TSBIRBV Ch 80(NSFW)

Chapter 80 The Price (3)

The fingers pressing against the secret place were almost coercive.

Yegyeol could not bring himself to say he disliked it. Haryang seized one of Yegyeol’s legs and drew it toward him.

‘I could snap it like this.’

His disciple’s ankle was so slender it fit entirely in one hand. Toying with it for a moment, Haryang, still holding Yegyeol, reached out with his other hand and took up a vial of fragrant oil.

He uncapped it with his teeth and let the contents trickle between the parted cheeks, flushed like ripened fruit.

Yegyeol curled in on himself by reflex, but Haryang did not release his leg.

“Even if you try not to take it in, it’s no use.”

His senior brother’s warm breath brushed his knee. Though he could not see the man’s face, Yegyeol felt as if he could trace the shape of his lips.

It was strange to know things only by sensation when sight was denied. Just as his senior brother held his secrets, so too did Yegyeol know the identity Black Ghost wished to hide. This single layer of blindfold was a deceit the two of them shared.

“There is as much oil as we need.”

The sensation of the outer skin growing slick was slight, but the feeling of oil flowing down between his cheeks was so distinct it was almost provocative. They had not even begun, yet it was as if they were already in the midst of coupling, wet and messy. Remembering how he had been soaked below during their last union, Yegyeol flushed. Yet with his head heated to a pleasant fever, even that was interpreted as stimulation.

“This is troublesome. You’re already running over, and yet Young Master Mun’s hands are idle.”

His senior brother’s low, even voice poured into his ear, urging him on.

“Should you not prepare an excuse for your bodyguard in advance?”

“F-fine, ngh, I’ll do it well…”

His breath came quick and shallow; the tip of his tongue was red. His fingers, placed upon his chest, clumsily toyed with his own nipple. He did not know what to do to make it feel good, only that he was trying.

“Mm…”

Haryang thought he looked like a child making mud pies.

Watching how his disciple fared, Black Ghost tossed the oil vial carelessly to the floor and pressed his fingers into the glistening entrance of the tight place.

Inside, the flesh was soft and hot. With only a little lubrication, his long, thick-knuckled fingers were swallowed down with eager gulps. It was hard to believe this was only the second time.

Haryang had no idea this responsiveness was due to guiding. He simply took it that his disciple had been born with a sensitive body.

With only a single night of coupling, the awakening of pleasure had overturned Yegyeol’s world.

Feeling desire for his senior brother and trying desperately to hide it, he had nevertheless come seeking the master of the black market curled up in the back alleys. A Kunlun disciple, opening his body to some unseemly vagabond of the demonic way whom he should never even associate with, nodding meekly through every indecency.

What his disciple was desperately trying to protect was their relationship itself.

Though he had long since lost any sense of pity, Haryang felt sorry for his disciple.

For Je Haryang himself had lost everything but the skin he wore. The chivalrous hero of Kunlun whom Yegyeol had staked his life to save had long since faded. What remained here was a black-hearted monster.

‘So he should be told that he need not go this far.’

But pity was not all Haryang had lost.

“How is it? Have you made them even?”

Urged on by the shameless man, Yegyeol nodded hard.

“B-bigger, hht! They… they feel bigger.”

He was not certain, and his voice lacked force. He could not see, so he merely gauged the swelling by moving his hands here and there.

The problem was that the pleasure roiling his thoughts, the guiding energy flowing from his senior brother, was scrambling his senses.

When he had pretended to masturbate loudly for his senior brother to hear earlier, it had been an act; now he found himself consciously rubbing his chest like this.

A low laugh sounded.

“Well… to my eye, the other side has only grown smaller.”

It was Black Ghost’s voice, yet the laugh itself was familiar — the very rumble Je Haryang let slip from his throat when he found Yegyeol endearing.

“This is dire. At this rate… people will guess what a drunken rake was up to all night.”

Separate from the guiding, Yegyeol was acutely aware that he was sobbing beneath Je Haryang. Dizzy with the dangerous sense that he might, in truth, cry out for his senior brother, his mind reeled.

“You said that this ‘senior brother’ assigned that martial expert as your guard, did you not? If word of your debauch should reach him, how can you be so careless?”

The fingers inside him became three, moving. Their slow advance and retreat gathered speed, and Yegyeol felt the pleasure that had been swelling dully from his lower belly begin to clamour.

“Hah, mngh!”

Thinking that if this was the sort of mischief, he could endure it for a hundred, ten thousand years, Yegyeol whimpered.

“No… Samrang… ngh, she promised to keep the secret. Mmm… the… the last time, too.”

Through his ragged breath, the blurred words reached Haryang’s ears.

“Kept it secret?”

Haryang laughed.

How many of his disciple’s secrets were truly his own? Where Yegyeol went, what he ate and wore, whom he met — all lay in Haryang’s grasp. He had not done it with conscious intent, but he had vaguely foreseen this outcome. That was why he had sought to send his disciple back to Kunlun.

