Hurel, who’d been ready to snap Blaine’s wings at the slightest provocation, flinched—just a little, so subtly it was barely noticeable—at those words. He hadn’t thought himself capable of guilt, but it seemed even he had a speck of it left, small as an ant’s tear.
As the spider grew uncharacteristically quiet with self-reproach, Blaine must’ve taken it the wrong way, because he stepped closer and gently patted Hurel’s shoulder. Then, with the softest voice he could muster, he tried to comfort him.
“Hey, Hurel, be good, okay?”
“…You’re really cruel, Blaine.”
Huh? He’s saying I’m the cruel one?! Isn’t he the one being cruel right now?! Blaine suddenly felt like he was the one about to cry.
“I’ve always been alone… So even if it was short, I was really happy being with you. But then you just say you’re leaving without a second thought…”
“…Hurel.”
He might be dumb, but he’s not a bad guy. Blaine mumbled to himself as he reached out and gently wiped the tears soaking Hurel’s silvery lashes. He hadn’t expected Hurel to be this upset, and now it actually hurt a little. No matter what else had happened, they’d shared a home, a bed, and a life—he’d grown fond of him. And he could already tell this beautiful face would pop into his head again and again. If everything went well, and he got better, he’d have to come back with a batch of the finest honey slices as a thank-you gift.
“I’ll make you something really delicious before I go.”
He’d meant to leave early that morning, but in the end, he couldn’t just walk away without at least making Hurel one proper meal. And then there was the delay from trying to calm him down after the spider had suddenly thrown a fit, begging him not to go. Because of all that, time had slipped away.
Watching Blaine’s large back hunched over, anxiously checking through the cooking tools, Hurel absentmindedly tapped the table with his fingers, his eyes suddenly cold and calculating—as if that moment of teary vulnerability had never happened. So. How should he cook that big, brazen bee up to ease some of this burning resentment?
“Should I make something sweet? I heard sugar helps when you’re feeling down.”
“……”
Hm? Why’s it so quiet? Blaine stiffened. He didn’t know why, but a cold chill began crawling up the back of his neck. Still, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and check. His instincts were screaming at him not to.
Tap. Tap. A light sound cut through the silence—the faint touch of fingernails against a wooden table. One of Hurel’s legs tapped restlessly as he calmly and methodically revised his plans behind a composed expression.
He’d been far too naive. He thought a stingless bee like Blaine would just get all gloomy, lose his motivation, and obediently stay put in some quiet corner of the house. He’d fantasized hundreds of ways to coax the bee to open up, how to slowly push him to his limits, to play with him in every way he liked—but now the bastard dared to stab him in the back like this?
The betrayal made his skin crawl. This wasn’t a grudge he could just let go.
Fine. He’d made Hurel feel this way—he would pay the price. He’d stretch that cheeky little hole so wide it’d never belong to anyone else. He’d turn him into a body that leaked from both ends the moment he gave a single command, without even lifting a finger. No… even that wouldn’t be enough. He’d make sure the bee got so addicted, he’d be desperate to be filled every second he was awake, begging to be used…
“Hurel, are you still upset? Seriously, with a heart that soft, how are you supposed to survive in this harsh world?”
The icy chill jabbing at his back suddenly disappeared.
Blaine tilted his head in confusion, but still didn’t dare turn around to find out why. Instead, he opened the spice cupboard. After all, ignorance was bliss—and in this case, probably a very wise choice.
Meanwhile, the spider who’d been spewing visible storm clouds just a moment ago now wore an oddly blank expression as he stared at the bee’s back—or more precisely, those broad shoulders, the muscles of a tense back, the deep groove of a spine, and the firm curve of well-toned buttocks. He was slowly replaying the bee’s words in his head.
So… what had he said?
“You’re too softhearted,” was it?
“Hurel, sorry, but where’s the salt—Hiiik?!”
He hadn’t even been that focused on cooking, but he’d sensed nothing. No movement. No sound. Suddenly, a lean arm wrapped around his waist from behind, settling gently against his abdomen. Then the other hand—the one with pale, soft fingertips—started lightly tickling his side. It was like being caressed by someone touching an expensive sculpture, just barely grazing him with reverent fingers.
His whole body trembled. A moan leaked from his throat before he could stop it.
“H-Hurel, that tickles—stop it—mmph!”
As if nothing strange had happened, the man behind him casually opened the cupboard and handed him the salt jar. Blaine, still reeling from the high-pitched, kittenish sound he himself had just made, could barely think straight, let alone ask the spider what the hell that was all about. He fumbled to take the jar, flustered.
“Blaine~, you don’t mind if I watch, right?”
“I-I-it’s fine, but maybe… a little space, plea—ugh…!”
Warm breath ghosted against his ear, and a low, teasing voice sent shivers down his spine like a feather stroking every vertebra. Of course, Hurel—who knew exactly what kind of state the bee was in—made a show of pursing his lips and exhaling gently into Blaine’s ear, before dragging his fingers along the dip of his firm stomach.
Seeing the flushed red tips of the bee’s ears made some of his anger start to cool.
Yeah… maybe washing that pretty little head of his clean and filling it up with nothing but pleasure, until he was moaning and squirming on all fours, sounded extremely tempting.
But Hurel sighed and decided to postpone that plan—for now.
Come to think of it, it’d always been like this. A pitiful little honeybee with nothing to boast about except a measly, laughable stinger… And yet he’d had the nerve to act like he was protecting someone. Even after dragging him home out of sheer curiosity, Blaine—big as he was—had never seemed like a threat. More like a harmless snack.
And honestly, the way he treated him… like a helpless, fragile child—it hadn’t felt bad.
Maybe letting himself enjoy that a little longer wouldn’t be so bad. Hurel leaned in, burying his nose in the area where Blaine’s thick neck met his shoulder, and began playfully tracing invisible shapes near his belly button with a pointed fingertip.
***
The food was… edible, at best. It didn’t hold a candle to anything Hurel had ever made. But that was no surprise. After all, the only thing Blaine had ever cooked was massive batches of bland field rations for over a hundred worker bees at once.
Still, the spider sitting across from him ate with the poise and elegance of someone dining on gourmet cuisine. Dumb as he was, he carried himself like he’d been born for the spotlight.
“Blaine, it’s delicious.”
“It’s pretty average… But I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Ah—yeah, I should.”
Blaine had barely touched his plate. He’d been staring, utterly captivated, as Hurel opened his mouth just enough to place a perfectly sized bite inside, then gently closed his lips and chewed with slow, deliberate grace.
That’s not good. You need to eat to keep your strength up, Blaine reminded himself, adjusting his grip on his cutlery.
Hurel, watching him with half-lidded eyes, spoke again—his voice lower, colder than usual.
“You’re leaving right after this?”
“Uh… yeah. The earlier I leave, the sooner I can find that Sage guy.”
“In that outfit?”
What’s wrong with my outfit?! Blaine instinctively bristled. With over ten years of being judged for his appearance, anything that sounded like a jab at how he looked always set him off.
He noticed Hurel’s eyes were fixed somewhere near his chest, so he looked down to see what he was staring at.
There it was: the faint swell of his pecs barely visible through the rough black fabric, the shadow of cleavage between them. And further down, a scrap of cloth clinging just barely to decency, barely covering the tops of his thick thighs. Two round pouches pressed snugly against his lower belly.
Blaine was currently wearing nothing but a black apron.
“Ah…”
He looked up with an expression like a puppy that had just peed the bed—awkward and quietly devastated.
Across the table, Hurel licked his lips, hidden from view.
He wanted to grab that thick neck, slam him down onto the table, and force his legs open then and there.
With the apron still on, of course.
