Chapter Text
05 – Your Hand, My Hand
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Namgung Myeong decides not to think anymore.
He is done.
He does not want to think about the Island and the massacre.
He does not want his brother’s dying moments to be replaced by red eyes and a dark smile.
He does not want to feel the energy that courses through him when they touch, the pounding of his heart, the want that builds up within him.
He does not want.
He does not…
……
…
Namgung Myeong is tired.
“He’s acting weird?” Chung Myung frowns.
Im Sobyeong shrugs off the rather murderous feeling aimed at him.
“It’s only rumors for now, but they’re quite true. Namgung Myeong has been acting oddly for the past few days now.”
Listless and looking as though in a daze. And even if someone were to approach him for conversation, the best response they could hope for would be some noncommittal hum or an absent response.
“The Dang Lord had a difficult time placating the Young Lord Namgung, you know? Apparently, the boy looked distraught because his uncle hadn't been eating, drinking or sleeping properly recently.”
Here, the King of Green Forest gives the Swordsman a meaningful look.
Did you break him?
“…Not really?”
At least, not while Chung Myung is aware of.
He had only been teasing. Nothing more than an attempt to gauge how the Turtle will react when faced with an unpredictable variable.
The reaction he got in return had been quite amusing really, enough to make the Swordsman decide to back down, smiling in satisfaction.
Did something happen?
Chung Myung frowns.
No, that would be impossible.
The current compound where the Alliance resides is under constant surveillance; no one is permitted entry or exit without prior notice or his acknowledgment. Chung Myung had given strict instructions to eliminate anyone that might so much as claim to be merchants or staff related to the compound yet without proof of such.
Knowledge, words, mannerisms, and even their very body language are dissected and torn apart without mercy.
The Alliance is the result of Chung Myung’s hard work.
He would be damned if he let anything rot it.
Yet apparently, that situation had not only happened, but it also occurred under Chung Myung’s nose no less.
What an insult.
“…hey.”
The King of Green Forest straightens to attention. “Yes?”
“Go to the merchant bearing the most expensive silks in the city,” a dark smile, one full of teeth and intentions to scam someone, slips across a youthful face. “Tell them to make a dress out of it. I’ll pay for the costs.”
“A – a dress?”
Yet Chung Myung does not deign to entertain his Right Hand General anymore. His mind is whirling once more, plans forming and destroyed in a matter of seconds. It would be impossible to pry anything out of him in this state.
Im Sobyeong can only sigh and tap at his fan.
The Swordsman has spoken. What else can he do but comply?
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.
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Chung Myung has to admit it – despite being a parasitic Sapa lifeform, Im Sobyeong has good tastes.
Im Sobyeong and Dang Gunak had done their best to make the Elder presentable. Perhaps it was because of the sense of urgency and crisis from Namgung Dowi, or maybe it was due to Chung Myung’s order, but the two men had been oddly invested in Namgung Myeong’s appearance for the day.
I should reward them for this later.
Those men did a brilliant job.
To say that the Namgung Myeong in front of him is beautiful would be a severe understatement.
Dressed in silk robes of teal decorated with plum blossoms and a white sheer outer robe, the Elder’s luscious black hair tied in that white ribbon Chung Myung had purchased during their first excursion. The light makeup on his fair face is designed to give the man’s cheeks a lovely pink hue, the lips looking full and inviting for a bite.
With all of these things together, Namgung Myeong appears more like a vision sent from the heavens rather than an Elder of a Great Family.
If there is only one thing that mars such loveliness, it would have to be…
“Little Turtle.”
“...”
No response.
Restraining the urge to scowl, Chung Myung peers at the eyes of the person in front of him.
Violet eyes greet his gaze. Their luster having faded into a dark hue, lacking a sense of life within them.
This is the problem.
Chung Myung honestly did not expect Namgung Myeong to retreat into himself like this. He expected the man to react, yes, but to go so far as to bury himself within the recesses of his subconsciousness?
“It's like I'm talking to a doll,” the Swordsman complains aloud.
His companion does not reply.
This time, he allows himself to scowl visibly.
This isn't amusing.
Not one bit.
Red eyes narrow contemplatively.
“It's not as entertaining when there is no one around to tease.”
The doll on his lap does not react.
As expected, Chung Myung hates it.
In the end, Chung Myung leads them both to the gardens - towards the hidden pavilion, connected by a single ornate wooden bridge and covered by colorful flowers.
He sets Namgung Myeong down directly across him, staring intently at those empty lavender eyes and that fair face lax like a doll’s.
“Little Turtle.”
“…”
There is no response from the Elder.
“Tch.”
It can’t be helped.
Chung Myung decides to try something as an experiment.
He undoes the sash around Namgung Myeong’s slim waist, slipping the robes until his shoulders and part of his upper body are bare, the robes having settled themselves by Namgung Myeong’s elbows. Displayed are those white shoulder blades, the long pale neck, and two little pink buds looking enticing on top of a milky white chest.
They resemble the colors of plum blossoms.
Enough that Chung Myung finds himself licking his lips.
He leans down and proceeds to lick one nub experimentally.
There is no response.
Chung Myung frowns.
“Rather than a Turtle, you resemble more of a doll.”
Noting so, he leans down, placing one hand upon the Elder’s cheek while the other settles itself at the small of Namgung Myeong’s back.
“Soft,” Chung Myung notes, thumb running circles upon the Elder’s skin. “Squishy…fleshy.”
He gathers the man into his arms and onto his lap, rugged fingers catching some strands of luscious black hair as the Swordsman brings their faces closer.
A bloody red gaze peers at the Elder’s eyes.
What was once a pair of bright lavender, wide and brimming with emotions, has now been rendered blank.
Empty.
Devoid of life.
Chung Myung hates it.
So he tugs the shell of the man known as the Lion Sword of Namgung downwards, sealing their lips together in a kiss strong enough to bruise.
