BW C146

Chapter 146

 

“General…”

“……”

At the touch of him, at the brush of breath, Taemuk’s vision went black in an instant—like plunging headlong into ink-dark sea. If a sea ought to be cold, then this one, shoved by Hoeun’s hands, was unbearably hot, molten and burning.

When he surfaced, ragged and returning from that plunge, he found himself crushing Hoeun beneath him, greedily devouring those lips. Yes—Hoeun’s lips. His guide’s lips. Singular and treasured above the world.

The moment he recognized it, the world went black again; whatever slender thread of reason he had clung to frayed and unwound.

With huge hands that seemed intent to smash, Taemuk gripped the pale, delicate nape of Hoeun and sucked those lips into his mouth.

“Guh…”

Hoeun met him like a charge, opening his mouth wide to accept him. Where once he might have sought air around Taemuk’s lips and tongue, today he thrust his tongue forward regardless of suffocation—licking, entwining, giving himself to Taemuk’s mouth.

He wanted to give more of himself—to offer breath, to offer whatever of his power he held.

Held fast in Taemuk’s grip, he leaned closer still: one arm looped about Taemuk’s neck, the other drew his waist near. Their bodies pressed so that skin met skin.

“Mm, ah…”

“Ha… mm…”

Lips met and parted, tongues greedily tangled; breaths and saliva braided together. It was a kiss that bordered on consummation—deep, wet, and all-consuming. The tent filled with the noises of the two—sucking, slurping, the soft, messy sounds of flesh, until heat flared and wrapped the canvas.

Taemuk narrowed his brow and made low, throaty sounds as he kept dragging Hoeun against him. He crushed him with his whole body yet yearned to press closer still; his fingers threaded into the bound tangle of Hoeun’s hair and raked the back of his head.

The kiss grew wilder. Taemuk’s tongue scraped the roof of Hoeun’s mouth, stole the pooled saliva beneath his tongue, and pushed deep—down to the throat. When Hoeun coughed or choked, Taemuk swallowed even that, greedily drawing it in.

Still, satisfaction eluded him. The restraint of not being able to sink deeper, to be more fully inside Hoeun, made him irritable and impatient.

A low growl escaped him like an animal’s; sensing it, Hoeun opened his mouth wider still. The stretch became perilous—soft flesh strained taut and, with a small, fatal pop, gave way.

In the instant the flesh split and blood shone wetly, everything froze. Taemuk’s movements stopped; the very source of motion and sound stilled, and the tent fell into an immediate hush.

Hoeun blinked slowly, as if suspended. Then, with a sound that was not breath, Taemuk inhaled something huge and palpable—some fierce, invisible force he drew in until his great chest swelled as if filled with wind.

From that moment Taemuk tipped closer to beast than man—a famished, ravenous animal.

He lapped at Hoeun’s blood. He licked it with his tongue, noisily slurping. The wound was slight, so the flow was meager; when it ceased almost at once, Taemuk snorted in annoyance and began to probe the sore with his tongue.

“Ghh…”

Hoeun ground his jaw and moaned—what probed his wound was no gentleness but a blunt instrument. The prick of that small wound throbbed painfully.

Yet Hoeun did not push him away. On the contrary, he opened his mouth wider to rend the wound further. Whether he gave his blood to help Taemuk heal or as part of some shared hunger he did not know; he only knew that if Taemuk wanted it, he would give freely.

Blood began to bead and well again from the rent. Taemuk lapped greedily, then—suddenly—an oven-hot hand slipped inside the rear of Hoeun’s undergarment. A large palm smoothed across his dry back, clutched the thin waist, teased the ribs, and palpated the soft flesh tucked beneath his armpit.

“Hss… ah…”

Hoeun submitted with a little cry, and then—at a slight frown drawn across Taemuk’s brow—he slowly, almost secretively, slipped an arm out from under his short inner robe. Silken fabric slid away and his bare skin lay revealed.

