Work Text:
Intus, Alius (Latin phrase)
Pronunciation: /ˈɪn.tʊs ˈa.li.ʊs/
Part of speech: Phrase
Definition:
1. Literally: "Within, Another" or "Inside, Other."
2. Figuratively: A conceptual expression denoting the presence of another self or identity within; often used to describe internal duality, hidden aspects of the self, or psychological multiplicity.
On most days, the voices in Lee Jaheon’s mind are easy enough to ignore.
They drum gently against the inside of his skull, a constant rhythm like the beating of a second heart. It’s not unpleasant. They are a part of him—have always been a part of him—and Lee Jaheon cannot imagine silence, not really. Not the kind humans know. To be alone in one’s own head feels like a kind of death.
Still, there are times when they are noisy. Disruptive, when he needs clarity. Overwhelming, when humans speak too fast or when too many emotions twist beneath the surface of their words. Parsing meaning in spoken language is already hard—harder still when his collective rarely rely on words at all. Among themselves, meaning flows easily. Emotions pass like shared memories. Intentions are understood without needing to be said, like rereading the pages of a well-loved book.
Sometimes, his collective tries to help—offering interpretations, sending thoughts of their own. But keeping that inner conversation separate from the one happening aloud is difficult. The voices collide. Thought and language grind against each other until his head aches with static.
It makes speaking aloud difficult.
Lee Jaheon does it when he must—when protocol demands it. But even then, it’s sparse. Fractured. He forgets the implied pieces, the human subtleties that don’t translate well across synaptic threads. Most of the time, he simply listens. That’s easier. Safer.
Humans often find this unsettling.
They mistake his silence for coldness. His unshifting face for arrogance. But Lee Jaheon doesn’t mind. Can’t find it in himself to be offended. He understands that his behavior is not what humans would call normal. Misunderstandings are inevitable.
Still, there is a beauty in how humans communicate, even in their misunderstandings. Especially in their misunderstandings. The effort to bridge that gap—to reach across it—is precious.
And they do try. Even with him.
Lee Jaheon begins to cherish these small acts of reaching. They adapt more easily than expected. They learn to ask him specific questions. Ask for clarification when they don’t understand, or for elaboration, if he doesn’t offer enough. And Lee Jaheon, in return, does his best to answer every question. Only rejecting the one’s that seek information he does not know or can not give. The collective still have to protect their own interests after all.
Kim Soleum adapts too.
But he is different.
He sees Lee Jaheon clearly, in a way no one else does. That, more than anything, sets him apart.
From the first moment they meet, Lee Jaheon knows something is off. The natural cloak he wears—woven into his appearance, not designed to manipulate others but to protect himself—slips right off Kim Soleum. It should hide him. It always does. But Kim Soleum doesn't soften under it.
Kim Soleum stares.
Not with awe. Not with the admiration Lee Jaheon’s appearance was crafted to provoke— beautiful, by human standards, designed to foster ease and trust. It helps with communication. Usually. Taste, he has since learned, is subjective.
But Kim Soleum doesn’t look at him like someone captivated.
He looks like someone unnerved.
Instead, he stares at Lee Jaheon with the stunned focus of someone seeing something wrong in the picture. Someone who sees the truth beneath the glamour—the reptilian edges, the pale scales, the unnatural red of his eyes.
And yet—Kim Soleum says nothing.
Even when Lee Jaheon catches the flickers of confusion—the small glances toward their squad mates, the brief tightness in his jaw when Lee Jaheon enters the room—Kim Soleum keeps it all to himself. He does his work. Efficiently. Professionally. Without complaint. Without confrontation.
He becomes an indispensables member of D-squad.
Kim Soleum should fear him. Most humans who glimpse Lee Jaheon’s true appearance do, Maybe Kim Soleum does too— but if so, he hides it well. Instead of shrinking back, he meets the alien head-on. Lee Jaheon notices it in the subtle shifts: the way Soleum gradually relaxes, the way trust builds between them, brick by careful brick.
