Pressing a palm against Jihan’s floating lower abdomen, Seon came quietly. As the tip pulsed, flooding the hole, Jihan’s own cock leaked fluid, drool spilling from his mouth, tears from his eyes.
“…What a waste.”
Seon let out a strangely wistful laugh and licked Jihan’s face.
“I find you too precious, hyung.”
With the last brush of hot breath against his lips, Jihan lost consciousness.
***
‘Sang-woo.’
He thought he’d been called that as a child. Seon could barely recall his own birth name now.
‘Survive.’
That had been his father’s dying words. Amid the flying embers and ash, a blackened hand—burned in the fire—smeared soot across young Seon’s cheek. The last trace of his father.
He was a traitor to this kingdom. And by the sacred law of yeonjwa, his son, Seon, was one too.
While fleeing the estate, his mother had been captured by the royal guards. Before they took her, she pressed his father’s identity plaque and a silver dagger into his hands.
‘Go to the capital. Find Grand Secretary Choi Mugyeom.’
Choi Mugyeom, his father’s old friend, was a pillar of the court, holding high office.
‘Survive. Live properly… eating meat stew at every meal…’
His mother’s last words were the same. The only difference was that she marked him with dirt instead of soot.
By the time he stumbled into the capital through back alleys, Seon looked no better than a beggar covered in filth. But Choi Mugyeom recognized him at a glance.
‘So you’re Haegang’s son.’
The Grand Secretary was a man with sparse beard and sharp, piercing eyes—yet Seon caught a flicker of soft pity beneath the severity. He trusted this man not to turn him over to the royal prison.
Seon presented the plaque bearing his father’s name and the tarnished dagger. The single lit lantern in the room cast a dim glow over them. Choi Mugyeom stared at the relics for a long time before lifting his dampened gaze.
‘I’ll keep these for you. And you must never speak of your family or origins to anyone—not even my household.’
Seon already understood. He didn’t want those damning tokens in anyone’s hands but Choi’s.
Instead, Choi handed him a new plaque with an unfamiliar name and a yellowed genealogy scroll.
‘I purchased the records of an impoverished hyangban family. From now on, you’re the eldest son of this clan. Your name is Kim Seon.’
‘……’
‘Seon-ah, come with me to Gwangyang. Stay a month, then return to the capital.’
Choi Mugyeom was willing to bear the scandal for his dead friend’s son. Even knowing that bringing Seon into his home would invite rumors of siring a lowborn bastard, he didn’t hesitate.
And there, in that house, he met Jihan.
Jihan must have believed Seon was Choi’s illegitimate child. So his rage toward Seon had some justification.
Seon had never dared reveal the truth, even at the cost of his life. He’d endured the misunderstanding in silence.
But why had that plaque and dagger been in Jihan’s inlaid chest?
At some point, Jihan had already known his birthright. Otherwise, why secretly take and hide the relics?
After Jihan fled, discovering the items in his chest had left Seon more confused than shocked. If Jihan truly hated him, he could have used them as blackmail—handed them to the royal prison as proof of treason. That would have been his way. Jihan was the kind of man who’d ruin others without hesitation for his own gain. At least, the Jihan he knew was.
And yet.
At first, Seon wondered if it was pity. But pity didn’t quite fit. Jihan had every reason to despise him after what Seon had done. Mutual destruction didn’t leave room for something as flimsy as pity. Jihan wasn’t that meek a fool.
Which left only one answer.
“……”
Seon slowly lifted his gaze.
“I’m sorry for misunderstanding you all this time, hyung.”
The kitchen was thick with steam from the bathwater in the wooden tub. Jihan, asleep in the warm water, frowned slightly, as if something bothered him. Seon spoke to him as if he were awake.
“I didn’t realize how desperately you wanted me. I thought you found my very existence repulsive, that you only ever pushed me away…”
“……”
“But you wanted something from me too, didn’t you?”
The unconscious man remained silent.
After staring at Jihan for a while, Seon found himself smiling faintly. Had he even kept his bathing abstinence while on the run? How had he hauled that massive tub to this remote place?
