it's the cracks that let the light shine through

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/43337769.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M, Multi
Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Relationships: Jae-Ha/Kija (Akatsuki no Yona), Yona/Kija/Jae-Ha
Characters: Kija (Akatsuki no Yona), Yona (Akatsuki no Yona), Jae-Ha (Akatsuki no
Yona)
Additional Tags: whoops sexy threesome dream, leading to Kija's first time, Yona is only
there for the dream, messy drunken kissing, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs,
Blindfolds, Kija experiences a wealth of confusing and overwhelming
feelings, luckily/unluckily Jae-Ha is there to assist, a bit of biting bc Jae-
Ha seems like he'd be into that
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-11-30 Words: 2,597 Chapters: 1/2
 it's the cracks that let the light shine through
by Saruo

Summary

Kija has had dreams about Yona before, but never one like this. And more than that, it isn't
only her — there's another set of hands touching him, and the reality of whose they are is one
he can't handle awake or asleep.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
“Kija.”

His eyes were closed. But it was the princess’s voice undoubtedly, speaking in a soft murmur.

“Keep your eyes closed,” she whispered. Then her fingertip skimmed feather-light across his
eyelid and he started. “Do you think you can?”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. He could feel the warmth of her beside him and nothing else.
(Though what else was there, truly, other than her?)

“You trust me?” she asked.

It was a tender question while also being unbelievably absurd. There was perhaps no one else
he trusted more in the entire world. “Of course, Princess,” he breathed.

“Call me Yona,” she said, a sweet twist to her tone. “For right now, call me Yona.”

He was loath to deny her, but maybe she could tell he disagreed by the sudden thread of
tension running up his spine, because she laughed a little. “Or not, if you insist.” He felt her
lean in closer. He could smell the heat of her skin, the crush of the grass they had spent the
last few weeks plodding across. Then something soft brushed his neck. He sucked in a breath
when he realized it was her lips.

“Princess?”

She hummed a response. He felt it in his throat.

“Stay still,” she said against him. Then her mouth opened and he felt the gentle sweep of her
tongue. He moaned. There was the barest of scrapes — her teeth, he realized — and she let
out a little noise of apology, the spread of her small hand pressing a comforting blossom of
warmth to his chest.

He tried to ask what she was doing, but his voice was beginning to catch in half gasps. She
didn’t say anything back, her lips just continuing their work, making a mesmerizing and slow
journey from near his collarbone up to beneath his ear. Her fingers circled his chest once
more, grazing a nipple in a lingering sort of way it was difficult to find unintentional, before
her hand slid up to the nape of his neck and curled into the fine hair there.

She pressed the smallest kiss to his earlobe. Her face tilted, but was still close enough he felt
her breath against his ear, could feel the tangibility of her words. “Come here.”

He made a questioning noise, because how could he possibly get any closer to her — unless
she meant he was supposed to kiss her, and the idea stirred searingly hot through him,
catching on the heat tightening at the base of his stomach — and though he had already
started to tremble, now he could feel it everywhere.

But before he could think to reach for her face, he felt something trail from the inside of his
knee up towards his thigh. He flinched, eyes opening.
The princess sighed, laying fingers over his eyes before he saw more than a pinch of red hair.
“Oh, I knew it would be too hard. Would you rather I covered them?”

For a second he didn’t reply. A writhing sort of uncertainty mingled with the tense feeling
coiled in his stomach. He wondered if she would stop what she was doing if he opened his
eyes again, and the idea spurred him into an eager nod. He would gladly not see to keep her
lips on his skin.

“Lovely,” she said. Her finger traced the flare of his eyelashes, a gentle tickle that should
have seemed purely innocent and instead just made his mouth go completely dry as he took
in yet another heavy breath. Then the cool weight of a cloth settled over his eyes. When she
tied it behind his head, the motion was careful, delicate. He could feel every brush as she
shifted strands of hair back from tangling into the knot.

And then her mouth returned to his neck. There was the light flick of her tongue against his
earlobe, delicate but not at all careful now. He bit back a gasp.

“Keep going,” she murmured.

This time he realized the directions were not for him. The fingers that had left his thigh
returned, first on one side, then both, fingertips and the short ridge of nails pressing into his
skin softly but still enough to feel through the fabric of his robe — and if he’d had any
confusion about what exactly was happening, it was undeniable now, because Yona had one
hand cradling the crook of his neck and there were two hands on his thighs.

“Who—”

“Isn’t it more exciting not to know?” Yona breathed against his ear.

