TSBIRBV Ch 219(NSFW)

Chapter 219. Interlocking (2) (NSFW)

Yegyeol had always thought so.

It was not that he had become an Esper and thus Haryang his Guide, but that Haryang had been a Guide, and therefore he had been born an Esper.

“…A past life?”

Haryang’s eyes widened briefly, then returned to their usual calm.

“I know it sounds unbelievable. But—”

The moment their gazes met, the long-forgotten dread returned. Yegyeol’s heart plummeted.

What had he just said?

I must explain myself somehow…

Though he knew it would not be believed, the words had burst forth on impulse. If Haryang dismissed them, he could say it was merely a nightmare. That would suffice, that would…

As Yegyeol forced his trembling lips into steadiness to continue, he saw Haryang’s gaze soften.

“So that’s why. That’s why it took so long.”

The man murmured as though to himself.

“Step by step, you walked so diligently…”

What should he say?

Forgetting his words entirely, Yegyeol could only look down at Haryang’s smile.

Even in darkness, how could he fail to recognize that gentle expression?

It was not mockery. Not ridicule. Not the look one gives a madman. It was acceptance, as natural as one who hears of fine weather.

“You… believe this?”

His voice trembled with shock, and Haryang answered:

“I know that, had you lived, you would never have left this tearful, lonely Senior Brother all alone.”

There was not a hint of hesitation. Yegyeol was struck dumb.

In truth, he had never thought he could return. He had never considered it a possibility. At most, when reality became unbearable, he longed for Kunlun, and thought of Je Haryang.

“Do not cry.”

Haryang whispered as he brushed away the tears at Yegyeol’s eyes.

“If you must resent someone, resent me—for only now realizing it, far too late.”

“I won’t.”

Yegyeol leaned down over his face and murmured:

“I can’t.”

Breath to breath, their lips met. The kiss was hurried, the lips parched, but slowly grew wet. With each tilt of the head, their tongues brushed and sucked, and the taste of saliva was sweet as nectar.

The more he drank it in, the dizzier his head became.

His mind warred between the thought that this was but a lingering hallucination, and the undeniable vividness of reality. But no matter how unreal, who could deny the truth of so living a kiss?

“What thoughts weigh upon you so?”

Pulling away briefly, Haryang whispered. Yegyeol cupped his cheek lightly and muttered:

“That it may be a dream.”

He pressed their lips together again. A sting came as Haryang bit softly at his lower lip.

“That I may wake.”

With the tip of his tongue, Yegyeol wetted his lips, pressing again and drawing back.

“That you, too, will call me a liar.”

He shut his eyes at the smudged warmth of their joined mouths. Though it was nothing but clumsy kisses, he found himself short of breath.

“…And that in the end you’ll decide I’m a madman, and pull away.”

A low chuckle rose from the man beneath him. It climbed from the depths to the heights.

“Shameful it is, that this Senior Brother could not give you trust.”

Yegyeol opened his mouth to deny it.

“If mere delusion or mania were enough to make me let go, I would never have transplanted you here.”

Drawing Yegyeol’s hand into his own, Haryang laced their fingers gently, pressing kisses upon each joint.

“If you only spoke such words to escape, then seek another way.”

It was tender counsel, wholly sincere.

Haryang was no farmer, no gardener. The flower planted in his garden needed no replanting even should it wither or die—for the garden existed for that single bloom alone.

And in that gentle ruin, only Yegyeol was permitted. Thus his disciple’s fears sounded, to him, like childish innocence, though he knew they were born of desperation.

“…If you meant to cast me aside so easily, you would never have asked for me.”

Much later, with his head resting upon his chest, Yegyeol whispered this, and a satisfied smile spread across Haryang’s face.

The last of his tangled thoughts dissolved, leaving only a flushed desire.

Bending close, Yegyeol tugged the rest of his robes down. Haryang lifted himself slightly, and when their gazes met, he smiled with his eyes.

That upright, handsome face belied the hunger in his gaze, fixed on Yegyeol’s lips, on the nape and wrists revealed by slipping fabric. His parted lips, even silent, spoke thirst.

