TSBIRBV Ch 296(NSFW)

Chapter 296. Secret Tryst (8)(NSFW)

“…Hhn.”

Yegyeol gave a faint moan as the fingers moving inside him stirred, spreading his insides open. Before he could even recall where he was or what he had been doing, he felt the thick warmth he had been holding within himself begin to leak out, and a shiver ran through his body.

“Ah…”

When his eyes met Haryang’s—who was carefully cleaning him up—he parted his lips just as the man leaned in. A tongue, heavy with the lingering taste of pleasure, slid into his mouth.

Even as their tongues tangled, Haryang’s fingers continued to work between his legs, parting and stroking him in a way that made it impossible to tell whether he was cleaning or caressing.

Yegyeol exhaled deeply, recalling how he had fainted during their union. It wasn’t from exhaustion—it was because his body was too sensitive, every peak of pleasure shutting his mind down like a shutter slamming closed.

He had fought desperately not to lose consciousness when Haryang revealed himself as the Black Ghost. But by dawn, his endurance had reached its limit.

He remembered clinging to him even at the end—arms wound tight around his neck, teeth buried in his strong shoulder. Even as he was thrust into mercilessly, Yegyeol’s hips had risen to meet him, squeezing around him, refusing to let go. Each time their eyes met, Haryang pressed another kiss to his lips.

He had felt like a creature in mating season, wild and senseless.

“You’re awake.”

The words came softly as Haryang withdrew his fingers, his lips still wet. His black hair clung to his bare shoulders, damp and gleaming, radiating an almost indecent beauty that made Yegyeol forget where to look.

Reaching down, Yegyeol found Haryang’s still-hard member and wrapped his hand around it. Without thought or calculation, he slowly lowered himself down onto it.

The blunt tip pressed against his entrance.

“Shall I help you?”

At the low murmur, Yegyeol nodded wordlessly.

Haryang kept his fingers inside, pressing down to spread him wider. Yegyeol’s entrance was swollen from their long night, soft and pliant beneath his touch. Without removing his fingers, Haryang guided himself in.

“Hhhn!”

A sweet cry spilled from Yegyeol’s lips. Though only the tip had entered, his reddened walls fluttered and clenched in protest.

“How cruel you are,” Haryang whispered, leaning down to lick Yegyeol’s lower lip.

“I want you so badly, and yet you only tighten around me.”

“Ah—haaah…!”

Even as he spoke, he pushed deeper, slow but unrelenting.

While Yegyeol gasped for air, Haryang’s hand traced soothing circles across his back, the same hand still buried inside him teasing his inner walls. The slick heat wrapped around him greedily, achingly tight.

When Yegyeol had fallen asleep earlier, his body had continued to twitch, his entrance clenching around nothing, refusing to let go. That shameless display had filled Haryang with both base delight and violent desire.

How ridiculous, he thought, that he had once held himself back. Had he revealed himself sooner, he could have held him like this from the very first night in Wuhuan.

Stealing another kiss from Yegyeol’s flushed mouth, Haryang caught the younger man’s wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand. Then, bracing himself, he thrust upward hard enough that Yegyeol’s stomach lifted. The rapid pace drove the sound of wet friction through the room—obscene, sticky, unstoppable.

Whether it was from the seed already spent inside or the repeated joining that had left him soaked, every thrust made their bodies cling with lewd, squelching sounds.

Perhaps both, Haryang thought, licking his lips.

Yegyeol’s hazy eyes widened, then curved, glazed with heat. His inner walls, which had tightened with tension, now relaxed just enough to cling and ripple around him, refusing to let go—devouring him with shameless hunger.

Haryang’s hand slid up to cup his jaw, then tilted his chin to claim another deep, wet kiss. The lewd sounds of sucking filled the space, each one more depraved than the last.

Suddenly, Haryang reached out and covered Yegyeol’s eyes. The world went dark, and every other sense flared to life.

He brushed his lips over Yegyeol’s again before thrusting hard and fast.

“So good… so good, haa—!”

The cries that followed barely formed into words, breaking apart under the rhythm. His vision flashed white, fading in and out—each flicker bringing him closer to the edge.

“Hhaaa—!”

When Haryang buried himself fully, a sharp cry tore from Yegyeol’s throat—not from fulfillment, but from the frustration of being held there.

The man covering his eyes had one hand wrapped around his lower body, pressing firmly against the base of his shaft, trapping him from release.

“Tell me,” Haryang whispered, voice low and rough, “who is it that’s holding you right now?”

The question struck Yegyeol like lightning.

His tone—hoarse, edged with iron—sounded half like Haryang, half like the Black Ghost. Even the way he used honorifics blurred the line.

If Yegyeol closed his eyes, he could almost believe it was the masked man possessing him.

“S—Senior Brother…”

His voice broke into a sob.

“Are you searching for that man within me?”

The grip around him tightened. Pain mixed with pleasure until the line between them vanished, leaving his lower belly trembling violently.

“Hhn—let go, please—please let me—”

His pleas dissolved into whimpers. Yet Haryang’s hand did not yield.

“I’m—ah—please, I can’t, not anymore—!”