Their bodies glow a luminescent blue.
.
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It’s muffled.
There are sounds, and he can see everything.
But he cannot…
He does not feel it, feel them.
It all just doesn’t seem real.
He can see Dowi’s face, the worry in his eyes and the furrow of his brows.
His nephew is talking, but it all rings distant to his ears. His lips are moving, yet his voice sounds muffled like screams underneath the waves.
He can't feel his own body. He would have pinched himself if he could.
Everything is muted.
Out of touch.
Where is he?
It’s terrifying.
“Little Turtle.”
…?
Who…?
“Little Turtle.”
A deep voice.
Neither young nor old.
Neither warm nor cold.
Yet somehow…
“Come back, Little Turtle.”
This sounds familiar.
A voice that makes my heart throb.
A sound that makes me want to shy away.
“You promised me, didn’t you?”
An offer.
A promise.
For the price of one.
“So come out of that shell.”
Ah.
I remember now.
How could have I forgotten?
Bloody red eyes.
Strong arms.
Large hands.
A deep voice.
Devilishly handsome features.
How could he have forgotten that person…?
The world begins to open.
His heart pounds fiercely against his chest.
It feels like it will explode out of him.
Yet that does not scare him.
“Anything for you.”
Lavender eyes open themselves to the world once more–
The first thing that comes to Namgung Myeong’s mind is the sensation of warmth that surrounds him so thoroughly. It is comforting, the heat serving to increase the fog within his already dazed mind.
The next thing he registers is the weight. The feel of arms wrapped tightly around him - the hand at the small of his back as well as the fingers that grab at his nape and hair. The rise and fall of another’s chest against his own, the sound of breathing that is not his.
His nose catches the strong scent of plum blossoms and finally, he registers the lips currently against his own.
“–!”
Namgung Myeong’s eyes blow wide open in surprise.
How.
What.
Why?
Why am I kissing the Dojang right now?!
Long fingers fly up to grab at the man’s shoulders, grasping the fabric of Chung Myung’s uniform desperately. The Elder of Namgung looks down to where familiar red eyes are gazing at him from below.
A warm and wet tongue licks at the bottom of Namgung Myeong’s lip.
The momentary surprise from him is enough of a chance for the Swordsman to slip his way inside. A moan comes out of Namgung Myeong as he feels the man’s tongue graze his own, circling the tip and inviting him, while those large hands work their way through his neck and hips.
Pressing their bodies closer, Namgung Myeong notes that he is seated on Chung Myung’s lap, legs pressed against either side of the man’s hips. The top part of his robe has been stripped open, nipples brushing against the material of the Swordsman’s uniform tantalizingly.
It’s nice, is the thought that distantly passes through the Elder’s mind as he begins to respond to the Dojang’s ministrations. Really nice.
To the point that it is hard to believe that he was supposedly an ascetic Taoist.
Namgung Myeong is left panting when they part, a translucent string momentarily connecting them both before it snaps just as quickly.
His mind is a whirling mess. Questions flitting from all directions with no answers to be found, question marks filling every blank, and not a single clue present.
Chung Myung watches him take his breaths. The normally distorted expression he sports around the children is absent, face impassive as red eyes coolly observe the Elder seated atop his lap.
“Dojang,” Namgung Myeong gasps out once he has taken his lungful of air. “What - what is going on?”
The Swordsman merely hums in lieu of a response. Raising a hand, he grabs Namgung Myeong’s chin, ensuring that the other’s gaze meets his own steadily.
“Wrong title,” says the Dojang. “Try again.”
Namgung Myeong blinks.
Not the right title?
Then…
“Swordsman?”
“No.”
“Divine Dragon?”
Chung Myung stares back, unamused.
“Try again.”
As he looks nervously at that displeased countenance, the Elder recalls the night they spent with Dowi in the garden.
Could it be?
It’s worth a try, right?
“...Sir?”
Namgung Myeong watches with no small amount of stupefaction and confusion as red eyes curl into a pair of crescent shapes, a satisfied smile playing at Chung Myung’s elegant features.
“That’s right,” says the Swordsman, gripping the Elder’s waist tighter to bring him downwards. “Little Turtle.”
Namgung Myeong freezes. He can feel a bulging form underneath him. Suddenly aware of his state of undress, he tries to keep his weight off the man’s lap, but to no avail. If anything, his struggles just worsen the situation, the curved organ teasingly caressing his thigh.
Amused by his attempts, the Swordsman makes no move to help him, rolling his hips to brush against Namgung Myeong’s body. Chung Myung smiled innocently at the panicked look on the other’s face.
Namgung Myeong does not know whether it’s nausea or excitement that runs in his veins; that makes his limbs shake like a newborn fawn’s, his pulse speeding up.
“Rumor has it,” a large hand comes to gently brush his hair out of his face. The Swordsman’s voice is light and airy as the arm around Namgung Myeong’s middle forces him to sit on the man’s bulge properly, Chung Myung hissing in satisfaction as the elder trembles in his lap. “That Namgung Myeong has been neglecting his health.”
“I take excellent care of my people.”
“Little Turtle has been rather naughty, worrying all the children like this. Dowi was grief-stricken when he asked the Dang Family Lord what was wrong with you.”
Chung Myung lazily mouths at the slender neck in front of him, feeling Namgung Myeong’s heart speed up at his words. The man moans uneasily as he grinds down on Chung Myung, hips twisting as he arches against the younger man.
Even through the thick material of the uniform, Chung Myung could feel a certain softness against his own chest.
It is rude to reject an invitation when it is being offered.
Unlike before, a twist of his nipple has Namgung Myeong mewling, body shuddering as he tries to escape Chung Myung’s grasp, to pull away from the pleasure.
He is being rude. Refusing something that Chung Myung is so earnestly offering?
What did Dang Gunak say?
Right. As his owner, it is up to Chung Myung to properly train the man.
It’s good that he knows how to tame disobedient brats.
