I previously posted an illustration of Victor training at a personal gym, but Tumblr’s automated system flagged it with an adult content label.
(I only noticed it yesterday 🤣 I honestly have no idea how long it’s been labeled…)
I submitted a review request explaining that the illustration contains no sexual intent, but there’s a chance the label won’t be removed. If it stays, I’d appreciate it if you could simply ignore it.
To be honest, I have other artwork on different social media platforms that still carries sensitive labels due to similar misclassifications.
This isn’t my first time dealing with this kind of issue, so my reaction is basically “Again!?” before submitting another review.
However, if these misclassifications continue to pile up, there’s a risk that my account could be suspended.
If this keeps happening, I may eventually have no choice but to delete the misclassified artwork. 🤔💭
…And I really should check what’s in my archive every once in a while… lol
⚠️ This post includes explicit sexual content (NSFW). Please be mindful before viewing. 💦
Oral and licking scenes by the TOP (Victor)
No penetration; foreplay only
[Dominion of the Lips]
A melting gasp dissolved in the depths of his throat.
As it momentarily shivered the air, Claudio’s porcelain skin twitched faintly.
"Ah… ah… n… Victor…"
In that voice, wet only with his own throat’s moisture, there was not a fragment of refusal.
There was only bewilderment, and the sweetness of a pleasure to which he was succumbing.
Victor scooped up his legs from beneath the knees.
Tracing the soft curve of the ankle with his lips, he slowly let his tongue crawl up—over the knee, the thigh, and toward the hips.
"…Hh, th-there is…!"
Victor already knew every sensitive point that reacted to fingers or tongue.
But above all, he knew the places that could be dominated only by lips. With exquisite, calculated force, he sucked at the tender skin of the inner thigh.
"Aah, ah…!"
His body trembling, Claudio unconsciously gripped the fabric of his robes.
Everything he had suppressed with reason was being dismantled by Victor’s lips alone.
"You are… truly honest here, aren't you?"
Whispering with a voice laced with breath, Victor began to savor that heat with his tongue, as if it were something precious.
The tip, the underside.
Every time a wet, slick sound resonated, Claudio’s legs spasmed faintly.
"Ah… no, aaah… Victor… th-that is…"
"Put it into words. Tell me where and how it feels good."
It was not a command.
Yet, the low timbre of his voice undeniably seared Claudio’s brain.
Amidst the intersection of shame and lust, his voice leaked out, trembling.
"It… feels… g-good… There, hh… don't lick… so much… ah…"
"But you like it, don't you?"
Sliding his tongue as if crawling down a throat, Victor slowly slipped into the "depths."
Tracing the shape with his lips, caressing it again and again, he took Claudio’s "core" into his mouth as if performing a sacred service.
"Vic… hh… ah… aah, no, any more is…!"
Just as Claudio was about to break, Victor held him back, refusing to grant him release yet.
With that "heat" still held within his mouth, he looked up at him with his eyes alone.
As if to burn the image into him.
As if to tell him exactly how his lips were breaking him, how they were pleasuring him.
"……Hh, h… Vic, tor… ah… no, please… n, n… aaah…!"
Reason severed.
Voice collapsing.
Claudio was swallowed by a wave he could not stop, and eventually, he spilled everything out, as if purging his very soul.
Victor accepted all of his "heat" and pleasure with his lips.
Neither wiping it away nor fleeing from it; he simply, quietly accepted it.
By the time he parted his lips, Claudio’s chest was heaving, and not even strength remained in his fingertips.
"You were beautiful."
At that whisper, Claudio tried to say something, but fell silent.
Yet, his flushed cheeks and the moisture brimming at the corners of his eyes were more eloquent than any words.
Could one truly crumble this much?
The moment his legs were spread and breath was blown onto the source of his heat.
What leaked from the back of his throat was a voice that belonged to no one.
