BW C53(NSFW)

Chapter 53(NSFW)

He forced himself to ignore his stinging mouth and called out urgently to Taemuk.

“Gen—eral…”

Before he could get out even a single word, Taemuk’s lips—no, his tongue—came in. The mouth that had only just been freed was filled again with his tongue. Hoeun’s wet lashes fluttered precariously.

A one-sided kiss continued. Past kisses hadn’t exactly been decorous, but this one was ravenous and filthy beyond comparison. Tongue and saliva mingled with a wet, squelching sound.

“Uuuh…”

The saliva Taemuk forced on him and Hoeun could not take spilled obscenely from the corners of his mouth. At that vulgar sight, the faintest hint of a smile ghosted over Taemuk’s lips.

From then on, Taemuk began to lick Hoeun’s entire body. Tear-damp cheeks, jaw, neck, shoulder, collarbone, chest, forearms and armpits, ribs, navel—even the hands and fingers that pushed him away—everywhere lips could reach, he licked.

Then licking no longer sufficed—he sucked hard, and bit down so deep that crescent teeth-marks remained. His small body was swiftly mottled.

All the while, Taemuk’s enormous member did not cease jab-jabbing, thrust-thrusting into Hoeun from behind. And then, at some point, his belly—already burning—grew hot once more.

It was Taemuk’s fourth climax.

“…”

With a muzzy face, Hoeun blinked. He had shed so many tears that his eyes felt gritty, as though filled with sand.

Meanwhile the blanket was more than damp; it was sodden—swollen with sweat and tears, spit and blood, and fluids unfit to name. Each time the stiffened, toughened cloth snagged on his skin, it hurt as though it might tear flesh away.

He didn’t know how many hours had passed. Perhaps the day had even turned. In that long stretch of time, Taemuk did not release Hoeun for even a moment. He acted as if he meant to unleash all the lust he had suppressed in the ten-day journey from Hanyang to the garrison—no, perhaps all he had pent up for ten years.

It did not seem that he chose to do so—rather, that it happened to him. Like a dike firm before rupture, but once burst, beyond control. Taemuk now was a burst dike.

“Ah…”

Pressed beneath Taemuk, Hoeun let out a thin moan.

His whole body hurt. He had taken Taemuk mostly lying prone, and his knees, chafed by the blanket, were reddened and speckled with blood. His cheek, scraped on the blanket, fared no better. Each time tears flowed, it stung; it felt like a cut.

Elbows and thighs, roughly seized and yanked, hurt as well. The prints of his hands remained here and there like stamped seals, burning. His buttocks, kneaded endlessly, burned as if flogged. They swelled puffy; liking the feel, Taemuk kept gripping and kneading them.

The worst pain, of course, was behind. The behind Taemuk burrowed without rest. And the belly within, crushed and riven. When the organ speared deep again with a long, driving push, Hoeun whispered in a thin voice,

“Gen…eral… It… hurts…”

“…”

“It… hurts…”

He had said that it hurt so many times he could not count. But Taemuk never—not once—heard those words. He did not even meet Hoeun’s eyes.

From that Taemuk, Hoeun learned well what the man thought of him, what he was to him.

“You don’t think you’re a horror to me too?”

“How did something like you become my guide.”

As their coupling went on, he recited the words he had recited a full hundred times already. Then, reciting them for the hundred and first, he slowly closed his eyes. Thin tears flowed down his raw eyelids.

The black blanket seemed to sink lower and lower until it was a great pit. Into that pit, Hoeun fell helplessly.

1. In the torn winged-robe 

“Hh…”

Before Hoeun even opened his eyes, he felt a crashing pain. His whole body hurt as if it would break apart. He had suffered every kind of illness, but never pain like this—pain so great he feared he might die. No—so great he feared he had died.

Squeezing at his swollen lids, Hoeun at last got his eyes open—but everything before him was black. Am I truly dead—he blinked several times, and only then did the darkness thin and the surroundings come into view.

