PV Ch.5 Part 3

Had Bomin somehow disrupted the natural order of things by meddling with Shi Yu-hyeon, the protagonist of this twisted story? In the original narrative, Shi Yu-hyeon’s trauma had been a slow reveal, a catalyst for the Espers to confront their own demons and ultimately fall in love with him. 

But Bomin had interfered, exposing Shi Yu-hyeon’s vulnerabilities prematurely. Had he angered some unseen force, a god-like author angered by his divergence from the script? Was this his punishment? A cruel reminder that he was just a pawn in a game he couldn’t control? 

“Why would you be punished? What have you done wrong?” 

Song Jaeho brushed away another stray tear with his thumb, his own heart aching at the lost look in Bomin’s eyes. He’d never seen him like this – not angry, not sad, not even putting on a brave face. 

Bomin’s usual vibrancy, the spark that usually danced in his eyes, was gone, replaced by an emptiness that sent shivers down Song Jaeho’s spine. For the first time since he’d met Bomin, he felt a flicker of genuine fear. 

Bomin felt so close, and yet… so incredibly distant. As if he could disappear at any moment, like a mirage in the desert. 

“Do you… do you still need me, even if I can’t Guide you?” Bomin finally asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

The silence that followed was deafening. Song Jaeho didn’t know how to answer, or how to articulate the turmoil in his heart. So he did the worst possible thing – he said nothing at all. 

The dam broke.

And this time, Song Jaeho wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it. 

“It’s laughable, isn’t it? Us, asking each other these kinds of questions.” 

Bomin’s voice was devoid of emotion, the pain in his eyes masked by a carefully constructed smile. His cheeks were stained with tears, but his smile was dazzling, almost defiant. 

“We have great sexual chemistry though, don’t we?”

Bomin ran his tongue over his lips, a flash of red against pale skin, before trailing it along Song Jaeho’s jawline, up to his earlobe. He sucked gently, teasingly, as if trying to elicit a response from the statue-like Esper. 

Heat emanated from beneath Song Jaeho’s thin uniform. Even through the fabric, the evidence of his arousal was unmistakable. 

Bomin’s lips never left Song Jaeho’s ear as his hand snaked out, deftly undoing the buttons of Song Jaeho’s Esper uniform one by one. 

“…Stop it.” 

“Why?” 

Bomin’s hand stilled as Song Jaeho caught his wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. Bomin finally pulled back, meeting Song Jaeho’s gaze. His eyes, still glistening with tears, were unnervingly clear. 

“I like s*x. You like having s*x with me. And right now, I want to have s*x. I just… I just want to feel something, anything, without thinking,” Bomin said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

When his mind was a tangled mess, when his heart ached with a pain he didn’t understand, s*x was his drug of choice. It was a temporary escape, a way to numb the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume him. 

“If you want to be Guided, I can do that too. Even with the Magic Shock… it’s not like my body will break after one or two times…” 

Bomin’s rambling was cut short as Song Jaeho gently but firmly pushed him back against the pillows. He pulled the blanket up to Bomin’s chin, tucking him in like a child.

“What are you doing?” Bomin asked, his voice laced with confusion. 

“I might be a s*x addict, but even I have my limits. You’re in a hospital bed, barely conscious after collapsing from exhaustion. And you’re worried about getting your d*ck wet?” Song Jaeho retorted, his voice a mixture of frustration and concern. 

“Yes,” Bomin replied, his tone matter-of-fact. 

If someone were to ask him what he lived for, he wouldn’t have a decent answer. It would be as if his brain were filled with nothing but c*m. A life without sex, for Bomin, was no life at all. 

Despite the harsh words, Bomin was still smiling, his eyes shining with an unsettling light. Song Jaeho ran a hand through his hair, his own emotions a confusing mess. He felt like his clothes were buttoned wrong, his insides twisted into knots. 

Bomin, watching him with an unnerving stillness, slowly got out of bed. His legs were unsteady, his steps shaky, as he walked towards the door. Before he could reach for the handle, Song Jaeho caught his arm, pulling him back. 

“Where are you going?”

“You don’t want to have s*x with me, do you?”