Namgung Myeong does not have the time to properly regain his breath when the Swordsman once again decides to invade his mouth, his large hand boldly groping at his chest. He sobs when a calloused finger rubs his nipple, a nail digging at the tip in his grasp, sending shockwaves through Namgung Myeong’s body.
The man leans harder against him, arms tugging down the Elder’s robes and encircling his waist to cup at his behind. Chung Myung grinds relentlessly against him, ignoring how Namgung Myeong is sobbing in his mouth, lightheaded from the lack of air. He desperately shoves his chest harder against the Swordsman’s own, whining at the brush of fabric against his sensitive nipples.
When Chung Myung finally gives him the allowance to breathe, his head lolls around like a puppet with his strings cut off, hazy eyes beseechingly looking at Chung Myung’s.
Like a man possessed, his lips search for the younger’s.
He knows that he did well when the man laughs at his attempts, beautiful red eyes looking at him.
Only him.
And no one else.
Namgung Myeong can feel his loins stir in arousal when the Swordsman easily shifts him on his lap, moving the Elder around as though he weighs nothing.
He soon grows confused when he is made to kneel before the man, between his legs. A large hand holds the Elder’s jaw as he is indulgently petted like a dog by his generous owner.
“It’s a pity. Really.”
The comforting hand turns punishing as he is yanked by his hair toward Chung Myung’s crotch. His lips touch the material of the Swordsman’s pants as he is held in place, hand twisting until he is whimpering in pain.
He shouldn’t be…
He never…
“You were behaving so well…” The man’s red eyes stray from Namgung Myeong’s form, almost bored by his ragged appearance; his hand leaving midnight locks, warmth retreating from the Namgung Elder’s side.
The Swordsman makes a move to leave.
“It seems that all good things will cease at one point…”
Namgung Myeong sobs at the heavy disappointment that coats the Swordsman’s voice. His tone sounds so far away to his ears, a buzzing noise deafening him as he chokes on his breath.
His heart leaps in his throat, bile rushing up–
Nonononono-
The Dojang can’t discard him.
He can’t.
He can’t!
Namgung Myeong cries as he tries to hold the man back, to grab onto Chung Myung’s pants and beg like the rat he is–
Don’t leave me!
Bodies hitting the ground.
His brother’s valiant body jumped into the raging waters.
Eyes.
Eyes staring at them pitifully
Like looking at dogs dying at the side of the road.
Abandoned.
Namgung Myeong falls forward, his face hitting the man’s thigh with a dull thud.
With a small tug, he realizes that his hands have been tied behind his back, bundled in his own robes. Like this, the Elder will not be able to cling to the Swordsman even if he wants.
Please nonono-
Looking at Chung Myung with teary eyes, Namgung Myeong gets on his knees as he fawningly rubs his face against the black fabric of the man’s pants. Every swipe of his cheek soaks the black pants in salty tears, his body trembling as panic begins to set in.
“Si- sir, let me please you, sir. Please. Please. Please. I will be good. Sir, please-”
Don’t leave me.
Red eyes look impassively at his pathetic form, seemingly unconvinced by his miserable attempts to keep him by the Dojang’s side. Chung Myung bends down to run a large hand across the Elder’s cheek, dipping down to once again tug at a sensitive nipple.
Namgung Myeong gasps in shuddering breaths. Mouth opening to shyly lick at his uniform
Chung Myung smiles.
(Was it so hard?
Keep looking at me with those pitiful eyes of yours.
This is your best look in my eyes.
How far will you fall under my heel? Oh, proud Elder of Namgung…)
“Prove it to me then. Otherwise, I suspect that soon enough, the esteemed Elder as the Lion Sword of Namgung will no longer have enough time on his hands to entertain a poor disciple such as myself.”
Chung Myung’s lips stretch into an ironic smile.
How could he be an ordinary disciple?
Chung Myung wants to throw him away.
Namgung Myeong is convinced of that.
Chung Myung is leaving.
Why is he leaving him?
Namgung Myeong cries out.
“Tsk. So needy. I will be over there. It would do you good to follow me out, Little Turtle.”
With one look at him, Chung Myung turns on his heel. He steadily heads off to the other side of the pavilion, to the part facing the small pond.
The Swordsman settles down with a plop, throwing him an expectant look.
Namgung Myeong wants to reach the Dojang’s side as soon as possible, readying himself to rise to his feet. However, he pauses before he can fully put his feet on the ground.
Knowing the Dojang…
The dresses.
The escorting.
The touches–
Namgung Myeong settles on the floor, putting one knee before the other until he is crawling on the floor like a servant.
The Elder knows he has made the right choice when he hears the soft exhale of Chung Myung, fingers impatiently tapping on the bench beside him. Even without raising his head, he knows.
That man is looking at him.
So he makes a show out of it.
He angles his torso until the shadows draw dark valleys between his breasts, chest heaving with heavy breaths. His hair sways with every step he takes, head lowered as he carefully gazes at Chung Myung’s still form from beneath dark lashes.
He stops just barely in front of the man, falling with a thud on his shoulders. Namgung Myeong does not care for the pain and bruises on his chest as he nuzzles his cheek against Chung Myung’s instep, lips searching to kiss the man’s ankle.
From the protruding bone, the Elder mouths upwards at Chung Myung’s flesh underneath the uniform - at his shin, at his knee, practically nibbling at his thigh through the material. He arches his body until his chest rubs against the man's shins in what he hoped to be a flattering move.
He bites down on a whine of pain when his nipples sting at the actions, already stimulated by his fall against the ground.
(Red eyes watch the cute little plum blossoms on the man’s chest.
Already so red and puffy, and he barely even started playing with them. He cannot wait to sink his teeth into them. It does not escape his notice how his Little Turtle’s cute little dick twitched when Chung Myung tugged at them earlier.
He also didn’t miss the heavy flush of humiliation that covered the Elder’s face when he debased himself.
