BW C134

Chapter 134

“Choi Hoeun…”

Even as he climaxed, Taemuk kept sliding in and out of that opening, unhurried and consuming. He licked Hoeun’s small face wherever he pleased — jaw, cheek, ear — even nibbling at times. Hoeun, limp and powerless, could do nothing but tremble faintly beneath pale eyelids.

Only after a long while did Taemuk finally finish — and for the first time since they began, he withdrew.

His long length took equally long to slide free. As it slipped out, Hoeun’s body twitched. After holding it inside so long, its departure felt like a piece of himself was being torn away. When the last of it escaped, the head popped free with a wet plup, like a bead bursting.

The emptied opening lingered wide for a heartbeat — then fluttered and tightened weakly. As it moved, the thick seed Taemuk had left deep inside began to ooze out.

“…”

Hoeun blinked sluggishly, vision blurring and clearing in turns.

Was it over? Could he rest? Sleep?

He breathed slowly, trying to gather himself — when suddenly Taemuk hooked an arm under his armpits and lifted him into his lap. And then, without pause, pressed the now-hardening length between his cheeks again.

The color drained from Hoeun’s face. His weak arms flailed to push Taemuk away.

“S-stop… no more…”

“We’re not done.”

Taemuk had no intention of stopping. Hoeun’s entrance was stubborn and tight — like its owner, sharp-tempered and unyielding. Softening it, ripening it until flushed — not easy. When would he get such a chance again? Tonight, he meant to see the very end of hunger — to drain every thirst and burn every want dry.

As he steadied Hoeun’s limp waist and poised the head once more at that tender opening—

Tick. Drop.

Something warm and wet struck Taemuk’s cheek.

He assumed it a tear. Or sweat. Or perhaps saliva. He wiped it absently with his fingers — intending to taste it — and froze.

His fingertips were stained red.

A color he knew too well.

Blood.

And it was fresh.

He stared, brow furrowing. Then slowly lifted his gaze.

Hoeun’s lower face — from nostril to lips to chin — was smeared in crimson.

“You…”

As Taemuk spoke, another thick line of blood slid from Hoeun’s nostril. Taemuk’s breath caught. Hoeun turned his head, covering his lower face, as if to hide it — whispering again:

“I’m f-fine… I’m fine…”

Reality returned to Taemuk like cold water. His brow knotted.

“Why the hell are you always ‘fine’?”

Hoeun overused that phrase as if it were charm or shield — fever? fine. Swollen ankle? fine. Now blood running from his nose? still fine. Taemuk hated that fine.

But Hoeun didn’t notice his displeasure — only trembled at Taemuk’s expression, repeating desperately,

“Truly, I’m… fine, ah…”

Halfway through, dizziness surged. His vision spun. He tried to brace his core — useless. His body tipped sideways, collapsing — and Taemuk caught him before he fell.

“S-sorry…”

His voice was faint.

“For what?”

“For… getting nosebleed…”

A short, disbelieving laugh left Taemuk’s chest. Apologizing for a nosebleed — one he didn’t even choose.

“Sorry…”

He murmured again. He had thought fleetingly about wanting to stop earlier — but ending like this left guilt and shame in its wake. He couldn’t look Taemuk in the eyes, gaze dropping as blood dripped steadily.

Taemuk said nothing — only pulled the blanket and pressed it to Hoeun’s face. Hoeun buried his nose in it, cheeks burning. Then, flustered nonsense tumbled out:

“I-if you’re still not satisfied, I can… use my mouth—”

“No.”

Taemuk cut him off sharply. The cold edge in his tone made Hoeun’s thin shoulders flinch. Sweat-slick moments before, they were now dried and trembling.

“…Are you angry?”

Hoeun’s timid question was met with Taemuk’s impassive stare.

“Do I look angry?”

“I… don’t know.”

Hoeun searched his eyes — dark, unreadable pools.

“I’m not.”

Taemuk shook his head — then pressed a long, steady kiss to Hoeun’s temple. Hoeun exhaled shakily in relief.

And then — as his guard slackened — the blood poured harder. It soaked the blanket in a heartbeat, dark spreading visible even on deep navy cloth. Seeing the sudden flood, Taemuk’s face sharpened with alarm.

“Did I do this?”

Had he struck him unknowingly? He had been heated — strength unchecked — and there were marks of his hands all over Hoeun’s delicate body. But striking that tiny nose…?

Hoeun formed a faint smile through the blood.

“No. You didn’t. I just… bleed sometimes when tired.”

“You get nosebleeds from being tired?”

“Yes.”

Taemuk blinked slowly. Then asked, genuine confusion shading his tone:

“Why are you tired?”

Not mockery — sincere question. Hoeun gave a thin laugh. Of course Taemuk wouldn’t understand. He had not tilled fields nor fought monsters. Yet to Hoeun, today had been long — archery, reading, and then this relentless coupling. Compared to his old life — stepping outside once every fortnight — this was exhausting.

But he couldn’t say that. Taemuk might laugh.

“I… did… this and that…”

Still unconvinced, Taemuk watched him. Hoeun, scrambling, added:

“Sometimes it just happens. My body is a bit… unusual. Doctors don’t know either.”

He meant to lighten the air. He smiled. Taemuk, however, muttered, annoyed:

“Finally found you and…”

Hoeun’s smile faded, slow and fragile. Found me — and I’m defective. Not fit for him. A useless iin who can’t even endure duty without bleeding.

His eyes dimmed. He dropped his gaze, hollow.

Then Taemuk, using the blanket, gently wiped the blood from Hoeun’s chin — murmuring again, low, almost to himself:

“You scare me…”

Hoeun’s eyes flew open wide.