HDCLSSRS Ch 138

Chapter 138 Let’s Go Back(4)

He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he had much to say, but in the end, he simply lowered his head and admitted,

“…You’re right.”

“Now, lie down here.”

When Seong Muyeon patted the bedding of the bed with a firm hand, Baek Ryeoil trudged over like a defeated general and laid himself down.

“Good boy.”

Pleased by his compliance, Seong Muyeon affectionately patted his head before turning away. But in the next moment, a sudden pull sent his body toppling backward.

“Ah!”

For an instant, his heart dropped—he feared he might have pressed against Baek Ryeoil’s injured arm. Thankfully, he managed to catch himself by bracing the bed, narrowly avoiding disaster. Sweat formed at his temples.

“You scared me!”

Seong Muyeon shouted. He wanted to get off before he accidentally crushed him and re-broke the bone, but Baek Ryeoil’s good arm wrapped tightly around his waist, refusing to let go.

“It’s just… such a waste, you know.”

Lying beneath him, Baek Ryeoil smiled mischievously, as though unaware of any danger.

“I wonder what you would’ve been like if you hadn’t fallen ill—if you’d kept training as you were.”

“I’d have punched that disobedient Taoist in the face, probably.”

He grumbled, but truthfully, his breath came short from being pinned down. Even with his disadvantageous position, exposed and vulnerable, Baek Ryeoil exuded his characteristic ease—a confidence so arrogant it almost seemed reckless.

Yet it wasn’t arrogance.

A predator doesn’t rush; it knows the prey can be pinned beneath its paw whenever it wishes.

“I mean it,” Baek Ryeoil murmured. “If you’d stayed well, I might’ve been able to cross swords with you. A shame, really.”

A faint heat flickered in his gaze—like a spark trembling within the cutting wind, irresistibly contagious to whoever met it.

“Well,” he added with a lazy grin, “swapping something else instead of swords doesn’t sound so bad either.”

Baek Ryeoil slowly lifted his upper body. Their faces drew so close that their breaths mingled—his upper lip brushed faintly against Seong Muyeon’s.

But just as he tried to claim his lips, Seong Muyeon pulled away, moving out of reach.

“What?”

When Baek Ryeoil’s face twisted in annoyance, Seong Muyeon tilted his chin upward with quiet triumph.

“I think you’ve forgotten,” he said, “who’s holding the hilt right now.”

He straddled Baek Ryeoil’s abdomen and pressed lightly against his injured shoulder.

“For someone who’s not yet fully recovered, aren’t you being a bit too willful? Keep it up, and you might regret it.”

For a moment, Baek Ryeoil went still. Then, as though he understood, a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips, and his eyes gleamed darkly. Reclining back with feline languor, he asked,

“So, what do you plan to do?”

“Tonight, I’ll do as I please.”

He was tired of always letting Baek Ryeoil have his way.

Truthfully, he’d been suppressing the desire coiling deep within his belly for a while now—no, perhaps it had begun long before that. He had merely been forced to bury it while Baek Ryeoil was gravely injured. But now, everything he’d restrained came bursting forth all at once.

Seong Muyeon leaned down, lips brushing but not yet touching, teasingly close, before finally capturing Baek Ryeoil’s breath.

He felt the body beneath his thighs flinch and tense.

When Seong Muyeon pulled back, Baek Ryeoil chased after him, lips parting in frustrated need—but with his waist and shoulders pinned, all he could do was let out ragged breaths.

Looking down at that almost pitiful face, Seong Muyeon pressed his mouth to the side of Baek Ryeoil’s neck, sucking until wet marks bloomed. A low, feverish groan escaped Baek Ryeoil’s throat.

“Don’t tease me…”

By then, Baek Ryeoil’s arousal was already pressing hard against him. Seong Muyeon wasn’t any different.

“No.”

Baek Ryeoil had a habit of rushing straight into things—impatient, reckless—and Seong Muyeon always ended up swept along, pushed to the brink of exhaustion by the sharp edge of pleasure. Tonight, he refused to let it happen that way again.

He trailed his palm up the ridges of Baek Ryeoil’s abdomen, leaving faint red marks along his neck. Baek Ryeoil responded by dragging a hand down his back, gripping his hips possessively.

Seong Muyeon let him.

Then he cupped the back of Baek Ryeoil’s heated head, kissing him deeply—tongue and lips sliding together with feverish hunger.

