Chapter 40

Yi-tan called him over gently. His damp hair fell across his brow, half-concealing the sharp contours of his eyes and lending his features an approachable, youthful softness. For the first time, he actually looked his age.

Right, you are this young. The thought left a dull ache behind Myeong-joo’s breastbone.

Perched on the edge of the bed with an easy, curving smile, Yi-tan waited for him. Having frozen in place, Myeong-joo forced his stiffened knees to move and walked toward him.

“I would have preferred to let you soak in a hot bath after such an exhausting day,” Yi-tan said with wry regret, “but my condition does not afford us the luxury, Instructor.”

“…I understand,” Myeong-joo murmured softly.

As Myeong-joo drew near, the seated youth had to look up at him. Reaching out, Yi-tan caught Myeong-joo by the wrist and drew him in, closing the single stride between them. A dizzying fragrance drifted off him—not the cologne Myeong-joo remembered from before, yet potent enough to make his temples throb.

Holding up the small vial, Yi-tan explained, “I managed to procure some camellia oil.”

“…”

At the baffling remark, Myeong-joo could only stare in silence. With a soft chuckle, Yi-tan pulled him down to sit beside him on the mattress. The sudden movement ruffled Myeong-joo’s robe, its hem riding up over Yi-tan’s thigh. Flustered as the front parted slightly, Myeong-joo moved to pull it closed, only for his free wrist to be captured in the other man’s grasp as well.

“…Second Lieutenant,” Myeong-joo whispered hesitantly.

He had spoken the title without any real purpose. Even after calling out, he had no idea what to say, his lips trembling helplessly. But in the next breath, Yi-tan reached out and slid a hand between Myeong-joo’s thighs, sending a shock of panic that made him try to scramble to his feet.

“Wait…!” Myeong-joo gasped.

“There is no cause for alarm,” Yi-tan replied with unhurried calm.

His voice was quiet, steady to the point of utter detachment. Yet Myeong-joo could not muster even a fraction of that composure. Not only had another’s hands never reached into such an intimate space, but having those hands belong to Yi-tan made the sensation overwhelmingly intense.

“No, of course… but still…”

Trying to mount some protest, Myeong-joo realized with a sudden pang that this was what an intimate encounter entailed: an unheralded intrusion into a place no one else had ever touched, and learning to surrender to it. Even so, he hated seeing Yi-tan remain so utterly unruffled. He refused to let the man see him thrashing like a fragile wooden skiff caught in a tempest. After all, he possessed his own pride as a man.

With slow deliberation, he pulled his wrists from Yi-tan’s grip and rose to his feet. He could feel Yi-tan’s gaze tracing upward.

Without meeting those eyes, Myeong-joo took hold of the robe’s sash. “I am unaccustomed to such proceedings, so there is much you will have to overlook, Second Lieutenant.”

“Yes, I will keep that in mind,” Yi-tan answered smoothly.

The slight smile playing at the corners of Yi-tan’s lips remained unchanged. For some reason, it struck Myeong-joo as faintly insolent. Swallowing down a surge of irritation, Myeong-joo untied the sash and shed the bathrobe without another word.

Yi-tan’s gaze drifted downward with the falling garment, then traveled slowly back up Myeong-joo’s body. Wherever that look touched, heat flared across his flesh like a spreading fever. Even though not a single hand had grazed him, the sensation was scorching.

Right. Since he promised to keep it in mind, I will leave it to him. Yi-tan was a well-bred grown man, a gentleman who had never once failed to treat him with courtesy. Even if their feelings were entirely mismatched, Myeong-joo was, in truth, an unimaginably fortunate man to share such intimacy with his first love.

Yi-tan called softly, “Instructor. Come here.”

His smile was radiant and bright. Tugging gently on Myeong-joo’s wrist, Yi-tan drew him down onto the mattress. That intoxicating scent lingered heavy in the air. For years beyond measure, Myeong-joo had yearned either to be held in those arms or to gather the other into his own embrace. Now, that faded, distant longing was on the verge of fulfillment.

Surely there was no reason to be melancholic.

“Ngh… ah…” A ragged shudder wracked Myeong-joo’s chest.

A wet, friction-filled sound rhythmically filled the quiet room. Each time Myeong-joo reflexively drew his legs together, an unhurried yet firm touch parted his knees once more, prompting him to spread them wide in startled compliance like a child reprimanded after repeating an error.

