It was nearly midnight.
The temperature in the room rose silently by a few degrees, as if even the humid moisture had been forced into shape, forming a faint mist that coiled between the two of them.
The sensations Fu Yanzong brought were always clear and intense for Song Linyu—like a pleasure that gripped his very lifeblood, impossible to resist.
In truth, ever since the night Fu Yanzong returned to the country, they hadn’t entangled with each other as they once had. The few subsequent times had been hasty starts that ended lightly and neatly.
No matter how Song Linyu struggled and crumbled in his longing, Fu Yanzong remained calm and composed, controlling the rhythm at a leisurely pace and easily exhausting him.
Song Linyu knew better than anyone that Fu Yanzong would indulge his desires but would never let them sweep him away.
That was why, after their reunion, Song Linyu felt a touch of fear.
He wasn’t sure if he still fit the image Fu Yanzong liked, or if the things that had once captured his interest still mattered to him.
…But tonight, he could confirm it.
Nothing had changed.
Fu Yanzong had always been the type to coax without stopping. No matter how Song Linyu whimpered, Fu Yanzong merely kissed his cheek with a smile, masterfully commanding every inch of flesh and molding the little fish beneath him into a perfectly tailored plaything.
The soft quilt draped loosely near Song Linyu’s hand, rustling faintly with each movement.
His snow-white skin flushed red, forming a stark contrast.
Song Linyu had always been slender, but the places that needed to be held still felt plush and yielding under touch. He sluggishly twitched his fingertips, attempting to crawl forward to escape, only to be pressed back—leaving behind particularly vivid, elegantly elongated fingerprints, just as expected.
But in truth, it wasn’t that Song Linyu actively wanted to flee…
Fu Yanzong always teased him like this with malicious sweetness, whispering in his ear while brushing his face with damp, soft strands of hair. His eyes curved comfortably at the corners as he asked softly, “Want to stop, baby?”
Song Linyu went blank for a moment, unconsciously nuzzling against his face before shaking his head, tears hanging in his eyes.
Fu Yanzong sighed regretfully.
Song Linyu being too obedient came with its own drawbacks—often leaving Fu Yanzong without a good excuse to tease him further.
But Fu Yanzong was adept at tweaking his words and never gave up midway. Instead, he righteously slowed his pace and force, murmuring in Song Linyu’s ear. “But you’re practically melting away—what should we do?”
Hearing this, Song Linyu realized he really had been crying too hard. Embarrassed, he curled up his aching, soft flesh and struggled to crawl forward, reaching for the water glass on the bedside table.
The next moment, he was yanked back unceremoniously.
Fu Yanzong’s fingers dug into the shallow dimple at his waist, and with pitch-perfect acting, he sighed, a hint of regret in his voice. “Why do you always try to run?”
What a case of the villain crying foul first.
Only then did Song Linyu catch the malice in Fu Yanzong’s question, but it was already too late. The heavy, scorching heat rubbed back and forth against him, unhurried in its pressure, deliberately drawing out every inch of contact.
Fu Yanzong was always like this.
Song Linyu pictured his expression in his mind—unable to see it, he imagined the vividness of his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips. They were surely handsome, carrying a faint smile.
This look suited Fu Yanzong far better than the icy detachment of their initial reunion.
In the next instant, he was suddenly flipped over.
Someone gently brushed the hair from his forehead, revealing a face slick with moisture. Flushed with heat and mingled with fine sweat, his lips parted in unwitting pants.
Bubbles surged over the soft scales of the little fish, its delicate flesh yielding smoothly to every demand, wrapping around him airtight. The little fish, which had just been toyed with out of wicked amusement, now lay obediently still, soft as if on the verge of melting.
Song Linyu’s hands rested meekly along the little fish’s closed slit, dutifully parting it to let Fu Yanzong more easily savor the slick brocade carp in his grasp.
Compared to from behind, Song Linyu much preferred facing Fu Yanzong like this. Only then could he effortlessly observe Fu Yanzong’s expressions.
No need to speculate in his mind.
Pleasure, satiation, excitement—all of Fu Yanzong’s joy came through directly, which Song Linyu absorbed in full, deriving ultimate psychological ecstasy.
As a result, Fu Yanzong heard him let out a sharp, almost breaking cry-gasp. But it shouldn’t have reached that point yet. So Fu Yanzong thought, pausing with keen interest. He hooked Song Linyu’s chin and turned his face for a look, confirming as expected that he had cried himself silly.
And not just that.