What he had not foreseen was this moment, taking his disciple in his arms.

“Do you truly trust someone who is not yours?”

“My senior brother… my senior brother… entrusted me to her.”

Soaked in pleasure and shame, he could not form a single whole sentence — but in that, his professed trust in his senior brother was clear and bright.

Haryang drew his slick fingers out of the tight place. Yegyeol clenched down in haste. It was not that he missed the fingers that had stirred him until he was dripping.

“You need not squeeze so wantonly.”

Something blunt pressed at his hole.

“N-no!”

Yegyeol cried out, but it was all for naught.

“Ah—ah, ngh!”

The entry was in an instant.

Unwittingly, Yegyeol’s hands tightened upon his chest. A sharp pain shot from his nipples, but he only shook, mouth open, unable to release his grip.

“Kh—”

A sound like a groan struck his ear. Like a prince released from a vile curse, Yegyeol muttered miserably,

“Not yet… my chest… ngh…”

He had been told to make them the same size before he was fully opened, and now, even with mercy, they were uneven. He did not quite sob, but with his mind scalded by rapture, he could not think straight.

The explosive guiding that pressed down upon him until he could scarcely breathe bore much of the blame. Crushed by an invisible weight, Yegyeol let words tumble out half-formed.

“Beautiful.”

Black Ghost seized Yegyeol’s hand and drew it down. Beneath it lay a nipple swollen like a bud on the verge of bursting. Bowing his head, Haryang bit it.

“Ah!”

Loud as his cries were, a corner of Yegyeol’s breath soaked sweetly. He had thought it too early for him to feel it through his chest, yet it seemed his disciple had been born with a delicate body. The fact both satisfied and unsettled him.

‘To send such a child out with only a single guard…’

Haryang moved his hips, thrusting his sex to the deepest point within Black Ghost’s body could reach. Even taking a length of this size, the inside was tight to the point of stinginess. Yet from experience he knew: the larger he grew, the better Yegyeol received him.

“Hh—ngh… ngh…”

“Does it… hurt?”

Struggling to restrain an almost unendurable urge, a moan escaped between Haryang’s clenched teeth. Yegyeol shook his head. Yet his cheeks were already wet, his lips shining.

He thought he would go mad. He himself could not endure, on the verge of insanity, while that man still had leisure to watch over him. No, not leisure — it was closer to his inherent kindness.

Even in the very midst of coupling, Yegyeol longed for Haryang’s body. No matter how intoxicated he became, he felt he could never be fully drunk on that scent. Bring all the choicest perfumes of the Central Plains, the fragrance worn by the emperor himself — he would never be satisfied again.

His senior brother had made him thus.

“Hah… h-hold me…”

Spreading his arms, Yegyeol looped them around the man’s neck and pleaded lewdly. His hole was achingly stretched; he felt he could take no more, and still it was not enough. Even if his lower belly burst with his senior brother’s essence, he would thirst. Was this how a bug felt, drowning in honey?

“Ah…”

A rough voice rasped, like metal scraping, breathing a sigh. Sensing instinctively that this was the sound of the last thread of reason snapping, the corners of Yegyeol’s mouth lifted.

The movements of the man who had been gentle until now grew rough. A beast that had mapped every corner of Yegyeol’s body in a single night pulsed above him. Even with guiding, the heavy thrusts battering deep inside were hard to bear. This time there was not even the clumsy aid of a drug.

Even so, Yegyeol clung to Haryang with all he had.

“Ngh—hhht!!”

A single hair, a single drop of sweat — if it belonged to his senior brother, he did not want to miss it.

Thud, thud — the bedframe shuddered harshly. Blood rushed to his head as if his body were turned upside down. The dull strikes driving into his lower belly stole his breath.

From the most secret place, heat rose; it became an irresistible wave that crashed over him. He thought his head would break.

“Ahht, hah! Ha-eung…!”

At that sweet, rending moan, Haryang came to himself for a moment.

“Haa…”

A sensation of excessive tightness in his lower half drew a low groan from him.

The disguise technique was unraveling again. His whole body burned feverishly; where was the leisure to regulate his inner energy? Confirming anew that the frenzy during their last union had not been a fluke, Haryang cursed his own miserable restraint.

The skin mask over his face was coming loose.

Haryang slowly withdrew from within Yegyeol. His disciple’s mouth fell open, working soundlessly.

‘Why?’

Reading his lips, Haryang laughed. As much as he had suffered from the pressure, his disciple must have struggled no less; yet in that brief emptiness, he pouted for more without thinking.

Whether or not it understood its master’s mind, the tight place, spread wantonly a moment ago, was narrowing again. The sight was prim to the point of coyness. If not for the love-juices trickling down his rear, one would scarcely believe it had just held a man.

‘Not yet.’