pulse can’t seem to slow down. He can feel it fluttering between his thighs.

“You’re not well. She’ll understand.” Yohan stops, stares at Gaon, a mirroring flush creeping up his neck. His lips part, eyes widening.

Chest heaving, Gaon loosens his tie one handed, the other is popping the buttons of his slacks, shirttails becoming untucked as he drags the zipper down. He blinks slowly at Yohan, gaze heavy with lust and challenge.

"What are you doing?" Yohan asks, sounding strangled and he already knows, doesn't he? He's watching Gaon slide a hand into his boxers with pupils blown wide, hands balled into fists.

"Just taking the edge off," Gaon murmurs. He doesn't have to fake the satisfied groan when his fingers slide between the swollen lips of his cunt. "You can - mmphf wait outside if you w-want," he adds, the words a mumbled breathy mess, eyelashes fluttering in pleasure as he fingers himself, the heel of a palm digging into the bookshelf behind him for balance. He’s really tipped over the edge into lunacy; he’s fingering his pussy in front of his chief, in his office, in broad daylight during lunch hour.

Shuddering, Gaon bucks into his hand, moaning softly as he adds another finger into the slick mess. His face is burning hot, but he doesn’t stop. He’s come this far and he’s going to finish. Gaon pants, fingers working, eyes closed to mere slits, Yohan’s approaching figure a blur.

This would be so much easier if he still had his dick.

A strong grip yanks his hand out of his pants and a palm on his chest flattens him back against the shelves.

Gaon's breath hitches. He'd been expecting it but Yohan's sudden proximity still manages to startle. Up close, Yohan looks dangerous, equal parts furious and aroused. He doesn't think he's ever seen Yohan look quite so wild eyed, the colour high in his cheeks, gaze dark with hunger and heat that stabs Gaon right to his core.

He's crossed a line.

Gaon tries to jerk his hand free but Yohan tightens his grip till it's almost crushing. "Have you lost it?" Yohan whispers, voice rough. He's toe to toe with Gaon, scant inches between them and it feels like he's smothering Gaon by the sheer intensity of his presence. "You accuse me of inappropriate behavior but you turn around and act like a bitch in heat." Gaon flinches, tensing at the derogatory words, warmth dripping down his thighs.

Insults have never appealed to him before. So why do Yohan's words affect him like this? There's a rude retort somewhere in the back of his mind but all that comes out is a breathy whimper. Gaon is so wet he can feel the material sticking to his skin, soaking up slick while his pussy throbs and throbs.

Yohan stares at him and shifts, like he might pull away. The very worst thing he can do.

Leave Gaon simmering with want like this.

And Gaon can't - he won't -

His free hand shoots out, yanks Yohan back in place the front of his shirt, vest, suit jacket, all bunching in Gaon's fist. "I came last night thinking about your cock inside me," he admits shakily, covering Yohan's hand with his own, dragging it from his chest down to his heaving stomach. "And yeah, I got wet when you said you wanted to see what was wrong. I was turned on. And I was embarrassed." Face hot, he tilts his head nearer, near enough to feel Yohan’s breath on his lips. “Please.”

The words have the intended effect. He doesn't care if he's is acting like a bitch in heat, he's fucking desperate and he wants to drag Yohan right down into the wanton cloying muck with him.

Yohan's nostrils flare like he knows exactly what Gaon is doing but can't help playing right into it regardless. He shoves his hand into Gaon’s boxers, the metal of his wristwatch a momentary shock of cold against Gaon’s heated skin. Pure arousal burns through Gaon as Yohan’s fingers drag through short matted pubic hair and sink between the lips of his cunt.

Gaon’s mouth falls open on a silent moan, eyes squeezed shut, the sticky slick fingers of his right hand are digging into Yohan’s shoulder. “No,” Yohan growls, breaths erratic. “You keep your eyes on me.” His other hand tucks under Gaon’s jaw, thumb digging into a flushed cheek and makes Gaon look into his eyes as he slides a second finger into Gaon’s spasming heat.

