TSBIRBV Ch 81(NSFW)

Chapter 81 The Price (4)

Ending it already would be out of the question.

Haryang deftly stripped off the cumbersome skin-mask and flung it aside, then turned his disciple’s body over.

It was because he had been trained that, rather than lying on the back, being prone placed less strain on the partner’s body.

Haryang let out a self-mocking laugh.

‘To think I’d ever use what was learned in those days.’

Above all, there was a need to make him misperceive the restored weight of his original body. The previous time, he could likely have glossed it over with the haze of drugged intoxication, but there was no guarantee that would always be the case.

Having finished his rough calculations, Haryang, his disguise technique undone and his body returned to its original state, drove his member into Yegyeol’s tight place.

The reddened inner walls swallowed his sex smoothly. At the sensation of insistently tightening, urging him further inside, Haryang gripped Yegyeol’s buttocks hard.

The soft, supple flesh coiled around his fingertips like silk.

“Ah!”

From Yegyeol’s lips escaped not a cry of pain but a sigh of pleasure. No sooner had he thrust again than his sex, at last reaching its peak, spattered seed in every direction.

But since Yegyeol could not see, his mind went blank with the thought that perhaps it wasn’t semen but an embarrassing accident; mortified, he curled his body to salvage some shred of dignity.

Unlike Yegyeol, whose reason returned, Haryang lost his in that sight.

No matter how much he had stirred him, spreading him wantonly, and even if he took that, too, so well… Then…

‘Shall I break him?’

Haryang set his teeth into his disciple’s neck.

For reasons he could not name, Yegyeol sobbed.

“Ugh…! Ngh. Ah, it hurts.”

At that streak of pain, so sharp amid the pleasure, Haryang swallowed his regret and released the nape.

He let out a harsh breath that felt as though he had restrained himself for an eternity and squeezed his eyes shut.

For a moment his self-control vanished; clearly something in his head had gone awry.

The body he held was none other than his disciple, Mun Yegyeol. Longing for him for so long, believing he would never meet him again — only now regained.

He had sworn to protect him whole, from head to toe, without a single scratch — and yet, before the early-arriving bliss of night, Haryang’s resolve crumbled helplessly.

Or perhaps it was only that the desire he had locked away at such cost had shown its face.

“Nnngh…”

Yegyeol felt the hand bracing the floor collapsing again and again beneath his senior brother’s thrusts. Try as he might to steady himself, he could not bear that weight.

He could see nothing. But the member that pierced him, cruelly vivid, he felt with terrible clarity.

Groping, Yegyeol reached a hand to his lower belly. It felt as if something protruded there. Perceiving the movement, Haryang moved his hips and tapped against his belly-skin.

“Pro—protruding… ah.”

As if some living creature pulsed inside him, the feeling was stark and chilling, and Yegyeol’s shoulders shook.

Pinned between the two arms that caged him, he could not escape; pierced through, he could only weep until the corners of his eyes burned. Even under that relentless coupling, his body yielded up pleasure with disarming ease.

It felt as though his senior brother had returned to his original body. As Black Ghost, he had been more bearable than this; now, truly, his reason was snapping, strand by strand.

What if a mistake slipped out?

Yegyeol sniffled.

This was a tower of effort only just erected. He would not let it crumble in rapture. To restrain the mouth that grew wanton only for his guide, he fumbled across the bed and clamped between his teeth the gag that came to hand.

Perhaps some fluid had splashed, but circumstances were far from allowing such details to be weighed.

“Haa…”

A dusky moan fell upon him from above.

“Do you… like it?”

Yegyeol answered only with a nodding of his head.

Even cast out from his sect, Je Haryang was still a martial man. From the roughness of such a man’s breath alone, Yegyeol sensed how deeply immersed he was.

That alone sent thrills through him — a mental satisfaction distinct from the bodily pleasure derived from his senior brother’s touch and the guiding it wrought.

‘More — desire me more.’

The gag he held on to by a thread grew wet. Though he had already spilled so much, his lower half still throbbed with impatient lust.

Each time Haryang drove into him, his rigid length dragged against the smooth brocade mat of the bed. When this night was over, the brocade would be so fouled as to be beyond salvage.

The room filled with the wet slap at their point of union, Yegyeol’s muffled groans, and the sound of flesh striking flesh with every motion of their hips.

At some point, Haryang noticed that Yegyeol’s moans had quieted.

Finding his disciple’s restraint, like a whining puppy, tolerable for a time, Haryang reached and lifted his face.

The blindfolding sash was sodden, and beneath it his cheeks were flushed.

He had been gasping as if about to lose his breath and yet so quiet — and there was Yegyeol, gag in mouth, desperately holding his voice down.

Most likely, the reason was—

‘So he does not call for me.’

A curious, taboo-tasting guilt churned in Je Haryang’s lower belly.

He had wanted it so; he had suffered so. And now, Yegyeol’s face, reddened from swallowing down a name already betrayed, bound Haryang’s gaze.

Tenderness? Pity?

No. Something far hotter, that could not be summed up by such words, swelled tight in his chest.

“There is no need to hold back so much.”

When he snatched away the gag, his disciple froze. Haryang watched quietly as he clamped his lips shut and shook his head.

