“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Their eyes met—Delroz, lounging with one leg crossed on the sofa, and Banteon behind his desk. As expected, hoping he’d take on such duties was asking too much.
Resolving to gradually increase the Finance Officer’s workload and assign him a secretary, Banteon stamped the next document. As soon as the desk space cleared, fresh papers stacked up neatly in its place.
Just as the strain from looking down too long began to settle in his neck, Delroz approached and started pressing the back of Banteon’s neck. His touch wasn’t so much a massage as it was a soft, listless series of pokes—like a weak attempt to mimic one.
“What are you doing?”
“A massage. I’m not sure how much pressure to use.”
Even though his body had mostly recovered, Banteon still received regular massage therapy and rehabilitation. Delroz had likely seen that and was trying to copy it in his own clumsy way.
It was a sweet thought—but entirely ineffective.
“Try pressing a bit harder.”
“Harder than this?”
Delroz’s brow furrowed as he looked down.
“If I press any more, it feels like you’re going to explode.”
“What do you think I’m made of?”
“Well, I know you’re firmer than pudding, at least.”
The comparison was nonsense. Delroz never had issues handling other people, yet he always treated Banteon more delicately than a newborn kitten. Though Banteon had been ill for a long time after the Rohan incident, he’d been healthy before that. From his perspective, Delroz’s caution made no sense at all.
“At this rate, I won’t feel any relief from the tension.”
“…Should I call the attendants?”
He looked a little disheartened—or maybe that was just Banteon’s imagination. With a sigh, he returned the stamp and pen to their proper places.
After organizing the documents and locking the drawer, he finally turned to Delroz, who had been silently waiting the whole time. Delroz gave a slight shrug.
Truthfully, Banteon’s body did feel stiff and fatigued, just as Delroz feared. He rotated his arm to loosen the tightness in his shoulder.
“I want a bath.”
“Give the order to the attendants.”
“Don’t do that. They’re busy people.”
Of course attendants should be busy. Delroz’s look said as much—when are attendants not busy? But standing right in front of Banteon was the most unoccupied man in the world.
“You wash me.”
“…What?”
“Too much for you?”
As if. Delroz could probably carry a hundred Banteons without breaking a sweat.
After being kidnapped, Banteon had been unconscious for a long time, and even after regaining awareness, his schedule had been filled with treatments. During that entire period, Delroz remained by his side, from the moment Banteon opened his eyes to the moment he closed them. He stayed close, day and night, as though disaster would strike if he left even for a moment. And strangely enough, throughout all that time, he never laid a proper hand on Banteon’s body.
At first, Banteon thought maybe Delroz was being careful because he was still a patient. Then he wondered if maybe Delroz still felt awkward, unsure how to accept the fact that Banteon had finally opened up to him.
But at this point, it was obvious—he was avoiding it on purpose.
“Let’s go to the outdoor hot spring. The weather’s warm today.”
“……”
“Don’t worry. It’s your first time bathing someone, right? I’ll understand even if you’re a little awkward.”
Delroz’s lips twisted into a troubled grimace. Despite knowing full well, Banteon stretched both hands out toward him.
The outdoor hot spring was located in a secluded part of the estate, up a winding hill. It wasn’t an easy place to reach, especially for Banteon, who still struggled with walking long distances. The gravel path made wheelchair use impossible.
Though Delroz’s brow furrowed deeply, he obediently lifted Banteon into his arms.
As the two moved down the corridor, only one set of footsteps echoed. The personnel near Banteon’s office had been reduced to a minimum. Ever since the kidnapping, Banteon had grown wary of strangers, a stark change from before.
They walked through a forest path shaded by aged trees, and soon, the white steam of the hot spring came into view. It was a secretive space, built upon the remnants of ancient ruins and an old spring.
Though originally reserved for direct descendants of the Esrante line, with Banteon the only one remaining in the estate, the hot spring had naturally become his alone. Except for the twice-daily maintenance sessions at dawn and dusk, no one else ever came here. It was a peaceful, private place.
“We’re here.”
As soon as his feet touched the smooth ground, Banteon began removing his clothes from where they draped over his shoulders. He took off the vest and slowly unbuttoned the collar, working his way down. He slipped off the cuffs from his sleeves and tossed them to the floor.
One by one, articles of clothing fell to the ground. Though it was late spring, his overprotective layering had formed quite the pile. His pale skin, now fully exposed, was soon covered with a soft, dry robe.
“…Put this on.”
To think Delroz would hand him a robe just for the ten steps it took to reach the bath. No matter how weak his body was, going into water with a robe on was out of the question. Wet cloth clinging to the skin would only worsen his condition.
