The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 734

Chapter 734: What He Taught Me (M)

In truth, the little fox never had the chance to rethink his choices.

Not when every part of his being was too thoroughly occupied—by sensation, by anticipation, and most of all, by him.

Yes, he was far too consumed by his husband to even remember the concept of breathing.

The first touch was riveting.

And most definitely unexpected.

It came just after Luca, fumbling with unfamiliar insistence over Xavier’s clothing, finally managed to undo the last barrier. His hands had lingered for a second longer than they should have, trying to steady himself more than anything. But when he peeled the fabric back and saw what it had been guarding, all thoughts, all caution, vanished.

He could have reevaluated his life choices then and there.

But even if he did, it wouldn’t have taken longer than when he decided to look for the monster under the sea.

Because just as his heart had beat recklessly for any form of earning, now his body yearned—deeply, instinctively—for this.

For Xavier.

He had seen it before. Felt it countless times. It had marked him, filled him, left him aching and breathless and undone. But this was the first time he was seeing it from this angle. In this moment. With Xavier lying beneath him, offering nothing and everything in return.

And it was also the first time he was about to try to give back without assistance.

His nerves prickled—not from fear, but from intensity. Because to do this, to even attempt it, his mind had to call forth everything his husband had ever taught him.

How Xavier touched him.

How his touch made him feel.

But more than anything, the memory of how he had once offered himself up completely, trembling but willing.

Was it like this?

When he’d spread his legs for the prince, was this what it had looked like?

He doubted it.

Because Xavier, the man lying beneath him now, looked far too enticing—like temptation incarnate wrapped in restraint. Even now, dressed in nothing but bare skin and tension, the prince didn’t move.

Getting to this point had been no short work for the little fox, who tried his best with nothing but his guiding energy and unsure yet determined hands. Xavier’s back was now propped against the pillows, shoulders half-raised like a statue frozen mid-ascent.

And yet he remained still.

Those piercing, red-tinged eyes stared at him with hunger and command, yet he didn’t pounce.

If only the little fox knew how maddening it was for the rampaging prince who wanted to devour his tempting warmth.

But maybe Luca knew.

Because while Xavier’s expression stayed composed, and his body showed no signs of impatience, the energy pouring off of him told another story.

It wrapped around the little guide like a second skin.

Thick. Heady. Taut with expectation.

Even without being touched, the prince’s energy reached for him, clawing silently for his body, for his guidance, for relief.

Luca found himself bracing a hand on Xavier’s abdomen just to steady the trembling in his own limbs.

His palm met that cold skin, and even through that simple point of contact, he felt it.

That pressure. That pull.

It was as though his husband’s self-control was holding back something feral, something desperate.

“Hah…”

Luca’s breath caught. He had to press harder.

Even if the prince wasn’t moving, the guide could still feel everything. His chest rose a little too fast. His muscles were tight, like he was holding himself back. And the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth gave away the strain of his restraint.

It was the kind of self-restraint that Luca hadn’t seen on anyone rampaging. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the pills, the constant guiding energy, or just because the man was Xavier.

Luca swallowed, the heat in his cheeks spreading to his ears. His eyes trailed downward, taking in every inch of the man beneath him.

His skin.

The toned lines of his abdomen.

The thick weight of his arousal—undeniable, flushed, and twitching with need.

He looked like a sculpture come to life, carved not by marble but by want.

And it was Luca’s turn to do something about it.

His fingers unfurled gingerly against Xavier’s torso, spreading warmth. His other hand trailed lower, tentative but sure, tracing the same path the wolfish prince once kissed along his thighs.

Then came the first twitch.

And now the little fox wondered how his husband always managed to control himself when Luca’s own body reacted once he witnessed Xavier’s reaction to him.

His own hands were hot now.

He wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe when his fingers first brushed along Xavier’s abdomen, or when they slid up the line of muscle that twitched beneath his touch. But with every strangled grunt that slipped from his beloved’s throat, the initially uncertain wife grew bolder.

His hands traced over skin that felt both familiar and completely new. He wasn’t just touching—he was learning. Watching how Xavier’s breath caught when he pressed along the grooves of his torso. Noting the way his thighs twitched when Luca’s fingers dragged a path along the edge of his groin.

Xavier was sensitive.

So very sensitive.

And the longer it went on, the more Luca felt it—the energy swirling beneath the surface, pressing into his own body like a current he couldn’t refuse. It didn’t frighten him anymore. He welcomed it. Let it flow. Let it surge inside him as if every strand of rampaging power had always belonged with him.

Luca was panting now.

A soft, uneven rhythm.

He wasn’t even doing that much, and yet his own body felt like it was burning. He was the one moving, the one giving, the one guiding. So why did he feel like the one who was desperate?

Why did he feel thirsty?

Why did his eyes keep dragging lower?

He had been deliberately avoiding the hardness near his face, staying focused on Xavier’s stomach, waist, and legs. He’d kept his kisses high, pretending he could stop at just tasting skin.

But the longer he traced his husband’s body, the more his position shifted.

At first, he’d been lying half-over him. Then his knee had risen, sliding over Xavier’s waist, trying to get a better angle. Now, without realizing it, Luca had backed up—his lower body pressing onto his husband’s chest, his weight shifting slowly as he followed the trail of his own kisses lower and lower.

By the time he noticed where he was, Luca was practically straddling Xavier’s upper body, facing down the length of the prince’s legs. He blinked once, breath shaky, before realizing exactly what was in front of him.

And then he saw it.

A glint of moisture.

Pre-cum, glistening at the tip.

The sight made his body tingle, sharp and immediate. It wasn’t even a full second of thought. Just need. Just a jolt of pleasure and satisfaction that ran straight to his spine.

He reached out before he could stop himself.

His hand closed around the length, heat blooming in his palm. It throbbed in his grip, heavy and hard and aching. And this time—this time—Luca knew better.

He didn’t rush.

He didn’t stroke.

He didn’t even move his hand.

Instead, he leaned in.

And used his mouth.

The first lick was small.

Barely a flick of his tongue, so tentative and unsure.

But the moment it touched, the little fox’s eyes fluttered. His breath caught.

Because the sound his husband made struck straight to his tailbone.

“Ngh—!”

Luca’s entire body reacted.

It was like something inside him snapped into place. Something he hadn’t known he was waiting for.

The little fox paused, mouth still hovering, lips parted.

Then he licked again.

Slower. Firmer.

And when Xavier groaned—really groaned, like he’d been punched in the gut—Luca’s lips curled around the tip.

If there was a word for it, it had to be life-changing.

Because how could he ever go back?

How could he ever pass up something like this?

Something so addicting.

So responsive.

So undeniably tied to him.

“Mmph…”

Luca moaned softly as he took more, tongue swirling, pressure growing. His hand remained steady, supporting the base, while his mouth explored every ridge and vein.

And beneath him, the supposed paragon of self-control could do nothing but breathe.

Ragged. Harsh. Wild.

Because if he didn’t, he’d likely take more than his wife could give.

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