“Uh… ah- a-ah hah –”

Goosebumps break out over his skin. Gaon fights to keep his eyes open, panting and squirming in Yohan’s hold. Heat rocks through so fast he's dizzy. The difference between his own touch and Yohan touching him feels like the distance between Earth and Mars. Hotter. So much hotter. Everywhere Yohan touches him feels like he’s on fire.

Yohan’s fingers are thicker than his own, rougher, meaner. Gaon’s pussy makes a wet slurping noise as Yohan removes his fingers and plunges them back in, and – oh – He keens, biting his lip at the stretch. He’s never gone more than two. “W-wait. I - ah —” Knees locking, Gaon reaches for Yohan’s wrist.

“You wanted this,” Yohan reminds him. Low and quiet. Relentless. Mercilessly squeezing a third finger in, the squelch of his hand in Gaon’s boxers lewd in the confines of the office. The world outside, skyscrapers and billboards watching them like faceless voyeurs. Gaon whimpers endlessly, trembling, turned on beyond belief. He can feel every bump of Yohan’s knuckles pushing into him, touching thick slippery warmth, his walls clenching tight when Yohan drags his fingers out, teases his slit with fingertips only now, light as a feather.

A groan spills from him as Yohan’s finger finds his clit and presses.

The rush of orgasm has him thunking his head back against the shelves with a silent cry, body quaking and taut, overheated and buzzing, pulsing, pulsing into Yohan’s hand, fingers tight around Yohan’s wrist like a lifeline. It goes on and on. He floats for a good minute before sinking back into his body, exhausted and breathless, sagging into Yohan.

Through half-lidded eyes, he watches as Yohan draws his hand out, the sticky glistening strands clinging to his fingers. Yohan stares at his hand for a moment. Heat flares in Gaon’s gut. Those eyes alight back on him, curious, maybe even a bit demeaning. Gaon must be deranged. Must have come so hard his brain spilled out. That’s the only explanation he has for letting Yohan slide those slick coated fingers into his mouth, dragging over his tongue, hooking into his inner cheek and tugging slightly.

Odd to think that until this moment, he hadn’t been curious about how he tasted. Salty. A little sour. Maybe even a little sweet.

He doesn’t suck. Considers biting Yohan’s fingers just to see his reaction. But before he can make the attempt Yohan leans forwards, crooks his fingers, and licks into Gaon’s mouth.

It’s not a kiss.

Yohan is licking the taste of Gaon off his own fingers, his tongue occasionally brushing Gaon’s, sending electricity skittering down his spine. Gaon makes a small sound of disgust, hands fisting into Yohan’s jacket, drool muffling his protests.

Yohan pulls away, eyes very dark. His fingers come away slicker than before. “Did that take the edge off?”

“Yes,” Gaon lies, licking his parched lips, grimacing at the slippery residue.

Yohan smiles. “Good.” He steps back. There’s a very noticeable bulge straining in his slacks. “We have an interview in thirty minutes,” Yohan says, strolling towards the coffee table. He dips his fingers into Gaon’s half finished whiskey glass, swirls it around and wipes the rest of his hand with his pocket square. The gesture really shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Gaon peels himself off the bookshelves, legs unsteady. He looks at his undone slacks, and ruined boxers and flushes. “I don’t think I can.”

Yohan snorts. He crosses to his desk and rummages in the drawers before tossing a pair of folded slacks to Gaon. “Get changed. See you downstairs. Don’t be late.” He doesn’t ask Gaon for help with his little problem. Gaon doesn’t offer either as he makes a run for the door –

His heart does a horrified little jump. The door is unlocked. Which means it was open the whole time Gaon was getting finger fucked. Which means anyone could have walked in anytime in the past twenty minutes. Which means Gaon and Yohan narrowly avoided a scandal.

"Gaon?"

Face pale, hands shaking, Gaon shakes his head and lets himself out. He runs for the washroom in sticky disgusting boxers, the change of clothes swinging from his arm, and prays he doesn't meet anyone along the way.

