Chapter 49 The softness of her lips blocked out all anger, words, even...
Though the Storm Leader's voice and name were cold, he was like a furnace, his body burning with intense heat. The Son of God, who had struggled in the cold for years, instinctively drew closer to him.
He leaned against Buster, head bowed and sullen. Several strands of his soft, long hair fell over Buster's shoulder.
Compared to Reinhardt's body, the slight chill in his hair was insignificant and unlikely to attract Buster's attention.
His gaze lingered more on Reinhardt's features, his bloodless lips, and the tips of his ears, which occasionally peeked out from beneath his blond hair.
A faint fragrance lingered around his nose, but Buster could still feel Reinhardt trembling.
The scorching heat of his body hadn't yet reached the point where it could transfer warmth. After a moment's thought, Buster placed his palm on Reinhardt's back and began to rub it up and down without any barrier.
He thought that friction generates heat.
But after he rubbed it only once, Reinhardt let out a muffled groan.
Finally realizing that the roughness of his calloused hands might hurt Reinhardt, the Storm Leader stiffly loosened his grip.
The gradual movement distorted its original purpose of keeping warm, and an ambiguous feeling quietly rose with the temperature of the air, but neither of them knew the meaning and weight of this warmth.
Buster felt only softness; the Son of God's cold body was smooth and soft, even softer than touching a buttock through clothing. His waist was slender, and Buster could easily grasp his side with one hand, then slowly stroked downwards until all his warmth was transferred to him.
With his head tucked into his neck and shoulders, Reinhardt's breathing was strange and indescribable. He felt cold, still very cold, but Buster's body heat was gradually dispelling his chill.
It's so warm.
Reinhardt did not resist like anyone else who tried to get close to him.
On the contrary, he felt very at ease.
Perhaps it was the Storm Leader's body temperature, or perhaps it was the warm hand comforting him from behind, or maybe it was his scent, his heartbeat.
Reinhardt felt an unprecedented sense of security, so secure that he became a little sleepy.
Noticing that Reinhardt's breathing had become deep and even, Buster lowered his head and murmured the name of the Son of God in a gentle tone that he himself did not realize.
“Reinhardt, wake up.” He even raised his arm slightly, using this method to wake the drowsy potato.
Regardless of whether the Son of God would survive the low temperature due to his special constitution, Buster did not want him to fall asleep under such circumstances.
After much deliberation, he decided to harass Reinhardt in a consistent manner, both in words and deeds.
He raised his arm and spoke a little louder to Reinhardt in his arms.
"Wake up, you can't sleep. If you fall asleep now, I'll spank you."
Reinhardt's head was jolted and he eventually buried it back in Buster's arms. From Buster's angle, one could precisely capture the fleeting displeasure in his eyes and the invisible string of ellipses above his head.
How funny, the braised potatoes are ready!
The hand that was stroking the warmth continued, and Buster freed his other hand to gently pinch Reinhardt's chin and lift his head up.
It had a mischievous, teasing feel to it, and he let out two standard villainous chuckles.
"You don't want Victoria and the others to know that I spanked you, do you?"
Reinhardt: "..."
Perhaps it was from anger, but Reinhardt felt much warmer than before.
Buster noticed that Reinhardt's face was starting to turn rosy. Satisfied with his work, he released Reinhardt's hand and, like with his other hand, reached inside his clothes to caress and warm him.
He even hugged the person a little tighter.
Buster's voice softened as he put away his previous nonchalant tone.
Have you experienced these symptoms before? Often?
"Hmm," Reinhardt replied listlessly.
"...So how did you get through it? Did you just tough it out?"
Buster asked again.
Reinhardt's response remained a simple single note.
"Um."
In a dungeon where even sound is silenced, no one would care about his pain. The Storm Leader could almost imagine his utter helplessness.
It is probably because after the divine power was exhausted, it could only be supplied by life force.
The Storm Leader's nonexistent conscience felt a faint sting, and the image of Potato, who could neither speak nor see, curled up alone in the dungeon floated into his mind, making it hard for him to breathe.
Buster tightened his arms slightly, pulling him close. Reinhardt obediently rested his head on Buster's arm, finding the most comfortable position.
Their skin touched intimately, without any barriers, and their temperatures were exchanged. Buster's hand unconsciously moved upwards, his thumb gently pressing against the back of his neck.
