TSBIRBV Ch 315(NSFW)

Chapter 315. The Bird Leaves Its Nest (7)(NSFW)

“There’s nothing to wet it with… what shall we do, then?”

The man’s lips, glistening and red, looked sinfully seductive as he gazed down at Yegyeol.

“Should I stop? Hm?”

He asked the question knowing full well that stopping was impossible. The heavy, honey-thick tone of his voice carried the scent of desire.

“I– I mean, if you just… do it—”

“You don’t mean to take your hyung all the way, do you? If you want me to reach all the way inside, it needs to be properly wet.”

When Haryang added, “It’s too tight otherwise,” Yegyeol threw an arm over his eyes. He knew it was ridiculous—like an ostrich burying its head in its wings—but he couldn’t bring himself to meet those black eyes head-on.

“Th-then… with your tongue…”

“With my tongue?”

He asked again, feigning ignorance.

“Lick it… please. Wet me.”

He was about to tease further—Where?—when Yegyeol, still hiding his eyes, reached out. Gripping Haryang’s wrist, he guided the man’s hand between his parted legs.

Even before being touched, the place was already damp with anticipation.

“…Quick to learn, as always.”

The voice that had been taunting him moments before dropped into a low, thick rumble. Yegyeol smiled faintly at the dark, coiling desire seeping from his master.

Two strong hands spread his cheeks, and a searing tongue pushed inside.

That soft, wet flesh was nothing like a hardened member—supple, yielding, and slick, moving in circles that made Yegyeol’s entire body tremble.

He’d known this would happen, and yet his face felt as though it might burst into flame.

The obscene sounds—chup, tsup—filled the pavilion, shamelessly loud. Haryang made them deliberately, devouring him greedily, and Yegyeol’s face turned crimson.

“Haah—!”

Every time Haryang’s head moved, the ridge of his nose pressed and rubbed against the perineum, making Yegyeol’s breath stutter. Even a blade against his skin couldn’t have sent such jolts through him.

His soft flesh, tender and flushed, twitched with every motion. Haryang angled his head differently each time, tormenting him in ways that left no escape.

The slick intrusion of his tongue never ceased. Yegyeol could no longer focus on any single sensation—his voice broke into ragged whimpers.

His cock stood hard and angry against his stomach, throbbing and leaking. Haryang, even when it brushed his cheek, didn’t so much as flinch.

If anything, he seemed to enjoy it.

When the tip grazed his face, streaking it with clear fluid, his composed features turned wickedly obscene. Yegyeol wanted to die of shame.

His legs, spread wide in surrender, began to tremble and draw together.

Then a light smack landed on the inside of his thigh—not painful, just startling.

Slap!

Yegyeol’s eyes flew open.

“Good boy…”

The lazy sigh that slipped from Haryang’s lips dripped with affection.

He bent forward again, burying himself between Yegyeol’s thighs. The entrance glistened, wet with his own saliva. Watching it shine, Yegyeol almost felt as though he’d drenched himself.

“Hh… ah…”

When that hot muscle twisted deeper, Yegyeol’s body shook violently. The tongue wasn’t nearly as thick as what he knew was coming, but it made him ache with need all the same.

Those dark eyes stared up at him—hungry, endless.

Yegyeol couldn’t bear it anymore.

“It’s fine if it hurts,” he whispered, his expression hazy with pleasure. “Just—please, put it in.”

At that, Haryang’s eyes narrowed slightly. His lips, however, curved with tender warmth.

“And how will you take responsibility for those words, hmm?”

His voice was low and melodic, like a lullaby. Yegyeol blinked up at him, pleading. Haryang’s hand slid upward, wrapping around Yegyeol’s swollen length.

Even the teasing touch, slow and deliberate, made Yegyeol’s hips twitch helplessly.

“Hh—ahh…!”

Just as he felt himself crest, Haryang’s grip shifted, pressing the tip shut, denying him release.

“You mustn’t say such things to a man who can hurt you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll only make him want to.”

“It’s fine if it hurts. I want it to hurt.”

Yegyeol bit at Haryang’s ear, his whisper dripping with sweet poison.

“If it’s from you… I’ll take anything.”

The warmth in Haryang’s eyes shattered.

The patience he’d been holding—barely—snapped.

“Ha—ah!”