–

The interview is a disaster. Yohan does a passable job, he's a master – he can carry a conversation even with a gun pointed at his head. Jinjoo is her usual smart professional charming self, shouldering the bulk of the interview and Gaon… Gaon is abysmal.

He's lucky it's only a write-up in a magazine, not a filmed video. The amount of times he fumbles his words has Jinjoo eyeing him and in between lulls, he's bouncing his leg so much that she clamps a hand over his knee and shoots him a warning glare. It's a good thing Gaon has a reputation for being quiet and taciturn towards the media outside of the courtroom. The Interviewer makes a pointed joke about it and Gaon doesn't even bother to laugh.

Jinjoo makes his excuses for him and Gaon's suitably flushed face lends credence to the story that he's not himself. Caught a bug. Still recovering. Sympathetic smiles and anecdotes.

Gaon just wants it to be over.

The interview drags till the end of the day. He's being held together by shoe string and tape, the seams coming loose, threatening to burst. Gaon waits impatiently for Yohan in the parking lot, back pressed against the passenger door, teeth digging into his lower lip as he tries not to fidget. He'll apologise tomorrow to Jinjoo. She's staying late again. The interview has left a pile up of work in its wake but Gaon can't focus. He just can't.

Just when he's considering texting Yohan, the man appears, sweeping through the lift doors, jaw tight as his eyes alight on Gaon. The car unlocks with a metallic beep. Yohan barely acknowledges him as they climb into the car. It's like climbing into a pressurised tank with a bonetti machine and Gaon is an electron about to vibrate out of its orbit.

The drive home is charged. They don't talk. Gaon considers flicking on the radio then thinks better of it. He doesn't want to break this moment, whatever this is.

Mrs Ji greets them in the hallway with a surprised, "You're back early again – oh!"

Yohan brushes past her without a word and Gaon follows at his heels. His heart is jammed in his throat, beating too fast, palms slippery, adrenaline coursing through him. They've reached breaking point. At least Gaon has. They are either going to have a massive fight or – if Gaon has anything to say about – fuck until they pass out.

Yohan throws open the door to his bedroom, shrugging off his suit jacket along the way. Gaon has barely stepped into the room before Yohan's mouth crashes into his. His back slams into the door, the force has his teeth accidentally clamping on Yohan's lower lip, hands scrambling for purchase. A pained hiss escapes Yohan but he doesn't stop kissing Gaon, tugging at his jacket and working his tie loose. His tongue is pushing into Gaon's mouth, hot and mean and insistent.

They tear at each other's clothes, frantic. Yohan grabs him and tosses him onto the bed; Gaon watches breathless as the other man sheds his shirt and undoes his belt, eyes glittering, mouth red and kiss swollen. He's seen Yohan half naked before but not like this, and he can't help gazing hungrily at the dark nipples, skin stretched taut over smooth abs, the smattering of hair below his navel. Yohan's tongue darts out, runs over his lower lip. "That hurt."

"Serves you right," Gaon says, shimmying out of his borrowed slacks. His thumbs are hooked on his boxer briefs when Yohan covers him with his body, capturing his mouth again and moving a hand down to press against his heavy cunt. Gaon arches with a whine, thighs shaking, dampness seeping.

"You are very distracting. And annoying." Yohan says, his lips trailing Gaon's jaw, teeth dragging down his neck over Gaon's rabbiting pulse point. Fever blooms under Gaon's skin, bright and intense, needy. He has an inkling of Yohan's intentions before it happens. Yohan's mouth leaves bruising, wet kisses on his collarbones, down his bare chest, lingers on his sternum before dipping lower. He's sliding Gaon's boxers off, kissing the inside of his spread thighs and then –

Back arching, Gaon lets out the most embarrassing guttural moan, one hand twisting in the sheets beneath, the other pushing Yohan's shoulder. A lithe hot tongue presses between the folds of his twitching sex, curling up to lick his clit before Yohan presses his mouth and suckles on the erect nub. The sound Gaon makes is pure animalistic want, stomach coiled so tight he feels like he might disappear into himself, sucked right into the consuming pleasure that seemed to have opened in his core.

