BW C24

Chapter 24(Mild nsfw)

After that, he bent forward again and carefully closed his hand around the shaft of Taemuk’s member. The dense, stone-like tip gleamed dully in the dim candlelight. Hoeun bit and released his lips as he looked at it, then passed his tongue over the upper and lower lip in turn.

It was a kind of warm-up, in his own way. Then he opened his mouth wide to take it in. Even so, he couldn’t manage half the penis. He retreated for a moment, licked his lips again, and gently worked his lower lip. It wasn’t as if his small mouth would grow from such efforts, but he kept doing it.

Tormented like that, his lips grew steadily redder, slick with saliva, shining. His tongue, popping out and vanishing without rhythm, looked almost as if teasing someone.

Of course, Hoeun himself, focused only on the member, didn’t know what a picture he made; only Taemuk, looking down, did.

Just as Hoeun drew a short breath like a diver preparing and bent his back—

Grab.

Taemuk’s hand caught the back of Hoeun’s head and yanked it up. He was lifted as neatly as a fish on a hook.

And their mouths locked.

“Hup…”

Hoeun’s eyes flew wide. He clamped his lips shut by reflex—then Taemuk seized his jaw, thumb and middle finger pressing so hard at both joints it felt like they would crack. Hoeun’s mouth pried helplessly open. Without hesitation, Taemuk pushed his tongue inside. In an instant, Hoeun’s mouth was full.

“Huu…”

Taemuk’s tongue was like his member—filling at will, stabbing here and there like a blade, thrusting all the way into the throat to steal breath away.

While Hoeun froze in shock, Taemuk ravaged his lips and tongue to satisfaction.

He took all of Hoeun’s lips into his mouth, tangled tongues, and at times sucked hard, drawing Hoeun’s tongue into his own mouth to lick it. He stole every pool of saliva from every corner.

With the wetness of it, there came layered sounds—like a beast feeding. The corner of Hoeun’s mouth, torn the night before, split again and bled; Taemuk licked it up briskly, no different from before—indeed, as if it weren’t enough, he prodded the wound on purpose with his tongue.

“Ah! Ngh…”

The stinging pain hurt a fair bit, but Hoeun bore it. If nothing else, he was good at enduring pain.

But he could not endure the lack of air. When he inhaled, it was taken; when he exhaled, his mouth was sealed; his vision went gray.

Unable to bear it, Hoeun shook his head and pulled back.

“Just—” cough “—just a moment…”

Barely out of Taemuk’s grip, he gasped for breath, pressing cool knuckles to his lips to cool the heat. But before he finished five breaths, Taemuk’s hand slid under his arm and lifted him.

“Uh…”

Startled, Hoeun grabbed Taemuk’s forearm without thinking, and Taemuk set him on his thigh. Then, brushing forward-fallen hair back, he cupped cheek and jaw together and sought his lips again.

“Mm…”

Hoeun’s lashes arched up. The unfamiliar posture felt awkward. Never mind the closeness to Taemuk—what nettled him was sitting astride his member. Taemuk, though, seemed unaffected—perhaps not even aware.

“…”

Taemuk’s face was right there. It had been right there through the kiss, but perched on his lap it felt even nearer.

Seen from so close, Taemuk’s gaze was… clouded. It was usually honed sharp as a wild thing’s, but today it was strangely blurred, as if someone had washed ink through his pupils.

So were his actions. As he kissed, he kept drawing Hoeun into his chest—so close that their chests were plastered together. The thick, hard muscle was felt just as it was; one might think it would leave an imprint on his body.

He felt the heat of him as well, and the heartbeat—so hard that one might suspect a drum hidden in his chest.

Taemuk kept a grip on the back of Hoeun’s head, or his back, and tugged—almost as if trying to push him inside himself.

“Mm, ngh, ha…”

It hurt Hoeun a great deal. His breath already smothered by lips and tongue, his body pinioned besides—he wondered if Taemuk meant to kill him.

Scratching with dull nails at Taemuk’s arm and chest, he struggled; Taemuk flicked the bothersome hem of the over-robe aside and slid his hand under the under-jacket to stroke bare back.

