The silence that followed Xiuyuan's confession was not empty.
Lianxiu's hand, still cradled in Xiuyuan's grasp, felt like the only anchor in a world that had tilted on its axis. He searched his Shixiong's face—those luminous eyes, now averted, the flush creeping from Xiuyuan's cheeks down to the delicate hollow of his throat. A single tear still clung to his lash, catching the lamplight like a dewdrop on silk. Lianxiu's heart hammered against his ribs, a wild drumbeat that drowned out the brazier's faint crackle. He loves me, the words echoed in his mind, impossible and true. My Shixiong... loves me.
"Lianxiu," Xiuyuan whispered again, as if testing the name's shape on his tongue, his voice barely threading the air. His fingers tightened once, then loosened, as though afraid he might shatter the moment. He looked up through his lashes, eyes wide and shimmering, a fragile question blooming there: Do you...?
The answer rose in Lianxiu like a tide, fierce and inevitable. He leaned forward, slow as dawn breaking, giving Xiuyuan every chance to pull away. But Xiuyuan didn't. Instead, his breath caught—a soft, startled inhale that Lianxiu felt more than heard, like the flutter of a moth's wing against his skin. Their lips met then, tentative at first, a brush of warmth that sent Lianxiu's pulse skittering. Xiuyuan's mouth was soft, yielding, tasting faintly of the herbal tea from earlier—bitter and sweet, like the man himself.
Lianxiu's free hand rose of its own accord, cupping Xiuyuan's jaw with a gentleness born of worship. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss just enough to draw a quiet sound from Xiuyuan's throat: a hum, low and trembling, vibrating against Lianxiu's lips. It was the first unraveling—a crack in the composed facade Lianxiu had always known—and it stole his breath. So this is you, he thought, heart racing faster, unhidden, like this. Xiuyuan's shyness bloomed in the way he hesitated, lips parting only a fraction before pressing back with equal caution, as if afraid the world might intrude.
They parted with a shared exhale, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in the scant space between. Xiuyuan's eyes were half-lidded now, dark and dazed, a faint sheen of moisture gathering at their corners. His cheeks burned crimson, the color spreading like ink in water, and he bit his lower lip—a small, unconscious gesture that made Lianxiu's chest ache with tenderness. "I... I've never..." Xiuyuan murmured, the words tumbling out in a rush, his voice cracking on the last syllable. He looked away, lashes fluttering down like fallen petals, his free hand twisting the edge of his robe as if to ground himself.
Lianxiu's thumb traced the curve of Xiuyuan's cheek, feather-light, memorizing the warmth, the subtle give of skin over bone. "Shixiong," he said, his own voice roughened by the thunder of his heartbeat, "you don't have to explain. We go as slow as you need. As you need." He pressed another kiss to the corner of Xiuyuan's mouth, then his temple, each one a vow. But inside, his mind raced, cataloging every detail: the way Xiuyuan's breath hitched at the temple kiss, a tiny gasp that ended in a swallow; the flutter of his pulse beneath Lianxiu's fingertips, rapid as a caged bird's wings.
Emboldened by the lack of retreat—by the way Xiuyuan's fingers curled just a fraction tighter around his wrist, a silent stay—Lianxiu shifted closer on his knees, the straw mat whispering under him like a conspirator. He released Xiuyuan's hand only to gather the folds of his robe, easing it open with reverent care, fingers trembling not from nerves but from the honor of it. The fabric parted like a secret unfolding, silk sighing against skin as it revealed the pale expanse of Xiuyuan's chest—the subtle rise and fall of ribs under skin still flushed from their kiss, nipples pebbling in the room's cool draft. Xiuyuan tensed, a full-body shiver rippling through him like wind over still water, and his arms twitched as if to cover himself, but the lingering weakness from his injury held him back, leaving him exposed and achingly vulnerable. Instead, he turned his face away, eyes squeezing shut, a soft whimper escaping—half embarrassment, half surrender, the sound high and breathy, trailing off into a bitten-off sigh. "Don't... look so closely," he breathed, the words muffled against his shoulder, his voice threading with that shy tremor Lianxiu was already addicted to, each syllable laced with a flush that deepened the pink across his collarbones.
