Chapter 29 - Parallel Lines

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He and his father had never been close.

 

No—more accurately, his father had never been close to him. Not out of neglect, nor deliberate distance, but simply… they were not close. As a child, he hadn't understood why, but as he grew older, he realized the truth—his father wanted to distance himself from the color of his eyes, the same shade as his grandfather's.

 

At seven years old, he had been sent to boarding school, rarely returning home. Even on holidays, he was expected to stay at the family estate, undergoing training to inherit the legacy that came with his name.

 

Looking back, he suspected both his parents had been relieved. They didn't have to be around him—didn't have to be confronted with the parts of him they wished to avoid.

 

Yes, even his mother had never truly been close to him. Whether it was his delicate features as a child, which resembled hers, or the way he had gradually grown into his father's sharp, angular profile—she had kept her distance all the same.

 

When she passed away, he was not allowed to return home. He received her obituary from his father's personal bodyguard instead. He did not attend the funeral. Death was nothing remarkable. At thirteen, he had already seen too much of it—and caused enough of it himself.

 

For the next two years, he and his father did not meet once. Every day, he looked into the mirror and saw a face that, by all accounts, was growing to resemble his father's more and more. Yet by then, his father's face had already become a blur in his memory.

 

He had never imagined that they would reunite under such circumstances.

 

Was he truly becoming more like his father? Narrowing his red-brown eyes, the young man pressed his lips together, suppressing a faint, mirthless chuckle.

 

It was impossible to tell—his face, stained with blood, was pale, pained, and twisted, carrying both resignation and a quiet unwillingness.

 

Kneeling at the bedside, he hesitated before reaching out to grasp that trembling hand. His own pale skin was quickly tainted with the dark smear of blood.

 

The moment his father saw him, those olive-green eyes widened with effort, then trembled and drooped—only to lift again, locking onto him with surprising strength.

 

"…How… have you been?" The low, steady voice was laced with the rasp of a failing breath. The fingers in his grasp twitched, clawing faint, white marks onto the back of his hand.

 

"I'm well. Thank you for your concern, Father." He responded smoothly, without hesitation.

 

Before entering, the doctor had warned him—his father had been shot seven times. The fact that he was still alive was a miracle, but he should be prepared.

 

Prepared for what? He had seen people die before—countless times, from up close. Death no longer fazed him. Even if it was his own father, so what? After all, they were nothing more than strangers who had not met in two years.

 

He waited for his father to get to the point. A father who had always avoided him—why summon him only at the end?

 

His father gasped, his mouth open in agony, as if struggling to form words. Blood-streaked saliva splattered against his lips, and the fingers in his grasp convulsed uncontrollably.

 

"Father, rest assured. I will find your enemy and offer him as a blood sacrifice in your name." And as for those guards who failed to protect him, they would be brought back to the ancestral estate for judgment.

 

How had his father taken seven bullets? He had yet to piece together the full story, but at the very least, he had not heard of any casualties worse than his father's. That alone was… suspicious.

 

"Bu… Bude... Bu…" His father struggled to speak, his olive-green eyes bulging, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth and nostrils.

 

Bu…? The young man arched a brow, glancing toward the tall, golden-haired man standing by the door, his head bowed. His lean frame bore smudges of half-dried blood.

 

His father's dog—calm, quick, ruthless. Yet more famous than his skill was his excessive beauty.

 

As if sensing his gaze, the man lifted his head, amber eyes blinking once. A thin, crimson line cut across the ivory skin of his cheek—a mark from either a blade or a grazing bullet.

 

"Bude?" The young man curled his lips into a slow, knowing smile, repeating the name his father had uttered. "Father, are you asking for Bude to be buried with you?"

 

Even as he spoke, Bude's expression remained unmoved. Like a cat, he approached soundlessly, his graceful form exuding quiet poise. "Is that an order, Master Tengshe?"

 

"No… no…" His father's fingers dug into his hand with surprising force. The young man winced, irritation flashing across his face at his father's agitation.

 

He had heard the rumors—about his father and Bude. It was common enough for a master to take his hound to bed, but with his father, it had been more than that. People whispered that his father had fallen in love with his dog.

 

The young man sneered.

 

"Father?"

 

"…Leave… leave…" But his father's gaze was not on him. It was fixed on the beautiful man behind him.