In return, he chooses to keep Kim Soleum’s secrets. Like the one wrapped in pink fur, nestled in the squads newest member's breast pocket. It looks cute at first but for someone like Lee Jaheon who can sense and hear the bunny talk, he knows it is a powerful darkness entity.
Kim Soleum is discreet when communicating with it. But even if Lee Jaheon couldn’t hear the pink bunny speak, his attunement to silent exchanges—honed by a lifetime with the collective—would still let him notice the signs. The subtle shifts in Kim Soleum’s expression. The brief pauses. The near-imperceptible gestures.
It’s enough to know: Kim Soleum is communicating with it. The doll that calls itself “his good friend.”
Given how easily his coworker becomes contaminated, Lee Jaheon would rather burn the doll at the earliest opportunity. It’s clearly much more manipulative than Kim Soleum seems to realize but his coworker treats it like a trusted companion.
So even though Lee Jaheon disapproves, he keeps the opinion to himself.
For now, all Lee Jaheon can do is suggest sessions with the fox counselor, only stepping in when Kim Soleum gives explicit permission. That small allowance gave him some peace of mind—he now treats it as blanket consent to forcibly send Kim Soleum for help whenever contamination sets in.
Which, unfortunately, happens often.
Over time, Kim Soleum gets better at reading between the lines, picking up on the things Jaheon hesitates to say. He even starts asking the right questions, giving Jaheon space to voice concerns he would otherwise keep to himself. There’s something tender in being listened to—not out of obligation, out of having no other choice, but out of want.
The collective takes notice. They’re curious.
Other than his ability to see past Lee Jaheon’s cloaking, Kim Soleum is also a VIP purchaser for the space shopping mall—another reason he matters. Money is what the collective needs after all.
They ask Jaheon to observe more closely. Why doesn’t Kim Soleum fall under the cloak? Is Kim Soleum’s method of communication with the pink bunny similar to theirs? How did he find the Space Shopping Mall? Does he like their selection?
Jaheon voices none of these questions.
He simply watches.
He observes Kim Soleum through every exploration, cataloguing his behaviors as he protects his squad. Splitting his focus between the mission and his observation of Kim Soleum is easy. For Lee Jaheon, delving into darkness has never been difficult. The challenge is always the people.
Keeping the squad safe. Alive.
So he reframes it. Thinks of D-squad as he thinks of the collective: a single unit. One body. One purpose. They must survive together. Framing it that way makes it easier.
Easier to care. Easier to try.
Eventually, he comes to find that caring for his squad comes much more easily than it used to. D-squad has grown on him. And so has Kim Soleum, despite how little time he’s spent with them.
That’s why, when Lee Jaheon watches Kim Soleum trembling—contaminated, eyes unfocused— slumped on the floor of the bathroom, he knows he has a choice to make.
[ What Lies Down On One Whilst One Sleeps]
: A ghost story featured in [Darkness Exploration Records]
: Daydream Inc. Identification code - Qterw-C-9669
: C-Class Darkness
Discover the secrets of Gilgamesh’s father and report back to him. If you succeed he will reward you! Be warned of the potential side effects of catching his father’s attention.
The mission was straightforward enough, at least on paper: provide Gilgamesh with proof that his father was an evil demon—an incubus. In return, you’d receive a one-time-use item and safe passage out of the darkness.
But “straightforward” didn’t mean “easy.”
Incubi survive by draining the life force of their victims through sex. With a natural ability to arouse those around them, many Daydream employees had fallen prey—lured in and left hollowed out.
Thankfully, the condition wasn’t permanent. If the victim managed to sleep with someone, the effect would wear off—assuming the incubus wasn’t nearby to renew it. In this case, it was Kim Soleum who had been affected.
Which is how they ended up here.
Protocol demands the fox counselor.
Lee Jaheon could carry Kim Soleum all the way back—physically, it wouldn’t be a challenge for him. But for Kim Soleum, he would suffer for every minute of the trip. They’re far from the city now, deep in the countryside on a darkness exploration. No office. No backup. Not even a nameplate to summon the fox counselor’s room.