Banteon picked up the robe’s belt that lay limp on the floor. A faint smile curled at the corner of his lips. He glanced at Delroz, who had turned his gaze away.
“Should I go into the water wearing this?”
“……”
No answer came. Delroz must’ve known himself how ridiculous the idea was. Ignoring him as he avoided eye contact and kept his head turned, Banteon walked boldly into the hot spring.
Within less than ten seconds, he slipped off the robe that had served its brief duty and set it down. He slowly dipped his feet into the water. Starting from his toes, pale as his fingertips, warmth began to seep back into his body.
The heat of the water, rising up to his calves, felt just right—not too hot, not too cool. Sitting down slowly, he submerged himself to the shoulders. The gentle heat relaxed even the deepest knots in his muscles, and a wave of comfort made his eyes flutter closed.
Cool breezes brushed across his skin while his body stayed wrapped in warmth. If there was such a thing as paradise, this moment might be it.
Behind him, Delroz quietly gathered the bathing supplies. He soaked a sponge in the hot water to soften it. Banteon caught the sight with a passing glance—he seemed determined to do the job properly.
“Wanna come in?”
The hand squeezing the sponge clenched harder. The sponge, still stiff from not yet being fully soaked, crumpled under the pressure.
“It’s warm. Feels good.”
He lifted a foot and gave it a gentle wave. Sunlight streamed through the leaves, piercing the clear water of the spring without obstruction. His skin, paler from being cooped up indoors, drifted like marble against the polished stone floor.
“……”
“It’s too big to use alone.”
“…I knew you were playing with me.”
He was making an effort here—a seduction, in his own way. And yet Delroz accused him of toying with him. That stung a bit. Reaching out, Banteon grabbed Delroz’s arm. His wet hand, slick with spring water, slid smoothly across the skin.
As Delroz flinched and tried to pull away, Banteon tugged his arm closer. The stiff limb gave in with a feigned resistance. As Delroz slowly removed his clothes, deep gashes and torn wounds came into view along his upper body.
Scars from his battle with Rohan.
A massive wound ran across the center of his chest, surrounded by numerous smaller stab marks. On a body that typically didn’t retain damage, these traces spoke of just how brutal that battle had been.
Ironically, Banteon—who had been kidnapped and rendered unconscious—no longer bore a single scratch.
Delroz, now down to just his underwear, finally stepped into the water. Watching him, Banteon’s smile deepened.
Even that last strip of fabric, fiercely guarded, failed to hide the raw shape underneath. Well, for someone trying to be seduced, a bit of reaction was only fair.
“You’ve got scars left. Was it that hard?”
“It’s harder right now.”
“Why?”
There was no reason to endure so much, not anymore. Since regaining his senses, Banteon and Delroz had been maintaining a good relationship—or at least trying to.
Banteon had made up his mind to accept Delroz. He’d decided to embrace this unstable Esper and try to build something solid. But Delroz’s actions were hesitant. Sometimes, even when Banteon acted casually, Delroz treated it like a dream, as though he had to be cautious just to touch him.
The one who grew increasingly frustrated with those moments was Banteon. True, he’d treated Delroz coldly in the past, but he was trying to do better now—only to be met with Delroz constantly retreating.
Even now, clearly aroused and stiff, Delroz kept his eyes averted.
“You’re still in pain.”
“I’m fully healed.”
“You didn’t even like things like this.”
What was he going on about now? Banteon was doing his best to tempt him, and he still came out with this nonsense. Some things hadn’t changed—Delroz really was better when he wasn’t talking.
Banteon pushed back the now-longer strands of hair brushing his nape. Droplets slid down his neck and trailed over his skin.
It wasn’t strange that Delroz had misunderstood. The two of them had never truly had a healthy relationship. Miscommunication, drugs, and hidden emotions had defined them.
And yet, the funny thing was…
“It wasn’t that bad.”
It had been a night seared into his memory—undeniably intense. Banteon didn’t know what Delroz thought of it, but he himself had always been honest about his desires. Before meeting Delroz, he’d had his fair share of casual nights, and even when younger, he’d been quite… experimental.
He just had a very specific taste, and Delroz had never crossed his mind in that regard—until it happened. If someone else had tried the same, he would’ve rejected it outright. But doing it again with Delroz… that might not be so bad.
“It was actually pretty good.”
Still not coming?
With a flick of his fingers, Delroz’s body drifted closer as if pulled by a string. Now up close, Banteon could clearly see the hardened length between his legs and the tightly clenched jaw.
See? He was already at his limit—those eyes were brimming with desire.