"Y-Yohan!" Gaon mewls, face red and sweaty, fingers digging into Yohan's hair. He wants to say it's too much but he can't draw enough air and he doesn't really want to stop. It doesn't matter because in the next second, Gaon is panting open mouthed, head fallen back, dazed with arousal as Yohan licks greedily at his soaking lips, tongue pressing hot against twitching muscles, and oh- oh – he feels himself opening, feels the intrusion like nothing else he's ever felt before. Feels like he's melting into Yohan's mouth, sloppy and groaning and so, so wet. Pleasure has him digging his toes into the mattress, Yohan's warm shoulders keeping his thighs apart.

Yohan brushes his clit again with his thumb, rubbing faint circles and moaning low in his throat as he eats Gaon's pussy out like it's his last meal on death row. The vibrations send tiny shockwaves quivering through Gaon's stretched hole as Yohan plumbs his depths with his tongue. Gasping, groaning, eyes glazed over, Gaon feels his orgasm sweep him up in one long terrible, wondrous moment. He's shaking, straining, chest pushing upwards, taut and desperate, both hands buried in Yohan's hair, crying out as his cunt throbs and twitches. Yohan keeps tasting him, swallowing every wet pulse, humming in encouragement.

Breathing shakily, Gaon finally slumps back onto the bed. His heart is still hammering, pussy twitching in tandem. Yohan licks him one more time before crawling up. Face flushed and sticky with slick, Yohan kisses him hard, pinning Gaon's hands to the bed, kissing him filthy and deep. Gaon is too drugged out on orgasmic bliss to protest, pliant and dazed as he kisses back, mouth filling with the taste of himself.

If this is what women feel each time someone goes down on them, Gaon wonders how his past girlfriends didn't demand he do it every time they had sex.

"Good?" Yohan asks, kissing his throat, hips rocking, clothed cock rubbing deliciously against Gaon's sensitive skin. It's sweet that he checks when it’s obvious Gaon is feeling incredible.

"You're still… dressed?" Gaon breathes, surprised and turning red. He had been so caught up in his own pleasure he had forgotten all about Yohan's. Gaon has always been the one taking initiative to please his lovers. Being on the receiving end feels… strange. He pushes against Yohan's hold. "Let me – "

Yohan kisses him breathless and pulls away, standing upright. His hair is mussed, sticking up in all directions, pulled from its neat styling by Gaon's restless hands. It would have been cartoonish - a man struck by lightning - if Yohan didn't look so hungry, eyes dark and cheeks flushed as slips out his slacks, cock springing free, dark red and glistening. Gaon licks his lips, swallowing saliva, fresh liquid sliding down his inner thighs, watching him stretch out a hand to rummage in the bedside drawer.

He has wondered what Yohan would be like in bed. That effortless domineering confidence bleeds into everything, even when he’s sliding back between Gaon’s legs, ripping a condom packet open, gaze hot as a skillet. "I'm going to fuck you," Yohan says, stretching the condom over his cock. His tone seems to suggest that if Gaon has any doubts he should voice them now.

Heat flares in Gaon's belly, simmers and threatens to boil over again. This is his wet dream brought to life. “I…uh ngh – “ The words are lost in a breathless moan as Yohan smothers their bodies together, hands bracketing Gaon, nose brushing along his jaw, sweaty skin hot, feverish, the rubbery slick sensation of a hard cock dragging against his slit.

“I’ve thought about fucking you,” Yohan’s voice is deep and just a bit too rough for this to be entirely teasing. “For a very long time. Do you still want this, Gaon?” Teeth tugging on his earlobe, the sting shooting right to Gaon’s clenching cunt. “Do you want me to fuck this wet pussy of yours like it’s begging me to?”

