…In the end, it turned out Fu Yanzong had spoken too soon.
In the pitch-black night, Song Linyu jolted awake from a nightmare and sat up in bed, dazed.
The troubles were nearly resolved, but reclaiming a precious treasure made it all too easy to grow anxious and insecure. In his dream, Song Linyu kept seeing his childhood memory of his mother leaving under a white sheet, Song Lingyi’s lifeless dangling hand overlapping again and again with the one Fu Yanzong had held today.
Then Su Tang and Song Wen’s twisted faces reappeared before him, viciously repeating over and over: This is all because of you. All the sins are your doing. You hurt Fu Yanzong.
The medicine bottle on the bedside table stood nearly empty. Amid his chaotic thoughts, Song Linyu still remembered Fu Yanzong’s lesson from last time. No matter what, he couldn’t exceed the doctor’s instructions and increase the dosage on his own.
He buried his face in his knees, enduring the discomfort as he tried to convince himself to go back to sleep. But the addiction-like craving for Fu Yanzong overwhelmed everything, driving him instinctively from the bed.
With a soft click, the connecting door between the suites eased open. Song Linyu’s face, still damp with lingering moisture, gleamed almost translucent in the moonlight as he approached Fu Yanzong’s side in silence.
The hem of Fu Yanzong’s cotton pajama top lifted slightly as he turned on his side, revealing a clear line of his mermaid abs in the pale moonlight. He was never good at keeping the covers on; the thin blanket had already slipped halfway to the floor when Song Linyu reached out and caught it gently.
Song Linyu’s throat bobbed.
He had only meant to steal a glance.
He had only wanted to tuck him back in…
But the nightmare and swirling thoughts in his mind compelled him to feel Fu Yanzong’s presence right now—immediately, unmistakably. He couldn’t wait a single minute, not even a moment longer.
Song Linyu’s fingertips hesitated, then, as if possessed, he lifted the thin blanket a little higher.
The dark room held no lamps, only the gentle moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains, casting starry, rippling pools of light near the edge of the bed. Song Linyu’s vision blurred as he knelt on the wooden floor, reaching out by feel.
The blackness of night sharpened the senses. Fu Yanzong’s long lashes fluttered faintly, startling Song Linyu so much that his palm nearly clenched on instinct.
So hot…
Song Linyu bit his lip in shy embarrassment. Fu Yanzong must still be deep in sleep; the familiar spot showed no quick reaction to this intrusion.
…
Fu Yanzong felt tonight’s dream veering into overly erotic territory. It had started normally enough, but then it took a strange turn… No, it wasn’t entirely a dream. The Song Linyu in his dreams shifted with his whims, but the sensations had never been this vivid, this tangible…
It was like being enveloped in gentle waves, sun-warmed foam that was scorching hot yet yieldingly soft, as comforting as an infant in amniotic fluid. It made him instinctively yearn to delve deeper into the territory he wanted to explore, all the way to the core, never stopping.
Anyone who hadn’t realized by now that this wasn’t just a dream would be too slow on the uptake… After all, many mornings before, Song Linyu had favored this exact method—straddling his legs to rouse the one who wanted to sleep in.
Fu Yanzong cracked his eyes open lazily. The pleasure of waking sharpened, drawing his lids half-closed. The dark mole at the corner of his eye flushed a vivid red, dangling there casually, bewitching in the clear moonlight.
From kneeling on the floor to straddling the bed, Song Linyu grew bold, head bowed low with his hair hiding his reddened eyes. His trembling hands clutched Fu Yanzong’s pajama hem so tightly that his knuckles blanched in a continuous pale stretch.
“President Song.” Fu Yanzong reached out with a hint of amusement, hooking his chin. In a low voice, he asked, “Is this how you chase someone—right into their bed?”
Song Linyu’s thoughts were sluggish, and he could only pull back in a daze. His lips parted slightly again as he cautiously called Fu Yanzong’s name, his eyes struggling to focus.
Fu Yanzong asked patiently, “Is this how you do it?”
Song Linyu shook his head in a panic, then paused, looking a bit aggrieved as he twisted his fingers. He racked his brain for an excuse before murmuring softly, “It could be… like this first…”
“First what? Fuck buddies?”
Fu Yanzong chuckled and voiced the word himself, his expression unreadable. Song Linyu averted his eyes, lips pressing tight in tension as he gave a tiny nod, then let out a soft gasp.
Fu Yanzong drawled out an acknowledgment, then pinched his cheek, studying him for a long moment with a deliberately blank face. “Fuck buddies are just on-call dogs— the kind you pay off and kick out the next day if you’re not satisfied. President Song wouldn’t stoop that low, would he? Bad deal.”
Song Linyu looked up at him urgently, seemingly unfazed by the words. He shuffled forward on his knees obediently, the soft mattress compressing with a faint, clear sound that carried an ambiguous weight.