Such a slu*t.
Isn’t he cute?)
Chung Myung watches with a barely contained giggle of amusem*nt as his Little Turtle struggles to untie his pants with only his teeth. The Elder’s messy hair falls all over his face as Chung Myung's dick hits him on the face, smearing his pretty features with whiteness.
The Swordsman is pretty sure that his little pet is entering heat season with how he moans out, clumsily attaching his lips to the pulsing organ. Namgung Myeong wastes no time in kissing and lavishing Chung Myung's dick with attention, whining and groaning as if it were him that is having his dick sucked.
Chung Myung would know.
He had the Turtle on the floor before.
Even someone like himself, who never had much sexual experience to begin with, could tell that there is much room for improvement. There is a small part of Chung Myung that wonders if this sloppiness comes from inexperience or from the fact that Namgung is currently unable to balance himself and use his body to the fullest, with his hands tied behind his back at present.
That is something that is to be tested later on.
Not that Chung Myung does not want to properly teach the Turtle how to please him.
There is fun to be had in that too.
So he cradles the man’s head, stopping his movements.
“Open your mouth. Tuck your teeth. Breathe through your nose.”
Chung Myung nearly purrs in satisfaction at the wide-eyed look his Little Turtle gives him, obediently doing as he is told, and whining when Chung Myung gives a shallow thrust.
“Be good, and suckle.”
Much better.
Chung Myung gives a low moan of satisfaction at the wet, snug fit around his co*ck, Namgung Myeong’s tongue quick to teasingly move along the length in his mouth. Not to be outdone, Chung Myung brings his foot forward, placing it on the Lion Sword’s bulge.
He thrusts deeper at the sweet moan his Little Turtle lets out, choking the man.
Bad move.
Namgung Myeong’s beautiful eyes roll in the back of his head at the pleasure, eyelids fluttering as he cants his hips onto Chung Myung’s foot and drooling around the dick in his mouth as his cheeks hollow, diligently following Chung Myung’s order.
The Elder’s Adam's apple bobs as he gags at a deeper roll of Chung Myung’s hips, valiantly trying to please the man.
Too bad there is no mercy for him.
Chung Myung slams against his Turtle, feeling himself hit the back of Namgung Myeong’s mouth, slipping further down his throat.
He moans in appreciation when the Elder squeezes tighter around him.
“Good. Good. Just like that.”
The Swordsman hisses when he feels Namgung Myeong gulping around him. So quick to learn.
Red eyes proceed to darken in thought.
How will his hole feel?
Namgung Myeong whines. Tears once again stream down his face, eyes reddening the more he is being bullied.
Chung Myung has to reconsider.
This might be his Turtle’s best look yet.
Namgung Myeong can feel his knees shaking. He is aching from having been in this position for so long, his jaw numb and his mouth sore.
But he doesn’t care.
He is pleasing the Dojang.
A salty taste fills his mouth, a heavy weight chokes him as it glides against his tongue. There is the sweet, sweet scent of plum blossoms when his nose is buried in the man’s pubic hair.
He carefully listens for the man’s low moans, becoming near euphoric when the man caresses his head between long thrusts. Sobbing when Chung Myung decides to press harsher against his dick in reward.
Hard enough that pleasure bordered on pain.
He still humps his leg like a bitch in heat.
Namgung Myeong does not know what to think about the fact that he is starting to understand the man’s rewards and punishments.
Namgung Myeong has to be held back by his hair in his bid to return when Chung Myung neatly pulls out of him with a loud squelching sound. The Elder can only stare longingly at the co*ck before him, tasting the precum of his lips.
He wants to know how the Swordsman tastes.
Chung Myung chuckles loudly above him, a large hand coming to pet his cheek.
“Aren’t you having too much fun? Who was supposed to please who in this situation?”
Namgung Myeong can feel his blood turn to ice.
Panting, Namgung Myeong arches his back for better access while his slender fingers probe around his insides blindly. He clenches at the railing in front of him, knees digging into the wooden bench, feeling more foolish than ever. It is only the soft material of his pulled-down pants that is currently protecting his joints from making full contact with the furniture below him.
He shoves his fingers deeper, clumsily opening himself up.
This feels weird.
Is this supposed to feel good?
He shivers as familiar large hands gently stroke his thighs, sweat rolling down his face as he is spread open, exposing him to Chung Myung’s eyes.
Namgung Myeong jolts forward in a sudden surge of embarrassment, face flushing with shame. He tries to squirm away from the man, from the hot breath that blows at his perineum, but he is soon pushed further on the railing, made to bend over the wooden material.
“Behave.”
The Dojang’s hard chest presses itself against his back, rubbing the soft skin of his hips against the wood. He is given just a moment to feel the man’s hardness against his ass before once again being left in the cold.
Back, come back…
“You should try harder for that.”
Namgung Myeong urgently shoves another finger into himself, ignoring the burn of his impatience, thrusting his digits in and out of himself.
He wants to beg the Dojang to just mount him. To plead for more of his touch, other than the caressing touches of his behind–
But Namgung Myeong knows.
He would be denied.
He has to work harder for rewards.
Chung Myung’s large fingers dig themselves into his Little Turtle’s supple skin, leaving crescent moons in their wake. Soft and smooth, Namgung Myeong’s ass and thighs feel incredible in his grasp. The Swordsman could barely wait for the moment they would wrap around him; so much so that he couldn’t help pinching and kneading at the mounds before him, the flesh flushing to match the cheeks on Namgung Myeong’s face.
For a martial artist, he bruises so easily.
Chung Myung just wants to ruin him.
Just lightly tapping would have those cheeks rippling with movement, delectable curves with delicate lines just begging for Chung Myung to take a bite of them.
Which he does.
Namgung Myeong yelps in pain when he feels the Swordsman bite him in his right hip, teeth digging him with enough force that he is sure that he will have bruises the next day.
A burning bruise on his hip.
