Ebony Castle

Just as he was about to assume his usual prone position, Tristan’s palm touched his bare back.

Doha’s body was frozen in place. The mere touch of Tristan’s hand startled him so much that it almost slid down to his Neim. Feeling a chill run through him, Doha quickly spread the blanket over himself as if to cover the Neim. When he hurriedly looked up at Tristan, he saw that Tristan’s gaze wasn’t on his face but on the space between his tightly closed thighs.

“Mm.”

Tristan let out a faint sigh through his slightly parted lips, as if lost in thought. He reached back to turn off the stand lamp and adjusted the switch on the wall. The chandelier lights brightly illuminated the room, casting a brightness that made every object clearly visible.

“Sit with your legs open in front of me.”

Doha hesitated and began to turn his body, thinking Tristan wanted him to face away. But soon, Tristan’s hand gently fell on his shoulder.

“Face me.”

“…But.”

“We can’t always have this one-sided dynamic, can we? You may be fine with it, Eden, but I find it hard to be satisfied with such monotony. Honestly, it’s a little boring.”

The words, uttered in Tristan’s low and sophisticated voice, were shockingly direct. Doha blinked in disbelief. His heart was racing twice as fast as before.

Tristan Locke’s hand came down to lightly grasp one of Doha’s ankles. It was a firm but non-forceful touch, as if to say he wasn’t going to forcibly spread his legs, but still urging him.

“Didn’t you say you’d be a good bed partner?”

His gray eyes were cold.

“Mr. Locke, wait a moment…”

Doha pulled back, retreating to the edge of the bed to put some distance between them. Tristan let go of him without saying a word.

After repeating what Tristan had said several times in his head, Doha shook it off.

“I don’t want to show you.”

“Really?”

“If you look closely, you might not want to sleep with me again…”

He vividly remembered how Tristan had frowned when he first demanded that he assume the prone position. Tristan faintly smiled at Doha’s words.

“The choice is yours, Eden, but it would be in your best interest to figure out how to satisfy me properly.”

The soft suggestion was, in essence, a warning—that he could tire of him at any time and discard him.

Doha took a deep breath and, sitting up, slowly spread his ankles apart. As he lowered his head so he wouldn’t have to see, his exposed genitals came into full view under the bright light, clear in Tristan’s gaze.

The silence seemed to stretch, but Tristan soon moved closer. Grabbing the inside of Doha’s knees, he spread his thighs further apart, closely examining the area between them.

Shame burned hot at the back of Doha’s neck. Tristan’s scrutinizing gaze felt as though it were scrubbing his tender flesh like a rough sponge. His thighs kept trying to close. When he couldn’t bear it any longer and awkwardly brought one hand to his thigh, Tristan Locke’s hand stopped him by grasping his wrist.

“…Mr. Locke.”

Doha’s voice trembled as if waiting for an evaluation. Since becoming an adult, had he ever exposed himself so openly to anyone like this? It felt like he was lying naked on a laboratory table.

Finally, Tristan Locke spoke indifferently.

“Looking closely…”

“Ah…!”

“It seems a bit….”

Casually, Tristan’s hand brushed against the top of the shaft. Doha stiffened, trying to stifle the sound that threatened to escape his throat.

“The color is quite pale.”

“Ah, uh, don’t touch…”

“Isn’t it rather small?”

Doha’s attempts to pull away were in vain. Tristan firmly held one of Doha’s thighs in place while his other hand toyed with the soft organ. His long, strong fingers worked with an ease as if molding clay. Doha barely managed to answer, holding his breath.

“You’re… just bigger, Mr. Locke.”

“Is that so?”

His eyes seemed to narrow slightly in amusement.

“My apologies. It would be fairer to judge by its size after it’s fully erect, wouldn’t it?”

As though genuinely intending to measure, his touch grew softer. His tidy fingertips skillfully teased the tip of the glans, beginning to stroke it. He gripped the shaft, gradually increasing the pace.

