L*st and Death

“Bebe, did you used to have nipple piercings?”

The haze began to clear from Siron’s eyes. The provocative word had seized his attention.

He had been in a state where it felt like all sensation had been cut off, as if every stimulus to his body had been shut down. The last time he remembered checking the clock before losing consciousness, it had been 11:10 PM. Now, it was 11:47 PM.

Siron was awed by the body’s desire to sleep. A massive man was lying on top of him, tugging and toying with his chest, yet somehow his brain had managed to switch off its recording function. Now that function kicked back in, sensations returned, and he was immediately seized by a wave of overwhelming feeling.

“Ugh—ah, ah!”

“Answer me. Is this from an old piercing?”

Lewis gently tugged the flesh around Siron’s areola, closely observing how the nipple changed shape under the pressure of his fingers.

“Ah, l-let go—ugh, just ask.”

As Siron twisted his body, trying to escape Lewis’s touch, Lewis lifted his hands off his chest.

“Haa, it stings.”

Covering his chest with both palms like a protective shield, Siron glared at Lewis with a sharp look in his eyes.

“I had them. So what?”

“You don’t anymore?”

Siron swallowed with effort—his throat was sore—as he replied.

“...I never wore them regularly. Sold everything I had.”

Around the time of his twenty-first birthday, Siron had pierced both his nipples. Baekgyeong had made a casual remark, and Siron, in a reckless, half-self-harming, half-sexually curious mood, went through with it. Then Baekgyeong brought him an entire set of expensive nipple jewelry: standard barbells, gem-studded rings, and even chains that linked both sides—luxurious pieces, all of them.

At one point, online forums were filled with threads titled “Yoon Siron Nipple Piercing Rumors,” sparking a wave of negative speculation. Thanks to the persistent efforts of fans, the rumors eventually died down. But after news of his relationship with Baekgyeong broke, the buried controversy resurfaced—and all the blame came crashing down on Siron.

“You’re not doing it again?”

“They closed up. And I don’t want to.”

Lewis rested his cheek on Siron’s left chest and placed a hand on the right, kneading and pressing the soft tissue and underlying muscle, feeling the tender structure beneath the skin. A dull, throbbing ache mixed with a muted pleasure shot through Siron’s chest.

Siron batted away Lewis’s hand like swatting a fly, then twisted a lock of Lewis’s soft hair around his finger, sighing.

“This is all so messed up.”

“What is?”

“We’ve been doing this for three days now.”

“Three days? I could go all year.”

The air in the room was thick and stagnant, heavy with the stench of sweat and other fluids. The mattress below was soaked with blankets dragged in from nearby rooms, all drenched in semen and sweat and crumpled without care.

The past two days, Siron had been completely swept away by Lewis’s pheromones, barely in control of himself. But today, he couldn’t even use that as an excuse. Lewis’s cock was no longer swollen and beast-like, and the overpowering pheromones that had once devoured Siron had now subsided—falling gently, like a sporadic drizzle. Sometimes, he’d passed out mid-sex, lost in waves of stimulation, but today his mind was clear.

And to top it off, while Baekgyeong was in New York for his mother’s funeral, Siron had been drowning in a spiral of carnal bliss.

Until now, Siron had only ever had sex with one person. He thought he could handle anything as long as it was with Baekgyeong—but that wasn’t it. He was simply someone born with an instinctual lust. He felt like a depraved, sex-addicted piece of garbage.

“Get up. I need to go back.”

Siron yanked on the hair he’d been playing with as he spoke.

“I’m still not done. I keep getting hard.”

“Enough. You’re heavy. Get off.”

Lewis caught Siron’s pushing hand, laced their fingers together, and pinned his arms beside his head. Propped up on his palms, Lewis looked down at him with a smile.

“Just one more time, yeah?”

Lewis slipped a thigh beneath Siron’s knees and spread his legs. Then, pulling his hips forward, he guided his heavy, dangling cock between Siron’s thighs.

“Uugh!” Siron arched his back, trying to escape, but Lewis, with precise aim, brought his glans to rest against Siron’s anus without even using his hands.

“Hnn, could you move that goddamn telephone pole away from my hole?”

“Huh? You want me to kiss it?”

Pretending not to understand, Lewis teased the slackened opening with the tip of his cock and gently pushed in.

“Huhh—no, that’s not—ahh...”

The thick, warm shaft pried open the tight entrance, pushing deeper and deeper inside. No matter how often he experienced it, the sensation of being penetrated never stopped feeling overwhelming.

