TBM Vol 3 Part 6

As if teasing, Sa Seung-yeon’s cock pressed in even deeper. The jolt of pain felt like a punch to the gut, but at the end of that sharp, breath-stealing penetration, he released deep inside—a place untouched until now. Despite this being his third climax, the sheer volume made it feel like it was filling Lee Il-seo’s stomach with every tense, shuddering pulse of Sa Seung-yeon’s thighs.

“Ah, uhng… Ugh.”

Finally, as if satisfied, Sa Seung-yeon let go of Lee Il-seo’s pelvis. Lee Il-seo’s body, slick with sweat and trembling from exhaustion, slumped to the side. Without a word, Sa Seung-yeon reached down and parted his swollen, reddened entrance.

“…”

Thick, white semen spilled out of the tender opening, overflowing as though it had been waiting, the moment the obstructing glans was withdrawn—even though Il-seo hadn’t yet tensed his abdomen. Watching with quiet interest, Sa Seung-yeon murmured:

“Try tensing.”

Eyes still shut, Lee Il-seo obeyed, contracting his lower belly. More semen spilled out, following the path of what had already escaped, pooling onto the sheets. Sa Seung-yeon, watching the vivid display without blinking, curved his lips into a crooked smile.

“Good job.”

 Sa Seung-yeon always ejaculated inside Lee Il-seo—unless he aimed for his nape. Only after visually confirming his release would Seung-yeon rise, visibly satisfied.

With the thought that it was finally over, Lee Il-seo opened his tired eyes. Because of the tears, his eyelashes were stuck together, making it difficult to open his eyes simultaneously. He wanted to wash quickly, but with no strength in his arms and legs, he had to remain collapsed in that position for a while.

After taking a deep breath and raising his body, Lee Il-seo got off the bed with foal-like steps. As he wiped between his buttocks and looked around, Sa Seung-yeon was already gone, presumably to wash himself.

‘This is hard…’

The guest bathroom was the farthest away, so he always had to walk there naked. He staggered across the spacious living room on the smooth marble floor.

Before stepping into the shower booth, Lee Il-seo paused in front of the full-length mirror. His reflection stared back: disheveled and  bare. Before they became regular partners, Sa Seung-yeon had left haphazard marks on his body. But after their arrangement began, he grew meticulous—never marking visible areas. On sexless days, he left his brand on hidden spots instead: nipples, groin, buttocks. By the time they met again, those marks would fade, leaving only the faintest red remnants—like clockwork.

“…”

Today,  Sa Seung-yeon had licked the protruding iliac crest intensely and left a crimson mark the exact size of his lips. Absently, Il-seo traced the mark with his finger, then rubbed at it hard, until it stung. With the final filming approaching, so too was the end of these private encounters.

The corners of Lee Il-seo’s eyes drooped strangely. He wasn’t sure if the inexpressible emotion swelling tightly in his chest was regret or a slightly more intense fear. Moments like this—shared only between them—would soon begin to blur and fade, maybe disappear altogether. The thought made his stomach twist.

He wished the scars left as evidence would never disappear. Unfortunately, the kiss mark, which reddened slightly each time Lee Il-seo pressed and caressed it, quickly returned to its original color during his shower.

After washing away all traces and coming out clean, Lee Il-seo looked at his coat and bag neatly placed on the sofa. Sa Seung-yeon, who had likely organized his belongings, would have called a taxi too.

‘I want to stay a little longer.’

His body longed for rest, to curl up and sleep there. Or maybe just watch Sa Seung-yeon sleep, if only once. But knowing his role—that he was to leave quietly after sex—he slid his arms into his coat and hoisted the bag onto his shoulder.

He approached Sa Seung-yeon to say goodbye, but instead of a taxi number, Sa Seung-yeon offered different words.

“Eat something before you go.”

Dressed comfortably, Sa Seung-yeon moved casually through the kitchen, opening the fridge, cabinets, and drawers like he lived in someone else’s house.

“You probably haven’t had dinner.”

“…Me?”

“Is there anyone else here besides you?”

Mimicking Il-seo’s speech pattern, Seung-yeon kept rummaging, mumbling to himself about where he’d put things.

“Is there anything you want to eat?”

Come to think of it, they had missed mealtime today because they met early. He didn’t particularly feel hungry, perhaps because he was so exhausted by Sa Seung-yeon, but at that one remark from Sa Seung-yeon, Lee Il-seo quickly put down his bag and took off his coat. Desperately suppressing the corners of his mouth that were trying to rise on their own like a fool, Lee Il-seo answered.

“Something simple would be fine…”

“The only instant food I have is ramen.”

There wasn’t much to eat because he had barely been home lately due to drama filming. Sa Seung-yeon finally found a pot in the last cabinet he opened. Lee Il-seo rolled up his sleeves and approached Sa Seung-yeon.

