Chapter 84:
Intimacy – They Shed Their Clothes, Their Bodies…
Yu Lin had recreated the prince’s bedchamber, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the bed curtains, their faces bathed in a warm, golden glow.
“Let’s do it,” Chen Henian said, his voice low.
He knew there was nothing beneath Yu Lin’s thin robes, his own hand still tingling from the ghost’s touch, unsure of what to do, Yu Lin’s whispered instructions, “rub, squeeze,” a playful tease.
He touched him, exploring the contours of his body, the ghost’s arousal a palpable heat, and he thought, they loved each other, this intimacy inevitable, a consummation of their desires, a shared pleasure.
“Now?” Yu Lin asked.
“Yes, now,” Chen Henian replied.
Yu Lin, seeing his willingness, his hand moved, unfastening his sash, his fingers brushing against his skin, the red string a tangled thread between them. “I’ve heard stories in the army, even among men, there are those who prefer this. They say the first time is always painful, men aren’t like women, no matter how much effort, it won’t be comfortable.”
Chen Henian’s voice was hesitant. “Will it hurt a lot?”
“I won’t feel pain,” Yu Lin said. “I’m different, you’ll see.”
His body, now human, was an illusion, malleable, adaptable, his desires unbound.
Chen Henian swallowed, his face flushing.
“Tonight, I’ll be on top, you beneath,” Yu Lin continued.
Chen Henian understood, his eyes widening slightly. Yu Lin kissed his cheek, his voice soft. “You don’t want to?”
“No, I’ll do as you say,” Chen Henian replied, his voice firm, a hint of nervousness in his tone. “But you seem… experienced.”
“I’ve heard stories, but true mastery requires practice, exploration,” Yu Lin smiled, two black tendrils emerging from his back, reaching for Chen Henian.
“Is this alright?” he asked, his gaze searching.
Chen Henian, lying on his back, nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Good.” Yu Lin’s eyes narrowed, the tendrils coiling around Chen Henian’s wrists, pulling his arms above his head, a gentle restraint.
Chen Henian’s body, half-naked, his breath coming in short gasps, the pulse in his neck throbbing, his collarbone and muscles defined, his skin flushed.
Yu Lin didn’t give him time to adjust, the bed creaking beneath their weight, his cold skin against the soft fabric of Chen Henian’s robes. “Why are you still wearing that?” Chen Henian asked, seeing his clothes.
“Do you want me to take them off?”
“Yes.”
“As you wish.” Yu Lin pulled open his robe, revealing his chest and torso, his long hair cascading down his shoulders, his muscles firm and defined.
Chen Henian’s eyes widened, his gaze fixed on Yu Lin’s neck, a glistening trail of moisture, not water, but a thick, viscous fluid, like crushed jelly, a ghostly secretion, its coolness making him shiver.
The touch was soft, its movement a gentle caress, a perfect fit.
Yu Lin, his posture steady and controlled, his hand resting lightly on Chen Henian’s abdomen, his touch a silent question.
Chen Henian’s back arched slightly, his shoulders narrower than Yu Lin’s, his skin smooth and unblemished, pale from years of living in shadows.
Yu Lin’s arms were strong, his waist narrow, his muscles hard as iron, his movements gentle, his gaze intense, his eyes never leaving Chen Henian’s face, observing his every reaction.
He took Chen Henian’s hand, placing it on his abdomen, then his chest, the firm muscles yielding beneath his touch.
Chen Henian’s fingers tightened, exploring the contours of his body.
“If you like it, touch it, do as you please,” Yu Lin’s voice was a husky whisper, his body no longer empty, the fullness a strange and unfamiliar sensation, his eyes flashing red.
His boldness was unmatched.
“Who cares, I have one too,” Chen Henian muttered, his own body, though lacking Yu Lin’s defined muscles and broad chest, still strong and well-proportioned, its lines sharp and defined, its strength undeniable.
Yu Lin’s body, hardened by years of military training, bore the scars of battle, his skin tanned, his wounds a testament to his strength and resilience, a power Chen Henian didn’t envy.
“You’re distracted,” Yu Lin said, his voice a gentle reprimand, a subtle shift in his movements.
Chen Henian’s breath hitched, his face flushing.
A wave of warmth, a tingling sensation, a soft, feathery touch, a gentle caress.
His lips brushed against Yu Lin’s, a spark igniting between them, their bodies trembling, their breaths mingling.