Something heavy pressed inside. Yegyeol gasped as Haryang thrust in without retreat, forcing himself deep into that tight, unprepared space.

The weight drove through him, pinning him to the stone beneath. Even with the solid table supporting his back, it felt as though he were falling—down into the earth, down past everything.

Pleasure so fierce it was almost pain spread through every nerve, down to the tips of his shaking fingers. Yegyeol reached up, clutching at Haryang’s back, wrapping his legs around his waist.

“Ahh…”

Between a moan and a sigh, the sound slipped from Haryang’s lips.

Looking up through wet lashes, Yegyeol saw the man’s eyes were bloodshot—burst capillaries tracing red lines through the whites. He’d restrained himself so long, it was no wonder.

The sight hurt.

Yegyeol reached up, touching his jaw, his cheeks, the curve of his ear, then pressed their lips together again and again, desperate and unending.

Haryang’s body, usually light as air, weighed heavy upon him now—as though this was the only place he could find gravity. Every thrust pushed Yegyeol’s body higher, stealing his breath, scattering his thoughts.

It was hot. Too hot. Every movement seared him.

“Sa-hyung… Daesah-hyung…”(senior brother)

Haryang bit his lower lip, his tongue invading his mouth in answer. He devoured Yegyeol’s breath, his saliva, even the fleeting fragments of his mind.

Each time their hips met, the sound was sharp—thwack, thwack—like blows against flesh. The man who would never lift a switch against his disciple was now merciless in his rhythm.

And Yegyeol… reveled in it.

Not because he was unloved, but because he was wanted—wanted so much that gentleness no longer sufficed.

“Haah—ah!”

“Yegyeol… Yegyeol…”

His name fell from Haryang’s lips, ragged and low. Yegyeol clung to him, raking his back, biting his neck again and again. Each time his teeth sank in, Haryang’s mouth curved faintly, half in pleasure, half in surrender.

Was he drunk on this ecstasy, or on the thought of the death that awaited him someday? Yegyeol didn’t know.

But one thing was certain—Haryang was hopelessly intoxicated by him.

“Ah—ahh…!”

The pounding inside him made his legs tremble, his thighs falling open again. The pleasure rising from deep within shot through his chest, burst behind his eyes, and turned the world white.

Between life and oblivion, he clung—panting, crying, craving more, devouring the man above him as though he could swallow him whole.

His strength gave out; his hands fluttered, seeking something to hold onto.

They found the edge of the sun-warmed stone table. Every thrust sent heat through his palm, grounding him in the reality of where they were—broad daylight, in an open pavilion, the world only a breath away.

“You’re beautiful… Do you know how sweet you are?”

The words spilled like delirium.

And in every desperate thrust, Yegyeol understood—it wasn’t lust alone.

The man who had long been broken and left in ruins was finally rejoicing—rejoicing in the certainty that he would never again be left alone.

Every tremor that passed from Haryang’s skin into his own brought with it equal parts rapture and heartbreak.

Even if it tore him apart, Yegyeol would bear it all. His Daesah-hyung had been alone for far too long.

“Yes… yes, I love you…”

He drew him close, pressing his cheek against his neck and biting down again.

Each time his teeth met skin, Haryang couldn’t help but laugh softly. The faint pressure was almost ticklish—those sharp little bites leaving no mark on his impervious flesh.

And yet, he believed—truly believed—that Yegyeol could kill him if he wished.

Who else could he bare his heart to so completely?

“Never again,” Yegyeol whispered, voice shaking, “I’ll never leave you alone again. Okay?”

Deeper. Please, deeper.

He wanted to let go of everything—to surrender until nothing existed but Je Haryang.

The man cupped Yegyeol’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing gently against flushed cheeks. Locking eyes, confirming consent, he obeyed.

“That promise,” he breathed, “you must never forget it.”

Then he bit Yegyeol’s cheek, rough and hungry, and drove in harder.

Deeper, and deeper still.

Each thrust carved itself into him like a brand, and the cry that tore from Yegyeol’s throat was high and sharp, almost songlike.

Ecstasy crashed through him, so fierce it stripped his thoughts bare. Tears slipped down his face, unbidden.

“Hh—haah, Senior Brother… Senior Brother…!”

He clung to the man’s bare back and wept aloud.

Whether it was moaning or sobbing—neither of them knew, nor cared to find out.