CHAPTER 104: NSFW 2

With a reverence tinged by guilt, Yu Xi rolled Jian Ci’s dead weight onto his back, arranging him properly on the bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin, tucking him in like something precious. The simple, homey gesture was its own special kind of torture.

He had to get out of there. Now.

Yu Xi slid off the bed and walked the few feet to the bathroom, closing the door and tapping the panel to lock it. He braced himself against the cold porcelain of the sink, his fingers gripping the edge until his knuckles ached white. He finally dared to look up into the mirror.

"Oh, fuckkkkk."

His gaze zeroed in on his own mouth. His lips were swollen, a faint, beautiful bruise blooming on the lower one. Jian Ci had bitten him. The memory slammed into him, visceral and electric.

Jian Ci’s mouth, hungry and possessive, claiming his in a way that felt like a promise Yu Xi knew he would never keep. The tingling sensation was still there, a phantom pressure that made his entire body hum, a live wire of pure, unadulterated need.

His eyes dragged downward. Of course. His cock was a hard, eager line straining against his shorts, tenting the fabric, begging for attention. He was so desperate for Jian Ci so much so that it was a physical pain. He didn’t just want to come; he wanted to be ruined by him.

He let his head fall forward, a low groan escaping him. He imagined it wasn’t his own reflection watching him, but Jian Ci. He pictured those strong, veiny hands—the ones he had watched grip a spatula, a pen, his waist—sliding down his arms. He could almost feel the warm puff of Jian Ci’s breath brushing against the shell of his ear from behind, whispering all the filthy, beautiful things Yu Xi ached to hear.

"You look so fucking good like this, Little Xi. All worked up for me. Let me take care of you."

A sharp gasp tore from his throat. His own hands slid down, slipping under the elastic band of his shorts. He closed his eyes, pretending. He let his right hand wrap around his aching cock, the skin hot and sensitive. This is his hand. His grip. This is all for him.

He began to stroke, a slow, tight glide that made his knees weaken. He bit down on his bruised lip to keep from crying out, the mix of pain and pleasure a dizzying cocktail. His hips pushed into his own fist, his breath coming in ragged pants.

"That’s it," he imagined Jian Ci whispering, his voice a dark rumble against his neck. "Fuck my hand, Little Xi. Show me how much you need it. I want to feel how hard you are for me. I want to feel every fucking inch."

The fantasy was so vivid, so perfectly nasty. He could see it—Jian Ci pinning him against this very sink, his body a solid wall of heat at his back, one hand splayed across Yu Xi’s stomach to hold him still, the other working his cock with a brutal, perfect rhythm.

His strokes became frantic, less controlled. The pressure built, a coil winding tighter and tighter in his core, a storm about to break. His thumb smeared the wetness beading at his tip, slicking the way, the friction becoming unbearable, exquisite.

He was so close, hovering on that edge, his entire world narrowing to the slick, hot slide of his hand and the devastating image of Jian Ci’s possessive gaze in the mirror.

"I want to watch you fall apart for me," the phantom Jian Ci growled. _"I want to watch your face when you fuck." Yu Xi’s breath hitched as his body convulsed as he came into his hand.

The sound of his own ragged breathing was too loud in the tiled silence.

Yu Xi scrubbed his hands under the cold water, the soap doing little to erase the sweet, musky scent that clung to the air, a stark confession of what he had just done. He splashed water on his face, the shock of it doing nothing to cool the feverish heat still burning under his skin. He avoided his own eyes in the mirror, focusing on the water droplets tracing paths down his chest.

Shame. It was a familiar, hot coil in his stomach, tightening alongside the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. He had just fucked his own fist to the image of a man sleeping peacefully a few feet away, a man who had no idea of the storm he constantly unleashed inside Yu Xi. "You are fucking hopeless, Yu Xi," he whispered to himself.

He dried his hands on a towel, the rough fabric a stark contrast to the fantasy of Jian Ci’s touch.

He unlocked the door and stepped out, the bedroom air feeling heavier, thicker than before. Jian Ci hadn’t moved. He was still a beautiful, breathing statue in the dim light, one arm thrown above his head, the sheets tangled around his waist. Yu Xi’s heart hammered against his ribs. ’Just get in bed. Don’t look at him... Just don’t touch him,’ he said to himself before gathering the courage to get in bed.

He slid under the covers, his body rigid, putting a careful few inches of space between them. He stared at the ceiling, trying to will his body to still, to calm the frantic pulse he could feel everywhere. But the space between them felt like a vacuum, pulling at him.

And then Jian Ci moved.

A low, sleepy sound rumbled in his chest. He shifted, rolling onto his side, facing Yu Xi. His eyes were still closed, his breathing deep. One of those strong hands, the very hands Yu Xi had just fantasized about, drifted across the sheets. The back of his knuckles brushed against Yu Xi’s bare arm.

Yu Xi froze. He didn’t move. He didn’t even dare to breathe.

The touch was accidental, unconscious, but it sent a jolt of pure lightning straight through Yu Xi. His skin prickled, hyper-aware of every point of contact. Jian Ci’s hand was warm, heavy. It settled there, his knuckles resting against Yu Xi’s forearm as if he owned it.

’Jian Ci has no idea.’ The thought was a frantic scream inside Yu Xi’s head. Jian Ci had no idea what he does to him.

He could feel the ghost of that hand elsewhere. On his hip, digging in. Wrapped around his cock, stroking him with that same casual possession. He was half-hard again already, his body betraying him with terrifying speed. The shame evaporated, burned away by a fresh wave of desperate, obsessive need.

Jian Ci’s breathing changed. It hitched, softened. His lips parted. And then, a whisper, so low and sleep-slurred it was almost inaudible. "Little Xi..." It was a sound pulled from the depths of a dream.

Every nerve ending in Yu Xi’s body caught fire. Jian Ci had said his name. Was he dreaming of him? The possibility was too immense, too devastating to process. He turned his head slowly on the pillow, his movement cautious, terrified of waking him.

Jian Ci’s face was relaxed in sleep, his features softened. The commanding presence was dormant, leaving behind a raw, breathtaking beauty that made Yu Xi’s chest ache. He was close enough that Yu Xi could feel the warmth of his breath.