TSBIRBV Ch 169(NSFW)

Chapter 169 Heshi’s Bi (5)(NSFW)

Between bewilderment and curiosity, a flicker of emotion crossed Haryang’s face.

“More precisely, I should put you to sleep, as promised, Senior Brother.”

The brazen intruder who had barged in just the day before, demanding a lullaby after insisting he would help him sleep, thumped his chest as he spoke.

“You may not trust me much since I couldn’t even pull out a roasted chestnut… but I do have a strong sense of responsibility.”

Yegyeol feigned nonchalance.

He understood the undertones in Haryang’s words.

Jinyoung had come by in the morning, but if Haryang had truly wanted, he could have dismissed him and taken Yegyeol instead. If he had allowed himself a little indulgence, they might never have left the bed all day.

Yet Haryang had held back. Yegyeol could understand it—this bond between them was still tender and new, and so Haryang was cautious.

But what Yegyeol desired was not his restraint, but his desire.

The line that could not be crossed had to be breached, the sooner the better.

“Of course, I know you’ll keep your word,” Haryang replied smoothly.

But his answer came a beat too late, and Yegyeol caught it instantly.

“If I’ve invaded your private space and made you uncomfortable, Senior Brother, please say so.”

His lashes trembled with feigned unease—by now more familiar to him than even breathing.

Haryang shook his head.

“Never.”

With a sigh that was not quite a sigh, he murmured:

“It’s not you who troubles me. It’s myself I worry about.”

“In what way?”

Brushing soot from his sleeves, Yegyeol tilted his head curiously.

“…This morning.”

Haryang bit down briefly on his lower lip. A faint mark appeared, then vanished.

“I thought I could restrain myself, but I could not. A mistake made once easily becomes twice, then thrice. That is what worries me.”

“Ah.”

On Haryang’s face lay an impeccably ordered guilt.

Really, guilt now? Isn’t it a little late for that…

Even if he had worn the face of the Black Ghost, they had lain together more than once. And it wasn’t merely the number of times—they way he had touched Yegyeol had been lascivious, shameless, unrelenting.

I was already married off, Yegyeol thought bitterly. Yet Haryang’s face remained shamelessly serene, as though nothing had happened.

Rising to his feet, Yegyeol gazed down at him. Covering his hand with a clean sleeve, he suddenly grasped Haryang’s chin.

Haryang’s shoulder twitched, instinct ready to respond as though to an attack. But realizing it was only Yegyeol, he hesitated.

In that opening, Yegyeol struck swiftly, as befitted an esper. He bent down and pressed his lips to Haryang’s.

He licked his lower lip and, finding his Senior Brother’s lips parted in surprise, slipped his tongue between his teeth.

Not that Yegyeol was skilled—he had no tricks. But with only one partner, he knew what Haryang liked.

Their breaths mingled between their joined lips, warmth and rising heat of gaze colliding together.

This was why the act of coupling was addictive—it sometimes made one believe hearts could mingle too.

Haryang, unable to grab hold yet unwilling to release him, surrendered helplessly. For all the world, he looked like an inexperienced boy at his first kiss.

If it was an act, Yegyeol was ready to be deceived. Through Haryang’s body, trembling raw and unguarded, he could feel the truth.

Breaking the kiss with a noisy smack, Yegyeol scratched lightly across the back of his Senior Brother’s hand as he straightened. The dazed look in Haryang’s eyes stirred a sharp streak of sadism in him.

“It wasn’t a mistake for me.”

He murmured the words like an aside and slipped out of the room as though fleeing.

That damned temper…

Haryang belatedly reached out to seize him—but then noticed the tips of his disciple’s ears, flushed red.

Yegyeol…

Only after Yegyeol had gone did he manage to pull his gaze away. Slowly, he looked around the chamber.

The once stark room now held new things—scattered clothes, a wooden comb, a heavy basin. And there, curled in the dim corner, a small golden snake lay almost motionless, resting deeply.

It was little enough, yet it breathed life into the space. It was clear Yegyeol truly meant to stay here.

Haryang had never expected this. Not any of it.

From the first moment Yegyeol had acted on impulse, he had thought only of disaster. That rash kiss had left no room for plans of consequence.

And yet, everything afterward had unfolded smoothly, almost like a lie.

He had long known Yegyeol’s feelings, and also why he held back. Because of that, Haryang had resolved never to reach out first.

