Cries of Salvation (BL)

Haon sat with his knees folded close to his chest, his fingers endlessly fidgeting with one another in anxious repetition, tangled together with nowhere else to go.

Every few seconds, he could hear the low sound of liquor being gulped down just beside his ear, the wet swallow far too close and invasive. It only made him shrink further into himself, his shoulders drawing inward like a shuttered door, as if trying to disappear into his own shadow.

Laughter and drunken chatter had filled the room again, the kind that floated easily over wine-stained lips, resuming its merry pace as though nothing had happened. But the easy air didn't reach Haon and the atmosphere around him remained tainted by something colder. He could easily recognise the unmistakable scent of blood radiating from the man behind him. Coppery, metallic, and still fresh.

The smell made his stomach violently twist, nausea stinging the back of his throat in slow waves. But in the end, he fought the instinct to recoil.

Haon wanted nothing more than to turn his head away and shield his senses by breathing into the fabric of his sleeve. But he didn't dare. Haon, despite everything, knew how fragile survival could be in a place like this, where anything could be taken as an insult.

So, he forced stillness upon himself. Made himself invisible. Draped in the long, shadow-drenched sleeves of the unfamiliar robe pulled close around his shoulders, he tried to vanish between breaths.

And for the most part, it worked. The others in the room paid Haon no real attention, too absorbed in their pleasures and politics.

Noha, however, did nothing more than hold the shivering body in his arms. He offered little to no words, no idle conversation, not even a passing glance at the other noblemen. He simply sat there, nursing a cup of liquor with an idle hand. His eyes, if they moved at all, swept the walls with vacant boredom, as if nothing here held his attention for long.

The noblemen scattered around the room watched Noha with barely concealed caution. They read his face the way men read clouds before a storm. And relief began to settle in their wary spines when they saw how uninterested he looked.

'At least he's not in a mood to kill tonight,' they thought, crafting nonchalance over their unease.

Earlier that day, Noha had executed twelve royal guards in the capital courtyard. The reason? They were suspected of spying for Risaehen, a kingdom too bold for its own good. Whether it was true or not hardly mattered. Blood had already been spilled.

And now, they hoped that had been enough for him. That his violent appetite had been temporarily satisfied.

If they could just get through the night without drawing his nerves again, maybe it would end peacefully without any incident. But the problem with Noha wasn't just his anger–it was his unpredictability. Even those of noble blood, bound to him by lineage, couldn't claim safety. Many had died without warning, for crimes as vague as being in his way or speaking out of turn. Proximity to power meant little.

Yet they stayed close. They flattered and bowed low, because even if their lives were at constant threat, remaining near Noha also meant wealth, protection, and power.

Now, with the aloof man ignoring the surrounding festivities, the rest of the noblemen felt reassured enough to resume their indulgences–the true reason they had come.

Low moans began to fill every corner of the room, mingling with the sound of wine being poured and silk brushing against skin. Haggard breathing and wet mouths followed, the sound of hands wandering over supple skin.

The courtesans giggled, curving their bodies like ribbons under the touch of powerful men, drawing them closer. Slender necks were kissed and bitten. Bare hips were cupped and squeezed. Faces were buried in perfume-drenched skin. The furniture creaked under bodies pressing close with urgency, driven by spikes of lust.

Meanwhile, Haon kept his face lowered. Even if he couldn't see what was happening, his ears caught everything. The breathy sighs drawn just before a kiss, the wet pop of lips parting, the rustling of robes, the animal hunger behind it all that whispered filth.

Heat spread across Haon's cheeks like a secret flame, blooming red down the length of his neck. It was incredibly shameful for him, but he couldn't stop his body from reacting. His throat tightened, and his ears burned beyond control.

Inevitably, this didn't go unnoticed by Noha, whose eyes shifted down just in time to catch sight of the blossoming blush. With a gaze like a torch held close to snow, he stared at the pale nape just visible through the parted robe. The blind man, however, sat completely unaware of the predator's gaze tracing the slope of his back.

Still wearing that impassive mask, Noha brought up his hand and brushed his thumb against the flushed patch of skin. His touch was slow, almost lazy, but deliberate enough to claim attention.

Haon flinched. His breath caught in his chest as he jerked forward at the sudden heat dragging into his skin. A gasp nearly escaped his lips, but he barely managed to swallow it down.

'Why is he doing this?'

Haon couldn't decipher Noha at all, like a book written in a forgotten tongue.

Sometimes, the man was cruel enough to leave bruises with his words alone. And other times, he offered Haon something close to kindness. Never consistent. Never safe. Always determined by some internal monologue no one else could hear.

But this time, the surprise didn't end there.

Just as Haon began to adjust to the foreign heat of those rough fingers, something warmer replaced the touch–a moist sensation ghosted across the skin just where the fingers had been.

"…?"

It took a few moments to register.

'Is that… his lips?'

The realization dropped like ice in his stomach. Before he could make sense of it, the man's lips pressed deeper—leaving open-mouthed kisses against the nape of his neck.

"…!"

Haon's eyes widened behind closed lids, and his hands immediately flew up to cover his mouth, desperate to muffle the startled sound clawing at his throat.

As if undeterred, the rain of kisses continued. Patient, gentle and possessive.

Haon felt every slow breath, every drag of warmth, every graze of teeth as they wandered across his skin, nibbling with unnerving tenderness. Each touch sent his pulse higher, until his heart beat so wildly it felt as though it might tear free.

It didn't help that the lustful moans surrounding him only worsened the haze in his head.