A wandering hand trails across his ribcage, burrowing between a heated body and railing to once again play with plentiful breasts.
A curious nibble of a white slender nape.
He tastes so nice.
Chung Myung watches as the Elder’s rim opens and closes before his eyes, swallowing Namgung Myeong’s own fingers into its depths. The rudimentary lube they are using is barely of any help; however, the sheen it gives his hole has its charm.
He wonders what would have been the Turtle’s response if Chung Myung were to just slip in at this very moment.
A martial artist of his caliber would be able to take it.
That is a training goal, he supposes.
Namgung Myeong chokes on large fingers as he is torn apart into two, the preparations have been insufficient to relax him enough for the girth of the real thing. His legs shake at the sensation - trying to spread themselves, to alleviate the pain, but the dojang’s thighs on either side of his own prevent him from doing so.
Forcing him to take what Chung Myung considers to bestow upon him.
Chung Myung slips into him in one long stroke, not even allowing the Elder to adjust to the pain and shape inside of him, before thrusting. With one hand on Namgung Myeong’s chest and the other firmly anchored in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, it is only the wooden railing that serves to stop them from plunging into the icy waters of the pond.
It feels painful.
It is weird.
Namgung Myeong simply wants it to end.
He grits his teeth, biting on his lower lip.
He is doing it for the Dojang.
He is even lucky that he is being given another chance.
There are no second chances in Kangho.
He forcefully tries to relax, letting himself be used as a soft, wet hole for the younger man. Namgung Myeong cooperatively rolls his hips against Chung Myung’s–
Stars bloom behind his closed eyelids, toes curling into the air as he gasps, drawing ragged breaths, and moaning loudly as Chung Myung brushes against a certain spot. Shocks run their course throughout his whole body, arousal making his head spin in unprecedented need.
Again. Please. Please. Please–
A hand reaches behind to tug at the Dojang’s pants.
“Sir, please sir. Again- That spot- Please-” Namgung Myeong shamelessly begs, voice rough from earlier abuse, hushed whispers chiming in the air as he pleads almost wantonly.
He cries out at Chung Myung’s cruel denial, feeling the man aim in the opposite direction.
“Tsk tsk,” Chung Myung tuts, hand twisting a rosy nipple, chuckling when the Elder squirms in his arms. “Little Turtle is greedy once again. A little bit of joy has him losing his mind. Really. How did a woman satisfy you when you are so co*ck hungry?”
Just to drive his point home, he brushes against the same spot that drove Namgung Myeong mad.
Namgung Myeong whines in response, shaking his ass and trying to encourage the Dojang.
(The remainder of his wife had gone over his head.
Chung Myung coos.
Isn’t he loveable?
What will he do once he finds out that she is dead?)
How to get the man to move?
How to get him to reward Namgung Myeong?
His scrambled mind grapples for an answer, every miss of the Swordsman’s hips driving him further into the pits of insanity.
What does Chung Myung like?
What would appease him?
“Sir, please- I want your co*ck. Please- please fill me up–”
Namgung Myeong can hear a sharp inhale.
His calf is caught in a punishing grip before it is thrown over the shorter man’s shoulder; his hip hitting the railing with a heavy crash as his arm flails around for grounding, barely getting hold of the wooden support in a vise grip.
The Elder’s torso is sent over the wooden border in the air, with no support to ground him, his leg desperately curling around Chung Myung’s form in instinctive fear.
His left knee aches - his sole support while the Dojang has him on his side.
Like this.
Namgung Myeong can feel the man hit that spot head-on.
His dick pitifully shoots its seed into thin air.
“Aren’t you a bit too greedy?.” A low voice mused, resuming his forceful thrusts against Namgung Myeong with a newfound aggressiveness.
Chung Myung’s arm curls itself around Namgung Myeong’s thigh, making sure that the Elder will not be sent into the pond’s cold depths, while the other idly returns to its favorite target.
Namgung Myeong trembles as he is f*cked from one org*sm to the next, his chest burning in pain as Chung Myung restlessly plays with his tit*. His co*ck limply sways in the space between them, already filling up for the next round.
The Swordsman’s uniform feels coarse against his sensitive skin, his ass burning as his previous marks become irritated with their movements.
Chung Myung pulls out of him just to snap back in a moment later, the sound of skin slapping skin resonating across the pond.
The filthy wet sound burns. It is too much.
Against his instinctive fear of falling, he turns his gaze towards the pond, hand tightening against the railing as the wood noisily creaks at Chung Myung’s thrusts.
Tear-filled eyes turn to watch himself in the water’s reflection, needing all of Namgung Myeong’s focus to see the image before him.
A well-used whor* looks back at him.
Namgung Myeong no longer knows whether the tears are from pleasure or from mourning his past self.
His soft and silken hair is messed up and disheveled by Chung Myung’s rough movements. His soft, but thin lips are as puffy and red as cherries from how much the Dojang had chewed on them prior, stretched around his fingers, and sucking at them similar to how they had been used to suckle at his manhood.
A necklace of hickeys rests on his neck like a collar, blood dripping from some of the open wounds Chung Myung had inflicted like badges of honor–
Chung Myung rests his hips against his own, bending Namgung Myeong into a position that has all of his muscles screaming at him in protest. The Swordsman’s dick is pressed against the spot that has him moaning and whining for more, invading deeper than ever before.
Red eyes stare at him from the reflection, lips stretching into a grin of unabashed amusem*nt as Chung Myung lays a kiss on a bite mark upon his nape, barely visible from his front.
Namgung Myeong trembles.
A callus hand wraps itself around his dick with contrary gentleness.
“You know? When I sucked you off, I did think that this little thing is rather cute.” Chung Myung idly says, an expectant tone in his voice that has Namgung Myeong bracing for the man’s next actions.
He is proven correct not a second later.