 

"Yes, sir."

 

And just like that, the room was empty save for father and son. So the order to withdraw had not been for Bude alone—it had been for everyone.

 

Truly his father's dog.

 

His father's grip slackened, as if the last of his strength had drained away. His lips moved faintly.

 

After a brief hesitation, the young man leaned in, tilting his ear toward his father's lips.

 

The words that reached him made his brow furrow deeper and deeper.

 

"…Is that an order?" His voice was stiff, his body tense as he looked into the cloudy olive-green eyes before him.

 

There was no response. His father's lips moved, but no sound emerged. And yet—his breath did not leave him. He lingered on the edge, as if waiting.

 

Waiting for his answer.

 

"…I understand. I will do it."

 

The words had barely left his lips when his father finally exhaled his last.

 

Half-lidded eyes, once filled with unreadable intensity, now lay dull and lifeless—like glass, unseeing. Staring at something far beyond this world.

 

Biting his lip, the young man suddenly realized—he was crying.

 

So, in the end, he did care.

 

—

 

Stepping out of his father's room, he was met with the dimly lit corridor. Aside from Bude, there was no one else.

 

The golden-haired man stood there in silence, his gaze cool, detached. Or perhaps... simply hollow. His brightly colored lips parted slightly, and instinctively, the young man reached up, brushing his cheek.

 

"Summon the doctor. My father has passed."

 

Of course, there was nothing on his fingers. He had already wiped away every last trace of his tears.

 

"Understood."

 

The beautiful man didn't so much as flinch. Strange. As his father's most faithful hound—the one his father had still remembered in his final moments—shouldn't he show some reaction?

 

"Are you sad?" The young man called after him. The golden-amber eyes that turned back to meet his own were empty—so empty it sent a chill down his spine. "Or are you happy?"

 

"Young Master Tengshe, I am merely a dog." His pale pink lips moved, and that dreamlike, beautiful face smiled. "If that is what you wish of me, then yes—I am deeply sorrowful. And yes—I am delighted."

 

What an interesting response. The young man lowered his gaze and chuckled softly before suddenly undoing the buttons on his shirt.

 

"Young Master Tengshe?" Bude's voice subtly rose, but he didn't step forward.

 

The shirt and tie fell onto the carpet, followed by the belt and dark trousers. Finally, even the snug boxer briefs. The young man stood naked in the hallway, where the afternoon sunlight streamed through the opposite wall. His honey-gold skin glowed faintly, his smooth physique carrying traces of training, though still showing the youthful slenderness of his age.

 

His red-brown eyes lifted from beneath long lashes, filled with malicious provocation. "Bude, since you're happy, let's celebrate."

 

"Young Master Tengshe?" The beautiful man narrowed his amber eyes, neither approaching nor stepping back.

 

It didn't matter. If the man wouldn't come to him, the young man could go to him.

 

His slender body pressed against the man's, his lips trailing over the bloodstains on the ivory-colored skin.

 

"Bude, are you going to refuse?"

 

"Is this an order?"

 

"No, it's an invitation." The young man shook his head, his short, wavy black hair shifting with the movement. Through the fabric of the man's clothes, his nipples became slightly erected due to the friction. He made no effort to hide the soft moan that escaped his lips.

 

"Why?"

 

That empty expression gradually showed a hint of subtle excitement. A faint red spread across that ivory skin as sharp teeth bit down on those soft pink lips.

 

"If you're going to bite, why not bite mine?"

 

The young man's slender but firm arms wrapped around the man's neck, as if both forcing and pleading. He pressed the man's face down, lightly tracing his tongue over those lips.

 

"Young Master Tengshe…"

 

The whispered name sent a tremor through the young man's body, igniting a dazzling firework in his mind.

 

"You'll have to help me out—after all, this is my first time."

 

Laughing openly, the young man pulled the man down onto the carpet, his long legs rubbing against his slim waist.

 

"…Yes."

 

There was a suppressed quality to the response as the man gently caressed the still-slim chest. His beautiful, sculpted fingers toyed with the already hardened nipples.

 

"Mmm… ah…"

 

The young man's shoulders twitched slightly. He closed his eyes, trying to hide his nervousness and embarrassment, but it only made his body more sensitive.

