TSBIRBV Ch 185(NSFW)

Chapter 185. Pillow-Side Litigation (12) (NSFW)

The Heavenly Demon’s dwelling, Qinghyeong Hall, was wrapped in a faint veil of mist.

A deadly formation—one that would drag any intruder to their death with a single misstep—was active. Since the day Haryang became Heavenly Demon, it had never once been set into motion. Now, hidden mechanisms long dormant stirred to life, and the shadow guards of the Muyoung Unit, his personal elite, encircled Qinghyeong Hall.

It was, even within the Hundred-Thousand Mountains, a fortress within a fortress. Yet never until now had its defenses been fully awakened.

“No one may enter…”

Clad in different robes than when he had left his disciple, Haryang crossed through the array.

“…and no one may leave.”

Truthfully, it was the latter function that he desired.

Beyond the mist, faint silhouettes clawed toward him, mouths open in soundless cries. He neither turned his head nor lent them an ear.

At last, when he had crossed every line of the array, the leader of the Muyoung Unit appeared and fell to his knees before him.

“Is the guest well?”

[Yes.]

The answer came through transmitted sound. These shadows concealed not only their faces but even their voices from all save their master.

“Any attempt at escape?”

He could have shackled his disciple with anklets forged from ice-tempered iron, but they would have been far too heavy. Instead, Haryang bound Yegyeol’s wrists with celestial silkworm thread, impossible for one without martial skill to break. Even the Thunder Lizard Net that Yegyeol had once raised was now under Samrang’s safekeeping.

Yet Haryang remembered well his disciple’s occasional flashes of troublesome cleverness.

[He has made no attempt to leave.]

Lowering his eyes, Haryang sank into thought. Ever since Yegyeol had learned the truth of who he was, the boy had grown unnervingly docile. He wondered if it was from sheer terror. The thought left a bitter taste.

“Foolish one.”

The man smiled wryly. If one hand was seized, the other must be let go. He had chosen to have Yegyeol wholly—he could not flinch from the cost of that choice.

[There were… sounds of weeping.]

The shadow guard spoke with unusual detail. Normally, such reports of prisoners were too common to warrant mention. But their lord’s sharp attention made silence seem a worse choice.

“I see.”

Haryang nodded and strode on, his pace quickening. The thought of his disciple weeping set his chest ablaze with urgency.

“Yegyeol.”

At the thin paper door, he halted. Beyond, as had been reported, a faint sobbing leaked through. His heart plunged. He nearly flung the door open at once, but hesitated.

“…He is weeping indeed, but this sound—”

There was an edge to it. A color within the sobbing. Haryang tore the door wide.

Through the veil of silk drapes, he saw the silhouette of his disciple, hunched over like a man in pain. With no reason left to pause, he swept the curtain aside.

There, upon the bed, Yegyeol lay collapsed.

The bit gag was askew, his garments ridden up, pale skin bared in fragments. His legs rubbed together feverishly, his flushed face awash in tears, his body writhing with shame and need.

The truth was obvious: he had tried and failed to soothe his own torment until his sobs broke loose.

“…Ah.”

The sound slipped from Haryang’s throat. At it, his drenched disciple raised his eyes, gaze muddied with anguish and plea. The sight of it was dizzying—half accusation, half desperate entreaty.

Haryang, for once, was unsettled.

“Why…?”

He had given him no drug. There had been no need. Yegyeol, without such artifices, wept readily enough. Why burden him further?

Then it struck him—Yegyeol’s old visits to the Black Ghost, compelled by the aftereffects of Tang Seoak’s wicked drug. The necessity of periodic release. Haryang had nearly forgotten, their near-daily intimacy had so long kept it at bay.

“Yegyeol, Yegyeol.”

He stripped away the gag. The cloth was soaked with saliva. Reaching for the silken cords to free him fully, he had scarcely loosened them when Yegyeol surged forward, climbing onto him with frantic strength.

When Tang Seoak’s aphrodisiac had once enslaved him, the boy had been pinned down by its crushing weight, barely able to twitch. But now his body was strangely light—and before him was the inexhaustible wellspring of Guiding he craved.