“I’ll cook it.”

“Don’t bother, just go.”

“I make it well.”

Sa Seung-yeon rolled his eyes and gave Lee Il-seo a hard shove away from the stove, pushing him toward the home bar. By the time Lee Il-seo turned back, Sa Seung-yeon was already filling the pot with water, with one leg crossed as he worked.. After putting the water on, he opened the refrigerator and took out portioned green onions with his large hand, then eggs and red pepper powder in sequence.

After opening three packets of ramen, he cracked an egg into a small bowl and mixed the white and yolk with chopsticks. Though he only seemed to have difficulty finding the pot’s position, his movements in cooking ramen were skillful without any excess.

‘I want to record this on video.’

Sa Seung-yeon in comfortable clothes cooking ramen—what a sight. While Lee Il-seo sat at the table, lips slightly parted, endlessly gazing at Sa Seung-yeon’s broad back, the spicy and savory aroma gently spread throughout the dining room. Sa Seung-yeon asked while stirring the pot with chopsticks.

“How do you like it cooked?”

“I like mine slightly firm. What about you, sunbaenim?”

“I don’t particularly care.”

He actually liked his noodles firm, just like Lee Il-seo, but dodged the match with an indifferent tone—perhaps not wanting to admit how alike they were in this too.

When the noodles hit perfect doneness, Sa Seung-yeon turned off the stove and set the pot on the table. Steam rose. It looked delicious. Lee Il-seo licked his lips unconsciously..

“I didn’t think you could make ramen, sunbaenim.”

“Why?”

“Just… You don’t seem like someone who would eat things like ramen.”

Sa Seung-yeon had been a star even in high school. An overwhelmingly dominant Alpha, born of elite parents. Striking looks that made heads turn. On top of that, there were persistent rumors—about his family’s wealth, his silver spoon status, his untouchable aura.

Meanwhile, Sa Seung-yeon responded plainly, as if Lee Il-seo’s expression that he wouldn’t eat ramen wasn’t entirely wrong.

“I don’t eat it often.”

Then he lifted a chopstick-full of noodles and slurped it down. Despite his claim, he ate nearly half the bowl in one go. When Lee Il-seo chuckled softly, Sa Seung-yeon raised a brow, speaking in that same nonchalant tone.

“Because I used to eat it too often.”

“Really?”

Lee Il-seo’s eyes widened. Sa Seung-yeon continued while sipping the broth, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“After joining the theater troupe at twenty, I ate it almost every day. Different types for each day of the week.”

As if providing evidence, ramen names flowed from Sa Seung-yeon’s mouth, which felt as odd as watching a demon recite Bible verses.

Lee Il-seo knew Sa Seung-yeon had spent years in a theater troupe. He rarely mentioned it in interviews, but former troupe members often did. They said he never acted like he came from money. That he was more hardworking than anyone. Lee Il-seo had heard the stories—but he never imagined Sa Seung-yeon surviving on ramen.

“Ah… I didn’t know.”

“Who would talk about such trivial things?”

“I also ate ramen very often.”

Eager to emphasize their shared experience, Lee Il-seo took a hearty bite. The flavor was perfect—impossible to replicate without practice. Even though he wasn’t hungry, he spooned more broth into his mouth.

“It was good because it was cheap and filling.”

Sa Seung-yeon, who had been watching Lee Il-seo’s cheeks rounded with food, belatedly shifted his gaze to the ramen. Lee Il-seo also scooped another chopstick full of ramen onto his plate and asked Sa Seung-yeon,

“Don’t you miss home-cooked meals?”

“Not at all.”

The answer was firm. But he smiled as he said it—eyes crinkling at the corners. Lee Il-seo recognized that look. That smile always meant he was dodging discomfort. Sure enough, Sa Seung-yeon smoothly steered the conversation elsewhere.

“More than home-cooked meals, our high school…”

As Sa Seung-yeon mentioned, high school first, Lee Il-seo’s fingers, which had been handling chopsticks, twitched. Fortunately, the movement was so slight that his awkwardness wasn’t noticed. Sa Seung-yeon continued without any hesitation, whether he had used ‘our’ instead of ‘my’ or not.

“The cafeteria food was really delicious. I think about that sometimes.”

Lee Il-seo swallowed the laughter that was about to burst out. As he said, Lee Il-seo’s high school was famous for its delicious cafeteria food. Sa Seung-yeon carefully observed Lee Il-seo’s slowed chopstick movements and scooped a full portion of noodles onto Lee Il-seo’s plate.

As they sat face to face, almost finishing the ramen, Sa Seung-yeon suddenly threw a question.

“Your fans. Are they generally older?”

“What? No, not particularly…”

“Then are they young?”