 

After the teasing, his nipples were roughly squeezed. The small buds darkened with blood, and the man leaned down to flick his tongue over them.

 

"Ah!" A sharp cry broke from his lips at the sudden jolt of pleasure. His eyes snapped open, revealing an unguarded mix of innocence, panic, and curiosity. But he didn't pull away. He didn't resist.

 

For the first time, Bude smiled at him. It was breathtaking. And wicked. The sight sent blood rushing to his face, his heart pounding so fiercely that he wanted to snatch up the discarded shirt beside him and bury his face in it.

 

But of course, he couldn't surrender now. Gritting his teeth against his own embarrassment, he lifted his brows in a bold smirk. "Bude, you don't have to be gentle. This is a celebration—for you and for me."

 

Minutes later, he regretted his provocation. But it was far too late.

 

A desperate whimper trembled from his lips as the man's hand wrapped around his vulnerable length, stroking him with increasing intensity. Calloused fingers teased the sensitive dip at the tip, while firm nails scraped against him with just enough force to feel like they were reaching inside—terrifying and unbearably thrilling all at once.

 

There was nothing the boy could do but bite his lip, suppressing his cries, his body trembling under the relentless onslaught of sensation.

 

Just as his climax was about to crest, just as he was about to tip over the edge, Bude's hand abruptly tightened around the base of his length, trapping the pleasure at its peak.

 

"Young Master Tengshe," the man murmured, his voice rich with amusement. "It's only been five minutes. Isn't that a little too fast?"

 

"Shut… shut up… just let me—ah!" His waist spasmed violently, the inner muscles of his thighs twitching uncontrollably. Desperately, he tried to pry the man's hand away, but his body had long since lost the strength to resist.

 

A sudden, ruthless squeeze made him collapse back onto the floor, panting in helpless frustration.

 

Bude was patient—patient and cruel. Slowly, he replaced his hand with lips and tongue, licking and sucking with agonizing leisure, while those elegant fingers ventured downward, coaxing open the small, tight entrance.

 

Pleasure built up in waves, thick and suffocating, until the boy could hardly make a sound. His lips parted, saliva spilling from the corners of his mouth—only to be gently kissed away by the man looming over him.

 

Even as he trembled, even as he whimpered, Bude's fingers did not relent. His throbbing heat pressed against the entrance, insistent and searing.

 

"If it hurts, bite me."

 

Hurt? That word wasn't nearly enough.

 

His entire body tensed, hands clawing at the man's shoulders in a desperate, futile attempt to push him away. But the burning pressure only drove deeper, unstoppable and overwhelming.

 

A choked cry escaped his throat. He could hear his own broken sobs, mingled with the man's ragged breathing. And then—finally—his neglected length was freed, twitching weakly between their bodies. It jerked twice, aching for release, but nothing came.

 

The forceful intrusion made it impossible to relax. Every movement sent another jolt of pain through his core, and yet, even through the agony, he gritted his teeth and endured—until, little by little, Bude guided him toward something else. A different sensation. A slow, creeping pleasure that eventually swallowed him whole.

 

His voice shattered as he came.

 

Heat spilled inside him, filling him completely. Their sweat-slicked chests pressed together, the lingering tremors of release echoing between them. And then—soft, breathless laughter.

 

The young man laughed.

 

"Young Master Tengshe?" Bude propped himself up, his face still steeped in desire, so beautiful it was almost unreal.

 

"I love you." Despite the aching exhaustion in his body, the boy cupped the man's face in his hands, pressing light, fluttering kisses against his flushed lips. "I love you."

 

Bude's breath hitched. Embarrassed, he averted his gaze and leaned down to kiss him back.

 

"It was my father's final words," the boy whispered, his laughter growing softer, his red-brown eyes filled with something dark, something cruel. "I love you. No matter what you want, I'll give it to you."

 

He smiled. He smiled as he watched Bude's expression drain of color.

 

"I know," he murmured, "you hated my father."

 

His laughter swelled, sharp and unrestrained, ringing in his own ears like a deafening roar. "I know you despised him!"

 

Bude shot to his feet, stumbling backward in a panic, his breathing ragged. In the end, he collapsed onto his knees before the young man, fingers clutching at his golden hair, his scream hoarse and incoherent.

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