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The noble notices it in small intervals. While in the house. While on a walk. While hunting. While in the market.
Seungho hums and takes a drag from his pipe as he idly leans on the doorway from his bedchamber, and quietly observes Na-Kyum, who has been idly talking to his servant, Kim, for quite some time out in the open. He lets out the smoke through his lips, and takes another drag. He then sees Na-Kyum bidding farewell to the servant, and the noble’s eyes narrow when the painter takes something out of his sleeve.
Ah. There it is again.
The noble blows out the smoke as Na-Kyum smiles to himself and at the small, wrapped thing in his hand. One eyebrow lifts as he sees that petite hand unwrap the paper, and the other taking it out. The noble sees him biting at a honey cookie—and Na-Kyum beams like a child.
Seungho goes inside his room, and taps his pipe on the ashtray near his bed, and ponders where that expression of his had been all his life.
“Do you like sweet things?”
Na-Kyum flinches at the question, and glances to where the noble stands beside him as they wait for the chandler to wrap up the paint blocks in paper and straw rope. There, out in the market, Seungho stands tall with his hands behind his back, looking at Na-Kyum with a quiet interest.
The noble pinpoints to the painter, his tone amused, the claret eyes dancing at every minute expression of the smaller man, “I noticed it before. After that day when Jihwa had hit you on the face. You seemed to look… displeased, to say the least, after I told my servant to throw away the food that Jihwa gave to you. Since then, I noticed you taking quick daily walks in the market early in the morning, only to return smiling as you eat small portions of the biscuits. I suppose they were that delectable to you? To the point that you have to eat them every day thinking that I would not know?”
Na-Kyum looks away and bites his lip, blushing as he idly sways on the balls of his feet, mentally wishing the chandler to hurry up with the wrapping. He recalls that day vividly in his mind’s eye, and dares not to dwell on it much. “Th-they are delectable, my lord. But I dare not to eat them all at once. And I… I have never intended to deceive you, sir. It is just that…” he trails off, and peers at the noble through his downcast gaze, and sees Seungho waiting for him to continue. The painter turns away once more, bashful at his words, “I have taken those sweets before, my lord. Back in the courtesan house. The sisters gave—”
The chandler bows to the painter, and gives him the wrapped up paints, and Na-Kyum smiles. “—oh, thank you,” he mumbles, bowing slightly as he places the small parcel inside his sleeve, and turns to the blinking Seungho, who still looks at him in silence. Na-Kyum stares at the ground, and feels his face flush, “The sisters used to give me sweets as a child. I rarely had them in the courtesan house, you see. So I…” He bites the corner of his lip, swaying as he covers himself with his hands in front, “I was happy to receive such sweets that day. Even if—” He glances to his left, where the chandler is now talking to another customer, and returns his gaze to Seungho once more. “…even if you had them thrown away, my lord. I cannot forget the taste, so I…” he trails off, and looks down, not even wanting to see what expression the noble may now have.
“…I see.”
Na-Kyum looks up, blinking, as the noble stares not at him, but at somewhere in front of him from a distance, looking ahead with a seemingly disinterested stare. “What?”
“Come with me.”
Seungho grabs Na-Kyum’s hand and strings him along, leaving no room for refusal as he looks ahead, staring at the people in the eye until they step aside whenever someone accidentally blocks his path. He pauses in the middle of the streets, looking around in silence.
“My lord, what is it?” Na-Kyum questions as he, too, looks around, not even trying to pull away from the warm touch upon his hand.
“There it is,” the noble sighs out in relief and in hidden elation, “come.” And he drags the confused painter once more, and Na-Kyum notices the smallest hint of a smile from the noble as he gets dragged in front of another stall, where women gather and babble around the vendor.
Seungho grumbles before he reaches the stall, seeing the hubbub of women taking in and buying small parcels of food. He tuts, grips Na-Kyum’s hand tighter, and comes up behind one woman, and looms behind her without a word until she turns around and muffles a squeak upon seeing his quiet, wide-eyed glare.