“Khh… ngh…”

Muffled groans kept escaping his lips because of the fingers working steadily into his intimate heat. Anxiously, Myeong-joo cast his eyes downward again and again. Catching that gaze, Yi-tan chuckled softly and patted the side of his thigh—his fingers glistening with slick camellia oil.

“It is only my fingers,” Yi-tan murmured with easy nonchalance. “Two of them for now, and… hm, it seems we might be able to add another.”

“That cannot be… This is strange, so strange,” Myeong-joo stammered, shaking his head in denial. “Is this how it is supposed to be done…?”

To his knowledge, that place was never meant to take anything inside. That had to be why merely a couple of fingers produced an overwhelming pressure that felt as though a solid rod were thrusting into him. Each time the slick camellia oil slid between his thighs and made him flinch, a bizarre sensation rippled through him.

Looking down at Myeong-joo’s trembling legs, Yi-tan let out a breath laced with laughter. “It does not seem entirely unpleasant to you… Is it still uncomfortable?”

“…Pardon?”

Only then did Myeong-joo realize Yi-tan’s gaze remained glued to his groin. Reflexively following that downward stare, Myeong-joo was confronted with the undeniable sight of his own rigid arousal.

“Ha…”

A breath of utter dismay escaped him. Even as he had been groaning in distress, he had believed the sensation to be merely bizarre and unsettling; to find his own body responding so ardently and standing fully erect at the friction of Yi-tan’s probing touch was both mortifying and lamentable.

Perhaps reading the humiliation washing across Myeong-joo’s features, Yi-tan slowly rotated the fingers settled inside him, soothing him with subtle circles. As that pressure steadily pressed against his inner walls, Myeong-joo’s brow knitted involuntarily.

“I find myself somewhat aroused as well,” Yi-tan observed in a low cadence. “What a relief—I was worried you might not respond at all. After all, it is far better if you enjoy this too, Instructor.”

“…Ngh.”

Instead of answering, Myeong-joo shielded his face with both palms. The rhythmic motion had resumed—stretching him gently before sliding in deeper, then withdrawing with a slick friction. Dizzied as the fingers pressed firmly against his inner contours, spreading the oil thoroughly into every fold, Myeong-joo assumed Yi-tan had spoken merely to soothe his wounded pride. In all reason, why would a virile young man in his prime ever be aroused by an older man of the same sex?

“If you can bear it, I will add one more,” Yi-tan murmured.

There was no time to cry out that he was not fine at all. A third finger slid inside, expanding the fullness within him. As Myeong-joo stiffened in alarm, Yi-tan looked down and stroked his hip with comforting familiarity. Flustered by that unabashed, almost impudent touch, Myeong-joo shuddered, only for Yi-tan to meet his eyes with an open grin.

“You seem rather stubborn in there, don’t you?”

“…”

Biting his lip, Myeong-joo clamped his jaw shut. That insolently teasing tone stung his pride, yet Myeong-joo knew that if he parted his lips, a mortifying groan would tear out, so he bore it in grim silence. His entire face burned crimson.

As he stifled his voice, the quiet room became filled solely with the wet, slick friction from below, and the squelching cadence of fingers probing into that tight, soaked heat before drawing back. The flush that began in his face cascaded downward, painting his pale chest a vivid scarlet.

Yi-tan, who had been intent on opening him up, lifted his head slightly to gaze at him, his brow arching in subtle amusement. “Mm, I truly am getting aroused,” he murmured quietly.

Myeong-joo had no idea what the man could possibly see to make such a claim. For a grown man to become fully erect simply from having fingers worked into his body should have seemed pathetic and unseemly, yet Yi-tan claimed to be aroused. It felt like an outrageous joke. Myeong-joo began to deeply doubt his sincerity.

From the very beginning, everything had felt strange. He had never heard of camellia oil being employed for such a purpose. When Yi-tan laid him upon the bed and, without a word of explanation, poured the oil between his thighs, he had already wondered whether this was right. Lacking any knowledge of such matters, Myeong-joo would have no way of discerning if Yi-tan was simply making sport of his utter ignorance regarding intimacy between men.