With bound hands, Yegyeol tore at his sash. Haryang, meaning at first to restrain him, stilled instead, watching.

“Ah… ahhh…”

In ragged urgency, Yegyeol ripped away the outer robe and dragged down his trousers, seizing the half-hardened length within with both bound hands. It mattered little that his wrists were still tied—his desperation made him heedless of such things.

His thirst had been clawing at him since he had awakened. Now, at last, the source was here.

“…Mmph.”

With a moan, he pressed his lips to the swollen tip, fumbling to keep his teeth sheathed even as his half-fogged mind trembled. It was not yet fully engorged, yet already too thick for his mouth.

“Mmgh… mmm…”

Sloppy, wet sounds filled the air as saliva spilled down his chin. He could not stop. The heat in him was unbearable, threatening to unhinge his mind—yet at the perfect moment, Haryang had returned.

Cold—that was what he felt. Though truly, it was only the searing fire of his Senior Brother’s presence, so intense it burned chill. Still, Yegyeol clung to it with gratitude.

Bit by bit, the shaft filled his mouth to the brim. He bobbed his head, coaxing reaction from the man above him. He saw Haryang’s face twist, and took it as triumph—proof that his effort was felt.

“Good…”

It meant he was enduring.

Haryang’s hand slid into his hair, trembling with the fragility of the head beneath. He fought to keep himself still, denying the urge to thrust. Yet even his restraint could not mute the groan that tore from him.

Yegyeol was clumsy—panting, scraping with teeth, gagging when the tip brushed his throat. But the blend of pain and pleasure it wrought only urged Haryang deeper into ruin.

Each gulp, each wet suck dragged thin fluid into Yegyeol’s mouth, and he swallowed greedily. His body quivered with each surge of Guiding that washed over him from his Senior Brother’s pleasure.

Tears pricked his eyes, his jaw aching. Yet he refused to stop. Perhaps he sought escape in this fever, surrendering himself wholly to it.

“So what if he is Heavenly Demon?”

A tear slipped down his cheek. He had accepted him even as an outcast, even as a fiend. What difference did this title make now?

He remembered the wretched manuals of the Espers, which said an Esper’s laws were always reshaped around their Guide. Haryang was his savior, his Guide. For him, Yegyeol would change anything—reason, morals, the world itself.

“Yegyeol… nghhh…”

Haryang groaned low, his hand pushing gently to draw him away. But Yegyeol clamped down, refusing to release him.

“…Enough. Enough—”

Yet he wanted only one thing: Je Haryang. That had never changed. If his Senior Brother claimed him, then he would bind him in return, make it so he could never be abandoned.

Hate me if you must. But never leave.

Relentless, desperate, he pushed Haryang over the edge.

“—Khuhhh!”

With a strangled cry, the man climaxed in his throat. Bitter seed struck his palate, filling his mouth. Coughing, choking, still Yegyeol swallowed it down, savoring.

His lips wet with it, he licked them clean. At once Haryang seized him, kissing him hard.

“…hhuuuh…”

Yegyeol trembled beneath the kiss. The taste still lingered, thick and bitter. But Haryang devoured him regardless, eyes glazed, feral. It was a good sign. It meant he too was losing reason.

With bound arms, Yegyeol wound his hands about his Senior Brother’s neck. Thinking it mere reflex, Haryang gave no mind. But Yegyeol, lips locked to his, lifted his hips—then sank down.

“…Ahhh.”

His entrance, slick and yearning, swallowed the rigid length whole. He had no time to prepare; it should have torn, should have bled. Yet the Esper’s body, long trained to crave this touch, took him in with hungry ease.

The ache of stretching was drowned beneath the fullness that pressed deep within, pushing against his belly.

“Yegyeol—!”

Haryang cried his name, stunned. But Yegyeol only bit his lip, silencing him with a kiss, and tightened around him like a serpent.

“…Hold me. Please… hold me…”

With a dazed smile, he whispered it, pressing a kiss to his Senior Brother’s wrist before resting his cheek there.

“…Black Ghost.”

He knew well how to stoke the fire.