“Um… No.”

When Sa Seung-yeon looked at him as if to say, ‘re you playing word games with me? Lee Il-seo flustered and let out an awkward laugh.

“I don’t have many fans, so I’m not sure about their exact age range…”

At Lee Il-seo’s words, Sa Seung-yeon suddenly let out a fake cough. Lee Il-seo, more embarrassed by Sa Seung-yeon’s rare flustering, asked with a slightly sheepish smile.

“Why ask about my fans?”

“Ah, those gifts you received today. Rice snacks, pear juice, arrowroot juice, all those things. I thought your appeal was to older folks.”

“Ah… I got those from people at the nursing home when I visited my grandmother.”

It was the first time he mentioned his family in front of Sa Seung-yeon.

“I see.”

But Sa Seung-yeon only offered a polite response and kept eating his ramen, not prying any further. Most people would’ve asked what was going on with his grandmother—the one caring for him during filming—and why it mattered. But Sa Seung-yeon ended the conversation there, without another question.

It was the same when the topic of ‘home-cooked meals’ came up just now. He was moderately kind and friendly to everyone, but he never let anyone close. He didn’t show curiosity about others’ personal lives, and likewise didn’t share his own.

Some might find it upsetting, but Lee Il-seo didn’t feel bad at all that Sa Seung-yeon was drawing a line with him.

He had been seventeen when they first met, and ever since, he’d loved Sa Seung-yeon. But over the course of those long nine years, he’d always been unsure exactly what part of him he loved.

He had only been captivated by the brief moment of kindness when Sa Seung-yeon complimented his singing, but didn’t build any other particular friendship, and when Lee Il-seo became a high school junior, Sa Seung-yeon had already graduated and was no longer at school. Lee Il-seo also dropped out of school.

Still, he clung to those feelings—selfishly. He hadn’t known then that Sa Seung-yeon dreamed of acting so fiercely that he left behind a wealthy family and a promising university future just to start from the bottom. He hadn’t seen the grit behind his calm face. Instead, he’d projected his own hopes and fantasies onto that brief encounter in the school broadcast room.

It was like an inertia. Because he had approached with kindness during one of his most difficult moments, later, just the fact of liking him became a comfort.

Thankfully, Sa Seung-yeon had become a truly brilliant actor—more dazzling than Lee Il-seo remembered. And that radiance made Lee Il-seo love him even more. Maybe it was selfish, maybe even desperate, but he held tight to the memory that, if only for an instant, Sa Seung-yeon had once been on his side.

So even if Sa Seung-yeon couldn’t remember him at all, even if he took his body painfully without emotion, and even if the occasional kindness he showed was just like wearing a mask, Lee Il-seo had no right to hate him.

After all, the fool who imagined Sa Seung-yeon’s appearance as they pleased and fell for him was none other than himself.

A small smile tugged at his lips. Trying to keep the mood light, Lee Il-seo spoke first, not wanting Sa Seung-yeon to feel awkward,

“They say there’s a rumor that I’m a celebrity. The company took care of my grandmother a few times during this filming.”

Sa Seung-yeon tilted his head and chuckled, finding it cute how Lee Il-seo was especially talkative today with quite varied expressions.

“You just realized that now?”

“What?”

“With your face, it would be stranger if you weren’t a celebrity.”

Caught mid-sip of cold soup, Lee Il-seo froze. The unexpected compliment made him choke. As he coughed, Sa Seung-yeon poured him water and gave a light flick to the back of his head, calling him stupid with a playful smirk.

Sa Seung-yeon, who had been smiling, soon noticed the empty pot and bowl and slowly erased his smile.

“You’ve finished already.”

“Cough. Yes.”

“Well, time for you to go then?”

“Ah, wait a moment. Let me clean this up before I go.”

“Don’t bother, I won’t clean it anyway.”

With an expression of annoyance, Sa Seung-yeon grabbed Lee Il-seo’s arm and dragged him to the living room, handing him his coat and bag from the sofa. Looking dazed, Lee Il-seo put on his clothes and quietly walked toward the entrance with his bag.

The shopping basket that had fallen over when they started kissing as soon as they entered the hallway was now standing upright. The spilled items were also neatly packed back into the basket. It seemed Sa Seung-yeon had organized them while Lee Il-seo was washing up, and he must have seen the contents, including the pear juice.

Lee Il-seo picked up the heavy basket and looked up at him. He came to the entrance to see him off and said while closing the taxi calling app:

“3240.”

“Thank you. Today was really… Thank you.”

From the reed field to the ramen—there were too many reasons to be thankful, but he couldn’t properly express even one. Today, more than ever, he hated his poor way with words. Sa Seung-yeon responded to Lee Il-seo’s thanks with a simple farewell,

“See you tomorrow.”