He gasped and grabbed Ash’s chin.
His grip tightened, but then he flinched when Ash furrowed his brow.
The knight’s hand fumbled in the air before cupping the back of Ash’s head.
He couldn’t grip hard, and he pleaded, “Ugh, ah… stop. You’ll get hurt. Why on earth are you doing such a dangerous thing…?”
“Cough!”
“You’re not going out?”
“No, I’m not.”
“You won’t tell?”
No immediate answer came back.
Ash sucked on the knight’s member again.
‘It’s too thick.’
His master’s was gentlemanly.
That was a problem of length; he could at least insert and move, but Tyllian’s was impossible due to its girth.
Ash cautiously mouthed the glans.
Even though he couldn’t bring himself to push it deeper, that alone made the knight give up.
“I won’t tell!”
“You won’t interfere either, right?”
Ash made a smacking sound as he licked the shaft.
The knight covered his face with his hands.
As if he couldn’t bear to look at Ash, yet he didn’t close his eyes.
Through his long fingers, blue eyes twisted and gazed at Ash.
Ash unconsciously made smacking sounds again.
A groan escaped through Tyllian’s teeth.
Veins bulged and disappeared on his forearm.
He felt the thigh against which he rested his head tense up.
The strong knight was at a loss, thrown by Ash’s small gestures.
How could he dislike this?
Ash somehow began to focus on the act itself rather than the purpose for which he started it.
His eyes sparkled, and his cheeks flushed.
The sensation was unexpectedly potent, a primal pull that overshadowed his earlier intentions.
He found himself drawn into the rhythm, the soft give of skin, the slick warmth that filled his mouth. It was a dizzying, consuming experience, unlike anything he’d ever known.
Each soft pull and release sent shivers through him, a strange mix of power and vulnerability.
He felt a rising heat in his core, a growing awareness of his own body and the raw connection between them.
Neither in strength nor words could he compare to Tyllian.
Tyllian was a knight of proper conduct and even logical, making him a truly draining opponent.
Ash’s role was merely to listen to his nagging and grumble reluctantly, but…
Hasn’t it become the opposite now?
Ash holds the initiative.
Ash threatened.
“Hmm? What are you going to do?
“Are you going to interfere again?”
“Interfere with what… sir?”
What do you mean ‘what’?
Isn’t it obvious?
Before Ash could answer, Tyllian sighed.
His shoulders slumped, a visible sign of his internal struggle.
“Oh dear… Is ‘night play’ so enjoyable? Is anyone alright as long as they play with you?”
Tyllian’s voice was low, laced with a mix of exhaustion and something akin to disbelief.
He couldn’t quite fathom Ash’s sudden shift in demeanor, this bold, almost reckless abandon.
It was so unlike the Ash he knew, the one who often seemed fragile and overwhelmed.
This new intensity, this daring, was both perplexing and undeniably captivating.
“What are you talking about?”
Ash retorted, his voice sharp, a hint of impatience in his tone.
He didn’t want to get sidetracked by Tyllian’s moralizing.
His goal remained clear, even if the method was unconventional.
Tyllian remained silent, his gaze fixed on Ash, a storm of emotions warring in his eyes.
He was clearly grappling with the implications of Ash’s actions, the sheer audacity of them.
“Are you going to interfere with my escape, or not?”
Ash pressed, cutting directly to the heart of the matter.
He needed an answer, a clear commitment, not this agonizing hesitation.
Ash had no mind to listen to more nagging.
When Tyllian, who seemed to have gotten stuck on something else and was about to lecture him, was cut off by Ash speaking threateningly, Tyllian looked bewildered.
His brow furrowed in confusion, and a faint flush rose on his cheeks.
He truly seemed taken aback, thrown off balance by Ash’s unexpected aggression.
“Escape, you say… You haven’t given up yet?”
Tyllian asked, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and a faint, underlying weariness.
He had perhaps hoped that Ash’s dangerous game was a sign of a change of heart, a turning away from such perilous plans.
Ash was dumbfounded.
The sheer audacity of Tyllian’s question, the implication that Ash would simply abandon his one true hope, ignited a fresh surge of anger within him.
“Are you giving up on your life?!”
Ash exclaimed, his voice rising in incredulity.
“No…”
Tyllian murmured, a flicker of something unreadable in his blue eyes.
He looked away for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts, or perhaps simply avoiding Ash’s furious gaze.
“Why are you telling me to do something you can’t do?!”
Ash demanded, his frustration boiling over.
The hypocrisy of it, the comfortable position Tyllian held, made Ash’s blood run hot.
He was getting angry.
He hit Tyllian’s thigh, a sharp, resounding slap that echoed in the quiet room.