The young woman dressed in a pale yellow hanbok quickly bows and leaves the stall, muttering apologies to the noble.
Seungho huffs, and looks at what the vendor sells. Laid out on large, circular baskets are a variety of sweets—from bite-sized rice cakes, to fruits dipped and glazed in honey, to small honey cookies of various shapes of flowers, to sweet rice puffs and rice cookies, to toffees, to candied roots—
Na-Kyum struggles to peer over from the thickness of Seungho’s robes, and when he does, the painter’s lips part, and looks at him in wide-eyed confusion, “My lord, what—”
“Which ones do you like?” Seungho interrupts, staring at Na-Kyum once more in quiet interest. The painter stammers, and shakes his head—
“M-my lord…! It is fine…! I no longer have the need to—”
“Hm,” the noble turns, looking troubled as he purses his lips and examines all the sweets closely, “I guess there is too much for you to choose from when they are all in front of you like this, is it not?” He ignores the sight of Na-Kyum’s gaping mouth as he tries and fails to babble on and reason with the noble, and Seungho turns to the vendor, calling her attention with a wave of his hand and points at a random sweet, “How much for one basket?”
The vendor bows, smiling, “Ah, for you, sir, it is—”
“No wait,” Seungho intervenes, dismissing her off with a wave, and pulls out a bag of coins from his sleeves, “I will take all of them.”
Na-Kyum gasps, and tugs on the noble’s arm, the latter holding him tighter as a thumb gently caresses the back of the painter’s hand, “My lord, you do not have to go to such lengths—!”
The vendor, too, is taken aback in surprise, and stammers, “A-all of them, sir?”
Seungho blinks, and disregards the women now staring at him in shock. “Why? Is it not enough? All right, then. Here.” He takes out another bag of coins, and places them right in the vendor’s shaking hands with no hesitation, “All of them, if you will.”
The vendor freezes at the heavy weight of the bags of coins, her eyes wide as she gives him a wide smile in disbelief, “Th-this is too much, sir. How can I—”
“I will buy from you from now on. Take that as payment in advance until the next two months. I have heard that your delicacies are palatable,” Seungho says, giving her a small smile. He gestures at the baskets filled with sweets, “Have them packed.”
The vendor quickly bows low, “Ah, y-yes, my lord. A-and thank you very much, my lord!” She hurriedly tucks away the bag of coins inside the sash wrapped around her hanbok and slaps her sleeping husband behind her, telling him to pack everything, as someone has already bought everything. The rudely awakened man squints his eyes open and looks at the customers, complaining to his wife that there are still people around—
“Listen here, husband,” the vendor hisses, pinching the man on the arm as she whispers to him, “that young man in blue over there looks like a noble. He has bought everything today and in advance for the next two months, so get going, now!”
The husband cranes his neck to see at who she’s pointing at, and gasps upon seeing the nobleman’s attire. He hurriedly heaves and stands up to wrap and tie everything up as the wife apologizes to the women, telling them that everything has been sold today.
The would-be customers steal glances at Seungho, and he gives them all a sidelong glare and a huff. He watches the women turn away and mutter to themselves, and Seungho finally turns to Na-Kyum, whose hand he still holds.
“That should be enough to keep you satisfied. No longer will you have to be sneaking at dawn to buy them and eat them bit by bit. You can have them whenever you want,” Seungho smiles at the surprised painter, and snorts at that pale face. “What? You do not like it?”
“‘L-like it’? M-my lord, h-how could I not like it? But truly, these are too much…!”
Seungho looks down, to where Na-Kyum has released himself from his grasp, and is now clutching his hands tightly in front of him. The meek painter has returned, and Seungho smirks, “Too much? This is a trifle compared to what you have told me, when you have only eaten so little of these things. I shall not have you lurking outside my abode where I cannot see you—” Seungho’s hand graces Na-Kyum’s face, his fingertips a soft whisper against the soft skin, “—where you might get hurt.”
