Snake Venom Ch 115

Chapter 115

Yeonwoo’s heat cycle lasted at most two days, at shortest a single day. The duration varied each time, yet seldom strayed from that pattern. This time, he had taken the booster suppressant early, making it highly likely the symptoms would pass swiftly. To prepare for any unforeseen situation, he had secured a generous three-day leave. And now, he stood alone before his home.

“…….”

He pressed a hand to the nape of his neck. It was hot. The temperature beneath his palm was unmistakable—he had timed it perfectly. When he opened the door, the sensor lights flared in response to the movement, briefly illuminating the interior. A familiar scent drifted out through the crack. Cheon Wooshin’s scent. Pausing at the threshold, Yeonwoo gripped the doorknob, unable to step inside, yet incapable of retreating either.

How long did he stand there, wavering? Before he realized it, the sensor lights clicked off again, and darkness filled the entryway.

“…….”

Yeonwoo blinked slowly. He knew that one’s senses heightened during heat, but that he would be frozen by scent alone—this was unexpected. He had merely stepped into another’s space, yet his heartbeat raced and every hair on his body prickled. Was it because he had grown fond of him? Or was it merely an instinctual response, driven by a primal urge to find a mate?

His temperature was steadily rising. When he exhaled, the breath that spilled into the air was markedly hotter. His feet remained rooted, yet he could hardly succumb to heat right there. Slowly, Yeonwoo stepped inside. His fingers fidgeted in his pocket. He touched his phone again and again—grasping, releasing, grasping—until finally he drew it out.

White fingertips hesitated over Cheon Wooshin’s name displayed on the screen. It was laughable, and pitiful, how he found himself overly conscious of him to the point of hesitating over a mere report of arrival. Yet more than that, he could not shake the thought that his reactions were still overly intense.

Had Wooshin not been poisoned by snake venom, they never would have become involved in the first place. It would not have been strange if they had gone their whole lives without ever meeting. Thus he must not entangle Wooshin in these feelings. This affection, born of an accidental bond, belonged to him alone. They were not even dating—there was no reason to be so anxious over sending a single message. With a sharp shake of his head, Yeonwoo finally sent it.

[I’ve arrived.]

The reply came almost immediately.

[That’s good. Contact me in the morning. Or sooner, if you like.]

Ah. There he goes again…

Recently, Cheon Wooshin had been teasing him far more often. With unpredictable shifts in tone, he toyed with Yeonwoo’s heart, lifting and dropping it without warning. It had become far too difficult to respond with his former composure, and the torment was real. Pressing his aching heart with his palm, Yeonwoo tapped out a response.

[I’ll contact you. Sleep well. Have good dreams.]

Hurriedly ending the conversation, Yeonwoo resumed walking.

The further he went inside, the stronger Wooshin’s scent became. Yeonwoo forced himself to ignore it—this scent that now stirred his heart more than his senses.

He turned on the lights in the hallway and then the living room, yet the silence remained undisturbed. He glanced around as though he were stepping into this home for the first time. Was the ceiling always this high? The living room felt wider than before. His gaze trailed across the sofa where they had sat, the dining table where they had shared meals, before dropping downward.

How much time had they truly spent together, that the absence felt so hollow? Yet even as he felt that emptiness, the scent enveloping the space only heightened his awareness of Wooshin, and that contradiction unsettled him.

Yeonwoo shook his head. This confusion would fade once the heat passed. Entering his room, he shut the door. Two days at most—if he endured that much, he could face Wooshin again as though nothing had happened.

**

When he opened his eyes, his vision trembled, blurred beyond clarity. How much time had passed? Abandoning the thought, Yeonwoo curled and rolled onto his back.

His hand, wandering near his lower abdomen, was already slick. He stared blankly, then reached down again, mechanically stroking himself. How many times had he spilled already? His memories were fragmented, broken into scattered pieces floating through his head. There was no point searching for the beginning—only meaningless scenes. Spreading his thighs, Yeonwoo stroked his swollen flesh up and down.