Bomin’s voice was soft, almost resigned. He tried to pull away, but Song Jaeho held on tight. Bomin simply smiled up at him, a gesture at odds with the situation, with the raw turmoil in Song Jaeho’s gut. 

“Don’t tell me… you’re actually going to find someone else?”

“Yeah.” 

“Are you insane? Sex-crazed and insane?”

Song Jaeho couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Bomin’s nonchalance, his utter lack of shame, was infuriating. Bomin, stifling a humorless laugh, easily shrugged off Song Jaeho’s grip and opened the door. 

“Are you just realizing this now? Why else do you think I bothered Guiding you and the others? You all treat me like a… like a…” Bomin’s voice faltered. 

Even as he spoke, his eyes remained empty, devoid of the anger or resentment his words conveyed. Bomin was the one who objectified himself first, using s*x as both weapon and armor. It was a defense mechanism honed over years of living a life devoid of true connection. And now, even with his life on the line, he clung to those familiar patterns.

“When have I ever treated you like…?” Song Jaeho began, his voice strained.

Bomin stepped closer, pressing his lower body against Song Jaeho’s. He ran his hand over Song Jaeho’s clothed erection, his touch teasing, his gaze unwavering. 

“It’s okay, Jaeho. I wanted it. I let you treat me like that,” Bomin whispered. 

He took Song Jaeho’s hand, the one that had been hovering awkwardly near his back, and guided it under his hospital gown. The thin cotton was no barrier to his touch. 

“Put it in. Right now.”

His hand closed around Song Jaeho’s, his fingers pressing against the entrance of his body. With a boldness that bordered on desperation, he guided Song Jaeho’s hand inside. 

A sharp pain shot through Bomin as Song Jaeho forced his way inside, but he just smiled beatifically, the sensation a stark contrast to the turmoil twisting Song Jaeho’s features. 

“Fine,” Song Jaeho growled, his voice low and dangerous. “If you’re that desperate, I’ll give you what you want. Hands on the wall, ass up.”

Bomin didn’t hesitate, his obedience at odds with Song Jaeho’s rough tone. He shrugged out of his pants and underwear, tossing them aside before turning to face the wall, his bare chest pressed against the cool surface. He arched his back, offering himself up to Song Jaeho, his gaze distant, his own c*ck remaining flaccid. 

“You have no idea what it means to be treated like a cheap whore,” Song Jaeho hissed, his fingers already ghosting over Bomin’s entrance. 

“Nnngh…” 

Three fingers plunged into him without warning, stretching him open, the lack of lubrication doing little to ease the sting. Song Jaeho moved his fingers roughly, a punishment disguised as preparation, the pain radiating through Bomin’s body. 

His grip tightened on the wall, knuckles turning white, as Song Jaeho finally withdrew his hand. Bomin’s hole clenched shut, the brief intrusion already a distant memory, as Song Jaeho’s blunt c*ck pressed against his entrance. 

Bomin bit down on his lip hard, drawing blood, but even the sharp pain couldn’t compare to the feeling of being split open. Even with preparation, taking Song Jaeho was always intense. But now, raw and unprepared, it felt like being impaled on a battering ram. 

Song Jaeho hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering down to the blood blooming on Bomin’s thigh, a single drop tracing a path down his trembling leg. His gut twisted with guilt, his anger warring with the urge to protect. 

“Don’t… don’t stop…” Bomin breathed, his voice a broken whisper.

He reached back, his hand trembling as he grasped Song Jaeho’s c*ck, pulling him closer. Song Jaeho groaned, his control snapping, and he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside Bomin in one swift motion. 

Bomin gasped, his cheek pressed against the wall as Song Jaeho’s weight pinned him in place. He could feel Song Jaeho’s balls brushing against his skin, the evidence of his intrusion impossible to ignore. 

“Grip the wall,” Song Jaeho commanded, his voice rough. 

Bomin did as he was told, digging his fingers into the wall for leverage, his teeth grinding together. A thin line of blood appeared on his hand as his nails dug into his palm, a mirror image of the wound on his thigh. 

From that point on, it was purely instinctual. Song Jaeho moved with a ferocity Bomin had never witnessed before, his expression a mask of conflict as he slammed into him, over and over again. 

Bomin held on, barely clinging to consciousness, his tears a silent release for the emotions he refused to acknowledge.