The idea sent a zing of heat rushing through his entire body. It was nearly dizzying without
the steadying influence of sight, and even the darkness behind the blindfold spun. He
couldn’t tell if he liked it or not — either the blindfold or the thought that someone else was
touching him when being with the princess was already a novel experience. But he nodded
anyways, and was rewarded with another kiss to his earlobe.

One of the hands left his thigh. He felt himself hold his breath. Then the brush of fingers
moved to his ankle, and he couldn’t hold back a frustrated sigh — which morphed to a groan
as the fingers slipped back up to where they had been before, this time dragging his robe with
them. He felt Yona reach down and fold the fabric up to puddle around his waist, her
fingertips drifting below it to smooth over the angles of his hipbones and the curves of the
muscles in his lower stomach. He jerked at her touch. She pressed his hips back to steady
with gentle pressure, burying a soft laugh against his neck, and then pulled away a little.

Without her hot skin close to his neck, the cool air came back in suddenly, brushing the wet
marks her tongue had left. Tingles raised throughout his skin and he shivered. He could feel
the weight of her leaning down over him, the tilt up of the shape settled on the ground
between his legs — and then quiet sounds, the feeling of bodies shifting their weight beneath
and around him, their skin brushing his, and the sounds — oh. Kija went completely still. The
sounds were them kissing.
Yona let out a breathy sigh, leaning back against him, her palm landing on his stomach as if
she needed to steady herself. He shivered again, this time from her touch and from the new
thought — whoever the other person was, it was someone Yona liked to kiss.

She let out a contented hum, settling back against Kija’s side, her fingers returning to his hair.
Her other hand dropped to finger the collar of his robe. At the same moment, one of the
hands below slipped from its still position at his hips to beneath the draped-up robe entirely.
Then it followed the lines of his body top to bottom as if there wasn’t a single reason to
hurry, fingers tweaking one of his nipples, slipping down the middle of his stomach, trailing
over the crease separating his hip from thigh.

If his mouth had been dry before, now it was a desert. His tongue felt like a stone. Every time
he closed his mouth, tried to take more than a raspy dry swallow, one of them touched him in
some new way and his lips parted into another moan. Like now — Yona’s fingers were going
beneath the robe too. They found the jut of his collarbone, then curved against every heave of
his chest, assuaging and inciting the urgent flutter of his lungs, moving too quick and too
heavy now to manage coherent speech.

The hand at his hip was joined by its pair. The two of them floated over the fabric of his
loincloth, neither touching him in more than the lightest wisps. His hips twitched forward
without a thought.

The hands pulled away.

“Please,” he got out through a groan, barely more than a harsh grate of sound, but desperate.
He could hear how desperate he sounded. No one had ever touched him like this. He didn’t
know what would happen if they stopped — and, he realized, as the fingers returned to
unwind the twist of loincloth fabric, and lips brushed his inner thigh, he didn’t know what
would happen if this didn’t stop. Even just the idea of not finding out was awful. His hand
stretched down, though he hadn’t meant it to. But he felt only the silken sweep of hair before
Yona pulled away from kissing his neck to click her tongue. “Give me your wrists, Kija.”

He gave them. Without pause, though he could feel their tremble as he held them out. Could
feel that increase to a shake as his loincloth slid away and the lips traveled from his thigh to
newly-unveiled skin.

Yona’s fingers closed around his wrists. She lifted them both, crossed to a neat x, to the wall
above his head and pinned them there with the weight of her palm. Her other fingertips
gently swept over the scales on his one hand before they returned beneath the collar of his
robe.

It felt like every inch of him was simmering. He’d catch fire soon enough. The lips below
brushed so gently against the side of his cock he almost could have imagined it — well,
maybe it might’ve been his imagination if it hadn’t received such an immediate unconscious
response, his entire body thrilling to even this lightest promise of touch, the tightness in him
reaching such a stretch his nerves were about to start humming.

Yona murmured his name against his neck. Because of the angle she held his wrists at, if he
pressed forward even the slightest bit it brought the whole of their fronts together, her breasts
a soft weight against his chest, and he would have explored that more, because she clearly
wanted him to with the way she was pressing right back into him, but the lips were back
against his cock now,and then he felt the dip of a tongue exploring him — abruptly it felt like
someone had dumped oil along his entire spine and then set the whole thing ablaze. He could
feel himself trembling so hard Yona could only keep her mouth steady on his neck by sucking
instead of licking.

And then he went completely still, because now the tongue was swirling around the tip of his
cock — he made a sound he’d never heard himself make before, before the slick heat of
mouth and tongue descended, lips a maddening pressure as they slipped down his shaft.