Na-Kyum freezes in the noble’s touch, his amber eyes wide and his lips parting at the noble’s words. He finds himself unable to speak, his lips trembling and tingling at the fingertips trailing across his jaw.
Seungho’s eyes soften, his fingers caressing the edges of Na-Kyum’s soft lips, his words a quiet whisper in the cacophony all around them, but loud enough to make Na-Kyum blush, “I will bring all what you want to you, and more.”
The painter gulps, feels his heart hammering from his chest as the fleeting touch fades away when Seungho removes his hand from his face, leaving only a trace of bridled want. Under his clothes, Na-Kyum’s skin prickles at something unknown to him as he gazes at the bold man looking at him in amusement.
The noble then turns, all traces of warmth now gone as he waves to his valet, who seems to have taken a jog to catch up with them, “Look here, help this man carry all the baskets afterwards. We will be returning home for the day.”
The servant bows, and says a muttered, “Yes, Young Master,” and comes up to the vendors to help them hasten the wrapping.
Na-Kyum, however, gives the servant an apologetic bow as soon as Seungho takes another look around the market, and the old man dismisses it with a quick smile and a shake of his head, and returns to wrapping the round baskets of sweets as soon as the noble directs his attention to the painter once more.
The servant, along with the sweetmeat vendors, follow the noble and the painter back to the Yoon residence, each of their hands carrying a stack of five, large, circular baskets filled with sweets.
“Hey,” the female vendor whispers to her husband, “why is someone like him walking beside a lowborn? The smaller one is a lowborn, right? Even his clothes look kind of worn. Look, even his hair is short.”
The husband hums, and observes how little of a distance the noble walks beside the lowborn, their clothes brushing. No matter how much of a distance the lowborn tries to make by walking behind, the noble pauses, and turns to walk beside him instead, talking to him with much zeal. The male vendor looks at the servant walking in front of them, and the old man turns to them, and stares at them hard.
The vendors bow down, and mutter their apologies.
It’s nearing sundown upon their return, and when they have entered the premises, Seungho tells his servant, “Prepare one basket for Na-Kyum and me. I shall dine with him tonight in his room. For the rest of the boxes, put them in the icehouse.” The servant nods and goes ahead, but stops when Seungho talks to the vendors. “This is my residence, remember it well. You will be making many trips here once we have finished what I have bought today and wish to buy some more. Do you understand?”
“Ah, yes, sir,” the vendors utter in unison, and bow profusely to him, telling him their thanks.
Seungho nods to his servant, and the valet calls out to the vendors, “Follow me.”
The vendors follow the servant immediately, their heads bowed as Seungho keeps his eye on them. Only when the noble turns away and talks to the one beside him do the vendors finally speak once more.
“Excuse me, sir,” says the man to the servant, “is he—” He nods to where the short-haired man now walks behind the noble, “—also a servant?”
At this, the servant pales, and glares at them, hissing, “Shush, you do not speak of him in such a way here, lest you want to get yourselves killed.”
The vendors paled, and glance at each other. They bow profusely, spluttering their apologies as they walk to the icehouse.
“I cannot eat any more, my lord. I truly am full,” Na-Kyum heaves in a sigh as he covers his mouth filled with sweet rice puffs, and shuffles a bit away from the table, slightly jostling the cold and empty bottles of liquor. Beside him, Seungho grins, and takes another sip of the liquor from the cup.
“Are you truly sure? Surely this is not another ploy for you to go somewhere else to do shameful things to yourself again?”
Na-Kyum reddens at the words and accidentally gulps all the food in his mouth at once, and he looks down to his knees, stammering, “My lord, this is not—” He stops, and bites his inner lip when he sees the noble smile at him smugly behind the empty cup. A bead of sweat runs down his back despite the autumn chill, and he looks to the side, muttering, “…I do not intend to do such things tonight, my lord.”