“Hnngh, hngh, ah…”

“Come to think of it, since your hand’s like that, you wouldn’t be able to relieve yourself alone, would you?”

“Ah, hnngh…”

“Or did you have another partner to take care of this for you?”

His firm grip tightened around the top of the shaft as if about to squeeze it.

“Ugh…!”

Doha tried to push him away by pressing his forearm against Tristan’s shoulder. His breathing became hotter, and gasps escaped his lips.

Tristan kept stroking Doha’s shaft until it was fully erect, then abruptly let go. The now upright shaft stood rigidly, flushed a deep pink and pointing skyward.

“Fascinating.”

Tristan muttered as he glanced down at his now-wet palm.

“Hnngh…”

Unable to bear the burning thirst in his throat, Doha instinctively reached for himself. But before his bent fingers could touch, Tristan’s hand descended once more.

“Don’t touch it. You need to hold on a bit longer. I’m still watching.”

The grip on his wrist was light, but the strength behind it was undeniable.

“…How much longer…”

Doha’s body began to tremble. His mouth went dry with frustration, and his heart pounded loudly in his chest. His aching member alternated between burning hot and icy cold, as though recalling Tristan’s touch.

Was it normal to endure this much? Or was his own patience unusually low? Through his blurry, sweat-filled vision, Doha barely managed to glance up at him.

“Mr. Locke…”

“Do you want to come?”

Tristan asked in a sweet, gentle voice, his hand hovering just above the throbbing glans, teasing it with barely a touch.

Without meaning to, Doha’s hips lifted, chasing the sensation. Just as it was about to brush against the palm, Tristan pulled his hand away, chuckling out loud.

“You’re surprisingly impatient.”

“…Hngh…”

“Alright.”

Mercifully, he wrapped his hand around Doha’s shaft. His firm fingers gripped and teased just enough that Doha climaxed absurdly easily. His trembling body curled forward as he came. This time, Tristan didn’t stop him from closing his legs and curling into himself.

“……”

While Doha was still out of breath, Tristan must have gone to the bathroom. He returned with a wet towel in hand, holding it out to Doha, but then clicked his tongue and re-gripped the towel. His beautiful, white fingers gently wiped down Doha’s thighs, abdomen, and still-throbbing shaft. The cotton felt cool and soft against his skin.

While Doha lay exhausted, the other person removed the towel and reached for the wall switch.

Click, and the ceiling light went out. The once bright bedroom was instantly swallowed by darkness.

“Ah—.”

Startled, Doha reached out and bumped into his body. Though Doha couldn’t see anything, the man naturally grasped Doha’s wrist and guided him onto the bed.

His back met the blanket, and the mattress shifted, signaling the man climbing on top of him.

“Is it too dark?”

His low voice came from just above Doha’s face in the darkness.

“A little, yes.”

“I see.”

Despite asking, the man didn’t turn the light back on, as though he had no intention of adjusting to Doha’s preference.

The thick darkness felt almost tangible, like water. A large hand effortlessly parted Doha’s legs, bending his knees as it slid between them. His still-sensitive area was brushed aside as the hand probed lower, searching through the slick, sweat-dampened space.

“…Ugh…”

Doha gritted his teeth. The fingers that had entered briefly were withdrawn, and the sound of a cap rattling echoed in the room. When the fingers returned, they were slick with a gel that had turned to liquid, easily soaking into the skin.

After a few minutes of loosening the area with his long fingers, he finally withdrew them. With a casual grip on the back of Doha’s thigh, he folded his body in half. One knee pressed beside his face while the other leg was raised onto the man’s shoulder.

“Can you lift your hips a bit more?”

“…Yes. Ah—”

“Relax. That’s right.”

Doha endured the aching tension in his waist. Something hot and firm brushed against his suspended hips.

“Hng…”

“It’s hard to aim in the dark…”

The thick shaft grazed the tight space between Doha’s clenched hips, narrowly missing the entrance. Wet sounds could be heard, likely from the applied gel.