"…Nn… hh, Vic… tor… hh…"
Looking down, he saw that quiet, impeccable man letting his lips crawl over that place, as if holding his breath.
As if praying.
But that tongue was too skillful; it seemed to know exactly where and how to love him.
(Why… in such a place…)
Shame scorched his chest.
No, it was beyond mere shame.
The fact that this man was seeing him in such a state turned into a sticky, burning ache in the depths of his heart.
"…No, h… if you trace there… hh…"
Though his throat trembled, his hips would not obey; they swayed faintly, selfishly, in time with the pleasure being given.
"Hh, no… don't use your tongue… don't trace…"
He knew that saying such things would only make Victor more persistent.
Yet, voicing it was the final resistance of his reason.
And yet—
"Hh, ha… ah, a… aaah…"
Victor’s tongue meticulously tasted the tip, crawling along the underside, and the back of Claudio's mind went blank.
(Aaah… why… is it so…)
He couldn't stay calm as he usually did.
No matter how much he clamped his mouth shut, his throat spilled voice of its own accord.
Pleasure had taken shape.
Every place loved by those lips and tongue throbbed, pregnant with heat and moisture.
He was being loved accurately, as if his mind were being read.
(No… this… I can't, hold on…)
The limit approached.
His body shook, his vision blurred, his hands grasped the sheets.
The moment he was about to scream something—
"…Hh, ah… Victor… hh, please, ah… hh… no…"
He broke, unable to resist.
Amidst the pulsing of his whole body and his ragged breathing, he could feel Victor’s lips still tracing the remnants of the act.
"…Why… are you so, gentle… hh…"
He shouldn't have had the composure to ask, but the words slipped out before he knew it.
No answer came.
But the heat of the lips touching him was the greatest answer of all.
(This man… loves me.)
The moment he thought that, the mask of reason crumbled.
Being held by this one man, melting away—
Claudio had already accepted it.
Letting Claudio’s legs open gently, Victor embraced him from behind, pulling his hips close.
Deliberately keeping his own heat from touching, he slipped only his lips in instead.
"You’re coming again, aren't you?"
He touched the sensitive "depths" with the tip of his tongue, making a muffled sound.
The lukewarm, melted nectar pushed back against his tongue, proving it had pooled deep inside.
"F… nn, f… hh, no… Vi, ctor…"
Claudio’s fingertips gripped the sheets.
As if seeking salvation, yet with not a speck of will to escape.
"Don't beg. You’re the one who yearned for this, aren't you?"
The tips of his beard, along with the dripping nectar, traced the deepest "walls."
Claudio’s hips jumped, and a suppressed voice spilled out.
"Ah, no, ah… not like that… again… hh…!"
At that voice, a muffled laugh spilled from Victor's throat.
With just a kiss, with just tongue and beard, he could make him break as many times as he wished.
That fact filled his dominance as a man, and his delight, to the brim.
"It seems… it's not enough yet. Come, answer me with this."
Opening him gently with fingertips, Victor pressed his lips deep once more.
The nectar entangled with a sound, sucking up his tongue as if devouring it.
"…Your 'depths' cannot lie. They want it this much."
"Hh… such, a thing… hh, nnh…!"
Every time the lips touched, melted honey overflowed from his deepest parts.
It was like the price of his consciousness melting, unable to resist the pleasure.
(I will not give him my heat yet—)
Victor suppressed his own arousal.
An impulse that threatened to swallow him whole if he made one mistake.
But the peak of intoxication that could only be obtained by enduring it was certainly there.
"Claudio, you are already…"
(Already prepared to accept my 'heat'.)
(But even so. I will still make you yearn for it—)
Beyond this lay the moment reason collapses.
He wanted to taste that more than anything.
The moment when Claudio’s beautiful reason dissolves into love, into lust, into the existence that is Victor.
Claudio’s breathing was hot, shallow, and yet… somewhere, frightened.
No, that wasn't it.