Meeting those inky eyes curved with amusement, Song Linyu could only helplessly raise an arm to shyly cover his overly disheveled face. Then, with utter honesty, he clenched desperately, refusing to let go.
He even squeezed Fu Yanzong to the point of mild pain.
Fu Yanzong laughed, pinching his chin for a kiss. Moments later, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he uttered a descriptor that was actually a bit excessive.
…No, that wasn’t it.
Song Linyu wanted to refute helplessly, but Fu Yanzong pulled him closer against his body, lowering his gaze lazily. “Where isn’t it? I’ve given you the ring, and you still want more. Born such a glutton?”
His interrogations rose like crashing waves, leaving Song Linyu bobbing helplessly within them. The more he heard, the more he felt himself to be exactly that shameless sort, his mind nearly losing all clarity.
He wanted to explain that it was only like this with his brother… but then he thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.
If his brother liked it, they could keep going like this.
He had always… wanted him this much.
He wasn’t wrong…
And so, astonishingly obedient, Song Linyu echoed Fu Yanzong’s words. For every phrase Fu Yanzong said, he admitted, “Yes, that’s me… Yes, I want to be like that for brother.” His voice trembled as he spoke, the ends of his words quivering softly.
The taut flesh of the little fish still held an undeniable intruder, pressed right against the most unbearable spot. The thin layer of muscle around the little moon twitched faintly, shuddering as if unable to bear it.
Then, this helpless little fish on dry land was pinned in place by its handler. Before it was thoroughly flooded with sauce, it received a murmured question posed to himself.
Where to pour it best? Processing fish required repeated steps, with many viable spots. Fu Yanzong didn’t dislike the front either—there, the exquisite red fruit would be strewn with glistening white cream, like crimson plums blooming amid snow, the softest flesh plated so beautifully.
But the rear musk had its own appeal. An innocent face lapping up milky sauce was lovely to watch. Tasting it that way would clean it thoroughly, making the next round easier. The flushed cheeks would bury low in earnest licking, lips parting slightly to reveal a mesmerizing, greedy expression.
Fish flesh was, after all, a rare delicacy.
If Song Linyu had to choose, though, he had his favorite method.
As the male chef, there was always a spot deliberately saved for last. Forcing the persistently aching front together for friction felt even better. And when the sauce poured in bursts, the pretty foam clinging atop it made for a slightly astringent but striking presentation.
Yet no matter how many times, if left to Song Linyu, he would always pick what came next.
That method made Fu Yanzong’s presence crystal clear, intensely stimulating as it was—and it might even earn a “good job” of praise.
Nothing could be better. This time was no exception.
Song Linyu hooked his arms around Fu Yanzong’s nape, refusing to let him pull away.
Then, with his fingers, he parted to display the little fish’s most exquisite flesh. The pink softness glistened with unsatisfied wetness, fully prepared.
Fu Yanzong chuckled lowly, granting his plea.
The filling process dragged on languidly, the substantial weight swelling it slightly from deep within. Song Linyu placed his hand over it, dazedly feeling the sensation, tears dripping from his flushed eyes like a lovably foolish child.
Fu Yanzong kissed his earlobe, only to be met with a messy return kiss. His voice hoarse, he murmured nonsense.
“Mm, looks like too much.”
By the end, the sky had begun to lighten with dawn. The entrance to the little fish’s scales was a chaotic mess of spilling fluids—impossible to continue without a proper cleaning.
Fu Yanzong scooped Song Linyu up and carried him to the bathroom, filling the tub with water. His fingers toyed with it briefly before catching the gray-blue diamond ring, now soaked. Amid the steam, he placed it before the mirror on the vanity, where it gleamed hazily and beautifully.
Song Linyu lacked the strength to rinse himself properly with the water flow, but the places now attuned to the flavor shivered with hollow pleasure even under the gentle stream. Fu Yanzong—whether by design or chance—offered no help. Instead, he bowed his head to glance at the time on the phone he’d casually grabbed, setting it down beside the ring before switching on the overhead shower.
His body was sticky too, but once washed clean, it gleamed once more—pristine and alluring. Damp strands of long hair cascaded to either side, the corners of his eyes flushed red from the steam or perhaps something else, lazily adorned with a distinct little mole. The lines of his face were perfection itself, flawless from every angle.
The bathroom lights burned bright and clear, illuminating everything far better than the dim indoor glow of dawn. As the saying goes, a beauty shines brightest under the lamp, like flowers glimpsed through the mist—and right now, both conditions were perfectly met. Song Linyu’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his face flushing even deeper.
