TSBIRBV Ch 210(NSFW)

Chapter 210. Revelation (5) (NSFW)

Even the blunt weight brushing against his entrance sent a chill racing up Yegyeol’s spine.

“Up… or down…”

His lips trembled as he wondered whether to lower himself fully or to draw out the torment a little longer. But then Haryang reached, gripped his waist, and pulled him down.

“Ah—ahhh… ah…!”

The thick intrusion, pushing through unprepared flesh, forced his mouth wide open. Haryang licked his lower lip as he savored the sight of his disciple astride him like a rider on a horse, his head falling slowly back.

Sharp cries hovered just at the brink of spilling free, only to splinter apart into broken gasps. The thighs locking him in trembled like a newborn fawn’s legs. Even the curled toes glowed faintly red.

Not a single part of him failed to be beautiful. The way that tight passage clamped down, threatening to wring him dry, sent a bone-deep satisfaction through Haryang’s body.

A languid breath escaped his lips.

“Hhh… haa…”

Yegyeol fumbled against his lower abdomen with restless hands, his body so tense he hardly knew where to place his strength. Where he should have loosened, he clenched; where he wanted to hold tight, his fingers curled uselessly like a mimosa.

But at last he forced his hands open, braced against Haryang’s body, and drew in breath.

“I… I’ll eat well…”

Completing the promise he had stammered earlier, he began to move his hips slowly.

Knees bent, he lifted and lowered himself, and each time the thick shaft sank deeper, then drew back out. The resistance soon gave way, and his body began to yield, to take his senior brother in.

“Haa…”

His lowered lashes cast dusky shadows over flushed cheeks.

Rising and sinking was no easy feat. Gravity bore down heavier than ever, dragging him toward the base. If he sat too far, he feared he would collapse entirely. But if he held himself up too long, he would be trapped in that half-finished pleasure until tears streamed down his face.

A bead of sweat trailed down his spine. Through blurred vision he caught Haryang’s face—his senior brother gazing up at him with hungry eyes.

The serene, noble figure he remembered was gone. The man who once kept him awake at night with the thought of how to topple him, now lay beneath him, letting Yegyeol move on top.

“Huuh… hhh…”

The room filled with his moans, mingled now with the wet, lewd sounds of their bodies meeting.

Clumsy as the rhythm was, speed gathered little by little. The youth who once blinked uncertainly now rocked his hips with growing ease, his movements steeped in sultry allure.

Without knowing what such pleasure meant, it should have been only pain. Yet Haryang watched, eyes burning, as his disciple devoured him.

He longed to seize him—flip him onto the bed, pin those trembling shoulders beneath his palms, and pound into him from behind. To turn his face half to the side and lap at the tears clinging to his lashes.

But.

This too was a sight worth treasuring.

“Ah, ahhh…!”

Lost in his greedy motions, Yegyeol cried out when Haryang’s grip crushed into his waist, searing hot as though it burned.

All the man did was keep him steady, holding him back from collapsing entirely. Yegyeol still led the act, riding and moving his hips.

But his senior brother’s hands pinned him at just the right place—forcing every movement to grind that shaft against his deepest spot. Yegyeol’s eyes grew wet.

Tears brimmed, clinging precariously without falling. Haryang’s smile bent sweetly as he watched.

And Yegyeol broke apart.

“Ahh—ahhh! Aahhh!”

He faltered, bowed his head, tried to ride out the cresting wave. But whenever he reached for the peak, it slipped away again.

His open mouth showed flashes of his dark throat as cries tore loose and vanished. Haryang ached to devour it whole.

The disciple who had always wept so sweetly whenever he was swallowed—just recalling it filled him with ravenous hunger.

“G…good, so good… Senior Brother, Senior Brother…”

Stubborn as ever, Yegyeol clung to that title of brothers-in-dharma.

Haryang did not care what he called him, as long as he never left his arms.

“Ahh, ahh—ahh!”

His vision went white. His body nearly gave out backward, but strong hands caught him.

He thought he had spilled across Haryang’s chest, but his cock still stood hard, throbbing.

The dizziness was of another kind now. A choked animal sound caught in his throat, too shameful to release.

Haryang’s lips curved faintly, chilling in their sweetness.

“Good boy.”

As the man rose slowly, it was like a mountain unfurling to its full height.

Shuddering, still trembling from climax, Yegyeol could not resist when those hands pressed him down onto his back.

“You held yourself back so your elder brother could have his turn. How dutiful.”

And still, the shadow of a ravenous beast fell over him.

“Were you very tired?”

Blinking drowsily as Haryang dried his hair, Yegyeol jolted awake at the question.

“Ah—haaam…”

He yawned without even covering his mouth, then glared when he found himself being watched. His senior brother only tousled his hair fondly.