Yegyeol, who had grunted and hushed himself to hide that he had spread his legs for a man; Yegyeol, who had flinched at the slightest touch and then avoided him; Yegyeol, who had tried to relieve his brim-full desire alone, only to fail and sob; Yegyeol, who had concluded, for the sake of talk, that he could never betray his senior brother…

And the disciple who had opened his body to a cheap back-alley thug of the black market, all to hide his desire from his senior brother forever.

“Having paid a dear price, you should use it as you will.”

Urging him to abandon restraint, the senior brother was vicious to the core.

“Da— ngh, senior…! Senior brother… ah, ahh!”

With the gag torn from him, Yegyeol cried out for the one he had sought so long.

“Kh—”

In that instant, Haryang spent within his disciple. His lower belly tingled.

“Nngh, hh—”

Yegyeol sobbed in pleasure. The first time they had joined, Haryang had never spent inside him.

Purging the poison had been the goal; coupling was only the means. But this time was different.

It felt as though he could sense the heartbeat in Haryang’s chest where it pressed to his back. The rough breath spilling down the nape of his neck squeezed and shook Yegyeol’s mind.

‘At this rate, a real mistake might escape.’

His mouth had to be stopped before it was too late.

By the time he realized this was foolish, his judgment had already fallen to pieces.

Sobbing miserably, groping for the stolen gag, Yegyeol’s hand was caught, and a deep satisfaction passed over Haryang’s face.

He did not want his disciple to endure. In that respect, Haryang’s generosity was paper-thin.

He drew a breath, pulled out in one motion, and the seed that had filled him oozed forth. At the sudden emptiness, Yegyeol’s rear entrance fluttered.

His legs trembled with hollow loss.

Haryang pressed his face between Yegyeol’s shoulder blades as he sprawled, and inhaled deeply. The sweat and semen, matted thick over his body scent, was unbearably wanton.

Before Yegyeol’s longing had time to draw out, Haryang turned him and scooped him up with ease.

“Aaah!”

Setting the tip of his sex at the rear entrance, Haryang let go. Yegyeol sank onto his senior brother’s knees and gasped, skewered as if by a spit, unable even to breathe.

Supporting his waist so his arched body would not pitch fully backward, Haryang waited a moment, letting him find his breath and his senses.

“T-too… my lower belly… like this, ah…”

“You must move quickly.”

A perversely twisted tenderness stroked Yegyeol’s chin, then slid down to press his angry nipples.

“In the meantime, I will make sure these grow to match.”

At the man’s whisper, Yegyeol could only nod.

Bowing his head, Haryang fastened his mouth over his disciple’s chest and drew deep. Rolling the bumpy tip upon his tongue, he thrilled again at the sweet flesh.

Yegyeol clutched Haryang’s head close, moaning as he threw his own back. His senior brother’s mouth was like a damp cave. With no path outward, held fast, Yegyeol twitched and slowly moved his hips.

“Mmnn…”

Try as he might to move with leisure, he remained tense. Should his strength fail and he drop, he would be impaled and immobilized as when they first changed positions.

If that happened again, it felt absurdly as though his heart might leap from his mouth.

The sound of his nipple being drawn in was indecently clear, to say nothing of the wet friction below.

Long hair tangled between his fingers. If only he could pull it, lift the face, and kiss him.

‘If only not for the blindfold.’

Even amid this excess, it felt insufficient. The greedy esper bit his lower lip and took his guide deeper.

“Uht, hnn. Mmm…”

Clumsy as his grinding was, the breath that whistled at his nose tip said how keenly Yegyeol was feeling it — like a student who had just learned what pleasure was, he applied himself.

Compared to when Haryang moved, it was but child’s play; and yet, the sight of Yegyeol moving his own hips was provocative.

“Ah, ah, ah!”

Haryang slid his hand along the arch of Yegyeol’s back.

A bead of liquid, sweat or tear hanging from his jaw, gleamed. Haryang almost pressed a kiss there, then paused, pushing his disciple’s shoulders and sending him toppling to the bed.

With panting breath, Yegyeol’s chest rose and fell.

Feeling his back meet the mattress, worry and anticipation crossed his face.

Haryang drew his hips back. Sensing the invader that had ravaged his tight place finally retreat, Yegyeol’s body loosened by reflex.

But it was a feint.

With only the glans hooked within, Haryang braced his hands on his disciple’s shoulders, and the shaft that had nearly slipped free drove in to the deepest place in a single thrust.

“Hh… ah…!”

Yegyeol’s mouth fell open, oblivious even to the drool that slid from it. He was dizzy. His overworked, swollen inner walls received his senior brother’s member more sensitively than before.

The friction, repeated with ruthless focus on the peak, was rough to the extreme.

“S— ngh, senior…! Senior brother.”

Panting at the heat that churned his chest, Yegyeol thought,

‘Haryang, Je Haryang…’

Realizing he had reached his true limit, he raised one arm and bit his own hand-back. With the gag taken, he would try to endure like this.

But Haryang would not let it pass.

“Tch, again…”

Letting out a long groan, the man pulled Yegyeol’s hand away and laced their fingers.

The red tooth-marks on the back of his hand were pitiful. It pained him that his disciple would harm even his own flesh to hold back.

He was giving everything his disciple desired, sating his hunger with his whole body — why did he keep trying to endure?

Haryang pressed his lips to the back of Yegyeol’s hand and murmured,

“Before a bad habit takes root, I will cure it.”