TSBIRBV Ch 209(NSFW)

Chapter 209. Revelation (4)(NSFW)

The tongue that pushed into his lips was scorching.

As Yegyeol explored the inside of Haryang’s mouth, his fingers slipped through the man’s hair. Though it never seemed especially tended, the black strands were smooth, sliding silkily through his hand.

He felt Haryang’s body lean as the man embraced him closer. Tilting his head, Yegyeol drew at those lips, pulling a low groan from his senior brother’s throat.

Compared to the center sunbaes who could tie ribbons with a cherry stem just using their tongues, his own skill was nothing much. He had been taught too often that the greatest dowry an Esper could offer his Guide was chastity, and his aversion to contact had long since ended any attempt at romance.

But Je Haryang—this man swayed as though struck by some peerless temptress, even beneath Yegyeol’s clumsy kiss. And because it was so absurdly delightful to see, Yegyeol could not resist toying with him further.

So really, this is all Senior Brother’s fault.

Heat simmered in his head, and the coolness of the arms holding him only made him crave more contact. When he cracked his eyes open just a sliver, Haryang’s face was too close. The slightly parted lips, as if on the verge of speaking—what a sight.

No, simply put—Yegyeol wanted to push him down. It had become a daily impulse.

He had already seen everything there was to see; retreating now out of shame would only be a loss.

Cool fingers brushed his earlobe. The man who had quietly received his kiss now pressed closer, sharing his breath in earnest.

And all this, without even joining their bodies—how could it feel so good?

Half-dreaming, Yegyeol’s thoughts stumbled. The arms around his back were sturdy as timber; when those hands grazed the nape of his neck, he shivered and drew in, but no mere chill could break the kiss.

Haryang poured all the affection he held into him without reserve.

Hair falling loose, he was trapped beneath it, staring up at the man looming like a beast above him. In those blurred, hazy eyes there was only Je Haryang.

Even as their tongues tangled and pulled, his gaze did not waver.

Drunk on the endless flow of guiding, Yegyeol felt as though he drifted alone on a vast sea—waiting for one man, only one, forever.

Perhaps that was why he had never been able to settle with any Guide. Even without past-life memories, he must have been yearning for the man he could never truly have.

“Haa…”

At last, when Yegyeol broke the kiss, a languid sigh slipped from Haryang’s lips. He brushed a flushed cheek with his thumb.

“Shall we wash?”

“…Later.”

Reaching with both hands, Yegyeol tugged open his senior brother’s collar. The rare, shadowed smile that followed was indulgent as he let his disciple burrow against his chest, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Just don’t overdo it.”

It sounded like a gentle restraint, but in truth it was an invitation. Yegyeol caught on at once and smirked wickedly.

“You’re not telling me to stop.”

“Our Gyeol is all grown now.”

Drawing the wandering hand up, Haryang pressed his lips to each knuckle.

It reminded him of the day long ago when little Yegyeol’s tiny hand had tugged him out of an alley. The hands were larger now, but still small. Perhaps that was why—no matter how much he devoured, it never seemed enough.

“How could I deny a man’s decision to act?”

The teasing words carried thick temptation.

“Don’t regret saying that.”

In an instant, Yegyeol flipped their positions, pressing Haryang down beneath him.

The Heavenly Demon moved like paper, yielding to every tug and push, as though even the slightest force might harm his disciple.

“Never.”

Yegyeol pressed a firm kiss to his lips, then slid down. To his jaw, to his throat, over the collarbone.

His fingers worked at the sash with ease now; he knew Haryang’s clothes and knots by heart.

When his lips reached his chest, he nipped lightly.

“It tickles. Like a kitten playing.”

Haryang chuckled.

“Really? But kittens can’t do this…”

With a flick of his finger, Yegyeol teased the peak of his chest, then licked his lips. He had covered this skin with bite marks only the night before, and though they had faded, he eagerly filled in the spaces once more, like coloring between lines.