“Oh?” the noble raises an inquisitive brow, the lopsided smile turning into a wide grin as he sets the cup down and leans closer to the painter, his left hand splayed right next to Na-Kyum’s closed fist. Russet eyes lower to the trembling lips, taking in the sweetness of his breath as he croons, “Not tonight, is it? How about… on other nights, do you intend to do it?”
Na-Kyum clamps his lips shut, and hiccups, “My lord, that is not what I mean—”
“Deep breaths, please. I am merely joking with you,” Seungho titters, and takes a treat from the nearly empty basket, offering it to Na-Kyum. “Here, have another puff. You seem to like this one and the honey cookies the most. Seeing as you ate most of it.”
Na-Kyum tries to look at anywhere but at the noble’s face that’s too close to his, “No more, please…”
The noble chuckles, and scoots closer to the whimpering male, his voice lowering into a barely audible drawl, “Last one, I promise. Eat it for me.” A forefinger raises the rice puff to the painter’s plump lips, prodding the treat once, and the noble smiles.
His peers at him through a half-lidded gaze, the sound of cloth shuffling as he moves even closer, their warm breaths fanning on each other’s faces. And with a tilt of his head, he implores in a hushed and breathless voice—
“Please?”
A shiver wracks down Na-Kyum’s core, his whole body slowly simmering in low heat, waiting to rise in the opportune moment—
A shuddering breath slips past Na-Kyum’s lips, his amber gaze unable to tear away from those russet orbs. The hint of a rosy tongue peeks out from behind the gleaming teeth and the plump lips as he opens his mouth, tasting the sweetness of the puff as Seungho slowly pushes the sweet treat in, aware that he’s being carefully observed—
—and Na-Kyum slowly bites the puff in half, the sound of its crunchy exterior melting into the softness of the rice sugar, making his teeth tingle for the briefest of seconds, before taking a quiet delight in the chewy treat—
—and Seungho stares.
He observes the way those flushed lips move, its damp stickiness an unsuspecting trap to those constantly hungry eyes. He memorizes those plump cheeks undulate with each chew, the sound of the rice puff popping and grinding into a pulp, and the painter swallows. He holds back a smile, and pushes the rest of the treat into Na-Kyum’s awaiting mouth.
Seungho’s left hand balls into like that of a paw as Na-Kyum’s mouth closes once more, the edges of his lips grazing the tip of Seungho’s forefinger, closing upon it without so much as an utterance of a stammered apology in his wake as the painter swallows the puff, maintaining his gaze at the captivated noble. Na-Kyum’s chest swells and dips, his breathing coming out in shallow huffs as the forefinger nudges inside the warm mouth—
—and Seungho leers as the painter’s eyes fall close, tilting his head back as the long finger pushes in, and toys with the wet tongue inside, rolling it—
The nobleman lets out a quiet breath through his lips as he then pushes another finger inside, his middle finger now joining in with the wetness that is Baek Na-Kyum’s mouth, both digits toying with the quivering muscle, the knobs of his fingers brushing the clamped up heat, stroking both edges of the tongue at a leisurely pace as Na-Kyum now tremors with a muffled pant, his trembling knees now meeting together as Seungho continues his assault.
“It seems you are not yet truly full, judging from that tongue of yours,” the nobleman utters in a gruff, the sound of his voice sending Na-Kyum into a quaking mess as he grabs onto the nobleman’s hand and steadies it there, tears now springing from the edges of his eyes as he parts his mouth, his spit now flowing to his quivering chin and down to the knobs of Seungho’s long fingers—
Seungho toys on with the enticing heat, the nails brushing at the roof of the mouth just the slightest—
—and Na-Kyum shudders with a drawn-out moan that resonates in the room, his body leaning back in a taut arch, and Seungho soon follows, his left hand now cradling behind the painter’s waist as he prods and plays with the tongue and the saliva pooling in Na-Kyum’s mouth—
Na-Kyum’s unfocused eyes glance at Seungho’s silent smile, eyeing him with something akin to fascination. And his hold on the noble’s hand tightens as he takes a loud and lecherous slurp of those invading fingers—its sound making Seungho grin as the painter heaves lungfuls of air with every bob of his head, moaning and sucking on the fingers that continue to play with his tongue.
