L*st and Death

Siron, swallowing dryly and panting, could no longer hold back—he cupped Isaac’s cheek and pulled him in. Tilting his head to deepen the kiss, he wound his tongue around Isaac’s and drew it fully into his mouth, sucking. Their breaths mingled harshly, tongues tangling and pulling apart in wet repetition.

In the meantime, Isaac’s hand slipped under Siron’s shirt. That massive, rough hand—its texture like worn leather—slid up along his side and over his ribs until it reached his chest. The hardened calluses of his palm pressed against and skimmed over the stiffened nipple peak, briefly flattening it before letting it rise again.

Each time his areola was rubbed against the roughness of those calluses, then softly crushed, a precarious sensation bloomed there. The tender flesh was met with the prickling scrape of his palm, and Siron’s waist twitched of its own accord. Barely prying himself away from Isaac’s insistent lips, he whispered.

“Right there... ah... I like that.”

Isaac pinched Siron’s nipple, swollen half the length of his fingertip, between thumb and forefinger, slowly tightening his grip. Holding it so it stretched, he began twisting in a slow spiral. It felt like a fine needle of current was being driven into the center of his areola, carrying an uneasy pleasure—worse, that fine needle was connected straight to the erogenous zones of his lower belly, so that every twist made something deep inside him coil along with it.

After three straight days of sex, the hole that had grown accustomed to that pleasure now twitched with hunger, shortening his breath. Siron dragged his own T-shirt up to his collarbones and pushed Isaac’s head down toward his chest.

“Lick... ahh... lick me.”

Isaac chuckled at his eagerness but answered the request without hesitation. He grabbed not just the nipple but also the soft flesh of the areola in his hand, gently pinching. The plush mound swelled between his fingers, protruding with the nipple so it would be perfect to suck.

Isaac’s parted lips closed over the plump areola, his mouth sealing around the nipple hardened and enlarged by stimulation. He pressed it against the slick heat of his inner cheek, distorting its shape, rubbing and kneading before sucking deeply. Siron’s hole clenched and spilled a sudden rush of slick fluid.

Had his chest always been this sensitive? Even when he’d gotten piercings before, just being touched there hadn’t made him feel like he was [N O V E L I G H T] about to come. What was this maddening, desperate sensation? The feeling of Isaac sucking with ever-increasing pressure was nothing short of bliss.

“Do you like the foreplay?”

“Your... nngh... use your tongue too.”

As if waiting for the cue, Isaac pressed the tip of his tongue against the dangling peak, stimulating it. He traced slow circles around the nub, then pushed the gathered tip as if to drive into the center. Licking, rubbing, coiling, then taking it in and sucking again—Siron accepted the overload of sensation with a stream of moans.

Night had fallen at some point, and starlight began to appear in the vast sky. Siron stared upward through clouded eyes, slipping his hand into his pants to grasp his fully erect cock, stroking slowly. He wanted to fuck his hole, but didn’t have the nerve to finger himself while it was soaked with slick.

Instead of stripping his pants, Isaac tugged the waistband down to rest against his ass. Siron was already pleasuring himself, but Isaac’s focus wasn’t there—he gently caressed the wet rim of the hole between his thighs with his middle finger.

That thick, long finger scraped lightly upward inside, and tension drained from Siron’s body as the inner muscles tightened, as if trying to pull something deeper inside.

Isaac pushed past the taut resistance of the ring, applying steady pressure as he eased in his index, middle, and ring fingers to the first joints. Inside the slick heat, he found the prominent swell of the prostate. Drawing circles around it with his fingertips made the hole clamp down, sucking greedily at their base.

“Ah—haa—nngh—!”

Brushing away Siron’s stroking hand, Isaac took the cock, already drooling pre-cum, deep into his mouth all the way to the root. His face pressed into Siron’s lower belly as he slurped and sucked, while his fingers kept kneading firmly around the prostate.

Siron couldn’t decide whether to sit up or lie still; his body trembled, hair prickling, little hiccuping moans slipping from his mouth.

“Hhhn—ahh!”

Isaac’s fingers skimmed the folds of the inner wall. The light pressure carried a building tightness that rose from inside toward his urethra. Pressing downward hit the prostate; lifting upward nudged that odd spot near the bladder.

Siron panted hard. His hole, heated for days, was swollen and flushed deep inside. It felt like a fever spreading from somewhere intimate—his lower back ached, a dull throb rippling through his whole body. It was the kind of hunger that begged for something to break through to the deepest part.