(Is he frightened of his own fallen self?)
Sipping the nectar with his lips, Victor’s gaze was fixed solely on Claudio’s nape.
Porcelain-delicate skin, faintly beaded with sweat.
He was floating in fever, so intense that a bite would surely leave a mark instantly.
"The 'answer' is still lacking."
Showing no sign of offering his own heat, he pressed his beard against the walls of the "depths," licking them up. Softly, carefully.
And yet, with malicious intent, he stretched his tongue deep, stirring the innermost parts.
"…Hha… ah, ku… ah…! Vic… tor…"
A sweetly raspy voice tickled his earlobes.
Just that voice made him feel his own desire ache. But he had no intention of giving it.
"What is it? Come, if you feel it… cry out from inside."
True to his words, he pinned Claudio’s thighs with his fingertips, sealing off any escape.
The tip of his tongue reached the deepest point, rubbing teasingly against the sensitive wall there.
"Ah, nn, ah…! Aah… no, more… hh!"
Arching his neck back, he broke.
Nectar spilled, running down the tongue, leaving a sweet taste in the back of the throat.
Finding even that taste beloved was perhaps proof that Victor himself could no longer remain calm.
(But not yet.)
"Claudio… once more."
Layering his lips over the trembling body, he posed the question not with words.
(Just one more push…)
Once Claudio’s reason collapsed, there was no bottom to it.
Knowing this, he teased him.
A joy mixed of affection and sadism slowly filled his heart.
So that he could drown only within Victor, he slowly, slowly broke him.
Even after offering this body, it remains "unfilled."
Victor, more than anyone, knew what a harsh trial this was for Claudio.
"Enough, please…"
In the depths of his ragged breath, a plea faintly bled through.
But Victor dared not answer.
The porcelain skin was dyed a pale crimson, sweat dripping from his temples.
Victor kissed that forehead softly.
"…Ah, what an honest body."
Victor’s lips and beard sank between the legs again, accompanied by a muffled voice.
He had not yet poured his own "heat" into there.
And yet—or perhaps because of it—Claudio’s body ached with unbearable sensitivity.
"…Hh, ah… no, ah… hh…"
The hidden vessel of nectar, pregnant with a torrent of pleasure every time it welcomed the tip of the tongue, trembled its soft walls, tangling in Victor's beard.
Wherever was licked, wherever was sucked, a gasp spilled out, unable to be suppressed.
"Is it not enough yet… or are you at your limit?"
A whisper tickled his ear, and at the same time, a middle finger moved toward there—
No, it stopped just before touching.
"Hh…!"
"If you want it inside, put it into words."
At those words, Claudio’s eyes wavered.
Amidst the clash of shame and pleasure, one piece of his reason crumbled away.
"Victor… please… hh…"
That voice, resembling a sob, had turned into a demand.
He was no longer satisfied with the "joy of being loved."
He was falling into the "joy of being denied."
"I see… You have not yet had enough of the unfilled pleasure."
Mockingly, yet gently.
Victor let his tongue crawl again.
A muffled wet sound echoed in the deepest parts, and Claudio broke once more.
Remained unfilled,
Again, and again.
"…How was it?"
Victor asked maliciously to Claudio, who was silent, his shoulders trembling.
But the answer was told by everything: his eyelashes trembling as if broken, and the lingering sigh spilling from his slightly parted lips.
It was the quiet, certain fall of one who had awakened to the "pleasure of the withheld."
****
Wrapped in Victor's palm, Claudio continued to wait for the "core" that had not yet been given, even though he had reached the heights several times.
The "depths," heated enough to scorch his body, overflowed with nectar every time the entrance was rubbed, bred to be sensitive enough to cry out at the slightest stimulation.
"…Do you still want it?"
In the voice whispered at his ear, infinite kindness and a bottomless ferocity that sent shivers down his spine coexisted.
Claudio could not answer.
Just breathing was hot.
