The Saint Wants to Rest - vanish into fiction

“You endured it all without ever running away, even when it was that hard. You didn’t skip a single day of training and held on. You really went through so much, Vermouth.”

In that instant, Vermouth’s purple eyes trembled minutely.

Deep inside his chest, something began to surge uncontrollably.

Throughout his life, he had heard countless praises. The strongest blade, the blessing of the Goddess, the perfect knight. However, no one had ever pitied the pain he endured to reach that position or comforted him by saying he had worked hard.

Only this person. Only Ian, possessing the most noble light in the world, the very man Vermouth had once tried to imprison in a golden cage, was stroking the wounds of his childhood.

“Ian.”

Vermouth’s low voice cracked.

He could no longer hold back. Vermouth gripped Ian’s hand, which was still entwined with his, and pulled the man toward him. Ian’s body tilted helplessly and was buried against Vermouth’s firm chest.

Vermouth wrapped his large hand around the nape of Ian’s neck and kissed him just like that.

“Mm.”

The stinging scent of the wine they had just finished mixed with Vermouth’s characteristically cool body scent, paralyzing Ian’s senses. He didn’t feel the need to refuse. Ian softly closed his eyes, draped his arms around Vermouth’s shoulders, and willingly accepted his lips.

That permission became a detonator.

The lips that had touched softly suddenly turned rough. Vermouth forced Ian’s mouth open as if to swallow his lips whole and pulled strongly at the entangling tongue. A wet sound broke the silence of the living room, echoing suggestively.

“Haah, nn. Hng.”

Breathless, Ian tried to pull his lips away, but Vermouth would not let go. Instead, he wrapped his arms firmly around Ian’s waist and carefully laid him down onto the sofa.

In an instant, their positions were reversed. Over Ian, who was buried in the plush sofa, Vermouth’s massive frame cast a shadow like a dark shroud.

“Vermouth, haah. Wait a…”

Ian gasped for air and looked up at Vermouth with damp eyes. However, it seemed Vermouth had already half lost his reason. Instead of answering, he roughly unbuttoned Ian’s shirt. Pop, snap. Along with the sound of buttons being torn away, Ian’s white collarbones and chest were revealed without any filter.

“You, you keep turning me into a beast.”

Vermouth let out a pained groan and pressed a deep kiss onto Ian’s collarbone.

A cool, hard palm calloused from years of training slid against Ian’s bare skin, stroking up his waistline. A hot body temperature touched him as if it would burn his skin.

“Ugh! You, your hands! Haah.”

“Do not tell me to endure. Today, I have no intention of enduring even a little bit.”

Vermouth’s lips sucked strongly at the nape of Ian’s neck. A red mark was vividly engraved onto the tender skin. It was an unmistakable mark of possession. A persistent brand carving out the fact that he was his and only his Saint, so that no one else would dare look his way.

Ian trembled at the touch of Vermouth’s hands as they obsessively explored his body.

Pleasure and heat dominated his entire being. Instead of resisting, Ian ran his hands through the blonde hair of the knight who was breathing like a beast above him, softly disheveling it.

The rough breaths of the two men became tangled as one. In the cozy, newly prepared living room, the night was just beginning to boil at its most dense and burning temperature.

Vermouth let out a low groan as he bit down on the curve of Ian’s ear as if chewing it. His hot lips passed over Ian’s earlobe, licked up his jawline, and greedily swallowed his lips once again.

Along with the sound of saliva wetly entangling, one of Vermouth’s knees pushed between Ian’s legs to widen the gap. Beyond their touching lower bodies, a heat that had swelled ferociously, something unimaginable from the usually upright knight, was conveyed in its entirety.

“You’re crazy, seriously…”

Ian glowered at Vermouth with wet eyes and spat out a resentful reproach, but instead of pushing him away, he tightened his legs to loosely wrap around the man’s waist.

That small gesture of permission completely snapped Vermouth’s remaining reason.

His purple eyes glistened with a predator’s appetite. Vermouth pinned both of Ian’s wrists above his head with one hand, pressing them down lightly, and with his remaining hand, he roughly undid the buckle of Ian’s pants.