Wen Jiang experienced another wave of his heat cycle during dinner.
They had already done everything they could; the rest was up to Qian Lang’s own performance. Xie Qi’s ability to strike while the iron was hot had been honed to perfection. After hanging up the call, he casually suggested, “Let’s celebrate with a feast.”
Fine. Wen Jiang flatly added, “No champagne.”
You don’t drink it anyway, and we don’t have any at home… Xie Qi paused, swallowing the instinctive “What do you want to drink?” and smoothly playing along: “No champagne. It’s too early for ‘halftime’ celebrations.”
“Mm.” Wen Jiang’s poker face cracked into a subtly pleased expression.
…Want to kiss him. Xie Qi stared at him repeatedly before reaching out to brush Wen Jiang’s cheek, then gently pinched it.
The dinner at home was exceptionally lavish, stretching from one end of the long table to the other. Wen Jiang stood by the table, about to pull out a chair, but paused at the endless parade of dishes.
Even though they were all his favorites, he couldn’t help glancing at the food, then at Xie Qi. Xie Qi said calmly, “I got carried away ordering for the celebration.”
He’s taking Qian Lang’s matter this seriously…!
Wen Jiang was deeply shocked. But then he remembered how “lonely” Xie Qi had been since losing that friend, and it made sense—closing the logical loop.
Meanwhile, Xie Qi silently celebrated his evolution from hand-holding with his boyfriend to face-touching.
Strictly speaking, they’d had more direct physical contact before, but it somehow didn’t feel as intimate as pinching cheeks or hugs. Who knows when I can finally kiss him properly.
Halfway through the meal, Wen Jiang sensed something off. The room felt like it had the heat cranked too high, growing stifling. He glanced down at his wrist—his skin had deepened to a richer red without him noticing, his mind slowing into a haze.
…Almost forgot about this.
But it felt milder than before, with a longer interval since the last one. The Charm-Type Esper Ability’s effects must be fading. Wen Jiang pondered sluggishly. Xie Qi noticed his change, immediately set down his utensils, and pushed back his chair. “Wait for me.”
How long is “wait”?
Is this an opportunity…? Maybe act sexually aloof for a bit?
Wen Jiang mulled slowly, popping a strawberry into his mouth. The fresh fruit burst, a drop of juice staining his fingertip. Xie Qi returned after rinsing his mouth and saw Wen Jiang press the finger to his lips, licking it lightly—a fleeting red streak against his pale skin, gone in half a second.
Something in Xie Qi’s mind snapped.
In the steamy heat like a hot spring, Wen Jiang felt an intensely scorching gaze. He looked over to see Xie Qi’s throat bob twice, his eyes drifting downward languidly.
…Haven’t we barely done anything?
Whatever, he’s always like this. Wen Jiang sat motionless at the table, glancing at the surface. “Down.”
No sooner had he spoken than Xie Qi ducked under the table. A hand soon rested on Wen Jiang’s knee—not too forceful, but steady, like a hot branding iron conveying clear dominance and aggression.
Xie Qi wedged half his body into the narrow space between Wen Jiang’s legs, gazing up with darkening eyes, raw desire to devour him whole unmasked.
The air currents teasingly brushed his wrist bone. Wen Jiang looked down at Xie Qi, still seeming utterly unguarded, as if detached from the scene. He tilted his head slightly and chuckled softly, rubbing Xie Qi’s head like petting a dog.
Then, as naturally as could be, he planted his foot on Xie Qi’s thigh.
What was it the videos said…? Wen Jiang wondered, not quite recalling. Xie Qi’s hand slipped under his shirt hem, caressing his smooth abdomen—only to get kicked away with precise force. “No hands.”
The kick was perfectly measured—not ticklish or coquettish, nor the vengeful stomp on a stray dog that men in those tutorial videos might crave. It was dismissive, light.
So natural. Xie Qi let out a muffled grunt, his voice turning raspier: “…Okay.”
“Sorry.” He mumbled ambiguously, straightening slightly. The offending hand shifted downward instead, grasping Wen Jiang’s ankle and guiding his foot to the perfect spot. Then he lowered his head, using his teeth to tug at the fabric of Wen Jiang’s clothes.
***
Wen Jiang felt Xie Qi had gotten more skilled.
Makes sense—they’d done this plenty of times now. No one improves zero at something repeated.
Xie Qi had once asked if he was “doing terribly.” Back then, Wen Jiang hadn’t known how to answer—a man dying of thirst in the desert sees nectar in a bottle or a drop alike. Evaluations during heat offered little reference.
