* * *
“After breakfast, there’s something I want to show you.”
Killian took Nael’s hand.
Fingers interlaced like shackles, he led him to a room sealed tightly with a lock.
The lock, untouched by anyone’s hand to an almost unnatural degree, bore the full weight of time’s passage—especially strange for something housed in a grand duke’s estate.
Rummaging through his pocket, Killian pulled out a key.
He gripped it so tightly the sharp edges dug into his palm.
Then, with a perfect fit, the key slid into the lock. Clank.
The rusted chains fell heavily to the floor.
As the door opened, a thick layer of dust greeted them first.
“This place is….”
It was a gallery of portraits—former grand dukes and duchesses.
Yet despite their status, they hadn’t been meticulously preserved.
Instead, the untouched frames, intricately crafted, were caked in dust, hardened with neglect.
The signs of long abandonment were unmistakable.
“You can look freely.”
Nael stared blankly at the portraits.
The eyes of the past dukes in the paintings seemed to fix on him.
But something was… strange.
These grand portraits, encased in ornate frames, were records of history.
Yet there was no portrait of Killian.
Had there been no time to paint one, with him constantly away at war, rarely in the northern lands?
The last painting was likely Killian’s father.
Forgetting his own place, Nael burned the image into his mind.
Jet-black hair like Killian’s, crimson eyes, the same unmistakable air of superiority—they were identical.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
So he wasn’t just dropped from the sky—he was born from someone.
A strange kinship flickered in his chest.
Of course, compared to himself, this man was a noble of pure, exalted blood.
“Why isn’t there one of you, Master?”
“Because I didn’t want to leave anything behind.”
“……”
“War is like that. No matter how high your station, a single arrow can end your life. Even if I died right now, nothing would change. In a place like that… I didn’t want to leave a trace.”
“……”
“Not even a single line of my name. Though, given my position, it was an unreasonable thought.”
Nael’s heart ached for him.
He should have lived an untroubled life in the heights of nobility, yet here he was, roots dug deep into harsh reality.
“Master.”
It hurt, seeing the loneliness steeped into his existence.
“Nael.”
“Yes, I—…”
“When we return to the south, I’ll summon a skilled painter. I want us in the same portrait. Will you allow that?”
“Yes—yes, of course. As many as you want.”
Nael nodded so vigorously his head might have flown off.
“It’ll take a long time, staying still for the painting.”
“I know. I can… I can do that.”
He had once glimpsed a baron having his portrait done.
And he still remembered clearly the baron’s grumbling complaints every day.
“Master.”
Nael rose slightly on his toes and pressed a kiss to Killian’s cheek.
“Master.”
His voice trembled, sweet and sorrowful.
Killian tilted his head slightly, watching the little head that always buzzed with thoughts.
The tips of his ears burned.
Nael, eyes half-lidded as if shy, tugged him toward the door.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You should… paint me.”
Should he?
Killian swept Nael up into his arms.
Behind them, the swirling dust settled as the heavy door sealed shut once more.
“Like this?”
Nael forced his flat chest together, squeezing with both hands.
Even pressing firmly toward the center, it still didn’t seem like enough.
Make a cleavage, he thought.
“Yeah, like that.”
Rub them.
Twist the nipples.
Now try with one hand.
Following Killian’s orders, Nael moved obediently.
Tracing the round areolas, pinching the hardened buds between his fingers—the long-dormant pleasure made a damp sigh escape his lips.
“Nngh…”
Alone, he would never have gotten like this.
Unless Killian was watching, he never even touched himself, let alone masturbated.
Of course, his movements were clumsy.
Killian lounged lazily, giving commands without coming closer.
A sharp ache throbbed deep below his navel.
After being kidnapped and spending time recovering, their only intimacy had been brief kisses.
Now, shame forgotten, Nael moved exactly as Killian told him.
“Master.”
“You’re doing well on your own.”
“Hnn…”
He lightly scraped his nails over both nipples.
Inside his pants, his fully erect cock leaked sticky fluid, dampness clinging to the fabric.
The hole between his thighs clenched and released, craving more stimulation, more pleasure.
His hand slid down, past his navel, to the waistband of his pants.
His lower stomach trembled.
Even though it was his own touch, the weight of Killian’s gaze made it feel like he was the one touching him.
Emboldened, his fingers grew bolder, more obscene, tugging the waistband down.
The fabric slid to his ankles.
Nael didn’t even think to remove them fully, too frantic as his hand dove into his underwear.
“Master.”
“……”
“Together…”
‘Do it with me. Come closer. You’re too far away. Come here.’
Nael fumbled over his words. His palm cupped his swollen balls, then stroked his hard cock in slow, slick motions.
Killian hadn’t moved from his chair since the beginning, just watching.
The anticipation was maddening.
This wasn’t the usual Killian, who indulged his desires freely—no, this was controlled restraint.
Maybe even…
Sometimes, he seemed satisfied just watching, like some voyeur.
Nael’s knees bent slightly.
Killian tilted his chin, as if daring him to try harder.
The smirk that followed was infuriatingly provoking.
If you want me, seduce me.
Biting his lower lip, Nael tugged his underwear down.
The flushed tip of his cock glistened, a thin strand of precum stretching toward the floor.
“A ripe fruit is pleasing to the eye.”
“And delicious to taste.”
“……”
“Sweet and fragrant… Mnn… When the juice fills your mouth, it’s bliss.”
“……”
“But if it’s not picked, it rots the moment it falls from the tree.”
“Then I should pluck it and keep it close, shouldn’t I?”
“Master—Hah! Nngh!”
When did he learn to say such shameless things?
Killian let out a short laugh.
From start to finish, he had molded Nael—awakening his pleasure, making him crave it.
This wasn’t just training; it ran deeper.
“Hhah…”
Nael spread his legs wider, lying back as he kneaded his balls with one hand.
The other formed a ring, pumping his cock just like Killian would.
Precum spilled freely, making his fingers sticky.
Each stroke toward the base stretched the slit wide before the foreskin swallowed it back up.
The way the tip twitched was obscenely lewd.
His other hand dragged down the defined line of his perineum.
“Hah—!”
Even without touching his hole, Nael arched.
His breath came in ragged gasps as his fingers teased the tight rim.
Prying it open with thumb and forefinger, the entrance stretched horizontally.
Unused for a while, it still snapped back resiliently.
“Haah… Master, please.”
“Did I say you could beg?”
Nael froze, then shook his head.
“Next time… Next time.”
As his fingertip circled the wrinkled entrance, his cock grew even harder.
The swollen tip pulsed, dripping relentlessly.
His strokes turned rough, fast.
The obscene sight of Nael spreading himself open while jerking off was unbearably erotic.
Killian swallowed thickly.
The constant pleas from Nael’s lips made his chest burn.
Haah…
The urge to watch warred with the need to take him right then—to slam into him and make his hips shake.
From the first day he’d picked up the whip, from the days he’d trained him like a dog, collared and leashed—Nael had always tested his patience to the limit.
* * *