The smaller man’s nails dig onto the back of Seungho’s hand as his trembling intensifies from each brush of a knuckle to the roof of his mouth—
Na-Kyum’s mouth falls open, his blush creeping to his neck as he feels Seungho’s eyes roving all over his face—the tears, the glassy gaze, the shameless blush, the ceaseless tremors, the spit spilling all over—
Na-Kyum moans, and swallows as he sucks on the fingers once more. Seungho regards the painter with a glint in his eye, letting out a slow and quiet exhale through pursed lips. He curls his fingers downwards, and slowly takes them out of Na-Kyum’s mouth. Heaving, the painter gulps, looking at him in a confused daze, “My lord, why—”
“Honey?” the noble asks with a smile, his fingers now dripping with the liquid from the bowl on the table. “Since the rice puffs do not seem to be enough to satisfy you. Here,” he pulls Na-Kyum to sit up and lean his head against the crook of his neck, “open up.”
The dazed painter cranes his head to look at the noble, then to the right hand drenched in honey and his own spit, and says nothing.
“You do not want it?” Seungho asks with an amused huff, and his brows raise as Na-Kyum tries to form words.
“I… I never said I—”
“Your mouth must be lonely, then. Here,” Seungho hums, smearing a bit of the honey-slicked fingers on Na-Kyum’s glistening lips. “Have a taste.”
Na-Kyum lets out a quiet sigh, and eyes the trickling liquid, his eyes glazing over. His eyes close as his mouth opens, and welcomes the fingers in with a hearty suck as he steadies the hand with his touch.
Seungho watches on with a dazed smile, disregarding his hardness that has settled there. Na-Kyum’s face now casts a light sheen of sweat as he engulfs the fingers with a loud gulp and slurp with every dip and rise of his head, and even licks away the remnants of honey stuck in between the crevices of Seungho’s fingers. The noble’s lip twitches upwards, and looks down to see the painter hard as well—
He hums, curling and taking his fingers away from the eager mouth once more. Na-Kyum stares at him in confusion for a few moments when Seungho takes the bowl of honey nearby, and takes a drink from it.
The painter burns the image in his mind, of the young lord of the house tipping his head back as he drinks honey, the amber liquid slipping past his lips and trickling to his jaw—
Na-Kyum observes the lone drop tracing the outline of those bones, and moves before he realizes what he has done, as he darts his tongue out, and laps the liquid away.
Seungho manages not to choke mid-drink, as his eyes widen at Na-Kyum’s sudden boldness, and grins behind his drink. He settles the bowl down, and tilts the painter’s head back as he pries the mouth open with his thumb—
Seungho and pours the honey down the painter’s mouth, watches the liquid drip to the awaiting tongue, and Na-Kyum swallows, and parts his lips once more. He continues this, moving its contents from his mouth to Na-Kyum’s until the bowl is emptied and refilled—and the noble kisses the painter, laps and sucks on his sweet tongue, mouth, and lips, as both heave for needed breath—
Seungho grabs onto Na-Kyum’s hair, and relishes the damp sweetness of the pliant tongue and the heated mouth, groaning into the deepening kiss as he gently pushes the painter to the floor and pulls away as Seungho trails his open mouth down the sweat and spit-slicked jaw, licking at the sweet liquid, his hands clutching at everywhere they can hold—the ebony locks, the unfastening robes—
—the damp hand.
He threads his fingers to Na-Kyum’s, clasping the smaller hand as Na-Kyum’s back arches in his quest to nibble on a reddening ear—and their hardness grind against each other, neither of them removing any of their clothes as the moaning painter undulates and writhes under the noble’s touch. Seungho’s lips latch onto every inch of skin it can reach, nipping and biting at the white surface of Na-Kyum’s warmth.