Chung Myung rocks into him with short, shallow thrusts, insistently pressing his tip against a certain spot. He laughed at Namgung Myeong’s whimpers and whines, at the Elder’s poor attempts to escape him.
This isn’t the first time he tried to do that after all.
“Slower, sir- Please, too much- too much-”
Namgung Myeong yelps at the sharp burst of pain that he feels. His eyes snap to look at the connection point between Chung Myung and himself.
The Dojang is cruelly prodding at the tip of Namgung Myeong’s dick with his nail.
Namgung Myeong can feel himself coloring in response.
He has just realized why Chung Myung had called it cute.
Namgung Myeong is old enough to admit that he isn’t the most gifted man in the family when it comes to the size of their… genitalia. It is of a respectable average length, though looking absolutely ridiculous in the Dojang’s large hand. Only its head could be seen peeking out from Chung Myung’s clenched fist, looking almost cute in the way he easily engulfed it.
“It’s pretty much like a woman’s cl*t.”
Chung Myung decides to emphasize his point by twisting his wrist, bringing out another cry from Namgung Myeong.
“No, agh–”
“You dress like a woman. You have a woman’s cl*t,” bending down, he wraps his hot mouth around the Elder’s teat, mouthing at it as Namgung Myeong crumbles in his arms. “I’ve seen women with smaller tit* than you.”
Nononono–
He is still a respected Elder of the Namgung Family. He owes his life to the Dojang, has pledged his alliance to the man.
But he can’t just disregard–
“Little Turtle, I can see your mind working. Do remember who has been begging for my dick just a while ago.”
Namgung Myeong’s chest heaves in shuddering sobs; a hopeless, helpless wave of agony sweeping over him.
“So cute, so small. It fit in my mouth so well. Wasn’t this little thing just made to be toyed with? It just makes me want to play with you more.”
This is the only thing he is good at.
To beg.
To crawl.
To survive by rolling at another’s feet.
Brother, I-
He is wrenched away from the railing and fully situated on top of Chung Myung’s dick, legs wrapping around the Swordsman’s waist in fear of falling over. He bounces on the man’s lap when he is designed to sit on the bench once again, knees aching as they slide across the furniture, landing on either side of the man’s thighs.
Namgung Myeong groans when he feels something leak out of him, easing up the slide of their bodies.
Chung Myung’s hand trails from its place at his hip and down to his ass. Fingers slipping towards their joining, Namgung Myeong tenses in fear and expectation when they stoke at his rim.
A slippery digit, wet with the man’s cum, trying to enter–
Namgung Myeong can only mewl.
It burns.
“Tighten up. I’m not done with you.”
When Namgung Myeong opens his eyes once more, he is greeted by the sight of the orange sky and the sound of the waters of the Yangtze River in the distance. The cold sensation of the floor tickles at his skin, the cold air making goosebumps run down his spine.
Lavender eyes blankly scan the surrounding area.
The Dojang is nowhere to be seen.
“...”
Of course.
How could he have forgotten?
There is nothing between them.
There is no reason for that man to stay, not even after having f*cked Namgung Myeong so harshly that he had been rendered unconscious sometime after how many rounds.
Namgung Myeong is nothing to Chung Myung.
He is but a mere toy.
The Dojang had said it himself, hadn’t he?
With a watery smile and a prickling heat building in his eyes, Namgung Myeong forces his bruised and aching body to sit up from where he lies so openly.
His robes are disheveled from their coupling - the top having been stripped so that it is hanging by the waist with the rest of his dress having been bundled at the waist. The pants have been pulled down, though one leg has been stripped with the other just barely clinging on. His shoes are no better, one already flown off while the remaining pair is almost coming off his foot.
Add in the messy hair, the ruined makeup, and the remnants of tear tracks on his cheeks…
All in all, Namgung Myeong is certain he looks like a harassed lady.
Or a well-used cheap whor*.
He does not bother refuting the harsh whispers of his mind.
Rather, he can no longer find it in himself to deny it.
Why would he, when Namgung Myeong’s body is still burning from the touches left behind by the Dojang?
Why should he, when his heart feels as though it is about to break at the thought of having been left behind by that man?
When he still yearns for Chung Myung despite everything that man had said and done to him earlier…
“It seems that all good things will cease at one point…”
Namgung Myeong can feel his breath turn into pants, his heart speeding up and thundering beats against his ear.
Please.
Nonono.
Please!
“...!”
Biting down on wobbly lips, the Elder scrunches his eyes closed and forces the tears at bay. It would do him no good to cry here in the open; the name of the Namgung Family will be sullied more than it already has.
As if that pride ever existed.
You already became the Dojang’s whor*, didn’t you?
Namgung Myeong visibly winces as though struck.
“I…I need to go back.”
Pulling the legs of his pants back on first, the Elder has to hiss at the leftover aches that burn their way across his body. A hand comes over to his ass where some of the pain is concentrated…
…only to stop once they feel a set of indentations on the skin.
“...”
Namgung Myeong momentarily pauses.
His mind still recalls the hands that caressed the flesh of his ass, the sharp teeth that seemed to delight at taking bites out of the meat of his behind—
“Little Turtle is greedy once again.”
He freezes, a stream of apologies ready to fly out of his mouth at any time, just in time for the Elder to remember his current state…and the lack of another person in the area.
“...”
He.
He has to hurry up.
Hurry up and go back.
Before Dowi starts worrying again.
Or so he would like to tell himself.
And so it is with restrained hisses and aches making their way all over his body that Namgung Myeong starts limping his way back to his room.
.
.
.
(A bullied pretty face.
Pale and strong legs littered with purple marks and bruises from the rough handling they endured earlier.
The nipples have become a pair of delectable puffy red nubs sitting atop mounds of soft and supple flesh.
Ruined clothes, a body littered with marks and bites, and another man’s cum trailing from his hole.)
“Hey.”
“Yes, Dojang?”
“Get the brats out of the Elder’s way.”
Unless they want to see something interesting, that is.