Then Isaac sucked harder. The pleasure, sharp as an electric shock, made Siron throw his head back with a cry.

Isaac licked all along the shaft, then closed his throat around the head. The obscene sounds of him devouring Siron’s cock filled the air, until a flash like lightning bleached Siron’s vision white.

The orgasm came out in weak, spurting dribbles, but the pleasure was razor-sharp. Each time Isaac’s fingers scraped deep inside, more slick gushed out, coating them.

A strangled sound left Siron’s throat. His thighs shuddered in small spasms, muscles taut. Even after Isaac withdrew those thick, long fingers, the peak didn’t subside easily.

“Maybe you’ve used this hole too much—it feels like your temperature’s a little high.”

Isaac rubbed his wet fingers together as if testing the slick’s viscosity. Siron, still trapped in the pit of pleasure, couldn’t answer.

“It’s especially hot.”

It was true—each time Isaac stirred that watery, swollen passage, Siron felt the heat and ache more keenly. Not just a throb, but heat pooled deep inside, refusing to fade.

It felt like unless Isaac filled him, that heat would torment him forever. No—just penetration wouldn’t be enough. He needed something heavier, stickier, more primal to tame that rampaging want.

Like an alpha’s pheromones.

“Well? Was the foreplay enough?”

Lost in thoughts of alpha pheromones, Siron startled as if an alarm had gone off by his ear.

“Y-yeah, it was enough.”

He tried to sound casual, not showing his disappointment. Was it time for penetration? But instead of entering him, Isaac pulled out his own cock, wedged it between Siron’s pressed-together thighs, and began thrusting hard.

The fierce rhythm shook Siron’s whole body, his own cock getting jolted in the process. Only after Isaac had come with a deep sigh did he haul Siron upright.

“Is it just me, or do you look unsatisfied?”

“...Think whatever you want.”

Neither agreeing nor denying, Siron sprawled out on the floor, limp. He had no strength to gather himself. The residue of Isaac’s relentless, practiced foreplay felt like it was rooting deep inside him, branching out, thick and green.

“God, I’m losing it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Fetching a towel from the car, Isaac responded to Siron’s mutter.

“I don’t know.”

Smiling faintly at the empty answer, Isaac wiped him down—meticulously cleaning the slick from his hole and the semen from his body—then scooped up his slack form and set him in the passenger seat.

After fastening his seatbelt, he started the engine.

I’m so damn tired.

Siron leaned his cheek to the window. The tiredness clung to too many things—life was exhausting, his body was exhausted, and wanting anything at all was exhausting.

A tongue ulcer stung, his eyes were dry, his thighs ached from being kept pressed together. His whole body felt faintly sore, shivering with chills.

Even in this fatigue, the deep, restless heat inside him remained. He regretted that Isaac hadn’t put it out.

Regret? After all that?

His body had completely changed—like a fish that couldn’t survive out of water, his way of living was now different. He was dazed by the thought. He wanted an alpha’s pheromones. Unable to hold back the question, he asked the man so stingy with letting them out:

“Why don’t you release your pheromones?”

Isaac, focused on driving along the bumpy embankment road, answered after a moment.

“I didn’t want to leave a trace.”

“Worried someone like Lewis would track you?”

Isaac glanced sideways at Siron’s self-hugged posture, then turned on the heater.

“They’d be the exception. Even if I hide my pheromones from them, it wouldn’t matter.”

“It wouldn’t matter at all?”

“They can detect even the faintest pheromones.”

“Besides Lewis, have you met others like that?”

He switched on the high beams to widen their view, and only after some time did he reply.

“Most of them are already dead.”

Already dead—an odd phrase, one that could mean they’d been born and died long ago, or that he himself had killed them. As Siron pondered the eerie truth of Isaac Bazelli, the car left the bumpy road for the coastal highway. This road would lead to the main route to their hideout. And at the hideout...

Gyeong!

Baekgyeong was there.

Siron had completely forgotten about him—Baekgyeong, teetering on the edge with his rut cycle, while Siron had been drowning for three days straight in pleasure, not checking on him once.

...He must still be in the same state, right?

He pictured Baekgyeong’s cock, still obscene and hard, leaking even unconscious, and hid his flushed face in his palm.

The thought of Baekgyeong, probably stiff and aching with unspent rut all this time, made him feel both absurdly amused and indescribably wretched.

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