To put it into words was too… too shameful, and an irresistible joy oppressed his chest.
"Put it into words. …Or will you let your body speak that it wants the 'core'?"
Saying so, Victor slowly caressed the rim of the slick entrance with his lips.
Every time the tip of his tongue scooped and slipped into the slightly opened walls, Claudio’s legs trembled, and a voiceless gasp spilled out.
"Nn… hh, ah… aah, no, st… Vi, c… …there is…!"
He didn't want him to stop.
He wanted it.
He himself knew it best.
But Victor did not try to give the "core" there.
Using only his lips, tongue, and beard with utter skill, scooping up the dripping nectar and the tremors of joy again and again,
He slowly drove Claudio into the deepest part, into a hell of pleasure.
"…You are cute."
A low whisper tickled his earlobe.
"You must be realizing by now how suited you are to the 'pleasure of being teased'."
That figure, panting in disorder unable to resist the pleasure, was too beautiful, obscene, and beloved.
Victor had decided to make Claudio break many times tonight without pouring his "heat" into him.
That was his own "shape of love," and the deep pleasure he wanted Claudio to learn.
Teased, denied, yet the fact that he was loved remained unshakable.
In the sweet, cold hell of Victor's "teasing," Claudio finally accepted the "self that cannot resist pleasure"—
Robbed of joy again and again, heat oozed from the core of his melted body every time he broke.
The pleasure of being denied, of being teased.
It was a hell, and yet, it was heaven.
Victor's tongue, lips, and beard caressed the depths again.
Though no "core" was inside, there was a sound.
Nectar overflowed, and a muffled, lewd wet sound reached his ears.
"…Hey, Claudio. Where do you want it so much? Where do you feel it so much?"
A low voice shook the bottom of his belly.
When he tried to close his legs, Victor's arm would not allow it.
From between the legs kept spread, dripping nectar made a stain on the sheets.
"…Stop… it is shameful…"
"Then stop it with words. If you can."
Squelch, the sound echoed again.
Victor's lips traced the walls that had become completely sensitized.
The tongue scooped, sucked lightly.
The beard touching the inner thigh was ticklish, and hot.
Claudio’s back arched.
"…Aah… hh, Victor, there, again… ah…!"
A voiceless gasp leaked from the back of his throat, and his fingertips gripped the sheets tight.
No matter how many times he finished, he wanted it again immediately.
It was the defeat of reason.
"Do you still… want it?"
Lips whispered at his ear.
If he said "I want it," there would be no turning back.
But Claudio’s body was honest.
His hips unconsciously chased after Victor.
The depths trembled sweetly, squirming as if to invite the nectar.
"…Do you want me that much?"
Tears blurred Claudio’s eyes.
The last fragment of reason crumbled into a sob.
"…Victor… please…"
Reflected in those feverish eyes was only one person.
Only Victor.
It was a joy deeper and heavier than being given the "core."
Victor decided to melt his last reason completely, slowly, pecking at the depths with only his lips, still without giving the core.
Tonight, it is still too early to fall completely.
But certainly, at the end of this night—
There will be a "Victor’s Claudio, completely melted in pleasure."
That premonition made Claudio break once more—
****
—When that sweet, cruel night dawned,
Claudio was simply, quietly catching his breath.
His body still remembered.
Being made to break again and again, without being filled.
Disordered by pleasure, leaking his voice, and even begging.
(…What a state I have shown.)
Shame scorched his heart slowly.
Yet, no feeling of rejection welled up.
It was just terribly sweet, and bitter.
Victor's body warmth remaining on the pillow.
All of it was beloved.
Because what he gave was neither domination nor sadism.
It was an extension of the "joy of being loved,"
And Claudio himself understood that his body had learned a new pleasure.
(…That man does not break me.
No, he makes me fall without breaking me.
Because he knows me…)
A night where he exposed his heart, naked, without room to wear a mask.