He kneaded the firm flesh as though it were some tactile game, addictive beneath his hands.

But he was not selfish; perched astride Haryang, he began to roll his hips slowly. He had deliberately seated himself on that half-risen length, and now he could feel it harden swiftly beneath him.

Watching the man’s composed face falter into flashes of strain was delicious.

I’d love to put him in a t-shirt.

He’d probably even hold up the hem with his teeth if asked.

Biting back that indecent thought, Yegyeol’s hand trailed downward. He had only meant to toy lightly before washing, but seriousness crept in.

He licked his lower lip. Haryang’s gaze darkened, clouding with each breath.

Though Yegyeol had not taken him inside, the sight of his flushed disciple straddling him, moving against him, burned Haryang’s mind white.

Even with his clothes still on, that reddened face stirred dangerous thoughts, as if he alone were aflame with desire.

“…Tormenting me, without even granting permission.”

He cast him a sidelong look.

“How cruel.”

Yegyeol blinked, startled.

A sulking senior brother? He had never imagined such a thing.

“But…”

He stammered, dazed by the unfamiliar sight.

“They say it’s bad to push too often…”

His words were clipped, missing their subject, but Haryang caught the meaning.

He had been warned countless times in the Esper Center— If you burden your Guide too much, you’ll end up in separate rooms. Cling without rest, and you’ll spend your life in lonely beds.

Playing honeymoon in the heart of the Demon Sect, he had only now remembered.

Even he, an Esper, sometimes felt his body strain. How much worse for Haryang, who lacked the gift of guiding to replenish himself? If his senior brother grew weary of a disciple too hungry, it would be ruin.

So, with bitter resolve, Yegyeol decided: he would cut back.

Instead, I’ll just touch him more.

He would never stop clinging, but compromise was possible.

“And who’s tormenting whom?”

Haryang’s laugh was incredulous.

“…Me? To you?”

His expression turned foolishly blank.

“You really are tormenting me.”

“I should have realized sooner…”

As Yegyeol began to draw back, Haryang seized his wrist.

“You sit astride me, grinding your hips, and pretend innocence? If that’s not torment, what is?”

He dragged that hand down, pressing it firmly to his hardened length.

“You drive me mad with need, and won’t grant release?”

Feeling the heat and stiffness beneath his palm, Yegyeol blinked wide.

“Ah… I…”

Color flared to his cheeks.

In his last life, he had not saved a nation—only this man. And yet he had gained a Guide so extraordinary that only generations of virtue should have earned it. If the Center seniors knew, they would gnash their teeth in envy.

“I want your permission.”

Moving his hand to his waist, he began to tug at his own belt. But before he could even untie it, Haryang seized his clothes and tore them apart.

The rip rang loud, indecent.

Yegyeol stared, aghast.

The fabric had been the sort of silk worth its weight in gold, and he had torn it as if it were cotton candy.

“Did you like that robe?”

“…No.”

His answer was breathless as cold hands slid over his bared skin.

“Next time, I’ll have one made in red. It would suit you well.”

The murmur was half to himself, as his fingers traced his disciple’s slim waist.

“…Or perhaps, is it excess indulgence that keeps you from gaining weight? Tell me.”

“Why?”

Yegyeol blurted, suddenly anxious. Had he carelessly revealed a weakness?

“I thought perhaps your words were born of strain. If so, I must restrain my greed.”

That deepened gaze made him click his tongue. He liked being thought fragile—but not if it meant this.

Grabbing at Haryang’s robe, Yegyeol bared the man’s rigid length. The tip glistened already, obscene. His mouth watered despite his protests.

Worry on his lips, but hardness below—clearly, his senior brother was not honest.

“Gyeol-ah…”

Haryang began to rise, but Yegyeol’s hand pressed him back down.

He had not used force, but the man stilled at once beneath him.

Looking down with a smile ripe as late summer fruit, Yegyeol gripped him, guiding the flushed head to his entrance.

“I’ll take more of you.”