Im Sobyeong takes one look at the so-called Taoist’s expression to know exactly what that entails before ultimately shrugging.
Oh well.
It was bound to happen, he supposes.
“Congrats on losing your virginity, by the way.”
The resulting kick to the face was well worth it, in his humble opinion.
.
.
.
It is…difficult for Namgung Myeong to make a proper walk back to his quarters in his current state.
Not only is he limping thanks to the various aches and bruises in his body at the moment, but there is also the fact that he is trying to keep something else in instead of out.
“...ungh!”
Biting down on his lip, the Elder resists the urge to place a hand on his ass where he knows that something wet has been coming out of him in a continuous stream.
Dojang, just how much did you let out?
Young people are amazing.
In every sense of the word.
“Just…a little more.”
Panting, Namgung Myeong struggles to move his legs properly without jostling the liquid still contained within him. Cleaning himself isn’t an option while out in the open. Leaving evidence behind is also not allowed, for the sake of himself and his family’s honor.
He wants to close his eyes.
But if he does that, then he would only be left feeling the Dojang’s cum leaking out of him even more.
Namgung Myeong does not want that.
No matter what, that must not happen—!
“There…!”
He grasps at the door handle like a man finding an oasis in the middle of barren land, slamming the door open and then closing it with just as much force, locking it with the vigilance of a man bearing a great secret.
And what a secret it is, isn’t it?
Shut up.
Shut up…!
Shut up! Shut up! Shutupshutupshut-
More of the wetness comes down his legs, staining his pants and parts of his elaborate dress.
Namgung Myeong gasps, hand flying towards his ass where the cum continues to flow out of his hole like an uncontrollable leak.
“No,” he hissed, breath shaky as digits scrape against the leftover bite marks on his flesh.
Lavender eyes look down below him where a small puddle of white has formed out of Chung Myung’s cum.
Ah…
And after the Dojang had given him so much too.
“—What a waste.”
…
…
What?
Namgung Myeong’s eyes fly open.
Just now.
What.
What did he just say?
“Ah…”
He can feel his eyes burn as tears flow down his face freely.
Here, in the privacy of his room, Namgung Myeong allows himself the liberty to cry.
To weep at his own pathetic being.
At this change his self has undergone.
Because at least in this place, he can admit to it freely.
I…
I didn’t fight it.
I didn’t hate it.
I let him f*ck me.
I let him use me.
I liked it.
This time, Namgung Myeong moans unashamed of the gaping feeling in his hole.
Not enough. His fingers will not be enough to plug it in; personal experience has taught him that.
But the Dojang is not here.
Namgung Myeong has been left alone – used and dirtied like some wet rag.
No more fitting to be used for entertainment.
The Dojang has left him alone.
Namgung Myeong sobs as fingers desperately try and probe at his still gaping asshole.
“Dojang,” he weeps out in a wanton tone. “Please.”
Please don’t abandon me.
Don’t leave me.
Come back.
Chung Myung stares at his Little Turtle from his hiding spot in the tree next to his window.
Naughty little thing.
He wonders if he should punish the man for pleasuring himself without his permission, or reward him for a good job.
Or both.
Sometimes punishment can be a reward.
Chung Myung is good at providing both.
With unabashed interest, he watches the sight the other man makes. Lying on his front, outer robes spilling out and hanging on his elbows, legs spread and ass hiked up with lubed fingers distinctively going in and out of his hole. If anyone were to walk in on him right now, they would unmistakably think a whor* had made themselves at home in the Elder’s private quarters.
But Namgung Myeong doesn’t care about that. Not with the show he is giving any passerby that would care to pass by Chung Myung's spot.
Namgung Myeong sobs as he bites on the sheets.
Fingers are scissored out of his abused hole repeatedly, the digits trembling as they brush against his prostate. The wet sound reverberates loud in his ears as the remnants of Chung Myung’s cum are shoved further into him.
All he can feel are his fingers shoving themselves in and out, brushing against his prostate. The lewd sounds of it all echoing all over the room, the sound of his panting and the sensation of the silken robes brushing against his nipples.
But more than that…
“Ah–ah!” Namgung Myeong closes his eyes and loudly moans. “Dojang…”
Even now, he can still remember how those large hands had manhandled him into moving, large warm fingers making themselves at home all over his body and leaving their imprint in the form of bruises. Teeth obsessively focusing on his chest, the man’s mouth going up, up and up until they formed a necklace of bite marks along the Elder’s neck.
Namgung Myeong whimpers and brings his other hand downwards to his member.
Just a little more…
A little more and—
“Someone sure is having fun at this hour of the night.”
A large hand grabs at his wrist, the scarred and callused texture making him gasp as they roughly remove the fingers still buried in the Elder’s ass. Another comes to wind itself around Namgung Myeong’s waist to take hold of his other hand inching close to his weeping dick.
Namgung Myeong feels the weight of another person settle against his back, the muscled chest distinct despite the rather slim frame of the body pressed against his own. He barely manages to breathe out a gasp as he feels the familiar heat of something blunt and hard entering him in one stroke, the slide aided by the man’s previous spent inside of him.
“Answer me,” the person’s voice chimed amidst the haze of pleasure clouding his senses. “Did you want to hog all the fun for yourself?”
A twist of the hips before he is f*cked hard and fast on the sheets.
Namgung Myeong can only cry out in response, “No,” he gasps and moans when the co*ck head hits his prostate in reward. “Dojang, Sir, I–please—”
Whatever he is about to say is quickly lost as he clenches down and bites his lips, moans spilling out of his throat while his world is rocked.
He hears the Dojang coo mockingly above him as the man continues to slide inside him.
It really is a nice sight.
The Namgung Elder, the Lion Sword, all bent on the bed and still wearing his dress stained in Chung Myung’s cum. That pale body flushed to a pretty pink, the flaccid co*ck steadily regaining its hardness and the sight of his hole greedily taking in every inch of Chung Myung’s co*ck as it goes in and out.