Doha’s breathing grew ragged, and he closed his eyes. It might have been better if it just entered all at once, but the excruciating anticipation was hard to bear. He could imagine the size of it just from the feel of it sliding above and below his entrance. Carrying such a thing between his legs, it was no wonder he treated others with indifference—Doha could now understand why.

The man’s palm firmly supported Doha’s wet hips, and the swollen head of his shaft finally found its mark. The puckered opening was forced inward, the skin tight as it grudgingly gave way. The thick length was pushed inside mercilessly.

“Hngh, ngh!”

Because of the position, with him thrusting from above, the entry was quick. There was no time to adjust as the man’s length filled him completely, driving deep into his core. Doha gasped, feeling as though he’d been struck inside.

“Ugh, ngh… It hurts—”

It seemed like he had entered as deeply as usual, but this time the man didn’t stop. The stretched entrance and inner walls felt like they were being torn apart, pulling heavily.

“Stay still.”

His voice, low and rough near Doha’s ear, matched the firm grip on his hips. He lifted Doha’s pelvis again, but then, apparently deciding that wasn’t enough, shoved a pillow under his lower back.

Since the man hadn’t pulled out while reaching for the pillow, Doha had to endure the twisting inside of him. His breath trembled from the dull pain. A low sigh came from somewhere close.

“It’s not torn.”

“Hngh, just a little—”

“I can’t always stop halfway because it hurts, you know.”

Just as it seemed like he was withdrawing a little, he pushed in deeper all at once, catching Doha off guard. Doha reflexively reached for his arm but weakly slid his fingers down the man’s rigid forearm, then let go.

“Wrap your arms around my neck instead.”

The man’s voice, rough with a hint of breathlessness, reached Doha’s ears. In a faint hope that obeying him would bring some relief, Doha wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. His skin was hard and hot where it touched the soft flesh of Doha’s arms.

Doha’s cheek rested against his shoulder. As his curled body clung to the man, Tristan slowly pulled back to the entrance, then thrust his hips forcefully, driving deep inside all at once.

“Hngh!”

“Open up more. This won’t do.”

“Agh, no— ngh, ugh…”

The tight inner walls were pried open agonizingly, and the darkness behind Doha’s eyelids flickered. Doha bit his torn lips, pressing his cheek into the man’s burning neck.

“…Hng.”

Tristan exhaled, his low groan reverberating. He adjusted his grip on Doha’s legs, spreading them wider. After a few shallow thrusts, the thick head of his shaft pressed persistently against the inside once again.

“It’s so tight inside, it feels like it might tear.”

Doha couldn’t even make a sound, only squeezing his eyes shut. If he reached down, he could probably feel the hard bulge pushing out from his stomach. He was terrified that he might be completely ruined inside.

A wet sound echoed from behind as Tristan withdrew his length completely, waiting until the entrance began to contract again before pressing his swollen head against the quivering opening.

“Hng… Ugh.”

“This position… is better, isn’t it?”

Doha had no strength to respond and only shook his head. Because of the vertical angle of the thrusts, the penetration felt impossibly deep.

Receiving no reply, as though deciding there was no need to ask further, the man’s movements sped up. His thick length stirred Doha’s insides with every push, scraping upward as it moved. Wet, slapping sounds echoed through the darkness as his hips slammed into Doha’s.

“Ngh, hngh…”

Then, all of a sudden, the thick head shoved deeper than usual, piercing the tender innermost part. Doha instinctively shoved Tristan’s shoulder, startled by the jarring sensation that made his insides buzz painfully.

“Mr. Locke…!”

“What’s wrong?”

He pressed Doha down with the weight of his body.

“Use your words. If you move suddenly, you’ll get hurt.”

“My… insides…”

His ragged breathing made it hard to speak. Doha, forgetting his embarrassment, blurted out in a rush to the unseen face in the darkness.

“If you go any deeper… my insides might break. Please, just a little…”

In the darkness, Tristan’s sigh was loud and clear.