Tyllian stared at the slapping hand with wide eyes.
He seemed bewildered, almost stunned by the physical manifestation of Ash’s fury.
But Ash had the right to be angry.
‘You wouldn’t know, would you?’ he thought bitterly.
Tyllian, with his stable position, his inherent protections, could never truly understand the desperation that fueled Ash.
He existed in a world where his choices mattered, where he had agency.
Ash lived in a cage, constantly fighting for scraps of autonomy.
Of course, people who can protect what’s theirs wouldn’t know.
The Duke Mills’ only legitimate son.
But an Omega.
An Omega.
The word itself was a brand, a label that dictated his destiny, his worth in the eyes of the world.
It was a constant weight, a silent judgment that followed him everywhere.
Ash, through no fault of his own, had disappointed others since birth.
A father who expected nothing from him, his gaze always distant, always looking for something else, someone else.
A mother who didn’t look back when called, her affections seemingly reserved for a phantom ideal that Ash could never fulfill.
No other children were born between them, further cementing Ash’s role as the sole, unsatisfying heir.
Ash shouldn’t have been born an Omega.
If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have made his mother unhappy.
His father’s infidelity wouldn’t have been his mother’s fault, the blame laid squarely on her inability to produce an Alpha heir.
No matter how they acted, it wouldn’t have been a problem.
Their failures, their unhappiness, were always, somehow, Ash’s burden.
Then his mother passed away.
A void opened up, only to be swiftly filled.
His father brought a proper Alpha illegitimate child to replace Ash, a clear, cruel declaration of Ash’s inadequacy.
Tyllian didn’t know this feeling, this gut-wrenching realization of being utterly replaceable, of being fundamentally flawed in the eyes of those who should have loved him most.
‘No.’
Ash suddenly thought, a new realization dawning.
‘Didn’t he also fall for the threat? He wanted to sleep with Ash but didn’t want to be branded a traitor by Owen, so he’s still trapped by Ash. Isn’t he clinging on because he doesn’t want his position taken away?’
A cynical, yet strangely comforting thought.
It painted Tyllian not as a paragon of virtue, but as someone driven by his own self-interest, just like everyone else.
It leveled the playing field, if only for a moment.
“It’s natural for you to live as a distinguished knight even after messing with me, but not for me? Do I have to watch with my own eyes as Owen takes my place?”
Ash’s voice was laced with bitter resentment, the words tumbling out in a torrent of long-held grievances.
He spoke of the inherent unfairness, the stark contrast between their two lives.
“I never said that.”
Tyllian protested, his voice low, a hint of hurt in his tone.
He seemed genuinely distressed by Ash’s accusation, as if the idea of intentionally harming Ash was abhorrent to him.
“But you’re acting like it!”
Ash countered, his anger undimmed.
Actions, not words, were what mattered.
Tyllian shook his head, a gesture of helplessness.
“Did that person say he would let you go?”
Tyllian asked, changing the subject abruptly, perhaps hoping to steer the conversation away from the treacherous waters of their personal feelings.
“Yes.”
Ash confirmed, a flicker of pride in his voice.
“So you slept with him?”
“Yes!”
Ash snapped, defiantly, daring Tyllian to judge him.
He had done what he needed to do for his survival, for his freedom, and he would not apologize for it.
Why the temper again?
It seems only he can get angry.
Ash was angry too.
At least his master was willing to help Ash.
Unlike Tyllian, who only professed to like him but acted to monitor Ash and side with Owen.
“You’re not going to help me. You’re not willing to risk your position, are you? Is it so hard just to pretend you don’t see?”
Ash’s voice was thick with accusation, every word a jab at Tyllian’s perceived cowardice.
He saw it as a simple choice: risk a little for Ash, or stand by and watch his destruction.
And Tyllian, in Ash’s eyes, was choosing the latter.
“It’s going to be difficult, isn’t it? That’s why I’m giving you an excuse. Are you worried about what Owen will say later? Just say you were blackmailed. That’s all you have to do. You can’t say you were blackmailed by a powerless Omega like me? What can I do? It’s the truth.”
Ash’s voice dripped with a sarcasm so sharp it could cut.
He laid out the scenario, dissecting Tyllian’s potential excuses, exposing the flimsy foundations of his supposed moral dilemma.
He left no room for ambiguity, no comfortable escape for the knight.
The words were designed to wound, to prick at Tyllian’s conscience, to force him to confront the stark reality of his inaction.
Ash felt a perverse satisfaction as he watched Tyllian’s reaction.
Tyllian fell silent as Ash spouted mean words.
His face, usually so composed, was a mask of conflicting emotions. Ash saw the struggle, the silent battle raging within him.