“My Little Turtle is such a good whor*,” he muses as he places his fingers inside the Elder’s mouth, spreading them over his tongue. Chung Myung snickers in delight when he feels his Turtle obediently sucking on the digits. “Who knew that the Namgung Family hid something like this?”
He leans down to mouth at the back of Namgung Myeong’s neck, biting down at the flesh there just because.
“If your brother intended to use you as a pleasure toy for an Alliance head, it could have worked.”
Saying so, Chung Myung pauses to detach himself from the Elder’s hole, relishing in the longing whines from his Turtle, before flipping the man over on his back and bending him in half.
The sight of his Turtle’s crying face as Chung Myung proceeds to f*ck him senselessly over the mattress is incredibly satisfying.
“This hole is charming alright.”
Namgung Myeong continues to sob incoherently, his dick pathetically letting out small streams of cum with every thrust Chung Myung makes inside him. It’s enough that the Swordsman wonders how the man ever managed to have a wife, much less sire a son, when he’s obviously suited for something else.
Speaking of which…
“How about it? Become an actual pleasure toy for an alliance head. Let anyone f*ck you, use you for some stress relief. Who knows, maybe this might better the family’s current political standing. The alliance boasts quite the strong members."
His Little Turtle, so bullied and breakable, is fervently shaking his head and clearly trying to form words.
Too bad Chung Myung is ahead of him.
"No refusal? Should I do that?"
He hums and starts slowing down his pace, grabbing the Namgung Elder by the hips. It is easy enough for a swordsman of Chung Myung’s caliber to bounce the man on his co*ck while standing and walking.
"There are plenty of Family Heads just a few rooms over there," he says nonchalantly as he takes slow steps towards the door. "I'm sure that one or two of them would entertain my request."
The sight of Namgung Myeong bursting into tears as he tries to hold on to Chung Myung is a satisfying treat.
“N-no!” Namgung Myeong sobs, body wracked in shivers. He desperately holds his neck, legs crossed behind the man’s back. This brat sure is clinging. Chung Myung wonders for a second what kind of curses the man’s ancestors are aiming at him at this moment.
Talk about being under Chung Myung’s shadow for generations.
Chung Myung hums, the sound vibrating in the man’s chest and sounding directly to Namgung Myeong’s ear.
“No?”
The Elder can only shake his head, clinging tighter, breath hitching when he feels his prostate being teased again.
"Dojang...ahn—” he moans at the mouth latching on to his neck. “Just you!"
The Namgung Family, the name and honor of it. His beloved nephew, Dowi. The responsibilities of an Elder.
Right now, for Namgung Myeong, such things are not important.
Because right now, at this moment, all he wants is this man before him.
No one else.
So please.
Look at me too.
Namgung Myeong cries out as callused fingers roughly pinch at his nipple, teeth nibbling at the shell of his ear as a deep voice makes itself at home in his head once more.
“—Good.”
The glare of those blood-red colored eyes from the light of the afternoon sun against the window is a sight to behold.
.
.
.
The sound of chirping birds denotes a peaceful morning.
Blue skies, white clouds, and gentle winds; the signs of a wonderful day for everyone ahead.
And yet…
Whispers abound the section of the Namgung Family in hushed yet hurried tones.
Namgung Myeong can hear the faint words float by his open window as he prepares for the day in a sedate pace.
“Does he know?”
“Not yet. But he will soon.”
“But who will—?”
He pays them no mind.
Long fingers work their way to luscious black locks, gently yet thoroughly applying the perfume in careful strokes. Lavender-colored eyes catch sight of the bite marks littered across his neck and pause.
He would have to hide these marks too.
The Dojang had been very…enthusiastic in marking him yesterday.
He can feel his lips twitching.
Two knocks. And then—
“Uncle? Are you there?”
Dowi.
“In a moment,” He answers and turns to look at himself in the mirror one last time.
Long black hair looking as luscious and shining as ever, tied in a braid using the white ribbon once gifted by the Dojang. Dressed in dark blue robes decorated with fluttering petals, the material light and easy to move in and covering even the neck. An androgynous countenance whose cheeks are dusted with natural pink hues; the skin not too sun-tanned nor too pale to be unhealthy.
Namgung Myeong looks at the mirror and for the first time, sees someone beautiful.
It is unimaginable to think that this same person is him.
“Uncle?” Dowi calls from beyond the door.
“Coming, Dowi.” Namgung Myeong says and open the door with a welcoming smile for his darling nephew.
A smile that quickly falters at the lost look he sees on said nephew’s face.
“...Is there something wrong?” Namgung Myeong asks, fingers lightly tracing the patterns against the cloth of his robes.
He is sure that he has hidden every trace of his and the Dojang’s coupling thoroughly, so that can’t be it, right?
Not unless…
No.
It can’t be.
But Namgung Myeong had made sure to lock the door—
“Uncle.”
His thoughts are interrupted by the shaking call of Dowi’s voice as he continues to stand by the doorway.
The boy looks lost and unsure of himself. It makes him look younger and all the more precious. A part of Namgung Myeong, the part that longs for Chung Myung, cannot help the dark emotions that well up like mud at the sight.
The Dojang would love him for sure.
The uncle in him, however, makes up for the majority with feelings of concern and alarm. “What happened?” he asks with the softest voice he can muster. “This uncle is willing to listen as long as possible, Dowi. Deep breaths, then talk.”
Dowi takes a deep breath as instructed and continues,
“We received news from Anhui,” he starts slow, as though bracing Namgung Myeong for what comes next.
Dowi pauses and licks his lips.
“Aunt…Uncle, your wife…the Household at Anhui sent word that she is dead. Has been for weeks now.”
The silence that befalls upon them is like a blade come down.
Namgung Myeong’s breath hitches as fingers twitch imperceptibly.
“What…?”
.
.
.