“Then call for him.”

Yegyeol’s breath hitched. Haryang’s voice was strained too, his composure unraveling.

Yegyeol couldn’t see his eyes through the hand that covered them, but he could feel the heat of his stare, the tremor in his breath.

The sight of Haryang’s flushed cheeks and trembling lips might have undone him entirely—so perhaps it was mercy that he couldn’t see.

Their mouths met again, and Haryang drank in his breath like it was honey.

The kiss deepened; their hips met. Yegyeol’s body arched, his inner walls clenching greedily around the thick shaft that filled him to the hilt.

His patience snapped.

“Black Ghost… ah, Black Ghost—!”

The name fell from his lips half in confusion, half in surrender. He wasn’t even sure it was the right one.

But he knew from the way Haryang’s body shuddered that it was.

“Ah—!”

Haryang drove in hard and released the hold around him.

The pressure broke—light exploded behind Yegyeol’s eyelids.

After hovering so long at the brink, his body convulsed in relief. Hot, white seed spilled freely, spattering his own belly and chest.

Yegyeol’s legs trembled around Haryang’s waist as his lover reached climax within him almost at the same time, flooding him with thick, molten heat.

He gasped silently, throat raw, clinging tighter to Haryang’s neck as if to anchor himself against the storm.

When his vision finally cleared, his breath still hitched.

“Hhhaa…”

Even though it was over, his body wouldn’t stop. His shaft twitched, still spilling translucent fluid, as though the pleasure refused to end.

Haryang’s hand slid from Yegyeol’s eyes down to the back of his neck, gripping firmly between his shoulder blades.

The hold froze him in place like a caught animal, trembling helplessly as wave after wave of aftershocks rolled through him. His thighs quivered; he tried to close his legs, but couldn’t.

“It’s all right,” Haryang murmured. “Let me see everything.”

Hearing that low, respectful tone from that voice—the same face, the same hands—made Yegyeol feel like his mind might shatter.

He knew they were one and the same, yet his body refused to understand it. The conflicting sensations overwhelmed everything else.

“P-please… please…”

The words came between sobs, his hips jerking with each tremor. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, unstoppable as a broken dam.

“Hhhn… ah, hhnn—ahh!”

At last, his body stilled, every muscle drained. The release left him hollowed, not liberated but utterly spent.

Haryang gathered him close, brushing his lips against Yegyeol’s ear and nibbling softly before licking the curve. It wasn’t comfort—it was possessive, claiming.

Yegyeol trembled, pressing his damp cheek against Haryang’s chest, breathing in his warmth.

I like it, he thought dimly.

Even if he melted completely, even if he ceased to be human—he wanted to stay like this, joined as one.

Haryang drew him back against his chest, kissing the side of his face, his ear, his neck, his shoulder. Each kiss was tender, teasing, filled with heat.

Wrapped in that warmth, Yegyeol felt his affection as clearly as sunlight through water.

When he finally looked down, he saw their four feet side by side. The sight made him oddly bashful, and he wiggled his toes. When his right foot tilted to the side, Haryang’s moved with it. When he curled his left toe, the other’s followed.

“…What are you doing?”

Yegyeol’s voice carried a trace of laughter.

“Who knows,” Haryang replied, his tone light, playful.

Strangely, the moment filled Yegyeol with courage—enough to ask the question that had lingered in his heart.

“Did you come to take me back to the Ten Thousand Mountains?”

Instead of answering directly, Haryang said,

“I rebuilt the Blue Pavilion.”

His voice was gentle.

“In the central courtyard, I planted a white pine. When the moonlight falls on it, it’s beautiful… I thought you should see it.”

Yegyeol knew Haryang well enough to understand. If the man had truly wanted to drag him back, he would have done so long ago—leashing him like a stray dog. But that was not his way. This was persuasion, not command.

Yegyeol’s shoulders sagged slightly.

He hasn’t done anything wrong, he reminded himself.

It was he who had left without a word, who had fled from Kunlun before they could speak.

They had disagreed, and there had been no time to reconcile.

He had no right to resent the man who came all this way just to speak to him without anger.

“I came to Wuhuan thinking… we’d return together,” Haryang said quietly. “Yes. That was my intention.”

Yegyeol’s ears twitched. He tilted his head back, meeting Haryang’s gaze.

“But now,” Haryang continued, “I want to hear what you want.”

The sincerity in his eyes startled Yegyeol. He turned to face him fully, lips parting in disbelief.

“I want to know,” Haryang said slowly, “what your true plan was. Why it had to be the martial arts tournament. And…”

He smiled faintly before finishing, “Why you chose that particular alias.”

Yegyeol laughed—a broken, tearful laugh—and threw his arms around his neck.

As if afraid of losing him again, he clung tightly, pressing his lips to Haryang’s in a sudden, hungry kiss.

Haryang responded at once, sliding his hands down Yegyeol’s back and holding him close, returning the kiss with quiet intensity.

He didn’t know what had welled up in his disciple’s heart—but the feeling radiating from Yegyeol was raw, unfiltered love.

“…Everything,” Yegyeol whispered between breaths.

“I’ll tell you everything.”