Shuddering, tight with want, Gaon shifts his hips and turns his head, nudging Yohan lips back to his, kissing him open mouth and messily in response. “Go slow, okay?” he whispers when they part. Gaon’s been with men before, been fucked, but this is unconquered land, so to speak. He can’t help being nervous, tensing, untensing, legs shaking as Yohan sits back, spreads him wide, palm like a brand on the thickest part of his thigh, fingers squeezing.

“I'll make it good,” Yohan assures when Gaon gasps, fingers clenching in the sheets as Yohan pushes a thumb inside his slippery heat with a wet squelch. The thumb plunges all the way to the base before pulling out halfway, then slides back in as if testing the stretch.

"Please. Don't – tease me," Gaon keens through gritted teeth, rolling into the shallow thrust.

Yohan hums. "I thought you wanted to go slow?" But he slides his thumbs out with a soft pop and grabs Gaon's hip, another hand tight on his knee keeping him spread. Gaon gulps as a thick cock head nestling firmly against the fluttering entrance of his pussy. Even through the condom, he can feel how hot Yohan is, how hard and eager and restrained.

A low groan punches out of him as the tip bumps his clit once, sliding over hotly before sinking into the warm wet heat. Gaon cranes his neck, staring through slitted eyes, a perverse need to watch Yohan's cock burying into him. The stretch is – different, indescribable, like nothing he's felt before. Taut and overwhelming. Warm liquid spills out, drips down his cunt around Yohan's cock, smears on to the sheets. Yohan is staring as well, breathing heavily through his open mouth, eyes glassy as he pushes in. Gaon can feel his walls clenching, spasming, stretching obediently to accommodate the girth. It aches and arouses in layers, pleasure melting over the pain, scratching an itch Gaon didn't know he had.

They are both panting when Yohan bottoms out, heavy balls pressed against his hot sticky skin. Gaon blinks blearily, trying to catalog the pleasant fullness, the deep aching throbs as his body squeezes around Yohan’s length in the rhythm of his heartbeat. It feels amazing. More than that, it feels… like a revelation. Catching his look, Yohan makes a soft pleased sound and shoves, hips tilting and hands hefting Gaon’s hips.

The whine seizes in his chest as his back bows, legs trembling as the cock inside him punches deeper. Yohan reaches for one of his hands, draws it down to where they’re connected, where Gaon is dribbling, spilling, warm gushes of slick. He has a moment to stare, face bright red, skin so hot he feels steam might be leaking from every pore.

“Gaon,” Yohan breathes, snapping his attention. There’s a little smirk. Then Yohan pulls out with a wet, sucking noise and drives back in.

“Oh my god,” Gaon groans, fingers twitching, feeling the smooth rubber bunching slightly as Yohan fucks him. His head is swimming, each coherent thought melting away with every deep thrust. He’s crying out, moans breaking into little puffs of air, his pussy clenching at each grinding slide.

“You’re tight, You’re tightening every time I move,” Yohan groans, voice close, curled over Gaon, hips pistoning on each word. “You feel. So – good.”

Gaon steps off the edge, a long drawn out moment where he teeters on a proverbial tightrope of pleasure, before he’s slamming back into his body, still throbbing powerfully, almost viciously around that ruining cock. He thinks he might be sobbing with how good he feels. He’s never cried during sex. Kim Gaon doesn't cry when he’s having sex.

But.

His hair is damp and it’s hard to see anything clearly. The room is filled with the sound of ragged breathing, the occasional choked sob. It’s too much now. Gaon’s over-sensitised and wrung out but Yohan is still pounding into him. And it still feels so fucking good. His pussy is still clutching onto Yohan’s cock like some hungry insatiable monster, the sounds wet and obscene. “Y-yohan…” His voice is hoarse and pleading. Yohan grinds deep once more with a moan, a shudder wracking through him as he pulses. Gaon can feel the warm release even through the rubber. He whimpers.

Yohan shushes him gently, leans his weight forward, the expression on his face almost reverential. Before he can kiss Gaon, a rapid knock on the door interrupts and Elijah’s voice cuts through loudly. “Are you guys done? Mrs Ji heated up the leftovers from yesterday since there’s so much. If you don’t come out, we’re going to start without both of you.”

