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Smoke Among the Rain

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Seungho smoked in the pavillion. The night rain brought a rich and earthen smell somewhat obscured by the sickly permeation of his pipe’s secretions gushing down his throat and into his lungs. He oozed smoke in a manner similar to a raging bull, though his expression remained that of thoughtful calm. His half lidded gaze found itself stuck upon the distant sliding door, the one likely harbouring Na-kyum. Seungho’s lips met the end of his pipe and with another suck the smoke rushed in again.

“Lowborn.”

The word left him like a curse, an expletive among a haze of smoke pouring from his parted lips. Seungho found often his thoughts over occupied with flickers of images of Na-kyum. A welling frustration that threatened to agitate his easy temper, fingers on his pipe stiffening on the cusp of clenching too hard. Na-kyum lingered in his mind like an insufferable fever.

Seungho leaned his back against the frame of the pavillion and blew the rest of the smoke caught in his lungs out into the deluge. A dull light caught his interest. The sliding door he had been meticulously ruminating over now harboured a singular, dim glow about it. He contemplated. With resignation he stood to investigate, the long robe weighing on his broad shoulders it swept the pavillion floor. Seungho moved like a spectre among the darkness.

The little glow from beyond the door sat within the confines of the drawing room. Na-kyum’s painterly respite. Seungho loomed just outside and for a moment listened to the silence with a straining ear, his stare swimming in the darkness. Among the hissing patter of heavy rain he heard a miniscule whimper, ambiguous in its origin. He felt foolish crouching, the minor gap between the door and its adjacent wall was adequate enough to see. To know without disturbing the moment. Seungho enjoyed, far too much, the forbidden wisdom that secrecy offered him. The elongated shadow on the wall betrayed Na-kyum’s presence, the silhouette of his body almost painted into position. Seungho watched it with growing fascination.

Another whimper. A shifting of fabric, the shadow shedding a layer of itself. Seungho heard the wetness of sliding fingers and the stifled breath caught in the back of Na-kyum’s throat. Seungho wanted to laugh, to guffaw at the comical lewd behaviour of a lowborn in his presence.

But it bothered him.

His fingers slid into the gap and with a push dislodged the door’s idle position into sweeping open. Na-kyum’s body recoiled in shock and his hand reached out for his discarded clothes, pulling them to him in a futile effort to hide himself from Seungho’s piercing gaze.

“My lord...!” Na-kyum’s voice wavered awkwardly, wide-eyed expression stuck on the closing door Seungho slid shut behind him. He crouched and in firm grip took hold of Na-kyum’s chin, inspecting the shadows of his face.

“I am curious to know what it was that put you in such a mood,” Seungho’s dulcet and disarmingly calm voice smothered Na-kyum’s frightful huffs of short breaths. His fingers moved from Na-kyum’s chin to stroke his jawbone, up to the ends of his dark hair to tuck it behind an ear.

“It was nothing, my lord,” Na-kyum all but croaked out in a feeble whisper. A pathetic lie, that neither of them could convince themselves of. Seungho pulled the fabric held in Na-kyum’s hand away, Na-kyum’s shameful look turning away from the stiffness of his cock jutting up between his legs.

“Lying to a noble,” Seungho could not stifle his growing smirk. “You are a bold lowborn, aren’t you?”

Na-kyum’s eyes grew wet with tears. His mounting shame rose within him and Seungho endured the nibbling of his ill temper at seeing it. He doubted Na-kyum would be so shame-ridden if it was his most precious learned sir. The thought pestered Seungho, reaching for Na-kyum’s unguarded ankle and pulling him to hit his back against the floor. Na-kyum uttered a small grunt upon impact, trying to sit himself up. He gasped, hoisted as if weightless and sat atop Seungho’s lap. Na-kyum clumsily planted his hands on Seungho in both a bid to steady his balance and as a means of pushing him away.

“My lord, I-!” Na-kyum swallowed back the remainder of his words upon feeling Seungho’s stiffness underneath him. Seungho captured Na-kyum’s wrist and pressed his palm to the tenting under his clothes. Na-kyum attempted to retract his hand in a panic.

“You should take more responsibility for what you have caused,” Seungho’s tone lowered. He did not want to play the game again of having Na-kyum deny him so vehemently. Na-kyum’s tearful expression worsened, pulling back his hand and flinching when Seungho took hold of it more forcefully.

Na-kyum remained seated in Seungho’s lap. Seungho took his length from out of his clothes and pressed it against Na-kyum’s. Na-kyum half curled his fingers around them both, not able to fully enclose them in his hand. He pumped, a slick sound filled the room alongside the gentle snivelling of Na-kyum’s reluctant hiccups. A boredom welled within Seungho and soon his own hand replaced Na-kyum’s delicate strokes. He spat unceremoniously upon the touching heads and smeared the spit down to provide a more enjoyable wetness. Na-kyum’s fingers curled into fists, bunching up the fabric of Seungho’s sagging robe. Seungho’s anger bubbled watching Na-kyum. His sadness, his dripping face and open-mouthed protest. Seungho’s gentle behaviour was being wasted. He lost his patience, tipping Na-kyum back and looming over him like a riled beast.