Their bodies pressed close, struggling to devour each other’s breath. Seong Muyeon moved his hips, grinding their swollen desires together through the thin fabric, stoking the fire between them slowly.

Every nerve felt as though it were awakening; even the lightest touch sent sparks racing across his skin. Precome soaked through their clothes, damp and warm.

Straightening, Seong Muyeon began to move faster, rubbing their lengths together with desperate friction.

It had been too long; even this meager contact had Baek Ryeoil frowning deeply, panting harshly.

But it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough to satisfy the heat boiling to the top of his head.

Unable to endure any longer, Baek Ryeoil reached up and tugged open Seong Muyeon’s collar.

“Seong Muyeon… Seong Muyeon…”

Seong Muyeon, too, was at his limit. Urged by his desperation, Baek Ryeoil lifted his hips, guiding his flushed, rigid length to the waiting entrance—and with a single thrust, buried himself deep.

“Ah…!”

Seong Muyeon gasped. His body, softened and pliant from arousal, took him in easily. When Baek Ryeoil drove in to the hilt, white-hot pleasure exploded behind his eyes.

He trembled violently, clutching Baek Ryeoil’s shoulders.

A rough, guttural moan tore from Baek Ryeoil’s throat, followed by a feral rhythm as he seized Seong Muyeon’s waist and thrust into him with wild abandon.

Sweat-slick skin slid together wetly as the two clung tighter, desperate to consume each other completely. Their tongues tangled greedily, heedless of the saliva that spilled down their chins.

When release struck, Seong Muyeon’s body went rigid, and Baek Ryeoil spilled deep inside him with a hoarse groan.

There was no time to catch his breath. Baek Ryeoil flipped them over and drove in again, his still-hard length pounding ruthlessly, hard enough to echo wetly through the room.

His face contorted as if in torment, pressing against Seong Muyeon’s cheek, breathing raggedly.

“Seong Muyeon…”

He muttered something incoherent, then moved faster, rougher, until pleasure turned violent and blinding. Seong Muyeon’s mind went blank; even Baek Ryeoil’s voice faded from his awareness.

They continued until the darkness deepened outside the window—until moonlight spilled into the room, again and again, caught in waves of unbearable ecstasy.

He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep.

His ears woke first, catching the faint rustle of movement. His whole body felt like waterlogged cotton—heavy, languid, his eyelids too weighted to lift.

Last night, after their long-overdue release, they had bathed together. He faintly remembered Baek Ryeoil, using his injured arm as an excuse, insisting that Seong Muyeon wash his hair for him. Then, somehow, they had met each other’s eyes again… and hadn’t stopped until the bathwater turned cold.

His body ached, tender in every limb. His mind drifted in the hazy space between dream and waking, and as sleep tried to pull him under again, he surrendered to it. He could hear the quiet sounds of Baek Ryeoil moving about the room—stirring the brazier, pacing lightly. Then, at last, silence.

Seong Muyeon managed to lift his heavy lids.

The faint orange glow of the brazier cast a soft light across the room. Baek Ryeoil sat before it, long legs stretched out, chair drawn close. He picked up a cloth he had left aside earlier and resumed cleaning his sword, his lashes shadowed and glinting in the dim firelight.

For once, Seong Muyeon felt no fear, no worry—only calm.

Then, Baek Ryeoil looked up. He rose, approached the bed, and brushed Seong Muyeon’s hair gently from his face, his hand large and warm.

“It’s still early,” he murmured softly, leaning close. “You can sleep more.”

At those words, a sudden sting bloomed behind Seong Muyeon’s eyes.

Before he could even understand it, a hot tear slipped down his cheek, burning his throat as it fell.

“…What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Baek Ryeoil sounded startled. Seong Muyeon was just as confused.

‘Why am I… crying?’

He had always thought of himself as strong.

He had survived illness that threatened his life, his mother’s death, countless misunderstandings and cutting words—and through it all, he had never broken. He’d taken pride in that strength, in his ability to stand tall no matter the pain.

He believed he would never crumble, or even if he did, he could rise again on his own.

He had never needed anyone’s help. He could have lived his whole life that way.

But without realizing it, something deep inside had grown weary.

The feeling that now washed over him—being cared for by someone who truly cherished him—was something he hadn’t felt in so long. Not since his mother’s passing had such warmth filled him.

And for the first time, Seong Muyeon realized—with a bittersweet ache—that he, too, was just a human being. Someone who needed a place to rest when he was tired. Someone who needed a home to return to.