Gaon and Yohan freeze.

Elijah knocks again, practically bangs the door. “Hello? Just answer! Do we wait for you or not?”

“Elijah, go away!” Yohan roars, turning to glare at the door, his face an alarming shade of red.

“Fine! I was just being nice. It’s not like I don’t know what you’re doing!” she shouts back. Gaon can hear her grumbling angrily and loudly as she wheels away, clearly on purpose. He covers his eyes with one hand, skin crawling with embarrassment. He should just get a heart attack now so he doesn't have to face Elijah tomorrow.

Yohan sighs in irritation and starts to slide out. Still self-conscious, Gaon jerks his hand from his eyes to his mouth, stifling the surprised squeal, mortified by the squelching noises, the squirt of slick, the clinging empty feeling left in its wake. "Maybe," Gaon croaks, withdrawing his hand, stretching out one stiff leg tentatively. "We should… go down for dinner."

"That depends," Yohan agrees, discarding the used condom and deftly opening a new one. "Are you hungry?" he asks, somehow making that question suggestive even without the slightest change in his expression.

Pushing up on his elbows, Gaon eyes Yohan's wet cock, a surge of want alighting his veins. He's hungry, alright, but not for food. Yohan has a nice cock. Circumcised. Curving delicately, still half hard and come beading at the tip, just begging for a mouth, a tongue to lap it up. His mouth is suddenly very dry.

Yohan looks amused if anything, and rolls rubber over his thickening length.

Maybe next time.

"Something tells me you're disappointed," Yohan murmurs, one knee on the bed between Gaon's legs as he stretches over, back bowing to press their lips together, coaxing Gaon's mouth open and licking inside, tongue delving deep and greedy. Gaon's denial is smothered in a groan, arm wrapping around Yohan's shoulder, tugging him closer, shuddering at the drag of a cock against his inner thigh. His insides are in knots again and his pussy tingles, growing taut and slick in anticipation. "Relax, Gaon, we're going to be here all night," Yohan promises.

–

They do sneak down for a very late dinner. The house is dark and quiet. Mrs Ji has left and Elijah is hiding in her room sulking. He hopes – prays – she doesn't come out because he's letting Yohan eat his face while they wait for the food to warm so they can actually eat. They're both sloppily dressed, smelling of sex and arousal, adrenaline and endorphins leading to some very bad decision making.

Gaon burns his tongue and Yohan chokes on a pork belly shoveling food down.

Neither of them bother to wash the dishes.

–

Gaon wakes up with a jolt, heart pounding a mile a minute, his back warm against someone's front. The sun squints accusingly at him through the curtains.

It's Saturday, he reminds himself with some relief. He hasn't overslept, head thumping back onto the pillow. Behind him, Yohan shifts closer, breath warm on the back of Gaon's nape, knees tucked together, his arm draped possessively around Gaon's waist, fingertips brushing a precarious patch of skin.

If he hadn't been so fucked out, Gaon would have gasped and shivered. As it is, he feels wrung out like a dishcloth after a hard wash. Everything feels very sore. And crusty. Very crusty. They hadn't bothered to clean up. Yohan and he might be glued skin to skin with the amount of fluids involved yesterday. He recalls with some embarrassment that at one point, he might have suggested Yohan fuck him raw sans protection.

("...you – nngh – could fuck m-me without the condom –" Gaon pants, voice fractures at each punishing thrust, trying and failing to get his knees up from under him. His hands bunch in the sheets. "I -I'll t-take a pill. Or – haah — something."

Yohan laughs breathlessly in his ear, and pulls out completely, only the head of his cock stretching Gaon open. Gaon squirms, whining, trying to push back, wanting the emptiness filled. "Have I fucked you stupid?" Yohan taunts and he's being so mean, holding Gaon down and mocking him like this. "You could get knocked up."