He even wrapped his arms around Fu Yanzong’s waist, nuzzling his face against him like a spoiled child. “Not a bad deal at all, brother. I won’t let you down. I’m very obedient.”
His eyes shone bright, brimming with overflowing tenderness and docility. That pallid face lit with such warmth was enough to soften anyone’s heart. No one else in the world could make Song Linyu this tame. He was telling Fu Yanzong plainly: Out of everyone, I like you the most.
The feeling of being singled out was intoxicating. No one could refuse it.
Fu Yanzong couldn’t help but curve his lips in a helpless laugh. He reached out, pulling Song Linyu straight into his arms, then grabbed the hair tie from the bedside table and handed it over.
Song Linyu’s fingertips trembled faintly. Then, with practiced ease, he lifted his hand, looping it around Fu Yanzong’s nape. He undid the tie, gathered the long hair spilling down his back, and bundled it lightly.
But before he could finish, Fu Yanzong’s kiss descended inescapably. Unlike a pure brush of lips meant only to convey affection, this was a deep kiss laced with utter possessiveness—no tasting and pulling back, but an explosive conquest from the first entry.
Song Linyu’s tongue numbed to the root from the relentless, ever-deepening suction, leaving him gasping for air. Strands of silver thread stretched between them as their lips parted, glistening like candied apples in the moonlight.
The gathered hair slipped free from his weakening fingers. Fu Yanzong chuckled lowly, urging him to continue. Song Linyu’s damp index finger threaded back into the strands, only to scatter again amid countless kisses that pinned him in place.
Fu Yanzong opened his eyes, grinding and turning unhurriedly. In a brief breath, Song Linyu heard his voice, petulant as a whine: “Long hair’s such a hassle, President Song. How come you haven’t tied it up yet?”
Song Linyu mumbled his agreement through choked whimpers. It was only after an age that he managed a loose ponytail for Fu Yanzong.
I love kissing so much…
Song Linyu thought in a daze.
Nothing’s even happened yet, and I’m already falling apart…
I love kissing Fu Yanzong. How can I be this happy…
“No spacing out, President Song. The price of a night raid is making sure I’m satisfied.”
Fu Yanzong reminded him with a grin. That beautiful face was a weapon of seduction anywhere, and now, after ending the kiss on his own terms, he waited calmly for Song Linyu to recover.
When it came to handling a certain fish, he held absolute authority.
And Song Linyu obeyed, as expected. After a stunned beat, he followed Fu Yanzong’s gaze, cooperating with clumsy eagerness in this preparation.
Still lost in a haze, he showed himself no mercy. He shifted position, kneeling back on the bed to tend to himself.
His pale fingertips pressed gently over the spot slicked with slippery sauce, trailing down to Little Fish’s still-damp area. He soothed the quivering soft flesh, probing carefully inside.
Perhaps from nerves, his fingers kept slipping. Tonight, Song Linyu seemed especially inept. Before, Fu Yanzong would hold him close, murmuring idly while toying with him inside and out. But now, faced with that direct, unmoving gaze, he flushed with shame.
Still, Song Linyu clearly didn’t want Fu Yanzong waiting too long for his fish. With a touch of frustration, he groped around haphazardly.
The long-untended fish spasmed instinctively. The heavy pressure nearly drew a cry of pain, but Little Fish bit his lip and pressed on toward the sensitive spot.
Fu Yanzong, however, wasn’t pleased with his technique. The hand retying his own hair paused. He finished the final loop unhurriedly, then flicked Song Linyu’s hand—not too light, not too hard—and said coolly, “Slower.”
That stroke must have brushed against other places as well. In any case, the salty, viscous fluid from deep within flowed out more clearly. The little fish in his hand let out a soft whimper, lifting a bit higher as it hovered uncertainly in mid-air.
Fu Yanzong chuckled softly. He bent one leg and gently nudged Song Linyu’s knee aside, allowing the other man to settle more comfortably against the edge of the bed, his face buried in the snow-white sheets.
With a touch of condescending grace, Fu Yanzong flicked his wrist. His fingertips traced the beautiful lines of muscle from the dip of Song Linyu’s waist, sliding downward until they came to rest near the other man’s hand.
There was no denying it—Fu Yanzong’s hands were perfection in proportion: long and powerful, fair and exquisite. Luxury brands around the world begged him to wear their high-end jewelry on camera, wishing they could adorn every knuckle with rings to showcase the gems to their best advantage.
The thought made Fu Yanzong chuckle again. He paused his movements and gently turned Song Linyu’s face toward him, gesturing for the other man to look at the open jewelry box on the nearby vanity.
Then, with a pleased curve of his lips, Fu Yanzong leaned in close to Song Linyu’s ear. In a tone that was leisurely and intimate—like he used to ask his little assistant Song Linyu every day which piece of jewelry to pair with his outfit—he murmured softly, “What ring do you want today, Little Yu?”