The painter whines as he feels his body heat up, his eyes glazing over as teeth nibble at his earlobe, his vision spinning, the mind drifting afloat. He is kissed once more, and his body curls upwards, his chest meeting with the nobleman’s, his toes curling as the sounds of moaning and ragged breaths drip to his ears—and his mind fogs, unaware of another sweet treat inching to his lips. He opens his mouth before he even realizes it, and the sweetened thing is placed in his mouth, the bitter taste mixing along with the sweetness of honey.
He chews as he stares at Seungho’s amused expression, and he feels the taste of the bitter juice seeping with every grind of his teeth against it. His eyes widen—
“Just a little bit,” Seungho mutters, his eyes dancing in delight as he, too, takes some of the candied roots, and dips it in honey. “Bitter at first, but—” he chuckles as he takes a bite of the root, and pops the rest in his mouth, relishing the juices as he swallows, “I promise you it will taste good and sweet. Do you want more?”
Na-Kyum shakes his head, “I do not like the taste of red ginseng, my lord.”
“No? Hm, well, then maybe…” Seungho reaches out to the table and grabs a flask, and waves it to Na-Kyum, “More honey?” Na-Kyum gulps, the flush creeping back to his face, and Seungho grins, his hand now snaking to Na-Kyum’s hardness, palming and kneading it heavily, feeling it grow hot against his touch. He waits, observes as Na-Kyum’s eyes become hazy once more, the edges of those amber orbs pooling with unshed tears as the painter keens a wailing cry, his shaking legs parting at the welcomed assault, the trembling hands now grabbing at the air in impatience—
Seungho licks his lips and straddles him, a filthy grin sliding to his lips as he groans and grinds against the twitching lump of heat—
Na-Kyum reaches for the bottle, whining when Seungho takes it out of his reach.
The nobleman tuts, and places the flask by his side, the deft fingers now untying his robe and jacket, exposing his body to the roving eyes of the intoxicated painter.
Seungho hums at the attention he receives, feels the stare swallowing him whole—a rare sight for the usually timid young man. He relishes the rapt gaze—so intimate and riveting—and the nobleman looks down on the flushed face, and looks at where he sees the fingers twitching there—
A painter itching to paint the sinful image in his mind.
Seungho reaches out to the bottle of honey, and grins at Na-Kyum as he lets the syrup glaze and run down from his chest to his abdomen, the liquid tracing all the lines and contours of the taut and firm body—
Na-Kyum’s eyes widen at the sight—
“You like sweet things, do you not?”
A shiver wracks the painter in liquid heat, the blood in his veins singing at every drop that pours down the perfectly sinful flesh—watching as the drops kiss and trail down the flushed and raised nipples, then pooling down to a taut stomach and the dip of his navel—
He sits up in haste, his eager hands scurrying to peel away the offending clothes and reveal more of that carnally delicious, delicious skin—
And once the liquid sin stains to the noble’s pants, Na-Kyum peels everything away, unwraps him like the paper from the sweetened treats he so loves—
Na-Kyum beams like a child, and goes down to have a taste of Yoon Seungho’s skin.
Seungho lets out a grateful sigh, and ponders as the painter licks and sucks and bites at every inch of the honeyed torso, the amber gaze looking up at him, that warm mouth trailing openmouthed kisses down to the turgid heat pulsing just inches from his hands—
“I am very happy to receive such sweet things, my lord,” Na-Kyum sighs out in reverence, his warm breath fanning over the pulsating flesh in his hand, rubbing it against his cheek—
“I can never forget the taste.”
Seungho shudders with a grin and a hiss at the uttered words, realization creeping to him as Na-Kyum opens his sweet little mouth to swallow and engulf him whole, those plump lips and that heated tongue squelching with every suck, the dribble and the honey mixing with every slurp—
Seungho tilts his head back, a languid smile painting his lips as his eyes slide close, and he glides his hand to the softness of Na-Kyum’s hair, caressing his brow in a silent approval—
Truly—
“Now this is the face I want to see from you.”