The gestures that once carried a clear sense of control now contained more tenderness and an ambiguous flutter of emotion; Buster's gaze was softer than ever before.
His fingers sank into the soft blond hair as he lowered his head, like a couple tenderly cuddling. Even the Storm Leader's voice softened.
Will it hurt?
If Victoria and the others were there, they might scream upon hearing this seemingly heartbreaking concern, and then take out pomelo leaves to fan the leader, imitating Eastern exorcism culture.
But here there is only one beautiful, slightly fragrant, golden-yellow potato.
"It doesn't hurt." He was referring to the present moment.
"What about before?"
Buster's questions went beyond just the present.
Reinhardt calmly shook his head and said, "I forgot."
His blond hair piled up on Buster's shoulders as he moved, and he also curled himself into a soft ball.
Buster's hand, which had been stroking his back, emerged from the top of the cloak. He twirled a strand of hair between his fingers, then casually moved it to one side, pulling the cloak up even higher.
"What about the place you used to live? Have you forgotten that too?"
Reinhardt knew that he was trying to keep himself sober, and that Buster was interested in his past.
Reinhardt wasn't averse to recounting the past, so he turned his head, nestled into Buster's shoulder and neck, and calmly began to recount the memories that remained in his mind.
“The village where I live is very small, with fewer than a hundred villagers. It’s a warm place with short winters and infrequent snowfall, maybe once every three or four years.”
Buster stared at Reinhardt's lips as they gradually regained their color, listening intently and carefully to what he was saying.
"The nun who adopted me was a kind and elderly nun. Unlike the lively villagers, she was very gentle. She was very devout and never missed her morning prayers and evening chanting. She was also very hardworking, and in her spare time she would tend to her wheat field. During the harvest season, we would receive many gifts from the villagers."
“What if the harvest is bad?” Buster pressed.
“When the harvest was bad, in most cases, the villagers were willing to share some of their surplus grain to help them get through that difficult time.” He paused, as if organizing his thoughts, “But that year the drought came very suddenly, and the villagers didn’t have much food left. The nun was worried about this every day. Some villagers saw her troubles and came to me, offering suggestions to help the nun out of her predicament.”
Buster frowned, a bad feeling creeping into his mind.
Sure enough, just as he had guessed, Reinhardt said, "They offered me my body in exchange for a guarantee that the nun and I would have enough food every day."
The Storm Leader's fist hardened instantly, and his breathing became deep and long, as if he was suppressing his anger.
“The nun happened to overhear him and chased the thugs away with a broom. From that day on, the villagers refused to help us anymore, and the nun had to go further afield to find water to irrigate that small wheat field.”
Reinhardt finished speaking slowly, then turned his head and shifted his body slightly. Buster unconsciously adjusted with him, cupping his bare waist in his hands, and bent his knees to hug the kitten Potato tightly.
"You used divine power?" he said, revealing his guess.
“Yes,” Reinhardt answered honestly. “I healed that land, or rather… I irrigated it with divine power.”
Even without Reinhardt's detailed explanation, he could roughly guess the course of events that followed. In an ordinary little village where the land was barren and parched, the sudden appearance of a thriving wheat field was almost a foreseeable fate, if one traced its origins even slightly.
It's likely that Reinhardt was discovered by the Harlin Empire because he was betrayed by the villagers, who were surrounded by jealousy and fear.
It's understandable that Reinhardt grew up in a simple environment and, being so young, was unaware of the dangers of the world.
If there weren't so many complicated matters, perhaps Reinhardt's eyes would still belong to him. Buster could imagine how radiant it would be when the boy, standing in the sunlight and in the breeze, turned around and looked back at him with his beautiful eyes.
The Storm Leader's usually cold and hard heart was now filled with a strange, bittersweet emotion.
The Storm Leader's chest heaved violently. He lowered his head in displeasure, unaware that the Son of God in his arms had also raised his head at that moment.
"If you remember where that place is, I'll take you there once we find the eyes..."
The softness of her lips blocked everything; anger, words, and even breath came to an abrupt halt.
Buster's pupils slowly contracted.
-----------------------
Author's note: Buster: You don't want Madonna to know you got a spanking, do you?
Reinhardt (Stiff)
Madonna: What are you doing! You're bullying an honest person!
————
[Please] He gets really into it just thinking about getting the Phoenix, that's something else.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com