There was not only pleasure there.
(I… desired it.)
Himself, drowned in joy.
Even if not given—precisely because it was not given—that yearning pleasure heightened.
He had tasted all of it within his palm.
(…I think it is foolish.
And yet, I am convinced that I was loved.)
The moment he thought so from the bottom of his heart,
Claudio shed yet another layer of his "shell of reason."
The lounge of the Cathedral.
The evening light filtered through the stained glass, casting pale red shadows across the old wooden desk.
While Claudio arranged the chess set he had brought, Victor ran his fingertip along the rim of his wine glass, making it hum.
The sound vibrated faintly in the silence.
"You’re being quite cautious."
"Even arranging the pieces requires order."
"Order, is it…?"
A faint smile played on Victor’s lips as he picked up a white pawn.
"—But remember, it is within order that the first seeds of chaos often lie."
The first move.
Sitting across from him in the black camp, Claudio stared intently at the board.
His movements were, as always, precise and without waste.
Victor watched him, as if savoring that very accuracy.
"Your hands are far too dutiful."
"…Is that a criticism?"
"It's a compliment. The kind that tempts an opponent’s greed."
Every time a piece moved, their gazes met.
Claudio’s eyes sought to read the play; Victor’s sought to test the player.
"Is reading that 'greed' your method, then?"
"No. I read your 'hesitation.'"
In the next instant, the white knight leaped through the black defense.
Claudio’s brow twitched ever so slightly.
The tremor in his heart dissolved into the air as a subtle disruption in his breathing.
"…Wasn't that a mistake?"
"No, it was a temptation."
Victor’s voice was low, carrying a certain suggestive warmth.
"If you take that piece, my 'intentions' will be laid bare. —If you don't, I shall be the one unsettled."
"Heh… A trap either way, I see."
"Such is life, wouldn't you agree?"
Silence.
The light from the stained glass swayed, casting shadows across Claudio’s lashes.
Victor didn't miss that moment and made another move.
While vying for dominance over the board, they peered into each other’s hearts.
"…Check."
"That was fast."
Claudio stopped his hand.
The tension in his fingertips sent a quiet shiver through the room.
In that brief interval—
Victor took his glass and had a sip of the amber liquid.
"See? You've even moved your body."
"…Dealing with your schemes is exhausting."
"For someone who says that, you seem to be enjoying yourself."
"—We'll see about that once the match is decided."
Victor narrowed his eyes at the response.
With his fingertips, he scooped up a piece from beneath Claudio’s hand.
The gesture was just like that time he had stroked his cheek—intentional, provocative.
"Then let us continue.
Until the 'Mate'… shall we?"
Claudio allowed a tiny smile to surface and returned his fingers to the board.
It was a smile not of 'surrender,' but of 'engagement.'
The psychological warfare continued until the stained-glass light finally faded into dusk.
Claudio’s hand did not stop.
The outcome was already decided.
The position on the board clearly favored Victor—
He must have realized it himself.
Still, he moved.
Moving the black pieces as if he were still trying to grasp something.
"…You won't admit defeat?"
Victor’s voice was quiet, sounding like both a provocation and a consolation.
"I admit it. However—"
Claudio looked up.
A strange heat dwelled in his eyes.
"I simply want to confirm why I lost."
At those words, Victor let out a short laugh.
The Claudio of the past might have let his pride get the better of him, perhaps even overturning the board in a fit of righteous anger.
But he was different now.
He was calm, analytical, staring his own weaknesses in the face.
"…You've changed, Claudio."
"What?"
"The old you would have tried to shroud the board in your own sense of justice.
But now—you see it. You see 'beyond the pieces.'"
Claudio lost his words and simply cast his gaze down.
In the silence, Victor advanced his white queen and made the final move.
"Checkmate."
Small, but certain.
The sound signaled the end of the battle on the board.
Victor drained the rest of his glass in one gulp and rose gracefully.