“P-Please,” he whispers. “I don’t need the fox counselor. You can help me, right?” A shaky breath. “I want you to help me.”
Lee Jaheon pauses. Weighs the risks. The collective murmurs their input, layering thoughts like static in the back of his mind. He is still a moment longer before he reaches a decision.
He’s quietly grateful that they had made it back to their accommodations before Kim Soleum fully unraveled. Timing, at least, is on their side. Still, he knows this will require precision. Care. His strength—usually so fluid, so instinctive—must now be held back like floodwater behind a dam. Human’s are fragile after all, he can’t let himself hurt his squad mate.
Gently, he lifts the smaller man and moves into the room to place him on one of the two beds.
Lee Jaheon hasn’t done this before, not with his own body. But others in the collective had. Their memories rose through him now, not as thoughts, but as instincts: phantom impressions of touch and timing, of breath and pressure. Reflexes inherited, familiar in a way that felt both intimate and distant. He knew what to do.
The removal of Lee Jaheon’s clothes is quick, utilitarian. He sees no point in drawing it out. But when it came to Kim Soleum, he found himself moving differently. Slower. More deliberate. As each layer fell away, Lee Jaheon traced the pale milky white canvas of Kim Soleum’s skin with his eyes—soft, flushed, alive.
The pink bunny in Kim Soleum’s pocket shrieked its protests at being discarded on the floor with the suit jacket, but Lee Jaheon ignored it, all his focus on the man in front of him. Kim Soleum was trembling, his breath catching in short, unsteady bursts. His skin pulsed with heat. Every reaction was vivid.
Lee Jaheon didn’t blush. Not because he was immune to emotion — far from it — but because his kind processed things differently. Shame, modesty… those were human concepts. In his world, this wasn’t taboo. This was care. Help. And help was never shameful.
He reached out, brushing fingers along Kim Soleum’s cheek, trailing down the jaw to where his pulse raced under fragile skin. The skin there was flushed and damp, electric beneath his touch. Kim Soleum's body responded before thought could catch it — a slight arch, a parting of lips, a soft sound barely caught in the back of his throat.
It was so human. So beautifully uncontrolled.
The smaller man’s breath hitched as Lee Jaheon leaned in — closer now, not quite touching, but near enough that the warmth of his skin radiated like a signal. It pulled at Lee Jaheon, more than instinct. More than memory.
The collective was still watching. Not with judgment — they didn’t do that — but with an unsettling kind of attentiveness. Every shift in breath, every surge of sensation recorded and relayed across the web. Shared. Felt.
Lee Jaheon had always been part of them. A channel. A conduit. But now, as his hand slid down Kim Soleum’s ribs and back up— slow, careful, testing — he felt something strange coil inside him: the urge to withhold. To keep this moment hidden.
Kim Soleum arched into the touch, his lips parting, a soft gasp escaping as Lee Jaheon’s palm settled flat against his chest. The beat of his heart was wild. Chaotic. Beautiful.
“I will ask once more, are you sure about this?” Lee Jaheon spoke, voice low.
Kim Soleum’s eyes flicked up to meet his—shining, dazed, but focused.
“Y-Yes” The word broke into a gasp as Lee Jaheon’s mouth brushed the curve of his neck. Not a kiss. Just warmth. Just proximity. But still it made Kim Soleum tremble.
Lee Jaheon’s other hand slid lower, fingers finding the shape of Kim Soleum’s waist, gripping — not hard, but firm. Anchoring. He is careful with the sharpness of his nails, respectful of the skin that felt so impossibly fragile beneath his hands. It was nothing like the hard scales the collective had. The contact made Kim Soleum’s breath stutter, his hands reaching to wrap around Lee Jaheon’s shoulders.
He could feel it then, something stirring low and deep. Not from memory. Not from the collective. But from him.
“I…” Kim Soleum’s voice was rough, barely there. “I want you, please.”