“My l-lord!”

“I hear that from you so often, it astounds me you know a vocabulary beyond them,” Seungho retorted impatiently, sliding his wettened fingers into his mouth. He released them with a lewd pop and circled Na-kyum’s entrance, fingertips rubbing into the tight ring of muscle and its surrounding delicate flesh. Na-kyum’s breath hitched and the anxiety in his stomach bubbled, wet eyes widening when Seungho pushed his fingers in.

“Oh-!” Na-kyum’s brows knit with a despairing groan. “Oh, w-wait-! Please-!”

Seungho did not listen. His fingers thrusted to the knuckle and back out with practised ease, running over in even rhythm the soft, spongy spot within Na-kyum, the one that sent his body buckling and his voice cracking.

“There,” Seungho’s temper ebbed. He continued to finger Na-kyum, admiring the splendidly twitching heat of his insides. Na-kyum writhed like a struck deer, hands on Seungho’s wrists but too frightened to sincerely force out his fingers. Tears rolled down his face and he said nothing but the mewls of protest Seungho had learned to ignore. His fingers slid out and a feeling of dissatisfaction loomed over Seungho’s thoughts. Na-kyum looked up at him in silence.

He turned Na-kyum over to lay on his stomach, straddling his thighs and directing the head of his cock against Na-kyum’s hole. Na-kyum’s body stiffened with fright.

“Raise your hips,” He grunted. Na-kyum lifted them to comply, his arms bearing the weight of his upper body. The pain of having Seungho push into Na-kyum prompted cold sweat to gather on his skin. It grew unbearable and his fingers reached behind him to press weakly onto Seungho’s stomach.

“Please-! Wait, my l-lord! Please, it hu- it hurts!” Na-kyum cried.

“It will not hurt for long.”

Seungho did not offer him much beyond his words, reaching for Na-kyum’s softening prick and pumping it back to stiffness. Na-kyum clenched around Seungho, a steady and rising frequency of sharp intakes of breath spilled out from his open mouth. Seungho moved, in long and hard thrusts. His selfish need to bring himself to orgasm overrode his nagging insistence on not harming Na-kyum beyond his capabilities. A wet squelch filled the room, Seungho’s persistent stroking rendered his hand dripping with precum, Na-kyum’s slit oozing thick strings that pooled underneath him.

“Oh...! Oh-!” Na-kyum squeezed down on Seungho. In turn Seungho’s breath caught in his throat, the stimulation bringing him closer to the edge. He pulled himself out to the corona of his glans and pushed back inside in a singular thrust. Na-kyum blurted out an overwhelmed cry in response.

Seungho wanted to ask Na-kyum what had prompted the desire to masturbate. But he knew the answer would not be him. For that he loathed Sir Inhun and his detestable poetry.

Seungho breathed a quiet groan, the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. His chest warm against Na-kyum’s back, one hand propped up to bear his weight and the other sliding up to clutch Na-kyum’s throat. He grazed his teeth along Na-kyum’s shoulder and felt then the twitching heat of Na-kyum’s insides spasm and cling to him.

“Nngh-! Haa-!” Na-kyum’s body tensed. He spilled strings of thick, seeping semen onto the ground in front of him, toes curling and spit dripping from his parted lips. Seungho could barely tolerate the waves of tightening around his length, and chose to let himself go inside of Na-kyum, whose body squirmed at the uncomfortable gushing of liquid inside of him.

For a fraction of a moment there was a peace between the two. Seungho continued to feel dissatisfied but he feared it an ache that sex would not be enough to cure. He pulled out, and a dripping followed from Na-kyum, wetting his thighs. Seungho dressed and stood himself up, leaving Na-kyum to his exhaustion, slipping out of the room but lingering in the doorway haunting the hallway and the room both.

“I am expecting a painting,” He uttered. Na-kyum’s defeated expression etched itself upon his dripping face, tears and spit marring his flushed cheeks. Seungho took no notice. “I will come by tomorrow and see what you have done.”

The door shut. Seungho would not will himself to steep in Na-kyum’s grovelling nor his misery. The pavillion felt too far a journey to bother walking, instead traversing the halls to his own chambers in which he dwelled awake, all too aware of the endless rain’s ambience outside. Seungho felt no urge to sleep but the anger keeping him awake did not last, shutting his eyes and resolving himself to a new day in which he could swallow himself in pleasure, living up to his unofficial and illicit reputation.

He hoped he had blotted out all thought of Sir Inhun from Na-kyum’s mind. Even for an evening.

Even for a moment.