Little by little that hand climbed, then popped out above the collar—as if his body had been passed through. Then it seized his long hair and yanked it back.

“Ah!”

Hoeun’s head fell back bonelessly. His mouth opened wider. Taemuk’s mouth opened in turn, and his tongue slid into Hoeun’s.

Their tongues tangled in the air—slosh, click, smack, tsst… Wet sounds filled the tent. At the vulgarity of it, Hoeun’s lashes trembled.

“Ha…”

With a long, thick exhale, Taemuk mashed his lips hard against Hoeun’s and pulled away. The thin skin, tightly sealed, stretched as if unwilling to part—like pulling fresh pounded rice cake free.

“Hah, hah… haa…”

Still held by the hair, Hoeun caught his breath with a dazed face. Not only his lips but philtrum and chin tingled; the worst pain was, of course, in his tongue, so numb it felt whipped.

Heat rose through all his body. Whether fever was coming on, or he had caught Taemuk’s heat, he couldn’t say.

“…”

Taemuk smacked his lips as he looked at him—like a man savoring something tasty. He even licked Hoeun’s saliva from the corner of his mouth. It was a peculiar act, but with breath short and vision hazed, Hoeun did not see it.

With his thumb, Taemuk stroked Hoeun’s cheek—smooth and white as jade. Then, as if to take in the heat-dazed face, he turned it left and right, slowly. Only then did Hoeun’s gaze drift toward him.

“…”

“…”

A quiet hush fell. The two looked at each other without a word for a long moment; all that could be heard was the other’s breath, so close.

Then Hoeun swallowed, involuntarily—because what lay beneath him had grown larger and harder. At a size impossible to ignore, he drew a short breath.

“Th-then now…”

He slid off Taemuk. At once, freed of his weight, the member sprang up—thunk. Stung by a rush of shame, he closed his eyes for a beat, opened them, and bent his head slowly to take it into his mouth.

He felt Taemuk’s fingers slip into his hair.

Jeokudae usually ate lunch on the move. Today they stopped to eat—because the way had grown rough and the horses tired, and because many had been hurt in the battle at the stream.

A few soldiers stood watch while the cooks began to prepare food. Others gathered in small groups; some flopped down and snored at once; others changed bandages or tended wounds.

“…”

Dismounted, Hoeun stood vacant for a time, not knowing what to do.

Then, casting about at the air itself, he edged toward a corner. There lay a fallen tree. The mossy trunk felt cool and damp the moment he sat. He shifted and tugged the wrinkled cloth from under his hips and smoothed it.

Then he curled his small body still smaller and hid his face between his folded knees.

“Haa…”

To be hunched like this outdoors was not the bearing of a scholar, but he could not keep his back straight. He felt unwell—warmth seeping from his chest outward, like a fever brewing that would soon break hard.

A fever had always come if he washed in hot water and lay on a heated floor—and today he had taken cold wind all day, fallen in an ice-like stream, then in a river, and at night curled on a mat little better than bare ground; it would have been stranger if a fever didn’t come.

“Brothers, time to eat.”

A familiar voice came from afar—the cook who had once given Hoeun jangjorim. With a large basket, he moved among the soldiers, handing out Jumeokbap. All took them in bare hands, cheerfully; faces were bright. Hoeun’s lips, on the contrary, fixed tight.

“Jumeokbap…”

He had assumed lunch would be rice, of course—then he would ask for scorched rice water, as he had before, once the soldiers were done. His stomach was not well, and his mouth not whole.

But Jumeokbap… He didn’t know if he could pass it down his throat.

After making his rounds, the cook came last to Hoeun.

“Young master, here.”

“Ah… thank you.”

Hoeun spread a handkerchief and took it. The Jumeokbap was big—less like Hoeun’s fist than, indeed, like Taemuk’s. They said men on campaign often went hungry; it seemed Jeokudae’s renown drew a generous supply of rations.

 

Note – jumeokbap, a Korean rice ball. The name literally means “fist rice” because it’s hand-packed into a fist-sized ball, often mixed with seaweed, sesame, seasonings, and sometimes filled (e.g., kimchi, tuna).