Now, with the second wave’s effects waning, Wen Jiang’s senses normalized. No comparisons to others, but against past Xie Qi? A mental timeline confirmed: improvement.
Perhaps due to his upbringing, Xie Qi was obedient yet never hid his predatory urges—a trait common in their small circle, really.
Even improved as he was, Wen Jiang had no doubt that yielding now would invite escalation.
But Xie Qi was different. Like a lion offering its paw to your mouth without biting, just licking your face; a wolf sleeping beside you, pondering only how to warm you with its fur. Xie Qi’s safety and aggression never clashed.
Even seeing him violently demolish a building, Wen Jiang could scarcely muster self-preservation instincts—let alone for bedroom aggression.
Xie Qi’s invasions toward Wen Jiang manifested mainly in his… intense style.
Wen Jiang kept up fine; he didn’t mind this level of service. He indulged Xie Qi appropriately here—but too many rounds harmed health, so that he still opposed. Likely why Xie Qi grew bolder.
At first, Xie Qi had been cautious and gentle, like caressing mimosa leaves, butterfly wings, or precious gems. Odd metaphor for sex with a normal guy, but Xie Qi was the type to rinse before helping mid-meal.
Later, his true nature emerged—or rather, he got more carried away.
He’d bury his head deeper, like a raven greedily draining every drop, demanding more, deeper, all of it.
When Wen Jiang felt good and sighed softly, Xie Qi would intensify, aiming to devour utterly.
Then Wen Jiang would pet encouragingly or grind hintingly based on feel.
A Combat System esper’s stamina was no joke. Xie Qi knelt unfazed by cold or fatigue, endless energy—like those novels Wen Jiang skimmed on the Drama Club shelf.
Protagonists with S-Grade Combat System powers? Bedroom scenes lasted hours. Wen Jiang’s quick mind calculated: that exceeded a full night’s sleep. Cultivating immortality, basically.
Gaming or this? Both all-nighters. And morning training at six.
Wen Jiang ate another strawberry, yanking Xie Qi’s head up expertly to halt him. Call it a tacit Hear-Xie combo move? He could predict Xie Qi’s sneaky escalations; Xie Qi instinctively eased his teeth, never causing pain mid-pull.
That’s what set Xie Qi’s “carried away” apart.
One of Wen Jiang’s hands was dry, the other damp with glistening juice under the light. Xie Qi fixated on his face, no petting reward forthcoming, eyes flicking aside.
Wen Jiang caught every micro-movement from above. He extended his right hand—the wet one—before Xie Qi’s eyes.
Xie Qi’s throat worked; he leaned in, licking the fingertip like a kiss.
Wen Jiang blinked softly. Feeling the shift underfoot, he said, “Last time.”
“Last time” meant no more direct stimulation for Wen Jiang—lest Xie Qi spiral into a perpetual motion machine from his reactions. Wen Jiang didn’t get his thrill sources, so he’d straighten his clothes, stay passive.
Can’t actually crush the poor guy’s spirit… Light pressure backfired; better let Xie Qi go freeform.
Wen Jiang withdrew his hand. Xie Qi rumbled vaguely in assent, kissing his knee before diving back.
Hot breath seeped through fabric, warming skin faintly. Wen Jiang realized: sans clothes, Xie Qi would linger on that inner knee forever.
People did wild things when carried away—but calling it mere impulse felt too dismissive, too irreverent.
…Kinda weird?
Xie Qi hid nothing: his patient craving to trace, to bloom crimson plum blossoms on snow.
As if it were natural. One hand gripped Wen Jiang’s calf, folding it inward like closing a box’s flaps.
Gravity pulled deeper.
With body temp normalized and nothing pressing, Wen Jiang let him. Elbow on armrest, he sat primly, toying with the air currents swirling around like a new gadget.
Recalling Qian Lang’s “tug-of-war” talk, Wen Jiang thought Qian Lang shocked too soon. Petting heads beat this for public viewing.
…That sounds off too.
But maybe not much longer like this.
Wen Jiang reviewed their “mutual aid” pact. Xie Qi’s selectively forgotten it, I bet.
Until the Charm-Type Esper Ability’s side effects ended: Wen Jiang stabilized Xie Qi’s Supernatural Ability; Xie Qi handled his heats. Now, Wen Jiang was mostly free.
For Xie Qi’s sake—keeping him from the Secret Tower—he didn’t mind a few more uses of that hidden room. But one more heat max for him, theoretically no more bother.
What about Xie Qi’s plans?