It was Yegyeol who had taught him what desire was.

Like ink drawn across blank paper.

Even had he not become Heavenly Demon, Haryang could never have returned to Kunlun.

Like a reckless beast, Yegyeol tore open his garments and bit at his chest. The marks would fade swiftly, but while they remained, they were a delight to see. His teeth traced down firm skin, claiming it piece by piece, lips brushing along the throat to the jaw.

Haryang, yielding, let his hands hang loose, only to caress slowly the waist of the young beast astride him.

Yegyeol raised himself briefly, then pressed his lips against his once more.

This kiss was rough, not from inexperience, but from the lingering edge of battle.

In part it was Haryang’s fault. Seeing his Senior Brother, passive and yielding, stirred within him a sadistic impulse. He longed to bruise those beautiful lips, to leave his mark.

“Ah.”

A sound escaped as Yegyeol’s hand pressed harder into his shoulder. Startled, he began to draw back, but the man only pulled him closer, teasing his mouth.

“Hhhn…”

A muffled moan slipped out.

Perhaps Haryang’s claim—that even if he were a monster, it mattered not—was no idle talk. For he was relentless as ever. And Yegyeol could not help but adore it.

“Haa…”

Haryang drank down even that breath. His hand pressed firmly against Yegyeol’s back, holding him down.

Without a sound, fabric tore, and cool air brushed his bared skin. Haryang’s palm, warm and gentle, stroked over it.

“Your eyes… they were beautiful.”

He murmured.

To call the eyes of a frenzied Esper beautiful—his Senior Brother was daring indeed.

“These?”

Half disbelieving, Yegyeol drew on his strength, but Haryang only brushed his fingers over his eyelids.

“Yes. Even as I feared you might be hurt…”

The touch tickled faintly, and Yegyeol blinked, lashes brushing against his fingertips. Haryang smiled faintly.

“…at the same time, I thought them beautiful.”

In that instant, Yegyeol could think of nothing. He was wholly ensnared.

“Ah.”

His gaze followed the fleeting trace of Haryang’s smile. When it vanished, his face seemed less cold than fierce, predatory.

The man encircling his waist rose slowly. His stature felt more daunting than ever, and Yegyeol, like prey, licked his dry lips.

Haryang cupped his chin, tilting his face upward.

It had been he who demanded to see more first, but now Yegyeol wondered if his ways might seem too wanton for a man of this age. He lowered his eyes slightly, but Haryang’s gaze pursued him relentlessly.

Wherever that gaze touched, heat followed.

Haryang pressed his thumb gently to his swollen lips, then drew Yegyeol down against the bed. His hand cradled his head, careful lest it strike.

Something surged in Yegyeol’s chest.

Haryang knew him as a monster who hurled lightning unknown to this age, yet to him Yegyeol was still the young disciple, his only beloved.

And he loved him all the more for it.

As his robe tore further, Yegyeol shrugged out of the sleeves like a shed skin.

When Haryang pressed his lips against the inner arm, Yegyeol embraced his head close. His Senior Brother, trailing down to his chest, took his nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking softly at the tender flesh.

A flood of guiding swept into him, insatiable.

Half consumed, half released, his heart pounded, his lungs swelled as if filled anew. Though he lacked nothing, he yearned still for more—because he was greedy.

Lifting his head at last, Haryang met Yegyeol’s eyes. Even as he tried to hide it, his body betrayed him—flushed to the fingertips, trembling.

His body, soaked in expectation, shed fragrance with every touch.

Even his reddened, tear-stained eyes made it plain: Haryang had become his joy.

“Grant me leave.”

Bending to kiss the knee raised above him, Haryang whispered. His gentle hand pressed at his thighs, as if to part them.

“Let me fill you…”

It was a whisper made to melt, shamelessly sweet.

Yegyeol looked into his face. Behind the guise of courtesy, his eyes burned with raw desire.

And at the end of that desire lay no one else but him.

Assured, Yegyeol answered not with words but by spreading his legs.

All patience ended there.