But Lianxiu did look, drinking in the sight like a man parched after a desert crossing, his love swelling until it hurt his chest. This was his Shixiong laid bare—not the poised martial artist of the training grounds, with his unerring strikes and quiet commands, but this: vulnerable, trembling, every inch a revelation of the man Lianxiu had loved in silence for months.
His heart pounded so fiercely he feared Xiuyuan might hear it, a frantic rhythm echoing the older man's own pulse, but he tempered it with care, leaning in to press his lips to the hollow of Xiuyuan's collarbone. The skin there was salt-tinged, warm from within, and Lianxiu lingered, tongue flicking out in a tentative taste that drew a sharper inhale from Xiuyuan—a gasp that broke into a soft moan, muffled behind clenched teeth. "Beautiful," Lianxiu whispered against the pulse point, the word spilling out unbidden, raw with awe, his breath fanning hot over damp skin. "Every scar, every line—you're the most beautiful person I've ever touched, Shixiong. Let me show you."
He traced the line of a faded scar with open-mouthed kisses, lips soft and insistent, teeth grazing just enough to tease without sting—enough to elicit a full-body quiver from Xiuyuan, his fingers flying up to grip Lianxiu's shoulders, nails digging in through the thin fabric of his inner tunic, leaving crescent indents that Lianxiu welcomed like badges. Each press of lips drew a new sound, a symphony Lianxiu orchestrated with loving precision: a stifled moan when his mouth closed over a nipple, tongue circling the tight bud with slow, deliberate swirls, the wet heat contrasting the cool air; a sharp inhale, almost a yelp, when Lianxiu's teeth tugged gently, releasing with a pop that echoed in the quiet room; a low, keening whine as Lianxiu's hand splayed across Xiuyuan's waist, palm warm and broad, thumb stroking the dip of his hipbone in soothing circles. Xiuyuan arched slightly—instinctive, unpracticed—his breath coming in shallow pants that filled the room with fragile intimacy, each exhale a feather against Lianxiu's hair. "Lianxiu..."
The name was a plea now, whispered on a ragged edge, laced with a whine that twisted something deep in Lianxiu's gut, his own arousal stirring hot and insistent, but secondary to the fire of his love—the need to worship, to make Xiuyuan feel adored beyond measure.
"Here," Lianxiu murmured, voice a low rumble of reassurance as he guided Xiuyuan back against the pillows with infinite care, arranging them to cradle his head and back, mindful of the ache in his arms. Their bodies aligned in a slow, deliberate slide, Lianxiu shedding his own outer robe with quick efficiency—the fabric pooling forgotten on the floor like shed inhibitions—before settling over him. Not pressing with weight, but enveloping, a shield of warmth against the night's chill, his thighs bracketing Xiuyuan's hips without trapping.
Skin met skin at last, chest to chest, and Xiuyuan gasped—a high, startled sound that melted into a sigh as Lianxiu's weight grounded him, the coarse hair on Lianxiu's torso brushing sensitive peaks, sending sparks skittering across Xiuyuan's nerves. Their hips brushed experimentally, eliciting twin shudders: Xiuyuan's a full tremor, his thighs tensing then parting hesitantly, muscles quivering under Lianxiu's hands as they slid down to knead the soft inner flesh, coaxing relaxation with firm, loving strokes; Lianxiu's a controlled quake, his heart slamming like war drums as he noted the way Xiuyuan's length hardened against his thigh, hot and silken, a flush creeping lower to stain the skin there rose-red. Lianxiu's own hardness throbbed in response, heavy and aching, but he held back, breath uneven, a shy flush warming his own face—he's so close, so open for me, and I'm trembling like a boy again.