Walking toward the window, he spoke in a low voice over his shoulder.
"Your 'struggle' wasn't bad."
Claudio blinked.
The voice was detached, yet it carried an undeniable warmth.
"Confidence isn't something you should allow yourself to lose.
It simply needs to be refined—don't you think?"
Victor turned back slowly, his gaze shimmering with a hint of nostalgia and pride.
"…Yes.
I will carve those words into my heart."
"Hmph… Quite honest of you. Rare."
Claudio smiled faintly.
"I believe it is the correct attitude for a disciple seeking guidance from his master."
"Then, I must provide a worthy response."
With that, Victor placed his hand lightly on Claudio’s head.
After a moment’s hesitation, he didn't stroke it; he simply let his palm rest there.
—Beneath that palm was the heat of a young conviction.
And the fingertips touching that heat ignited a quiet flame deep within Victor’s own chest.
(Indeed. To teach is not to dominate, but to lead.
Until this man understands that meaning, I too shall remain upon the board.)
"Now—how will you play the next match?"
"…I shall challenge you again with everything I have."
"Excellent.
Then I, too, shall 'guide' you with everything I have."
The silence of the chessboard filled the space between them once more.
Outside, the cathedral bells began to toll.
Late at night, in Claudio’s private chambers tucked away in one corner of the cathedral.
As if to cool the lingering heat of what they had just shared, Claudio finished straightening himself first and turned toward the closet, intending to prepare a fresh change of clothes for Victor.
“Victor, there is a spare gown prepared for visiting guests. If you would—”
He stopped mid-sentence, the words falling away.
Victor, having turned around, had already found something to wear on his own.
It was a perfectly ordinary communal gown, made of thick cotton. The sort used interchangeably by members of the order in shared bathhouses and dormitories.
A modest embroidery of the order’s crest adorned the back.
What was meant to be casually thrown over the shoulders of young monks, Victor wore with unshakable confidence, cinching the sash tight at his waist as though it were a bespoke robe from a high-end maison.
“…Victor. Where did you even find that?”
Claudio asked, half exasperated, still holding the fine silk gown he had prepared.
“Hm? It was set aside near the baths. The length isn’t bad.”
Unbothered by Claudio’s bewilderment, Victor poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table and took a slow drink.
Every movement fit the room far too naturally.
“If you had said something, I would have prepared something more appropriate. That is… merely a shared, utilitarian item.”
“I am no ‘guest.’ This is sufficient.”
“….”
Claudio immediately caught the insolent implication beneath the words.
That Victor did not see this place as a guest room, but as somewhere he belonged.
With a single remark, the cathedral, once Claudio’s own territory, was quietly rewritten into Victor’s personal retreat.
“Haa… (At this point, it might be simpler if you just settled in and called it home…)”
“Did you say something?”
Victor asked lowly as he set the glass down. That sharp gaze missed nothing, not even a muttered aside.
“No. I was merely thinking that the fabric might be a little too rough against your skin.”
“This is the one I want.”
“You sound like a child…”
“Do I? …Very well. Then have one tailored ‘just for me’ by the next time I visit.”
With that, Victor gave a daring smile and sank deep into the sofa, as if the next visit were already a foregone conclusion.
Claudio lowered himself into a nearby chair and stared at the order’s crest embroidered on Victor’s chest.
Their sacred symbol, resting against this man’s body.
The sight was irreverent, and yet inexplicably reassuring. A gentle heat bloomed deep in Claudio’s chest.
(Selfish man…)
By tomorrow, Victor would don his attire meant for battle once more, discard this gown, and fly off again.
Claudio could neither follow that broad back nor stop him.
At the very least, until the scent he left behind fades from this shared garment—
even the purifying herbs gathered for rites would fail to restore Claudio’s peace.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Claudio surrendered himself once more, resignation in tow, to the continuation of that night Victor had opened.