And yet…

He touched the lips Yegyeol had kissed, then snatched his fingers away as though scalded.

He wanted to savor the contact as long as possible.

He did not realize his own face was tinged with faint red, as if a sunset had settled over snowy peaks.

He could not move, though he knew Yegyeol would soon return.

How many times did he scrub his face with dry hands? He could feel the bold, familiar tread drawing closer—different from cautious Jinyoung or the tentative steps of the servants.

Every stride made his heartbeat thrum louder.

So this is what it means, a thief learning too late—losing track of time in the act.

The door slid open, and Yegyeol appeared. Shaking droplets from his short hair, he entered and spotted Haryang sitting motionless before the burned-out brazier. His eyes widened.

He strode forward and wrapped his arms around Haryang’s neck.

“You’ve been sitting like this the whole time?”

Released at last from his binding restraint, Haryang embraced him tightly.

The body that folded into his arms was slim and pliant like a willow branch, yet resilient.

“I waited obediently. Now give me my reward.”

Even bound hand and foot, he would have answered the same.

“Reward?”

“Like this.”

Without hesitation, Haryang pressed kisses to his nose, to his eyelids. Soft, tickling touches that made Yegyeol laugh aloud.

Though countless tasks lay waiting, in this moment he felt he possessed the whole world.

“…I don’t know if that counts.”

Drawing out the syllables, Yegyeol’s eyes sparkled with expectation. Haryang chuckled.

Lifting him into his arms, he carried him to the bed. Brown hair splayed across the sheets, light brown eyes locked on his own.

Here, his disciple looked guileless and bright, freer of burdens than even in Kunlun. Back then, admiration had always shadowed his gaze, but a distance remained that neither could cross. Yegyeol had feared him.

Perhaps as much as Haryang had feared Yegyeol.

Once, he had been savior, then Senior Brother, then the cursed tether binding him to the living world. Yet he had always longed for him.

After years of despair, of not daring even to hope for a glimpse of him alive again, Yegyeol had returned to his side.

And now he whispered love, pressed close.

“What about this?”

Haryang seized his ankle. Fragile, scarcely a handful, it seemed ready to snap at the slightest pressure. He lowered his lips to it.

“Senior—Senior Brother!”

The same Yegyeol who had been bold to the point of brazenness quivered as though struck, rising in alarm at a kiss upon his foot.

He struggled, but Haryang did not release him. Such an act was not done lightly, nor for fleeting sport.

In all the years of torment, countless had tried to force Haryang into submission, to crush him into obedience. But this—this was the first time he bent willingly, lips pressed in reverence.

“You smell sweet.”

He clasped Yegyeol’s calf and drew him nearer. His lips pressed against the flushed skin of his knee beneath the parted robe. Yegyeol’s trembling reached his hands.

It was not wooing, but the hunt—yet Haryang was long accustomed to a beast’s way.

“Ah…”

Yegyeol moaned at the grip on his thigh. Haryang raised his eyes to meet him. Within those black depths, Yegyeol saw desire—dark, bitter, searing.

Not tender, nor gentle. Not sweet, but harsh, unyielding.

A shadow clung like tar within him, sticky and consuming.

Good.

Seeing the same greed reflected as his own, Yegyeol felt an involuntary thrill.

“You said you’d give me a reward.”

Haryang’s voice murmured low, as his hand kneaded Yegyeol’s thigh. Red prints bloomed beneath his touch, inflaming the pale skin.

Loosening the sash at his waist, Haryang pulled open his disciple’s robe. He buried his face between his thighs.

“Haah…!”

Yegyeol seized the bedding, body jolting at the heat below. Haryang’s hand pressed his knees apart, holding him down, and his mouth teased at his most sensitive places, barely hidden by fabric.

“Se—Senior Brother, not there!”

The damp, suffocating warmth wrapped around his length, and Yegyeol clutched the mattress, trembling violently.

No matter how many times, the sensation never grew familiar. The pleasure, seared into his nerves, spread in tingling waves clear to his toes.

Even as he struggled to stifle it, ragged moans slipped between his breaths.

Beneath the robe, the outline of Haryang’s head moved. Each time he drew back, the thin fabric draped over his face tugged and shifted, inviting wicked imaginings.

It felt as though his mind were being burned white-hot to ash.