The honeybee, having received excessive care that the spider claimed was only appropriate—complete with intensive nursing, attentive treatment, examinations, and even what could be called confinement—recovered at an astonishing pace. He’d healed enough now that he could stroll indoors with the spider accompanying him.
Blaine insisted several times that he wasn’t in pain anymore, but his claims were dismissed, and the inspections and surveillance continued. Still, the honeybee, with his relentless willpower, persistently protested. In response, the spider brought in the doctor to shut up the patient’s non-expert opinion once and for all.
Shane, with his vacant eyes gazing off at something far in the distance, muttered that Blaine’s body wasn’t fully healed yet. He then received a few thin, fluttery pieces of fabric from Hurel and left. They were far too small and see-through to be considered clothes—what was he even planning to do with those? Handkerchiefs?
“I’m so bored.”
Blaine, always the type to grumble and whine when pent-up from lack of activity, eventually reached the point where even that wasn’t allowed anymore. Every time he let out a frustrated sigh, Hurel would flash a lascivious smile, pounce on him, strip him down, and lavish him with syrupy affection.
It was impossible to argue that such treatment was inappropriate for a patient when those silky, featherlight touches were so impossibly gentle and sweet. Blaine could only cry out in helpless moans until he was left limp and breathless. At this point, he’d become so intimidated by Hurel that he didn’t even dare speak carelessly around him.
But no matter how gentle the licks, such relentless teasing inevitably left his delicate skin painfully swollen. When that happened, Blaine couldn’t even lie on his back. Instead, he had to sprawl out face-down, legs spread and buttocks raised in a shameful position as he waited for the swelling to go down. And all the while, the spider would snicker and taunt him mercilessly on the side.
After enduring so much, Blaine eventually gave in and started obeying Hurel just to make things easier for himself. But that only led to a vicious cycle—left unsatisfied, he kept clinging to the spider. The fear of getting his ass smacked hard again kept him from even thinking about doing anything without Hurel’s permission. No matter how he looked at it, there was no way out. It was like he’d fallen into a dark, inescapable well with no end in sight.
And yet, the thing that truly made Blaine feel depressed wasn’t even all of that. His activity level had plummeted, and every time he tried to complain about feeling restless, Hurel would try to “cheer him up” by stuffing sweets into his mouth. Now, Blaine was at risk of evolving from a honeybee larger than average to a wasp just slightly bigger than average. No. Absolutely not. Lately, every time he tossed and turned in bed, he could swear he felt something jiggling under his shoulders—and it didn’t seem like a dream. This can’t be happening. I can’t go on like this. This is a disaster.
Tragically, so tragically, Blaine had grown far too weak to desire. His resolve meant nothing. Tonight again, the honeybee, melting like syrup in the spider’s arms with a flushed face and his tongue hanging out, suddenly snapped back to his senses.
“Um, hey, Hani, I, uh…”
“Mm? Bee-Bee.”
Hurel looked at him with eyes as soft as if he were gazing at the most precious creature in the world. The expression was overwhelming, stirring a ticklish warmth in his gut and making his heart swell.
Ahh, I can’t take it. I’m going to fall apart into dust at this rate.
The honeybee cuddled back into the spider’s embrace, rubbing against him like a pampered kitten. But then he flinched—something hard and hot brushed against his knee.
As he raised his knee and nudged the firm object with a few cautious taps, the spider’s expression, which had stayed gentle until now, subtly shifted. Blaine swallowed hard and slowly, carefully reached out with his hand.
“Bee-Bee? What are you… Ugh!”
Now that he thought about it—ever since the run-in with the scorpion, even when Blaine begged and pleaded with desire, the spider never took things all the way. He’d only caressed him tenderly, lovingly, to the point of melting. Could it be that, even while acting rough, he’d actually been holding back for Blaine’s sake?
“Bee-Bee…!”
“Hold still. I’m gonna fall off.”
Climbing onto Hurel, Blaine said it matter-of-factly, and the spider stopped struggling, probably worried Blaine would tumble off the bed. Blaine’s hand boldly slipped down to the waistband of the spider’s pants, unfastening the buckle. Hurel furrowed his elegant brows.
“What are you doing?”
“Tonight, I’m in charge. You just stay still.”
“You’re still not fully healed—what do you think you’re doing? No matter how much you’ve been craving my cock…”
Whack! Blaine smacked Hurel’s pale forehead with the flat of his hand, hard enough to echo. The spider collapsed back onto the bed with a dazed look.
Seriously—how can someone so beautiful, with such a delicate face, say things like that? The fact that Blaine still thought it only happened sometimes meant he was already way past denial.
He gripped the spider’s pants with both hands and yanked them down in one go.
“Gasp!”
A soft thud accompanied the sudden unveiling of that thing—and Blaine found himself gasping before he even realized it.
Of course, he knew. He knew it was there. But he’d never had the chance to face it head-on like this… And now, in this blindingly white room, under the stark lights, with his lover’s lower half looming right in front of his face—Blaine’s complexion turned just as ghostly pale as the walls. How does anyone live with something like that attached to them?
“……”
Blaine swallowed hard and flicked his eyes up toward his lover’s face. Hurel, with his beautiful, porcelain features slightly creased in confusion, clearly had no idea what Blaine was about to do.
Then Blaine glanced back down. It didn’t even seem like it belonged to a living creature. More like some monster’s appendage than part of a normal body.
It wasn’t that the color was wrong—it wasn’t bruised or discolored. And the shape wasn’t misshapen either. If anything, the shaft was straight and well-formed, and the thick veins curling along its length might’ve looked ruggedly masculine. But that swollen, glistening tip—blushed deep red and about the size of a kid’s fist…
For a split second, Blaine considered pulling the pants back up like nothing had happened.
