TSBIRBV Ch 222(NSFW)

Chapter 222 Interlocking (5) (NSFW)

His throat parched, Yegyeol stirred awake and opened his eyes. Across from him lay Haryang, still asleep.

“Ah.”

For a fleeting moment, the figure overlapped with blood. The image of his Senior Brother, as Yegyeol had seen him immediately after awakening from the illusion of the formation, raked across his sturdy mind like claws.

Struggling to shake off the afterimage, Yegyeol burrowed into Haryang’s embrace. The weight and security of those arms, wrapped tightly around him, steadied his trembling body. He closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again. On Haryang’s face—serenely asleep—there was nothing but darkness and peace.

It’s all right…

Drawing a deep breath, Yegyeol forced his mind to settle.

Only then, as he shifted, did he realize—Haryang’s sex was still inside him. After such a long night of coupling, even in slumber, he had not let him go. Embarrassment and satisfaction tangled within him at once.

Of course, there was one small problem.

I’m thirsty.

No sooner had his racing chest calmed than the thirst that woke him returned. Yegyeol opened his mouth, meaning to ask his Senior Brother to release him, but no sound came out.

Given how hoarsely he had screamed earlier, it was hardly surprising. He thought to gently shake him awake, but when his gaze landed on Haryang’s peaceful face, he shut his lips tight.

Ordinarily, the man would rouse at the faintest rustle, always alert to Yegyeol. To see him sleeping so defenselessly now, Yegyeol was struck with a pang of tenderness too deep for words.

An S-class Esper had lost control and rampaged without restraint, and yet Haryang bore not a single wound, having subdued him. The effort must have cost him greatly. To that, add Yegyeol’s confession—that he had indeed died and lived again. How great the toll must have been.

Even in their joining, Haryang had often pressed his lips or his ear against Yegyeol’s chest, unconsciously checking his heartbeat. Yegyeol had felt it each time.

Where’s the water…

Turning his head, Yegyeol clicked his tongue. Ordinarily, the water jug would have been on the table right beside the bed. Tonight it stood further off. Even stretching his torso as far as he could, he would never reach it. He began to crawl forward, inch by inch.

At least, he tried.

For Haryang was heavy. Pressing his palm to the man’s arm, Yegyeol marveled anew at the strength of the muscle beneath. Haryang bore this weight so lightly, as though it cost him nothing; even his footsteps left no sound. It was no wonder Yegyeol sometimes lost track of his presence. Only because he was an electric-type Esper—able to see the current in Haryang’s body—did he always know where he was.

“Mm…”

It was no easy task, slipping free from their still-joined bodies beneath the weight of the man. No matter how he tried to keep from tightening, his body spasmed and twitched at odd points. Were he to lose his strength while half-upright, disaster would surely follow.

A disciple defiling his Senior Brother in his sleep… what an ending that would be.

He had, at times, fantasized about mounting Haryang himself. But his body was in no condition for such mischief now. It was rare for his body to behave so waywardly, every nerve buzzing. Planting his arms against the bed, he inched forward—crawling almost like an animal.

It worked, if only a little. The shaft buried in him slipped halfway free. Yegyeol paused against the bedpost, breathing hard. His lower body throbbed not from pain but from the maddening stimulus, so much so that an insane urge to mount him again flickered across his mind.

Water first.

Standing at last, though he staggered like a lamb, Yegyeol steadied himself before he could fall. His body was so slack from the excess of guiding that he felt like melted wax. Ordinarily he would have recovered by now, but after last night, it seemed he had been thoroughly ravished. Besides, after holding Haryang within him all through the night, his insides still felt pried open.

Though he knew they would recover, for the moment the sense that his body might truly break sent a shiver through him. His desperate cries last night—that he would be ruined—had not been mere words.

But scarcely had he taken a few steps when he froze.

From within him, from the part of him that had cradled Haryang, seed spilled forth.