A tent wall thick as leather in place of a wall, a plain, undecorated cabinet, the great sword propped at a slant beside it, a map of the Empire of Korea hanging to one side, a snuffed oil lamp, a rack with robes hung on it, and the jet-black cot upon which Hoeun lay.

“…”

He knew at once where he was. He had writhed in pain here for such a long time—there was no way not to recognize it.

So he was still here.

Then was the act still going on?

Where was Taemuk?

Hoeun moved his head. But lying on his side, his field of view was limited. So he tried to lift his torso. He could not move.

It was not because his body hurt. Something was clamped tightly around him. As if he were bound round and round in a rope as thick as his waist…

He lowered his gaze. A thickly corded arm of muscle was locked around his waist. It was Taemuk’s arm. He was plastered to his back.

“…”

Hoeun went rigid. He had thought he might be there—but finding he truly was made his heart stop.

For a time he stilled even his presence. Then he realized something strange. Taemuk… was not hot. The man who had always burned as if swathed in flame now had a normal person’s body heat. As if the fire that had raged had finally gone out.

He could not tell why his temperature had fallen—nor whether it was a good sign or a bad one.

“…”

Hoeun stared blankly into the dim air.

What now. What should he do. He could not see Taemuk’s face, but with no movement and no speech, he seemed asleep—should he wake him? And after that? What if he rose and forced his legs apart again—what if he spread them and drove into him again.

At that thought, his fingertips twitched.

He had to run. Before Taemuk woke, he had to get out. If he did not, he might die. Taemuk would tear him in half at last.

With that thought, he could not keep still. He wanted at once to get away from Taemuk. To be tangled up with him like this was torment. With eyes suddenly brimming, Hoeun twisted his body—

“Stay still…”

A low voice came from behind. Sleep weighed heavy in the huskiness.

“…”

Hoeun froze, like feigning death before a predator. But as the arm around his waist tightened, his body was jerked back. At that touch, he blanched in an instant.

“D-don’t… Please don’t…”

His worn-out voice split into many ragged strands. A metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. He thrashed to slip free of Taemuk’s arm—no, thrashing was too mild—a frenzy. Blood vessels stood in a web across the whites of his eyes.

“Let me go, please—let me go!”

At that, Taemuk’s face twisted in a frown, and he thoughtlessly pinned him down—

“…”

—then sprang up as if jolted.

His chest, full and thick with muscle, rose and fell quickly—and gleamed with a glossy sheen.

“…”

Shoving back the hair that fell forward, Taemuk looked around with a dazed gaze. The blanket flung to the floor, Hoeun’s clothes torn anyhow and tangled on the ground, the blood-soaked bandages met his eyes.

And lastly, he saw Hoeun—who had somehow crawled to the end of the cot and was huddled tight. Though the room was dark, the sight was etched on his retina with surpassing clarity.

A body so thin it looked fit to break, mottled skin, scarlet buttocks, raw eyelids, the big handprints stamped here and there…

“…”

Taemuk’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He looked, somehow, surprised. As if he didn’t know why Hoeun should be in such a state, he narrowed one eye.

It was a shameless reaction. Not a single one of the wounds on Hoeun was made by anyone but him.

“…”

“…”

Silence settled like thick fog. Taemuk kept staring at Hoeun, and Hoeun, turning his head away, did whatever he could to avoid Taemuk’s gaze.

Then, at some moment, Hoeun’s backbone—so stark it seemed it might pierce his skin—shifted, and he heaved himself upright in jerks.

“Hh…”

It was only getting up—yet every bone in his body clacked. His muscles hurt as if wrung, and there was no strength in his arms. His thin wrists and elbows trembled and shook.

Still, he forced himself up. Then he turned his head toward Taemuk—but without looking at him, moved his chapped lips.

“I… want… to wash… up.”

An oil lamp made by fitting a frame of wood with paper or cloth