* * *
“Mmngh…”
Nael rubbed his thighs together, repeatedly grasping and releasing his aching length.
Last night, when he had touched himself, Killian had slapped him.
Perhaps that was why—even as his hand clenched instinctively, he hesitated, his grip loosening almost immediately.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Master… Please, touch me.”
“Stay still. Just for a moment. I need to check your wounds.”
“Hngh…”
Killian’s expression crumbled as he examined Nael’s injuries.
His stomach and wrists were mottled with dark bruises.
His lips were torn, dried blood crusted at the corners.
Aside from his doll-like eyes and delicate nose, there wasn’t a single unscathed place on his body.
His disheveled hair was the only evidence of his desperate struggle.
“Damn it.”
A cautious knock interrupted them, followed by the entrance of an elderly man with graying hair.
“…Your Grace, allow me to examine him.”
Killian laid Nael onto the bed.
Nael clung tightly to his hand, unwilling to let go.
“Ugh…!”
Even against the soft sheets, a pained whimper escaped him.
Every part of his skin felt like it was burning.
No matter how he twisted and turned, the sensation remained the same.
Even the plush mattress offered no relief.
And the forced ingestion of the drug only worsened things—his body no longer felt like his own.
All that remained was pain, heat, and a raw, primal need to release.
“…Mm.”
The old man examined Nael carefully.
When the wrinkled fingers pressed against his ribs, he let out a sharp cry, twisting away.
“Fortunately, nothing appears to be broken, but we should observe him for a while. There may be fractures. He needs complete rest for the time being. I’ll prepare food and medicine—make sure he takes them. I’ll also provide an ointment to prevent scarring.”
Killian clicked his tongue.
“There’s no immediate antidote?”
“None, Your Grace. Only time—”
“I see. Leave.”
The drug’s effects were in full swing.
Nael curled into himself, his emerald eyes dulled, their usual brilliance fading.
Schlp, schlp.
Wet sounds filled the room.
Nael, unable to bear it any longer, touched himself, his dazed gaze drifting into empty space.
“Aah… ngh… more… hngh…”
Thick, milky liquid spurted from his twitching tip, staining the bed.
But even after releasing, his erection remained angry and stiff.
His mind, consumed by the effects of the cheap aphrodisiac, could only focus on one thing—relief.
Even unaware of what he had just done, his hand kept moving, mindlessly stroking himself.
Killian clenched his jaw.
“Damn it.”
His condition was too dire for anything more.
Killian exhaled sharply.
“…Master, please.”
Without even knowing what he was pleading for, Nael clung tightly to Killian’s hand, his other hand never stopping its movements.
With effort, he gathered his wounded upper body and propped himself up.
Groping along Killian’s forearm for support, he tried to get off the bed but collapsed to his knees with a thud, his legs too weak to hold him.
“Hngh, please… Master. My body, it feels like—like it’s burning.”
“It will subside with time. You just need to endure this night.”
“I can’t—hngh—I can’t make it through the night.”
Nael grasped the hem of Killian’s pants, his fingers crawling up little by little like a kitten begging for food.
His flushed, swollen lips called out Killian’s name over and over, breathy and laced with moans, as if invoking the name of a god who could grant salvation.
Wrapping his arms around Killian’s muscular thigh, Nael shamelessly rubbed his aroused flesh against the man’s ankle.
Lost to reason, consumed by lust, he was no different from a beast in heat—a creature desperate to spill its seed, anywhere, anyhow.
“Hah… Hah…”
Drool trickled down his lips, pooling at his chin, but he paid it no mind, entirely focused on grinding his fevered flesh against Killian’s skin.
Even with only a few weak thrusts, he was already breathless, sweat beading on his skin.
Had his resolve been so flimsy?
The determination to hold back until the effects of the drug wore off crumbled with startling ease.
Killian exhaled a long, self-deprecating sigh.
As his breath ghosted over Nael’s head, the younger man looked up with dazed, unfocused eyes.
Killian reached out to wipe away the sweat glistening on his forehead, but Nael parted his lips in an open invitation, his tongue flicking out. “Ahh—”
“You want to suck?”
“Mm… yeah.”
“Nael, you really are a wicked little thing.”
“Hnn, p-please, help me…”
Killian lifted him into his arms, careful not to aggravate his wounds, but Nael still let out a pained whimper. Killian ground his teeth in fury.
Those bastards—he’d burn them to ash, leave nothing behind, not even a single hair.
Nael, still lost in his fevered haze, cupped Killian’s cheek with trembling fingers.
Before, he would have never reached out first, but now, with ragged breaths, he begged desperately.
“Master…”
“I’ll help you, so stop whining. Damn it, Nael.”
“Ah, ngh. My lower belly, it—”
“It’s hot, isn’t it? Burning up, needing release but unable to.”
“Hngh…”
“Don’t cry.”
Killian carefully laid Nael on his side.
Given the injuries inflicted on him, any position would likely cause discomfort, but this was the best option.
“Here, here… it’s itchy… ngh…”
Nael reached back with both hands, spreading his soft, round cheeks.
Between his fingers, plush flesh quivered like clouds, the abused entrance from the night before swollen and twitching.
“What do you want me to do? I can’t. Not right now. Ask for something else.”
In his current state, anything sexual would be too much.
If he collapsed, there were no proper medical supplies on board the ship.
Even now, just watching him like this was unbearable.
When he regained his senses, Killian was definitely going to scold him.
Damn it.
They fed this delicate thing a drug fit for street whores?
Nael clawed at the sheets, his distress evident.
The only way he knew to deal with this—what he had learned—was to use his own body.
He exposed himself without hesitation, presenting the solution he had been taught, only to be rejected, leaving him lost.
His small, clouded mind struggled to find light in this deep, dark cave.
“You should have called my name. Then those bastards wouldn’t have dared to touch you.”
Words Nael couldn’t possibly hear spilled from his lips in vain.
Tears welled up and dripped down the bridge of Nael’s nose, soaking into the pillow.
His soft, hiccuping cries pressed heavily against Killian’s chest.
Hearing Killian curse, Nael sniffled and shifted his gaze to him, eyes still unfocused, as if he were slipping into sleep.
“Here… here, it’s itchy. Scr-scratch me… ngh, make me… come…”
Even after climaxing, his length remained achingly hard, as though soaked in some cursed spring of forgetfulness.
The swollen, red tip leaked steadily, filling the air with a lewd, intoxicating scent, like a female in heat.
The heady aroma curled into Killian’s nostrils, slipping into his lungs, seeping into his mind.
The deep, stirring sensation weighed heavily in his gut.
How could he possibly refuse him?
* * *