No matter how he tried to clench, it was not easy. Inside, it felt scorched raw, each attempt to tighten only sending sparks of sensation that made him twitch.

“Ugh…”

The slick wetness trailing down his thighs made him shudder. It was not a pleasant feeling.

And then, from behind, came a low chuckle.

Yegyeol stiffened, turning slowly. There was Haryang, propped lazily against the bed, watching him.

Yegyeol froze under that gaze.

A memory from Kunlun flashed through him.

Early morning, when Master Baekyang Jin-in had ordered him to fetch water from the mountain. Even then, he had thought himself fortunate simply to be taken along—to see his benefactor from afar. His shallow qinggong had failed him; his feet sank deep into the snow with every step. Yet he pressed on, for dawn was breaking and his master’s scolding awaited.

On the way back, water sloshing in hand, the hair on his nape had risen. In the shadows of a copse, two yellow lights floated in the dark. Eyes.

He had not even managed to scream before he fell on his rump and scrambled backward. Somehow, he escaped—but the terror of that moment had seared him.

Now, that same sensation coiled within him.

With drowsy eyes, Haryang whispered,

“Gyeol-ah. Where are you going?”

“Water. To drink,” Yegyeol murmured dazedly.

Would Haryang strip him to the bone and devour him? The thought struck him, but mingled with it was the memory of that primal thrill when he had once stood before a beast.

No need to overthink. Just a sip of water, and I’ll return to his arms.

But fate rarely offered two strokes of luck. Yegyeol’s was no exception. He had not even gone far when Haryang rose from the bed. With but a step, he was there, close enough to snare him in his arms.

The silken fall of Haryang’s black hair over his bare shoulder made Yegyeol’s skin prickle.

“You leave me standing like this…”

From behind, Haryang’s hand closed around Yegyeol’s sex. The soft kneading touch coaxed a bead of clear fluid to the tip. Even as he saw it, Yegyeol could hardly believe such a lewd sight was his own.

“It—it’s fine. I was just… on my way out and…”

When did he wake?

From the first, his intuition told him. Haryang had known all along, had let him wriggle and strain only to wait for this very moment.

His Senior Brother’s hand spread his cheeks. A thumb pressed against the still-swollen entrance, and with it, the rest of the seed within spilled out. Fingers slipped in easily, as if by accident, only to stir him cruelly inside.

“Ahh…”

Yegyeol’s legs trembled, barely holding him up. The blunt crown of Haryang’s cock slid lazily against his cleft, menacing in its teasing caress. Yegyeol bit his lip.

“Really?”

The voice that asked if he was sure was sinuous as temptation itself. Yegyeol could not immediately nod. To take Haryang again in this state was madness—yet shame and arousal gnawed at him alike.

His hesitation was fleeting. Haryang wasted not a heartbeat of it, driving into him once more. Though swollen and tight, he was already wet, his insides molded to cradle Haryang after holding him all night.

“Ahh!”

The cry tore free of him as the cock buried to its root, stretching his belly taut with its depth.

Haryang began to move.

Yegyeol had thought it would be slow, the lazy rhythm of a man barely awake. But Haryang was rough.

“Ahh! Hhhk!”

Half-dreaming, Yegyeol could scarcely keep to his feet. Each upward thrust lifted him, left him weightless, then slammed him back down, dizzy and weak in the knees. He fought to anchor his legs, toes curling painfully.

Grasping for balance, his hand found a wall. Haryang’s tongue traced the shell of his ear, and Yegyeol thought it was not the flesh but the sound that would devour him whole.

“Ahhh!”

This was no coupling. It was like a wet dream—a nightmare that straddled the border of dream and waking, where he was not possessed by his Senior Brother but by some beast in his form.

1. 踏雪無痕 (Dapsul Muhun): A martial arts term meaning “to walk upon snow without leaving a trace,” signifying the highest level of qinggong (light body technique).