Yu Lin’s eyes, dark and intense, met his, a look of drunken desire.
He swallowed, the warmth and moisture absorbed, a perfect fit.
Chen Henian’s heart pounded, but Yu Lin wasn’t finished, the heat between them growing, their bodies moving together, a rhythm of pleasure and pain, sweat beading on his forehead, Yu Lin’s lips finding the sensitive skin of his neck, sucking gently, the touch sending shivers down his spine.
“Do I need to move?” Chen Henian asked, his voice a breathless whisper, the white bed curtains casting shadows on their intertwined bodies.
Yu Lin shook his head. “I’m enough,” he whispered, his breath warm against Chen Henian’s ear. “I like this, I can feel it, here…”
The candlelight flickered, illuminating half of Chen Henian’s face, his eyes like stars, his gaze fixed on Yu Lin.
His hand rested on his jaw, his breath coming in short gasps, each movement a silent plea.
In his past life, at sixteen, the King had wanted to assign him a palace maid, to instruct him in the ways of intimacy, to prepare him for marriage, to choose a suitable consort from among the noble families.
Some princes had already fathered children at sixteen, an heir essential for the stability of the kingdom, the expectation of marriage and progeny a heavy burden.
But he hadn’t wanted to be a husband, a father, a provider, his life a foundation for others, unwilling to inflict such a fate on an innocent woman.
He had deflected his father’s suggestions, finding excuses, but the court officials’ whispers had persisted.
Fortunately, his Tai Yin constitution had been his shield, only someone with a pure and strong yang essence a suitable match, lest their lifespan be shortened, such a woman not found among the nobility.
After years of searching, even sending emissaries to the common folk, collecting thousands of birth charts, no suitable match had been found.
He had called himself “gu,” solitary, joking about his fate, a life alone not so undesirable.
The King, unwilling to risk his son’s health, but desperate for an heir, had wanted Princess Zhaoping to marry and bear a child to be adopted by the Crown Prince.
He had even drafted the edict, and Jiang Henian, defying his father for the first time, had argued against it.
The King, his anger echoing through the empty hall, the attendants dismissed, their argument a secret.
Jiang Henian had knelt outside the hall all night, the winter air biting at his skin, his lips trembling, his body shivering, the cold a torment, the attendants placing braziers around him, covering him with furs, his defiance unwavering.
His resolve had broken the King’s will, the edict tossed into the fire, Jiang Henian collapsing only after it had turned to ash.
He had fallen ill, a high fever burning through him, unconscious, the physicians tending to him, until, three days later, he had awakened to the news of victory at the border, the attendants’ voices filled with relief.
The King, fearing for his son’s life, the East Palace staff frantic, but he hadn’t found it unbearable, his fevered dreams a comforting illusion, laughter echoing through the halls, his mother’s gentle presence, her silent gaze a comfort.
She had wiped the sweat from his brow, Jiang Wan, a child again, running through the halls, the wet nurse catching her just as she stumbled, her small arms reaching for him, her voice filled with concern. “Brother.”
He had smiled, his throat raw, a different voice, a deeper voice, echoing in his mind, a voice that made his heart ache.
“Master.”
“Master…”
A constant whisper, a possessive longing, a voice filled with love and desire, a forbidden intimacy, until he woke, his body drenched in sweat, the cold sheets a stark contrast to his fevered dreams, a military report in his hand, the familiar, messy handwriting a welcome sight.
He had recovered, the King not mentioning the matter again, but his search for a suitable consort continued, Jiang Henian’s heart at peace, knowing there was no such woman, only a man.
Zhao Yinyang had sighed, his voice filled with regret. “If he were a woman, you could marry him, a perfect union, avoiding this conflict.”
He had smiled, dismissing the suggestion.
He didn’t regret it. Yu Lin had earned his place, his strength and his victories his own. Changing his fate, even if possible, would change him, and he wouldn’t be the Yu Lin he loved.
Now, Chen Henian finally understood that feeling of being held, of bodies intertwined, a shared warmth, a comforting weight.
Yu Lin’s body against his, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating as one, the kiss a shared intimacy, the scent of sandalwood filling the air.
“You’re mine now,” Yu Lin whispered, his lips against his ear.
Chen Henian smiled, his arms tightening around him.
They shed their clothes, their bodies entwined, a silent promise.