“I understand. Lie back again.”

Still unable to calm down, Doha took a few deep breaths. Reluctantly, as if dragged, he lay back again. Tristan gripped both of his ankles, folding him in half once more, and entered in one swift motion.

“Hng, ah…”

Doha bit his lips, deciding that saying anything more would only make things worse. With nothing to bury his face into like before, he reflexively curled up, leaning into Tristan’s shoulder. His cheek pressed into the firm, sweaty skin as he endured the pain. Whenever fear overwhelmed him, he awkwardly tightened his grip around Tristan’s neck. Even though his damp face and trembling hands must have been unpleasant, Tristan never once pushed him away.

***

In the early dawn, a stomachache woke him up.

Doha carefully slipped out of bed without making a sound. Sitting on the floor, he breathed heavily for a while before realizing that the dull, hollow ache inside wasn’t anything serious but rather just hunger. It had been so long that the feeling of being hungry felt almost unfamiliar.

His hands trembled like someone who hadn’t eaten in days. After fumbling around in the dark for a bit, he finally found his robe and put it on.

Jean had mentioned waking up early, so there was a chance he might already be in the kitchen. If not, Doha could probably find something in the fridge or cupboards—leftovers or instant food. If there was nothing, he’d be so desperate that he might even have to sneak out into the garden and pull up some carrots like Ulysses.

Holding his stomach with one arm, he tiptoed past the bed. As he fumbled toward the door, keeping a hand on the wall, a soft click sounded from behind.

The small bedside lamp flickered on. In the faint glow, the man sitting at the head of the bed was sharply illuminated, his features stark like a mask.

“Where are you going?”

His voice was unnervingly steady, too calm for someone who had just been sleeping.

“…Mr. Locke.”

In the dim light, the reflection in his eyes seemed lifeless, like glass. His smooth, porcelain-like skin and perfectly neat hair gave him the appearance of a flawless doll. For a moment, an unsettling chill brushed across Doha’s chest, making him fall silent.

The man on the bed, staring at Doha without a word, slowly reached behind him and flipped the wall switch. The ceiling lights flickered on with a sharp glow.

“…Ugh.”

The light was too bright, and Doha squinted. Sitting on the bed was Tristan, looking like his usual self. Unbothered by the brightness, Tristan asked with a composed expression.

“Were you heading back to your room?”

“…I was going down to the kitchen. I’m hungry.”

“At this hour? Couldn’t you wait until breakfast?”

His tone carried only mild curiosity, so Doha answered honestly.

“I don’t think I can wait.”

The man, who had been quietly watching Doha, gestured toward the call button on the wall with his chin.

“Then let’s wake Jean. He’ll whip something up quickly.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Doha hurried to stop him. Tristan, who had already been reaching for the button, looked puzzled. Doha swallowed a sigh. To the man in front of him, it would be nothing for Jean to be dragged out of bed, half-asleep, and forced into the kitchen to cook with a drowsy face.

“Please, just go back to sleep. I’ll find something to eat myself.”

He said it again. Tristan looked at him for a moment before replying.

“It’s not the mark of a good host to let a hungry guest fend for themselves.”

“…”

“And it wouldn’t be proper for a guest to rummage through the host’s kitchen without permission either.”

Though his words weren’t immediately sharp, they were layered with meaning. The way he spoke captivated more than the content itself. As soon as Doha understood, he apologized right away.

“I’m sorry.”

“If that’s the case, let’s go down together. We can have an early breakfast.”

Tristan rose to his feet, his broad shoulders draped in a white robe. He fastened the robe loosely over his slim frame, tying the belt with practiced ease. Then he sat at the edge of the bed, letting his legs dangle lazily.

“You must have been really hungry to attempt going half-dressed.”

“What?”

Under the bright light, Doha looked down and realized that the robe he had hastily thrown on in the dark was dangerously loose, and the knot had already come undone. He could feel Tristan’s gaze fix on the deep V of the robe, and Doha hurried to close it.