‘I messed up,’ Tyllian thought, a heavy realization settling over him.
He had misjudged the situation, miscalculated the depth of Ash’s despair, and now he was paying the price.
The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken accusations and regrets.
Ash tried to get up.
His muscles protested, but he pushed through the discomfort.
No matter how much he wanted things to go well, it always ended up like this.
His mouth was an organ attached to his body, so why couldn’t he control it?
It was a mystery.
He always ruined relationships, always managed to push away the very people who might, even in their flawed ways, care for him.
A wave of self-loathing washed over him, familiar and unwelcome.
He felt like it was truly over with Tyllian now.
The bridge had been burned, the unspoken bond irrevocably fractured.
He knew that even if Tyllian sided with Owen, he was someone who couldn’t truly abandon Ash.
Even when Ash threatened him, he first worried about Ash’s physical condition, a genuine concern that momentarily softened Ash’s hardened heart.
Yet, when Ash sucked him, he’d get excited and look at him with longing eyes, a contradictory mix of desire and restraint that always left Ash confused.
‘He must like me,’ Ash conceded, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth blooming in his chest.
It was a small comfort, a fragile hope in the bleak landscape of his life.
But that was all. Tyllian was a straitlaced knight and couldn’t tolerate Ash well.
Their personalities clashed, their desires misaligned.
Tyllian was bound by duty, by honor, by a rigid code of conduct that Ash found suffocating.
Even Ash himself thought he had a knack for choosing only the most off-putting things to say, for always pushing the boundaries, for self-sabotaging the very connections he craved.
‘I don’t know.’
Ash was lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
The path forward was obscured, shrouded in mist and doubt.
So what was he supposed to do?
He couldn’t take back the words he’d already spilled, the venom he’d unleashed.
They hung in the air between them, a tangible barrier.
He decided to do what he could, to salvage whatever remained of his plan, however precarious it might be.
“Master, snap out of it. What are you doing? Let’s get out of here quickly. Right now.”
Ash’s voice was urgent, a sharp contrast to the earlier emotional turmoil.
He needed to refocus, to push past the personal drama and back to the immediate danger.
“But it doesn’t seem over yet.”
His Master, who had been engrossed in watching the fight, said nonchalantly, his voice annoyingly calm.
“What isn’t?”
Ash demanded, exasperated by his Master’s inexplicable detachment.
His Master, who had been engrossed in watching the fight, said nonchalantly, as if their current predicament was merely a theatrical performance for his amusement.
Ash was worried about the reality that he had to rely solely on this person for his escape.
His Master was highly capable, yes, possessing an almost effortless mastery of magic and strategy.
But the world was fair, or perhaps, simply perverse.
Instead, it had saddled him with a spaced-out mind and unusual sexual desires, a combination that made him both brilliant and utterly unreliable.
“Leaving? Now?”
Tyllian asked, his voice still low, a flicker of surprise returning to his eyes.
His shoulder was gripped, a firm, possessive hold that Ash hadn’t even noticed until now.
His half-raised body slumped, caught between the urge to flee and the unexpected restraint.
Ash glared at him, a silent challenge in his gaze.
“Why, are you going to stop me?” he demanded, his voice flat, devoid of the earlier anger, now replaced with a dangerous edge of defiance.
Tyllian was silent for a moment.
The air crackled with unspoken tension, the weight of his decision palpable.
When he finally met Ash’s gaze, his eyes, usually so expressive, seemed to have undergone a subtle shift.
The confusion that had clouded them moments before had vanished, replaced by a steely resolve.
His usual stoic face returned, a mask of unyielding determination.
In this state, Tyllian was unstoppable, a force of nature that Ash knew well.
Ash prepared to fight, his muscles tensing, his mind racing for an escape route.
He wouldn’t go down without a struggle, not after everything he’d endured.
But Tyllian spoke, and his words were utterly unexpected.
“Shouldn’t you finish what you started?”
“Huh?”
Ash, who had been full of venom, paused, his mind reeling.
What was this supposed to mean?
The question hung in the air, a bizarre non sequitur that completely derailed Ash’s carefully constructed mental defenses.
His brow furrowed in confusion, the fight draining from him, replaced by a profound sense of bewilderment.
He had been ready for a confrontation, for an argument, for a battle of wills.
But this… this was something else entirely.
“The blackmail. You should continue.”
Tyllian’s voice was even, devoid of any discernible emotion, which only made his words more perplexing.
“Huh?”
Ash stammered, utterly flummoxed.
His mind raced, trying to find the hidden meaning, the trap within Tyllian’s strange declaration.
“You said you’d give me an excuse. To lose you with just this much blackmail, wouldn’t I be too excellent a knight?”