"It'll be – be okay…Yohan, Yohan, please – " He had meant please fuck me, please move, please – Gaon moans pathetically, tears leaking down his face, chest rubbing against the bed as he rocks his hips. He feels so empty. He feels crazy. And stupid, like Yohan said.

"You want that?" Yohan grinds back in, rough and claiming. He's teasing but there's an undercurrent of dark arousal belying his words. "You want me to fuck you full of my seed? Put a baby in you?" A hand slides between Gaon's writhing body and the sheets, Yohan stroking low on his belly. "Imagine yourself swollen with my child. You couldn't go out like that. I'll have to keep you here locked up so no one can see you. I'll spread your legs every night and fuck this greedy cunt of yours until you can't even remember your name." Yohan drives him in long deep strokes, making Gaon slide back and forth on the bed, gasping brokenly, shivering at the raw possessiveness in Yohan's voice. "Is that what you want, Gaon?"

Heat has wrapped a dizzying fog around his brain. Pussy squirting wetly, Gaon clenches tight around the throbbing cock, tongue heavy in his open mouth. Yes, he thinks for one wild terrifying moment. "...n-no."

Yohan's front plasters all over his back, warm and smothering. He kisses the back of Gaon's ear. "I’d hate to lose my associate judge.")

At least one of them was still thinking. Gaon sighs, closing his eyes, regretting a lot of things, wondering as well why Yohan's brand of dirty talk did it for him. In his youth, he would have punched any bed partner that put him down the way Yohan did. Not that anyone had tried.

Yohan shifts, hand brushing lower and Gaon freezes.

He peers under sheets.

Then double checks, elation filling him like helium in a balloon as he touches and hefts the weight of his missing but now returned organ. Pouncing up, grinning with a burst of happiness, Gaon shouts, "Yohan, it's back! My dick is back!"

Yohan grunts, lifts his head, bleary eyed, disheveled. "Really?" He peers at Gaon's dick. "That's great," he agrees, then rolls over and goes back to sleep.

Gaon punches him in the arm.

"Ow!"

Yohan rubs his arm, grumbling and buries back down into the blankets like a harassed mole rat, only the top of his messy head visible. For a man who deflowered his associate judge, he is being awfully indifferent about Gaon's ordeal.

Whatever. Yohan is the worst. He only has himself to blame for his overexertion.

Gaon is too happy to have anything ruin his good mood. He has no idea what brought his dick back but the universe is far more mysterious than a mere mortal like Gaon can comprehend.

As he steps into the bathroom, he thinks about the loss of the mind blowing sex he could get with his pussy with a smidgen of regret.

No, no, no. He shakes his head, banishing the sentiment. No, Gaon is perfectly happy with his dick. He's going to shower, check the equipment then wake Yohan up to double check for him.

–

A month later, it happens again

Gaon is barging into Yohan's room before he can think better of it. These days, he spends more nights with Yohan than he does sleeping in his own bed. It just so happens, tonight is not one of those nights where they have enthusiastic athletic sex

"Yohan!"

Yohan flails up in his bed, eyes wide and on the offensive, acting like he's about to be burgled. He visibly sags when he sees Gaon. "Do you have any idea - it's -" He glares at the clock. "It's five thirty. What are you doing?"

Gaon is already stripping out of his clothes, a bit manic at this point. "Dick's gone again," he explains in a rush, peeling off his pajama bottoms.

Yohan stares for a stunned second, eyes going wider as Gaon clambers over and straddles him, hands automatically reaching out to balance them both. "We have a court case today."

"I know, I know," Gaon babbles, fishing around for Yohan's sleep-warm dick. "But I think we can solve this quick." He won't admit it but he wants Yohan in him now. He wants his dick back as soon as possible. That's all there is to it.

"How?" Yohan sounds strained, pupils blown wide and face flushed red, gaze darting down.

"You're gonna fuck my dick back," Gaon pants, sinking down on the hot length, back arching at the burning stretch. He isn't as confident as he sounds but it's worth a try.

–

It works.

And they are very very late.