The collective pulsed behind Lee Jaheon’s thoughts — not in protest, not even in encouragement. Just… watching. Sensation passed through him like ripples over water, amplified by the neural web, echoed and folded back again. Pleasure braided through memory, through instinct, through a thousand ghosts of experiences that weren’t his and were.
He wanted this one to be different. He wanted this to be his.
And then, a moment: a swell of emotion, brief but vast. So much passed between him and the collective in that instant—understanding, recognition, something close to reverence. An unspoken agreement.
They withdrew. There could never be a full disconnect but they pulled away as far as they could.
It is only then, that he allows his mouth to press fully against Kim Soleum’s neck — not careful now, but claiming.
He tastes sweet, like grape candy lingering on the tongue after the last traces have melted away.
He continues to nip and lick chasing the sweet taste.
He gently nudges Kim Soleum to lay down. Watching the spread of the man as he lays fully exposed.
He pulls at the shared experiences of the collective using it as a guidance in properly taking care of Kim Soleum. A memory surges, a vision, a direction.
Lee Jaheon eyes the room around him, coming to the realization—they don’t have lube.
It seems he will just have to use what’s at his disposal.
His gaze drops to Kim Soleum’s cock—already hard, already dripping. He wraps his fingers around it and gives a slow, testing stroke from tip to base. Just enough pressure. Kim Soleum moans, arms tightening around Lee Jaheon’s shoulders, his breath catching.
Encouraged, Lee Jaheon continues, his hand falling into a steady rhythm. He drags his thumb over the flushed, slick head, focused on getting him there—not teasing, not drawing it out, just watching him unravel.
“W-wait, if you do that, I’ll—”
Kim Soleum’s warning crumbles into a broken moan.
Lee Jaheon is relentless, not pausing or slowing. He is unblinking as he watches his coworker fall apart in his hand. Moments later, Kim Soleum comes with a cry—spilling hot between them, streaking their chests and Lee Jaheon’s hand.
Kim Soleum’s eyes are glassy, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps. A thin sheen of sweat clings to his skin, making him shine in the low light. He looks utterly undone.
Something unfamiliar and hot twists in Lee Jaheon’s gut. He feels his own erection starting to harden. Aching to sink into the man in front of him.
Lee Jaheon eyes his cum covered hand for only a moment before curiosity over what it must taste like takes over and he brings it to his mouth, licking it. He let’s the taste settle in his mouth before swallowing. Is it possible for this to be sweet too? Truly, Kim Soleum is a wonder.
Lee Jaheon turns his attention back to the man in front of him when Kim Soleum let’s out a whine at the sight of his section chief swallowing his cum, already beginning to harden again.
He nuzzles the man’s neck in a soothing motion before pulling back. He wipes more of the cum from Kim Soleum’s chest, nudging the smaller man’s legs apart as he spreads it across his fingers. Lee Jaheon settles into a comfortable position between them, reaching for the fluttering hole with his cum covered hand.
A slick finger presses against Kim Soleum’s entrance, testing the give. He moves slow, careful at first—then deeper, more deliberate with every pass.
Kim Soleum bites his lip hard, trying to silence the whimpers that slip through.
A second finger joins the first, scissoring the hole open. Lee Jaheon takes a look at his cock and then at Kim Soleum’s rather small entrance before he adds a third finger. He takes his time, listening to every hitch in breath, feeling every shiver and tremble.
Once Lee Jaheon feels he is sufficiently stretched, he uses the rest of the cum on their chests to slick up his own cock—thick, flushed, aching. It slides against Kim Soleum’s twitching hole, hungry and already clenching.
When it catches on the rim, he pushes in slowly, sinking into that tight, welcoming heat.
He watches Kim Soleum’s face the whole time, reading him, adjusting—but never stopping—until he’s buried to the hilt, pressed flush against the curve of his ass.
He gives Kim Soleum a moment to adjust before Lee Jaheon pulls back just as slowly, letting the drag of his cock tease the stretched rim, then thrusts forward in a slow, grinding push.
Kim Soleum makes a punched out noise, hands gripping at the sheets below them.