He clenched tight around the slowly draining water, letting out a few soft, coquettish moans.
Fu Yanzong turned his head with a smile, padding silently through the shallow water like a cat on the prowl until he reached the bathtub. Without a word, he pressed down on the showerhead that was still spraying water everywhere. His fingertips deftly hooked into that perfect crescent curve, drawing Song Linyu right up against him.
“All done washing?” Fu Yanzong asked him.
“. . . Mm.”
Song Linyu rose instinctively, burrowing into his arms. He nuzzled Fu Yanzong’s cheek before trailing a string of lingering kisses along it. Fu Yanzong narrowed his eyes, savoring the touch, then spread his arms wide to scoop Song Linyu securely from the warm water, cradling him in the bend of his elbow.
Song Linyu’s damp bangs fell across his face, half-hiding his dazed expression. His freshly washed skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, making every mark and bruise stand out in stark relief. His shoulder blades were delicate as butterfly wings, the joints still tinged with faint pink . . . utterly delectable.
In a dizzying whirl, Song Linyu realized he had been set down in front of the bathroom mirror.
He held his breath on instinct, his whole body tensing. He was leaning back into Fu Yanzong’s embrace, held half upright as Fu Yanzong cupped his chin and slowly turned his face this way and that, studying him in the glass. The open posture laid everything bare under the merciless mirror light.
Fu Yanzong let out a low chuckle and released his grip.
Song Linyu gasped in surprise, bracing one hand on the sink while the other clutched desperately at the edge of the mirror frame.
Fu Yanzong took his time, playing leisurely.
Some unknowable stretch of time later, amid the haze of it all, Song Linyu heard the ring of Fu Yanzong’s phone. The rhythm of Fu Yanzong’s movements slowed at once. He fished the phone from where it had landed and glanced at the caller ID. With a soft tsk, he held it out in front of Song Linyu, his expression utterly nonchalant in a way that made refusal impossible. “Answer it for me.”
. . . What . . . ?
Song Linyu was pressed nearly flat against the mirror, clinging to the glass with wet, slippery fingers just to stay balanced. Letting go now was out of the question. But Ji Cheng’s name blinked insistently on the screen. Song Linyu glanced up at Fu Yanzong’s face, bit his lip, and strained to shift his fingertip over—just enough to tap the answer button as quickly as he could.
He hit it. And slipped right in deeper.
The intensity was overwhelming. Song Linyu nearly sobbed out loud, but the connected call was a stark reminder to stay silent. He bit down hard on his lip, clinging pitifully to Fu Yanzong’s hand as he endured, trembling all over from the strain.
Fu Yanzong’s black hair hung wet and loose, partially veiling his face as he bowed his head. He wrapped one arm around Song Linyu and answered the call in a tone that was neither rushed nor overly casual. “What’s up?”
“. . . I hate to bother you this early, but what’s going on with the Heartthrob Game? Cheng Yan . . .”
Fu Yanzong gazed idly into the mirror, smiling as he brushed off the question. “That? Call me back later. I haven’t slept yet—I’m beat right now.”
“. . . ?”
Fu Yanzong hung up without further ado and resumed his game with casual indifference. Song Linyu’s hot breaths fogged the glass in swirling mist. That soft flesh rubbed against the cold mirror surface, growing swollen from the stimulation until he couldn’t form a single coherent word—only broken, intermittent hums.
“Poor thing.”
Fu Yanzong laughed softly as he thrust all the way in, letting thick splatters fleck the mirror.
By the time he finally carried Song Linyu back to bed, Fu Yanzong was feeling sleepy himself. The soft morning light filtered hazily through the curtains, casting faint patterns across the room. He pulled out and burrowed into the plush pillows, then childishly yanked the covers up over both of them, sealing them into a cozy pocket of darkness.
They really ought to have cleaned up again, but Song Linyu had begged so earnestly to drift off just like this, and Fu Yanzong couldn’t bring himself to refuse. The moment they settled under the quilt, the man beside him wriggled closer, nuzzling into his chest. Song Linyu even reached out to pat Fu Yanzong’s back, as if soothing a child to sleep.
So damn cute.
Fu Yanzong couldn’t help the silent curve of his lips. He wrapped his arm around Song Linyu, lazily shifting to rest his chin amid the soft strands of hair. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Song Linyu’s head and murmured, “Sleep.”
Song Linyu hummed softly in response. “Good night, brother.”
