TSBIRBV Ch 120(NSFW)

Chapter 120 More Than a Drama (8)(NSFW)

“Here? You mean here?”

The slow, almost incredulous reply sounded like someone reacting to the most preposterous suggestion.

Yegyeol nodded, looking tense. But in truth, he knew—Haryang would grant whatever he asked.

Every moment of his life, Yegyeol chased only his Senior Brother, and he could not help but sense that Haryang’s devotion was somehow warped. What sect, after all, had a bond between senior and junior that looked like this?

Haryang tended to Yegyeol, a man well past the age of ceremony, as if he were a much younger sibling. Because of the injuries from their reunion, perhaps, he nursed him like a family member confined to bed—feeding him, clothing him, seeing to his every need.

At times it felt almost parental, like a father or mother doting on a newborn. But it wasn’t pure, one-sided affection; it was shot through with obsession and possessiveness.

While living in the Qinghai estate, Yegyeol barely spoke three sentences a day to anyone besides Samrang, Jin-yeong, and Hongye. And even then, it was mostly one-sided commands. Just as he grew accustomed, servants would be replaced, companions shifted.

Like a tree pruned bare, no human relationships remained around him.

Someone arranged this deliberately.

His Senior Brother, perhaps. Or Je Haryang. Or… his Guide.

Before returning from Kunlun, he had been too consumed with survival to notice. After, too busy scheming to pounce on Senior Brother. But he was not blind—he understood the shape of the cage around him.

And that conclusion… made him happy.

He hadn’t been cast away for being a nuisance. He had been hidden away, spirited off, because that obsession and possessiveness could not be restrained.

“I… kept thinking of it. Every time my body grew hot.”

His lips dry, he licked them and whispered:

“And as the Black Ghost once said… I realized only recently that I can no longer be satisfied with the front alone.”

He had even shared physical contact with Haryang in his true form. Just recalling those hands stroking him under the guise of helping him masturbate sent a chill down his spine.

The events in Hangzhou, the truths he had confessed, had surely softened his defenses.

So, just a little more. Just a little further, push him.

“Should I cover my eyes?”

Fumbling with the sash of his disheveled robe, Yegyeol bound his own eyes. The knot was loose, clumsy, but that wasn’t the important part.

“I’ll hold my voice back, too.”

He turned toward where the Black Ghost must be.

By now, some reaction should have come. But there was only silence.

“Black Ghost? You’re still there, aren’t you?”

Unable to sense a presence, he stretched out his hand uncertainly, leaning forward.

He wavered on the table’s edge but deliberately didn’t steady himself. Just as he was about to topple, his fingertips brushed against a firm chest.

Yegyeol collapsed into that embrace as though powerless, then carefully circled his arms around the man’s neck, murmuring faintly:

“…Thank goodness. You didn’t leave.”

Above his head came a sound—ah, almost like a sigh.

At first he thought he’d made the sound himself. But then, strong arms crushed him close. Startled, he lifted his face from that chest—only for Haryang to seize his jaw and crush their lips together.

“Mmph…!”

The kiss devoured every breath, counting them one by one. It wasn’t gentle—no one could call it that. Yet the sweetness with which Haryang drank in his gasps vibrated through their joined flesh. Yegyeol forgot even to breathe through his nose, panting. When he tried to pull away, his lips were bitten, parted, and a tongue invaded, chasing, claiming.

There was no room to resist. Yegyeol surrendered his body fully, clinging to Haryang’s neck as though begging to be taken further.

He knew exactly where this fire had begun, and yet, somehow, he didn’t know at all.

If he thought simply, it was nothing but pent-up desire. But deeper down, he knew better.

His heart thrilled because the young lord who had once abandoned him in Hangzhou had, in truth, had reasons. He hadn’t forgotten him. He had withdrawn only to protect him from threats in the dark.

Even in that life, when he had been helpless, powerless, Yegyeol had never truly been forsaken by Haryang.

When reborn, even with blood relatives, he had always feared being left alone. He had thought—if only he proved useful, he would not be cast away. That was why awakening as an Esper had felt like salvation. It had only widened the rift with his parents.

Even after entering the Center, it was the same. Other Espers told the cynical boy he would change once he found a Guide.

A Guide? As if.

He had scoffed. But truly, once he met his Guide, everything changed.

Because his Guide… was Je Haryang.

The tenderness from his first life had never left. After twenty years, Je Haryang had still recognized him in a single glance, drawing even the most suspicious, guarded Yegyeol into his embrace again.

The wick he thought extinguished had still carried embers. And Haryang, who had guarded even that faint spark, was unbearably precious to him.

Waiting for the living and waiting for the dead are worlds apart.

No book had told him this truth, yet fate itself had pointed to Je Haryang at every turn.

Senior Brother had always waited for his young disciple.

“Do you prefer tenderness?”

Breaking from his lips, the man asked between ragged breaths. Yegyeol pressed awkwardly against his chest, lips sealed.

“…I don’t know.”

“Roughness, then?”

The man, gripping his face, lifted his chin to force his answer. The air itself said: to say no would be wrong.

Yegyeol suppressed the smile tugging at his lips.

“Hh… Just… I just hate being tormented.”

The rough grip on his cheek released.

“Ha… where do you find these words…”

Haryang—his voice as the Black Ghost—laughed. Not warmly, but with a chill that made Yegyeol’s belly tighten.

“I’ve made a grave mistake.”

Grasping his ankle, he drew him close, fingers plunging into his soaked depths. The rear entrance, already trained by his practice, sucked them in greedily.

The fingers withdrew, replaced by a blunt thickness pressing against his entrance. Before he could steel his mind, the heavy column drove deep inside.

Yegyeol opened his mouth, unable to even cry out. His voice, caught, filled his mouth like a tide.

“And here I was asking whether you liked it gentle or rough, when your body’s already spread wide, ripe and eager.”

Only after thrusting fully in did Haryang murmur this. The inner walls, already loosened, clutched and chewed at the invader hungrily. Each deeper probe forced Yegyeol’s lips further apart.

On impulse, Haryang slid his fingers into that gaping mouth. The reddened tongue, like ripe fruit, welcomed him—licking, sucking, begging like a starving beast.

Haryang drew a deep breath.

If this continued, he would truly lose control and ruin him. Yegyeol wasn’t the only one who had suffered from pent-up need during their long absence from Sichuan.

Pulling his fingers free, he circled Yegyeol’s waist, lifting him slightly.

If he took him flat against the table, those tender flesh would bruise purple. The marks would vanish in minutes, but still—Haryang would not treat him roughly.

“Nh—!”

The Black Ghost pulled back, then rammed in again, hard. Yegyeol cried out, pinned in both his hands.

On a bed, he would at least be pushed back. Here, suspended, he had no choice but to absorb every bit of force. It didn’t hurt, but it felt as though he were being split in two.

Half his body dangled in the air, leaving only Haryang to cling to. His fingers dug into flesh, veins throbbing beneath his palms.

Each thrust made his insides blaze. The thick shaft struck at his weakest point, heightening sensation. Every time he twitched, tightening around him, he heard his Senior Brother’s moans by his ear.

His thoughts crumbled. Tears streamed as he sobbed aloud.

No amount of liquor had ever made him drunk. Yet this rising ecstasy tore through his reason, incinerated his restraint, crushed his will.

Haryang never meant to break him—yet he shattered Yegyeol effortlessly.