“Haa…”

Tears he had not noticed gathered and slid down the corner of his eyes. His head boiled, his lower body throbbed. Feeling the fever refuse to subside, Yeonwoo understood one thing clearly—this was not over. He would have to repeat the same act yet again. Swallowing a heavy knot of despair and agitation, he closed his eyes and focused downward.

With sight cut off, his hearing and touch sharpened fiercely. The sound of skin against skin, the sting of friction igniting nerves—his hips lifted instinctively. Toes curling, Yeonwoo trembled like someone cornered, breath hitching and breaking.

He tried not to think of Wooshin. He really tried. But the feel of a collar brushing his throat, the sharp jawline, the clean cuffs, the neat nails—his mind flooded with Wooshin regardless. He did not picture his face, yet everything was him.

His cock twitched, pulsing with the urge to release. Rolling onto his stomach, Yeonwoo pressed his face into the sheets. He lifted his hips and rubbed harder. His lower body trembled uncontrollably, unable to bear the stimulation.

Even as he struggled for breath, shame crawled over him. With what right was he thinking of him at all? Curling inward, Yeonwoo looked down. His damp hand was stroking the heated length frantically. A phantom overlapped before his eyes—thick fingers, a more imposing hand stroking him. Eyes tightly shut, Yeonwoo curled further, toes scrabbling at the sheets.

Just… faster…

But climax eluded him. The more impatient he grew, the more his hand slipped. Pressure built painfully, heat coiling like a fever beneath his skin. Panting, his hazy gaze drifted upward, then toward the desk. And there, he saw it—an object atop it. In that instant, the heat in his eyes blurred into something softer, wetter.

Wooshin’s clothing he had yet to return. He had told himself he hadn’t found the time, that he had missed the right moment—but the truth was he had left it there deliberately. The fabric held a trace of Wooshin’s scent, something raw, intimate, personal—unguarded. A body’s warmth woven into the threads.

Yeonwoo could not stop himself. His clouded gaze held nothing but desire. All his efforts to resist Wooshin’s image crumbled without sound.

He had wanted to keep it until Wooshin asked for it back. Pretend not to notice, hold onto it just a little longer.

Suddenly rising, he staggered toward the desk and clutched the garment like a lifeline. Pressing his face into it, he sank to his knees. And as expected, the scent flooded his lungs. It alone sent delirious pleasure ripping through his body.

“…haa, fuu…”

His hand moved rapidly. He barely stroked a few times before liquid spattered from his tip.

“Hhh…”

Shaking violently, he could not stop. No—he could not stop. The scent of Wooshin, the fabric in his grasp—it ignited a forbidden, unknown thrill across his nerves.

Yeonwoo clutched the dampened cloth tighter, breath hot against the fibers, and pumped harder. A tingling ache bloomed inside him, deep and needy. A place he had never touched, never allowed to be touched, pulsed as though expecting stimulation. The unfamiliar sensation only heightened his arousal. Rubbing his cheek into the cloth, he stifled a moan.

‘Don’t worry. I won’t do anything that hurts you.’

A remembered tenderness stroked his heart. Tears threatened again.

‘Should we kiss?’

“Hhh…”

He did not recall that night, yet Wooshin had undoubtedly been gentle. Without leaving a single wound, he had extinguished Yeonwoo’s burning frenzy. And now Yeonwoo was rutting again, consumed by desire for him. Ashamed, pathetic, and yet—his hand only grew faster. His body and heart, everything, rioted toward Wooshin.

“Mm—Team Leader…”

The forbidden title slipped from parted lips, and his strokes turned frantic. Breath broke, ears burning crimson.

“Team Leader… ahh…”

It was not enough. No matter how feverishly he stroked, something was missing. Only Wooshin’s scent could bridge that gap. Realizing that, wetness spilled again from his tip, pleasure and pain blurring as they shook him apart.

His thighs trembled violently. Toes curled tight against the floor, digging grooves into it. Heat-stained marks littered beneath him like scattered seals.

“Haa…!”

A ragged cry tore free as Yeonwoo collapsed forward, unable to move. Face buried in Wooshin’s clothing, his chest rose and fell wildly.