Lewis’s cock moved slowly, stretching the inner walls, pressing tightly against Siron’s overstimulated prostate after three days of relentless sex.

“You sure you hate it? You’re cumming as soon as I go in.”

Siron’s hips twisted, and the tight ring of his ass clenched around Lewis’s shaft like it was trying to squeeze it out. But Lewis didn’t mind. He thrust deeper, parting the wet, semen-soaked walls and ramming his glans past the slackened curve of Siron’s colon.

“Ahhh, ngh—so... deep. Aah!”

Overwhelmed by sensation, Siron looked up at Lewis with teary, desperate eyes.

“Slowly... okay? Go... slowly.”

“Didn’t you say you hated when I went too slow?”

“Then tell that anaconda hanging between your legs to figure it out on its own, hngh, please...”

“Anaconda? That’s a killer nickname.”

Lewis stopped moving his hips and began planting soft kisses all over Siron’s tear-streaked cheeks.

“Did you know? Anacondas are cold-blooded—they instinctively seek warmth. That buddy down there says his balls are freezing, Bebe. What do you think? Can you take more?”

“Lewis, you fucking McCarthy!”

“God, that sounds like a safe word.”

Even as Siron cursed him, Lewis grinned, eyes curving playfully like crescent moons—but then something subtle shifted in his expression.

Lewis gazed down at Siron like he was seeing something unexpectedly beautiful. Then, like someone standing at the edge of an abyss, just one step from plunging into the unknown, a flicker of unease passed over his face.

“Fuck me. You feel like the last piece of a puzzle I’ve been chasing my whole life.”

Siron wasn’t gay—or at least, he insisted he wasn’t—but his heart stirred violently under Lewis’s feverish stare. As a human, he couldn’t help but be drawn to beauty. Cravings, doubt, and a pitiful tenderness glimmered over Lewis’s handsome face.

Siron thought he understood that look. The expression someone made when they realized—among seven billion people—only one had meaning. The disbelief of having found them.

“Can I confess something?”

At Lewis’s reckless question, Siron growled like a beast and turned his head.

“If you want to get rejected miserably, go ahead.”

“...Haah. Fucking Yoon Siron.”

Lewis couldn’t hold himself back. He crushed his mouth against Siron’s in a demanding, devouring kiss. It was deep, insistent, desperate. As they pushed and pulled at each other, the pace of Lewis’s thrusts grew wilder.

Panting like a sprinter at full speed, Lewis gathered Siron’s legs and threw them over his left shoulder. Before Siron could adjust, Lewis drove into him hard—loud, hammering thrusts like driving nails.

Crushed beneath Lewis’s weight and strength, Siron could do nothing but yield. His thighs pressed against his abdomen. Lewis’s thick, long cock spread him open and plunged in, over and over. Siron couldn’t even draw a deep breath under the pressure on his gut. With no strength left to shut his mouth, helpless moans spilled from between his slack jaws.

The whole world turned white. Siron could no longer think. Drowning in Lewis’s torture-like pleasure, he writhed in his arms. As if they had all the time in the world, they drained each other’s bodies until there was nothing left to squeeze out.

Lewis awoke sometime after 11 a.m.

When his eyes opened, he felt it—his libido, which had clung to him like an illness, was finally gone. He glanced at the ticking wall clock, then pulled the sleeping Siron tightly into his chest.

Maybe it was the suppressant. Maybe it was all the sex. Either way, the rut cycle that had tormented him for ten days had finally subsided after just three.

The bed, the table, the tub, the sink, the toilet—every surface in the tiny 5-pyeong room had been a stage for ecstasy. But now, with the heat gone, it all felt disgusting. The bedding, soaked in semen and sweat, clung to his skin. The room reeked of dense pheromones, damp and faintly foul.

Lewis didn’t want Siron in this filth for even another second. Once the pleasure was gone, it only served to make the real problems clearer. Not wanting Siron to regret being with him, Lewis made a quick decision.

He pulled on a pair of pants, grabbed two bath towels from the bathroom, and wrapped the groaning, half-asleep Siron up snugly. Then, grabbing the motel key, he stepped outside.

He planned to move them to a clean room downstairs—one he had already secured—where he’d wash Siron properly.

But the moment he stepped out of the room, his plan blew apart.

“You fucking son of a bitch!”

A piercing scream rang out behind him. From the middle of the motel parking lot, Anna was charging at him like a demon.

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