He swallowed, mouth working through hot gasps too hurried to bring in air. Yona’s lips
hovered over his, murmuring wordless affection— or perhaps he was simply so far gone he
couldn’t even process words — he rocked up, straining to keep his hands where they were
and still be able to reach her lips, and when he made the distance, she let out a quiet noise and
buried her tongue in his mouth. At the exact same moment, the mouth around his cock began
to move in earnest, and he heard the messy wet pops and clicks and himself whimpering
through the same haze, the sounds he was making unfamiliar to him, only music to
accompany his body hitching into every touch, the cord of his spine tightening, the pressure
at the base of his stomach crescendoing, until Yona pressed even further forward, tore his
hands from where she’d pinned them to squeeze them around her breasts, her body arching
into his. “Kija,” she breathed, sweet and fierce.

At that, he could no longer hold back, hips bucking up into the obliging wet warmth, the
hands catching his thighs, fingers pressing tight, encouraging, moans coming against his
sensitive skin, throat working against him, and he’d never felt anything like this in the entire
world, like he was coming apart—

He shuddered into the lips still wrapped around him.

Yona swallowed his every gasp as he came, tension pouring from his body like a taut ribbon
releasing back to slack. There was a last stripe of tongue sweeping up his shaft, and then the
mouth was gone. Yona’s lips tilted away, but before he could give more than a breathless
sound of protest, different lips met his.

He could taste himself on them. A moan lingered in his throat, nearly hoarse now from the
sounds he’d been making; his hands came up to muscled shoulders and warm skin. Teeth
nipped at his bottom lip, tongue twisting with his.

He wanted to pull the blindfold away. He wanted to see both of them, Yona’s face, the eyes of
whomever had just done that with their mouth. As soon as he had the thought, Yona let out a
soft tender sigh. He felt her curls on his neck as her chin came to his shoulder, slender fingers
reaching for the tie of the blindfold. Threaded in her voice was familiar affection. “Good job,
Jae-Ha.”

And then there was a little laugh against Kija’s mouth, and it was a laugh he knew, because
he’d heard it a thousand times, because it was Jae-Ha’s laugh, and then the blindfold slipped
from his face, and the eyes he saw were a knowing blue—
He flew up from the bedroll.

He was in the dark. In the tent in the forest in his blankets, or half out of them now, and still
he was shaking.

“Kija?”

Jae-Ha. He flinched as if struck, stumbling out his bedroll fully, lifting to unsteady knees. He
was unbearably hard.

Beside him, the other men were starting to stir. Jae-Ha’s voice was barely more than a sleepy
rumble. “You hear something outside?”

“Shut up,” Kija hissed back. His mind couldn’t make the two moments match, couldn’t put
together that last fleeting image of Jae-Ha wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes
half-lidded and pleasure-bright, with this one here, only a platonic voice in the dark. Even
just the sleep-roughened pitch to Jae-Ha’s voice burned into Kija’s brain, hooked into his
still-trembling legs.

For a second Jae-Ha was silent. “Rude. I didn’t wake you up in the middle of the night,” he
said, now sounding fully awake, irritated and sharp. “What, did you have a nightmare?”

“What happened?” Zeno asked around a yawn. Kija could make out the shape of him rising
to one elbow in the dark, and, next to him, the curve of Shin-Ah’s back in his blankets.
“What’s wrong?”

“I think Kija had a nightmare,” Jae-Ha said.

“I did not,” Kija snapped back — though had he, was that a nightmare or something much
worse, because it hadn’t been bad at all, not until the end, and even then had it really been
bad or was it just the surprise of it all—

“—don’t usually have nightmares,” Zeno was saying. He sounded more awake now too,
enough to sound concerned, and it was too much, too much when Kija could still feel the fine
beads of sweat wreathing his temples, the lingering desire mixed now with shock — and so
he ducked from the tent without another word, ignoring Zeno’s soft call and Jae-Ha’s
muttered annoyance, the way Hak on guard a tree away glanced at him with one eye open,
and he strode as far away as fast as he could, until he was alone enough he could grit his teeth
and bang his spinning head against a tree, and then again when the first time wasn’t enough,
trying to whack out an explanation for whatever the fuck had just happened.
End Notes

I really hope everyone isn’t massively out of character here, I’m only about halfway through
the manga and haven’t read for a while, but I rediscovered the first part of this that I wrote
while super sick a year ago while super sick this year and decided to finish it! Please enjoy!!

(title is from the song Beautiful Undone by Laura Doggett)

EDIT because damn I thought Jae-Ha’s eyes were green since they look that way to me on
the Volume 17 cover, but they’re blue/purple, yikes! Sorry for originally making him a green-
eyed greenhead!!

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!