“Come here.”

Tristan said from the edge of the bed, looking up at Doha with a faint smile.

“…Thank you.”

Doha took a few steps forward and stopped in front of him. Tristan, sitting with his legs slightly apart, casually reached out, took hold of the robe’s belt, and gave it a firm tug, drawing Doha closer. Doha’s feet bumped against the foot of the bed.

“…Ah.”

“Stay still.”

With elegant fingers, Tristan undid the messy knot Doha had tied. His soft bangs fell over his focused eyes as he worked.

“You… wouldn’t make a good sailor, Eden.”

He murmured, as the belt slid open. His pale fingers brushed against Doha’s bare skin under the robe as if by accident.

“Ugh…!”

“If it’s too tight, let me know.”

As Tristan crossed the belt and pulled it snug around Doha’s waist, it cinched tightly. After securing it, he loosened it just a little and tied it into a neat bow. Whether he was teasing or being considerate, Doha couldn’t quite tell.

“Let’s go.”

Tristan stood up without hesitation, releasing the belt and shifting the mood. His sudden movement made Doha step back.

Following the man’s broad back down the mansion’s stairs, Doha found himself thinking. If it’s bad for a guest to sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night, could it really be better to wake the host? At this point, he knew he should stop and send Tristan back to bed, but his hunger outweighed the guilt of disturbing him. Besides, having the host accompany him felt more reassuring than sneaking into the kitchen alone like a thief.

As they crossed the foyer, Doha’s stomach grumbled softly. Thankfully, Tristan paused for only a moment, not reacting to the sound.

The mansion was cool and quiet at dawn. The garden outside, which he glimpsed through the windows, was still shrouded in the darkness of night.

It wasn’t until Tristan turned on the kitchen’s bright lights that Doha glanced at the clock on the wall and saw the time. It was nearly six in the morning. Not as early as he thought.

Standing at the center of the pristine, white kitchen, Tristan leaned against the counter and looked around, as if he were a curious observer. It was like a nobleman stepping into his own kitchen for the first time, unfamiliar and amused by the sight of it. The image of this aristocrat surrounded by large refrigerators and sinks seemed almost out of place, like something from a surreal photograph.

“Will it be alright if we just heat up some leftovers?”

He looked back at Doha and asked.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s see what Jean has in the fridge.”

For a brief moment, a fleeting expression of mischief crossed his beautiful face. It was a look Doha had never seen before. It felt as though the boy Tristan once was had appeared through the cracks of his composed exterior, and Doha momentarily froze.

Tristan grabbed the handle of the large fridge. The heavy door creaked open, and light from within spilled out.

The shelves were neatly organized, filled with containers. It felt like peering into someone’s treasure trove, arranged with intricate order and logic. Tristan remained calm, but Doha found himself glancing nervously at the closed kitchen door, half-expecting Jean to barge in at any moment. Tristan, who had stepped back and crossed his arms, asked leisurely.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

“Anything is fine…”

Right now, even the skewers from the restaurant below his London flat would taste great. Tristan pulled out a container, opened the lid, and glanced inside with a slight smile.

“I have no idea what this is.”

He leaned in closer to sniff the contents before adding,

“It seems like something that needs to be cooked first.”

“…Do you have any instant food?”

“Instant food?”

He repeated Doha’s words, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I’m not sure.”

He said it as if the very idea of having such things in this house was unthinkable. But after giving up on deciphering the complicated organization of the fridge, Tristan started opening cabinets one by one. Eventually, tucked away in a corner of one cabinet, they found an assortment of instant foods, including the familiar three-minute ramen packs and various other instant meals. It was as if someone had hidden a treasure trove. Doha decided to eat now and apologize later.

“Who in this house eats this kind of thing, I wonder.”

Tristan spoke in a dissatisfied tone as he picked up a cup of noodles labeled

, pinching it between his thumb and index finger as though it were contaminated. His neat fingers peeled off the lid and placed the packaged sauce and the folded plastic fork on the counter.