He watches the way Kim Soleum takes him—the way his rim flutters and stretches, swallowing him down and repeats the roll of his hips, at just a slightly different angle. This time his squad mate lets out a loud moan, his hole clenching deliciously around Lee Jaheon’s dick.
“Sec-Section Chief.” Kim Soleum is cries out. “R-Right there.”
Lee Jaheon complies making sure every thrust after is aimed at that very spot.
“Jaheon. Call me Jaheon.” He isn’t sure why he says it but he feels a deep sense of pleasure when he hears the other man moan out his name.
Not pausing in his actions Lee Jaheon eyes the rather inviting little nubs of Kim Soleums nipples. He bends down, catching one them in his mouth and sucks. Kim Soleum keens, arching beneath him.
“Jaheon! D-Don't suck there."
He does not listen.
That intoxicatingly sweet taste.
That sound.
That reaction.
It hits something deep.
Lee Jaheon picks up pace, rhythm unraveling—thrusts rougher, more desperate, each one dragging high, breathy moans from Kim Soleum’s lips. He bites and licks and sucks at Kim Soleum’s chest, unable to stop.
He’s beautiful like this. Wrecked and trembling and pliant.
And when Kim Soleum cries out, undone once more by the force of his thrusts, he watches Soleum come apart beneath him, eyes fluttering, mouth falling open as pleasure overtook him in waves. But Lee Jaheon doesn’t stop, the heat continuing to course through his veins. He chases his own release, fucking into him like he’s trying to carve out a place inside.
“It’s too much Please slow down. Wait.” Kim Soleum whines, gasping, pleading softly between breaths. Lee Jaheon doesn’t relent. He keeps going until his own release is upon him. He slams in impossibly deep one final time and cums—hard—filling Kim Soleum up completely.
Kim Soleum’s hole clenches around him, fluttering, milking every last drop.
Lee Jaheon looks down, breath ragged, taking in the sight—Kim Soleum’s blissed out expression and marked up body— a feeling of satisfaction fills him.
He was his now.
Pulling from the shared memory once more to find the proper next steps, he gently pulls out, taking only a moment to admire his cum leaking out of Kim Soleum’s puffy hole before going to retrieve a wet towel from the bathroom.
He cleans Kim Soleum and then himself as best he can, discarding the towel over the side of the bed, before crawling back in with the man. He moves then into a more comfortable position before truly settling.
The world has gone still again, Kim Soleum having already drifted off into sleep, when Lee Jaheon was wiping him off earlier.
The quiet is different now.
Kim Soleum sleeps lightly, his breath warm against Lee Jaheon’s bare shoulder, fingers curled loosely against his chest. The bunny discarded on the floor is eerily quiet.
Lee Jaheon brushes a hand slowly down Kim Soleum’s spine. The skin there is flushed and sensitive. Beautiful. Marked by his touch in subtle ways—suctioned kisses, the curve of his handprint on a hip, bruising a pretty purple. He feels the weight of what just happened like it’s imprinted on his own body. Deeper than muscle. Beneath bone.
He should have stepped away. Re-established boundaries.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he shifted closer, wrapped Kim Soleum in his arms, and let the silence stretch between them. The human body was fragile, impermanent. But here, now—Kim Soleum felt enduring. Like something meant to stay.
Like a decision he’s already made.
Like something chosen.
He thinks of the way Kim Soleum had looked under him—open, wrecked, unafraid, wanting—that had been the moment. That had undone something inside him. Rewritten it. He thinks of the collective, still quietly droning in the back of his mind. He thinks of his mission, their mission and exhales, quiet enough not to wake him, and leans in.
He presses a kiss to Kim Soleum’s temple.
“I’m going to ruin everything for you.” he whispers.
Kim Soleum stirs faintly, pressing closer in his sleep, as if in answer.
The collective hums in the far distance. A reminder. Maybe a warning.
Lee Jaheon simply closes his eyes and holds Kim Soleum tighter.
Let the consequences wait for morning.