He was well aware that women possessed a place to receive a man when uniting in passion. Among the bawdy barracks talk he had picked up during his military service, there were even detailed boasts about where and how to touch a woman to bring her pleasure. Yet union between two men—even if common enough between Aberrants and Harmonizers—was never openly discussed in polite company, and with no close companions to speak of, Myeong-joo knew nothing. Consequently, the suspicion naturally crept in that this entire spectacle was merely Yi-tan toying with him, like a cat batting around a cornered mouse.

“You are… making sport of me.”

Because he had spoken just as a finger thrust deeper inside, his jaw trembled violently. A flicker of unshielded resentment broke through his expression, catching Yi-tan’s eye. Seeing it, Yi-tan shook his head with firm conviction.

“Not at all. Why would I ever make sport of you, Instructor?”

He wore a rare expression of surprise. When Myeong-joo caught his breath with obvious skepticism, Yi-tan shifted his weight, settling himself more closely between Myeong-joo’s parted knees.

“If you doubt me, look at this,” Yi-tan urged quietly.

He drew his hips closer, wedging his waist between Myeong-joo’s parted thighs until rock-hard muscle pressed against Myeong-joo’s legs. Myeong-joo had been the only one stripped bare, but Yi-tan’s sudden movement caused the white bathrobe to part at his thighs. The unexpected brush of bare, taut skin against his own made Myeong-joo swallow a sharp gasp.

“I asked you to look, Instructor.”

When Myeong-joo stubbornly refused to turn his gaze, Yi-tan pressed him with gentle insistence. Short of breath from the sheer proximity of their bare skin, Myeong-joo blinked dazedly before finally looking down between them.

A thick, formidable silhouette rose proudly between his thighs, so imposing that at first he could hardly believe his eyes.

Only after looking several times did it register that this was Yi-tan’s fully aroused masculinity. Heavy veins wrapped around the shaft like winding vines, crowned by an imposing, flared crest that radiated intense heat. Taut and smooth from fierce arousal, the crown was a flushed crimson against the deeper, darker hues of the shaft, presenting a visual power beyond any description.

With a low, knowing chuckle, Yi-tan asked, “What do you think? Is this proof enough?”

Myeong-joo had no idea what was supposed to be proof of anything. Transfixed, he could not tear his eyes away, but when the rigid length gave a slight, responsive twitch under his burning gaze, he jerked his head aside in sheer mortification.

“Why look away? Perhaps it is distasteful because you have never looked upon another man’s body so closely,” Yi-tan said with a light laugh, tossing the words out with an easy smile.

Bristling at the barb, Myeong-joo shot him a frigid glare. “Is that how you felt when looking upon mine, Second Lieutenant?”

“Did I?”

Yi-tan looked at him as though hearing something completely unexpected. Then, with a slow, deliberate expression as if only now taking notice, his eyes traveled down to where Myeong-joo remained rigidly erect. At once, a blazing wave of humiliation washed over Myeong-joo’s face.

I should never have said that.

Wherever Yi-tan’s gaze rested, it felt electrifyingly sensitive, as though a fine calligraphy brush were feathering lightly across his bare tip. Having scrutinized the length straining taut toward Myeong-joo’s navel, Yi-tan finally parted his lips.

“It is nothing like that. If anything, yours is…”

He broke off there and fell silent. Even as Myeong-joo told himself he had no desire to hear the rest, his ears strained involuntarily for the unspoken words. Yet Yi-tan said nothing more.

“Did you catch your breath?” Yi-tan asked casually.

That was all he offered. As Myeong-joo knitted his brows in confusion, wondering what he meant by catching his breath—

“Ngh…!”

His fingers penetrated within once more, this time pushing two inside together. The intent to brook no refusal was unmistakable, the cadence firmer and more demanding than before. A violent tremor ran through Myeong-joo’s frame. Once again, wet, friction-filled sounds echoed through the room.

He buried his face in his hands once more, refusing to let himself groan pathetically all on his own. Yi-tan did not stop him from shielding his face, but neither did he pause his deep, deliberate probing, making the sensation almost unbearable.

“What in the world—ngh! What are you doing?!” Myeong-joo demanded in outrage.

A sudden shock forced Myeong-joo to prop himself up on his elbows. Inside him, Yi-tan parted his index and middle fingers like a pair of scissors, stretching the tight passage wider horizontally. As Myeong-joo gaped at the outrageous sensation in absolute disbelief, Yi-tan merely shrugged.