Tyllian elaborated, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.
He was turning Ash’s own words against him, twisting the blackmail into a perverse form of challenge.
“Uh…?”
Ash could only manage a choked sound, his brain struggling to process this sudden, radical shift in dynamic.
It was as if the ground beneath him had dissolved, leaving him floating in an unsettling void of incomprehension.
Ash found it hard to follow the situation.
His mind, still reeling from the emotional whiplash, struggled to keep up with Tyllian’s sudden, perplexing turn.
Tyllian was stroking his cheek, a gentle, almost tender touch that sent a jolt through Ash.
‘What?’
Ash thought, his confusion deepening.
Then he traced Ash’s lips with his finger, a lingering caress that ignited a spark of something unfamiliar within Ash.
It was intimate, deliberate, and utterly disorienting.
As if his previous avoidance of eye contact had been a lie, a carefully constructed façade.
This was Tyllian?
This bold, audacious man who was now openly touching him, openly desiring him?
Wasn’t this strange?
‘Huh?!’
Ash’s mind screamed, his internal monologue a chaotic jumble of disbelief.
He was a virgin just the other day?
The memory of Tyllian’s rigid adherence to propriety, his almost puritanical conduct, clashed violently with the present reality.
It was a contradiction that Ash couldn’t reconcile.
He kneaded his own member, a slow, deliberate motion that drew Ash’s gaze, then brought it to Ash’s mouth.
He rubbed the tip, where a fishy liquid was coming out, against Ash’s lips.
The crude, yet undeniably potent, act was performed with a serious face, devoid of any shame or hesitation.
Ash, stunned, opened his mouth, a silent gasp escaping him.
He was completely caught off guard, his defenses utterly shattered by this sudden, explicit display of dominance and desire.
Then something even more surprising happened.
Tyllian moved his hips slightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift.
His member smoothly slid into Ash’s parted teeth, a deep, invasive motion that stole Ash’s breath.
Ash’s eyes widened as much as possible, his mind struggling to comprehend the sheer audacity of the act, the sudden, unyielding invasion.
“Lord Ash. A wizard won’t be enough.”
Tyllian said, his voice low and steady, as if he were discussing the weather rather than performing such an intimate act.
“What, what…?”
Ash mumbled, his mouth full, his words distorted.
“A new magical barrier has been cast around the castle. It’ll be impossible to get out from the inside. Intrusion from outside is also difficult, but from the inside… without insider help.”
Tyllian continued, his gaze fixed on Ash, his eyes burning with an intensity that sent shivers down Ash’s spine.
The implications of his words were chilling, painting a grim picture of their predicament.
“Huh?”
Ash finally managed to articulate, the shock of Tyllian’s revelation momentarily eclipsing the intimacy of their position.
“Ah. So what I bumped into when I came in was that…?”
His Master exclaimed, a sudden burst of realization in his voice, as if he’d just solved a particularly vexing puzzle.
Tyllian replied without even looking at him, his focus unwavering on Ash.
“It’s regrettable that you didn’t die even after bumping into it.”
His words were cold, cutting, laced with a brutal honesty that was unsettling.
“You were a good boy, Tyl. You’ve become a scary adult.”
His Master commented, a hint of something resembling admiration, or perhaps just weary resignation, in his tone.
“Don’t use pet names. I don’t want to be called that by you.”
Tyllian retorted, a flash of annoyance crossing his otherwise stoic face.
“You used to like it when you were little.”
His Master persisted, clearly enjoying Tyllian’s discomfort.
“Back then, you weren’t a pervert molesting a young disciple, were you?”
Tyllian snapped, his voice sharp, a clear line drawn in the sand.
His Master fell silent, a rare moment of speechlessness from the usually verbose man.
“Molesting…? I’ve never molested Ash, so I don’t like being misunderstood all the time.”
His Master said in a sleepy voice, a hint of genuine complaint in his tone.
Ash couldn’t properly bite or suck on Tyllian’s member, only holding it in his mouth, paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of the conversation unfolding around him.
He was completely confused about what to do, his mind a tangled mess of conflicting emotions and contradictory information.
Anyway, even listening in that awkward state, his Master’s words were nonsense, a distracting, irrelevant commentary on their dire situation.
But so were Tyllian’s words, in a way.
His sudden shift from stern knight to aggressive lover, combined with the bombshell of the magical barrier, left Ash utterly disoriented.
“Lord Ash. Do you not need me anymore?”
Tyllian asked, his voice softer now, a subtle shift that sent a fresh wave of confusion through Ash.
“Huh?”
Ash managed, his mind still reeling, utterly incapable of forming a coherent thought.
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication, leaving Ash suspended in a state of profound uncertainty.