Perched on the rafters, Seon straightened and approached. The water lapped against Jihan’s swollen nipples, scented with fragrant oil. His nape was bruised—his fair skin always marked so easily, even from the lightest bites.
Beautiful. Truthfully, Seon adored Jihan’s appearance—the sleepy, almond-shaped eyes, the sharp yet soft lips when he smiled, the neck that always carried a faint, pleasant scent, the rosy soles of his feet. No amount of kissing was ever enough.
Ah, now that he thought about it… he’d been loveliest when smoking jangjuk.
Seon’s jaw tightened, muscles bulging. He gazed down at the unconscious Jihan and slowly untied his waistband. The memory surfaced: parted lips around the pipe, hollowed cheeks drawing in smoke.
He pushed aside the undergarment, freeing his already erect cock—large enough to reach Jihan’s navel when fully sheathed.
Stepping into the tub, the wet fabric clung hotly to his skin. Jihan’s small, delicate face tilted easily under his fingertips. Seon pressed the swollen tip against the dark lashes, then dragged it down the smooth lid, tapping the soft cheek.
“Huu… haah. Hyung…”
Even asleep, Jihan turned his head, frowning slightly. Soaked as he was, he looked even more languid. Seon thumbed his lower teeth, prying his mouth open, and slid just the head inside. The warm, pliant tongue welcomed him eagerly.
Chap, chap—the sound of water splashing matched the limp sway of Jihan’s head.
He didn’t thrust deep, only let the shaft glide along the wet heat of his mouth until the urge to come overwhelmed him.
“Hah… ah.”
Splat, splat—thick ropes of cum splattered across Jihan’s elegant features. Seon gathered the pearly fluid and dabbed it onto his full lower lip. This was his favorite sight.
“Mmm… ah…”
Jihan’s eyelids fluttered open. At first, he stared blankly at the pubic hair near his face, but then his tongue flicked out, tasting the wetness on his lip, and his brow furrowed sharply.
“Are you awake?”
Seon teased him, prodding his cheek with the tip.
“Don’t…”
Ignoring him, he tapped the lower lip again.
“Get it away.”
“……”
“I won’t—”
Seon said nothing, only watched. Jihan’s darting eyes searched his face a few times, as if gauging his mood. He hadn’t intended to make him so cautious. Smiling like the god of affection itself, Seon murmured:
“You’ll have to clean it with your mouth.”
Jihan’s resigned gaze dropped to the wet glans inches from his face. A hand rose from the water, dripping, and gripped the shaft. His mouth opened, tongue already reaching out.
He shook his head slightly to widen his jaw, careful not to graze with his teeth, and took half the length in smooth, slurping motions. After a breath through his nose, he began bobbing, creating lewd, sucking sounds.
Even the last drops of semen in the urethra were licked clean. His throat worked as he swallowed. For a moment, Seon was tempted to shove deep, to make the water spill in a rush—but he restrained himself. Jihan would never know how many times Seon had held back like this.
When the cock slipped free, the hand holding the shaft went limp and splashed into the water. Jihan leaned back against the tub, unfazed, and fell asleep again.
Seon looked away. He tried to recall the first time he’d wanted to ruin him.
The thin inner robe hung loosely, one leg bent as he sat barefoot, toes so pale they seemed to glow. The round forehead, the mischievous curve of his sock, the lazy eyes—it was as if they absorbed the sunlight only to release it softened back into the world. He could never look away from those damp, intoxicating eyes. That was why he’d pretended to fuss with the plum blossoms.
“…That day.”
The sting of ash on his hand, the playful curl of his lips, the dimple at the corner—still vivid. He couldn’t call it bold. It simply was.
“I did tease you, hyung.”
Seon pressed a deep kiss to the corner of Jihan’s sleeping eye.
***
The first thing he did upon waking was check his body.
His ass felt hollow. His cock throbbed dully. Jihan lifted the blanket and inspected the tip—slightly swollen near the urethra, but no serious damage.
As he pressed his forefinger against the soft glans, testing if he could urinate, a wave of self-loathing crashed over him.
“Young Master!”
The door burst open. Jihan startled, yanking the blanket back over his lower half.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