“Three minutes.”

After pouring boiling water from the electric kettle, he turned to find the timer above the gas stove and pressed it until it beeped, setting it in motion.

“Will this fork do?”

“Yes.”

He unwrapped the plastic fork, unfolded it, and assembled it for Doha. For three minutes, Doha stared at the cup noodles while the timer ticked down. As soon as Tristan added the sauce and mixed it thoroughly, Doha picked up the fork.

It was a typical cup of noodles, the kind found in every convenience store and even in Doha’s kitchen back home. Back in his student days, he and his roommates had pooled their money to buy a large supply of the same brand of instant noodles. After eating so much of it back then, he’d been sick of it for a while. But now, maybe because it had been so long, the salty, sweet, and aggressively intense flavors rushed across his tongue. For the first time in years, Doha was completely absorbed in the food in front of him, as if he were tasting something for the first time.

He had eaten about half when he snapped back to his senses. When he looked up, he saw Tristan sitting on a stool across the counter, chin resting on his hand, watching him.

“…Mr. Locke.”

Doha blinked, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’m not that hungry. Keep eating; don’t mind me.”

Under the white lights, Tristan’s clean-cut face looked a little tired. Behind him, the garden was visible through the window. The sky, once pitch black, now had a hint of deep blue. The silhouettes of the trees in the distant forest stood like sharp spires.

The kitchen, the time, and even the man in front of him all felt unreal. As Doha slowly resumed eating, Tristan Locke, who had been watching him, spoke.

“This too… is because of my name.”

“……”

“If I were gone, it seems you wouldn’t even be able to eat.”

His words dropped quietly, and the calmness in his tone seemed to resonate in Doha’s chest. Feeling his heart sink, Doha stopped chewing and was about to speak when suddenly—bang—the kitchen door flew open.

“Why is the light on… Mr. Locke! …Eden?”

Jean stood at the threshold, his face still heavy with sleep. He glanced between the counter where Tristan and Doha were seated and the cup of noodles in front of Doha.

“What are you two doing here at this hour? And why are you eating

?”

Even with his sleepy eyes, Jean shot a look of utter disdain at the cup noodles.

“If you were hungry, you should’ve woken me up, Eden!”

“It’s okay, Mr. Locke helped me.”

“Did you really want to eat that? There’s congee left in the fridge!”

“Ah…”

Now that Jean mentioned it, Doha suddenly craved the congee they’d had as an entrée the night before.

“If you couldn’t find it, you should’ve told me! I’ll heat it up for you right now, so stop eating that instant stuff.”

“…Thank you, Jean.”

Jean brushed past Tristan and opened the fridge, instantly pulling out the container of congee. He quickly tidied his messy hair and grabbed a pot from the cupboard, placing it on the stove. Only after that did he seem to remember his employer, belatedly turning his head.

“Mr. Locke, would you like something to eat too? I can prepare an early breakfast.”

“No, I’m fine.”

Tristan stood lazily from his stool. He walked past Doha, who looked up at him, and paused at the kitchen door.

“Don’t overeat just because you’re hungry. You might get indigestion.”

“…Yes.”

“Jean, I’ll leave the rest to you.”

With that, his white silhouette faded into the darkness beyond the door. Jean, still half-asleep, mumbled as he turned up the heat on the stove.

“Just wait a little while; it’ll be ready soon.”

“Okay.”

Doha took one last bite of the now-cooled noodles and pushed the cup aside. Now that Tristan’s seat across from him was empty, he could see the brightening dawn through the window.

***

The midday sunlight cast a lazy golden glow on Ulysses’ fur. The dog, lying beside the fountain, quietly enjoying Doha’s touch, suddenly perked up his ears. The shadow of a bird flying low passed over the garden.

Ulysses straightened up and barked, looking up at the sky. His low-hanging tail slowly swayed from side to side.

“…Looks like a swan.”