“No… it’s just, I feel so satisfied, my body’s gone limp.”

When guiding overflowed, sleep always came heavy, like a beast after feasting. So after their coupling, he had dozed right through while Haryang massaged him, washed him, and even dried him.

He could not even recall leaving the bath, yet now there was no trace of dampness on his skin. His hair was soft and dry, his clothes changed fresh.

All thanks to Haryang’s care.

But tonight, Yegyeol’s eyes lit up as he stared at his hair.

He had long coveted it—not to cut and keep, but to dry and comb, as his senior brother had always done for him.

“Senior Brother, your hair.”

“Hm?”

Having dried his own hair with a single flick of energy, Haryang turned to him. Yegyeol wilted quietly, his small dream ended before it began.

“Why… why do you carefully dry mine, but finish your own in an instant?”

“It’s too long to bother.”

Usually sharp, he was dull in matters like this.

Not wanting to show his disappointment, Yegyeol quickly seized on another thought.

“What’s a Magun?”

“Magun?”

His senior brother’s eyes narrowed.

“Where did you hear that?”

“On the way back to Qinghyeong Hall. I ran into someone called the Lord of the Golden Clan—he kept going on about betrayal and Magun this, Magun that…”

Yegyeol had been wandering after scrubbing the Demon Sect clean with Samrang’s help, when he found Geum-ya waiting, clearly lying in wait.

Rather than repeat the insults hurled at him, which had sounded scripted, like words meant to be overheard, he tattled instead on the way Geum-ya had slandered Jinyoung.

“In the Demon Sect, the Magun… mm, you could think of them as candidates for heir apparent.”

So—a candidate for the candidate?

“Originally, there was no such thing. But over generations, as the Eight Great Demon Clans grew powerful, each nominated a representative, and they became known as the Eight Magun.”

A demonic version of hereditary privilege?

Yegyeol scoffed inwardly. Even here, humanity was humanity.

“Each clan had secret techniques, which they refined to suit their heirs. So the Eight Magun grew strong. You might call it the Demon Sect’s version of the Dragon-Tiger Assembly.”

That assembly gathered only the most brilliant talents of the orthodox world. Clearly, the Eight Magun were no pampered weaklings.

“Were they difficult for you too, Senior Brother?”

It was the kind of childish question one might ask about dinosaurs or robots. His eyes shone, eager for self-praise.

“…Hm. My opponent was the Sect Leader.”

But Haryang only answered in that mild, matter-of-fact tone, as though greatness was too natural to remark upon.

No arrogance, no boast—just calm.

Come to think of it… he’s never had a rival in his life.

It was infuriating—and awe-inspiring.

“I see.”

His disciple nodded, looking too adorable. Haryang ruffled the hair he had just dried and drew him close.

The lamps in the room flickered out with a casual wave of his hand.

“By the way. From tomorrow, we’ll move chambers.”

“…Eh?”

“Qinghyeong Hall is too old. It’s time for reconstruction.”

Old?

Yegyeol’s gaze darted around. The hall was not only intact, but grand and resplendent.

Well… if he wants to change it, then let him.

Settling in his embrace, he rested his head on the arm Haryang offered without asking.

“Besides, I have a promise to keep.”

“…Promise?”

Haryang looked faintly puzzled.

“I told you I would bring you a snowy mountain.”

Yegyeol blinked. He had begged to see Kunlun’s peaks—just to cover another request. And he meant to do it for real?

“I even brought the tree you asked for.”

“…You did?”

From the heart of Kunlun itself? The image of his former master staring in horror at his ruined courtyard nearly made him laugh.

And to think his own revered senior brother would be his accomplice.

Master Baekyang had always scolded his disciples to emulate Haryang’s diligence, his uprightness, his focus. To think it was Haryang who had ripped up a tree from the front yard—he would have fumed until he fainted.

Ha. I wanted to burn that tree every time it drank the meltwater of the eternal snow.

Trying not to look too pleased, Yegyeol found his head already being stroked again.

“I’ll be rearranging the formation linking the courtyard and the chambers. Until then, be cautious. Misplaced, you could be trapped inside.”

“Yes.”

Yegyeol nodded obediently.

To stumble into the Heavenly Demon’s formation was no way to die prettily. He only wanted to live forever at his guide’s side, like a fox with his rabbit, like a deer beside its mate.

Closing his eyes, he let himself drift. A good Esper knew when to sleep, to gather strength for tomorrow’s cleansing of the past.

As drowsiness wrapped him, Haryang’s voice teased at his ear.

“So… have you chosen the wood for our new bed?”

“…I hate you.”

His feeble thumps against Haryang’s chest drew only a low, amused laugh.