Taemuk’s breathing doubled in breadth and roughness where their flesh met; his ribs pressed hoarsely against Hoeun’s chest with each inhalation. The heat breathed into Hoeun’s mouth became thicker, tackier, incendiary.

Hoeun took pleasure in this reaction—he felt certain that if he pushed a little further Taemuk would fold him into his arms, consume him in the way he desired, and perhaps in that closeness Taemuk’s damaged body would mend.

He continued his quiet stratagem. Methodically, with hands inexperienced at unfastening another’s garments, he undid Taemuk’s coat buttons from the bottom up. Clumsy at first but resolute, he fumbled through until only the last button remained.

“Stop.”

Taemuk drew back his mouth.

Hoeun stared. Taemuk’s gaze was bright and hard. If he had been a starving beast, Taemuk looked like the hunter that sought to snare the beast.

“You may continue,” Hoeun urged, reaching again for the final button.

“No.”

Taemuk pressed Hoeun’s wrist flat to the ground and refused.

Hoeun bit his lower lip hard in the sudden, oddly sour feeling of defeat. Taemuk scowled; he clicked his tongue, then, with an almost tender motion, slipped his thumb under Hoeun’s clenched lip and eased it free. He wiped the red smear from Hoeun’s mouth with his own hand.

“Damn it—so in the end I saw blood…”

He muttered the words, and then put the bloodied thumb to his mouth, sucking it. The mingled taste of Hoeun’s saliva and blood hit something in him; his eyelids twitched. The fragile hold of reason he had reclaimed wavered once more.

Sensing the falter, Hoeun dragged Taemuk’s open coat—and his body—more flush against him.

“General… do more, please. Won’t you?” he begged in a voice unbecoming of a polite gentleman: in his torn inner dress and bare skin, flushed cheeks, he rolled his hips and pleaded as though a wanton.

Taemuk drank the sight in. His groin—long suppressed—rose hard with need. He wanted, in a raw and instant way, to force Hoeun’s legs apart and drive himself home between them.

Yet he was not well enough to surrender to lust.

Inside him, organs remained ravaged; a fever of burning blood raced through his veins, causing his body pain. Still, a measure of reason had returned; the dull, melting fog in his mind cleared some. He had wanted, on his way here, to die rather than touch Hoeun, but now, after their shared kisses, he felt merely keen—alive enough to ache.

After a single brushed lip, how could the ache blunt the agony of ruptured eyes, of shredded fingers, of bitten neck? Yet it did: the edges dulled. This hunger, now fused with reverence, made him want to adore Hoeun. He understood, perhaps for the first time, why other military gods clung to their guide with desperate love.

Hoeun was extraordinary. To Taemuk he was more valuable than kings, greater than gods.

Therefore he must be cherished. Not squandered. Kept whole at any cost. Held for as long as possible—if not forever.

Thus Taemuk pulled his weight off Hoeun’s chest, settled to his knees, and said:

“That’s enough. Sleep.”

“A little more—”

“I said sleep. Or I’ll leave.”

Hoeun ground his teeth in vexation, but it mattered not to Taemuk. The man re-dressed Hoeun’s inner robe with large, capable hands, tied the fastenings, arranged his limbs with mottled care, and covered him with a blanket.

He himself did not tidy his own rumpled garments; he flung down and lay beside Hoeun without a blanket. His erection, harsh and insistent, throbbed painfully, but compared to the agony of torn flesh and severed members it was bearable.

Hoeun’s gaze, patient and persistent, watched him from the side. With a little sigh, Taemuk turned toward him.

“You won’t hurt now.”

“R—really?”

“Yes. So sleep. Your fever is rising.”

Taemuk touched Hoeun’s forehead with the pad of his finger. His own body had cooled somewhat; Hoeun’s heat felt fierce by contrast. It was almost comical to be anxious for someone so frail, to fear that this thin form might melt away under his warmth. He thought, fleetingly, that they ought to go south to a warm sun, far from all this winter and carnage.

A bright smile bloomed on Hoeun’s fever-flushed face.

“That’s a relief. I’m truly glad.”