The stream's icy fingers curled around their bare thighs, but Shen Lianxiu's cock was a burning brand trapped between his fist and the small of Ling Xiuyuan's back. Eleven inches of rigid, silk-sheathed steel throbbed against Xiuyuan's spine, the swollen crown leaking a steady thread of clear precum that the water snatched away in silver ribbons.
Lianxiu's right arm stayed locked around Xiuyuan's narrow waist, palm splayed over the faint tremor of abdominal muscle. His left hand worked himself with aching patience:
Every stroke dragged the underside of his shaft along Xiuyuan's skin, painting a hot, wet line from tailbone to mid-back. Xiuyuan's breath stuttered; his own cock, half-hard and untouched, bobbed beneath the surface, betraying him.
"Shixiong," Lianxiu rasped, lips brushing the shell of Xiuyuan's ear, "tell me to stop and I will. I swear it."
Xiuyuan answered by pressing back (just once), a shy, rolling grind that nestled Lianxiu's length deeper into the groove of his spine. The motion tore a broken groan from Lianxiu's throat. His hips jerked, cockhead kissing the dip just above Xiuyuan's ass, leaving a fresh smear of precum that the current licked away.
Lianxiu's rhythm never faltered:
Xiuyuan's fingers dug into Lianxiu's forearm, nails carving pale half-moons. He could feel every vein, every pulse, every desperate twitch of the cock sliding against his back. His own hole fluttered, empty and aching, remembering last night's stretch.
"Close," Lianxiu choked. His strokes shortened to tight, frantic pulls focused just under the head. The arm around Xiuyuan's waist tightened, pinning them flush. One, two, three more twists, and Lianxiu's whole body seized.
A hoarse cry muffled against Xiuyuan's shoulder. Thick ropes of cum shot into the water (one, two, three, four), each pulse shoved out by Lianxiu's fist, white clouds blooming and vanishing in the current. His cock jerked against Xiuyuan's spine for long seconds, smearing the last drops across damp skin before the stream stole them too.
When the final shudder left him, Lianxiu's knees nearly buckled. He kept Xiuyuan crushed to his chest, lips pressed to the nape of his neck, breathing like a man who'd climbed a thousand steps.
"Thank you," he whispered, voice cracked raw. "Thank you for letting me come just from holding you."
Xiuyuan's reply was the shyest squeeze of Lianxiu's arm and the way he melted back, boneless, into the cradle of his lover's body. The winter sun climbed higher, gilding the water, the cum, and the two hearts now beating as one.
The stream cradled them like a secret. Clear water lapped at their ribs, sunlight splintering into a thousand tiny mirrors across the surface. Shen Lianxiu stood behind Ling Xiuyuan, legs planted wide in the pebbled bed, arms locked around his shixiong's torso in a hold so possessive it felt carved from jade: unbreakable, yet trembling with reverence. Xiuyuan's back pressed flush to Lianxiu's chest; every breath Lianxiu took lifted Xiuyuan's body a finger's breadth, then settled him again, as though the younger man were breathing for both of them.
Xiuyuan's heart beat rabbit-quick. He was happy (gods, happier than any elixir had ever made him), yet the joy sat atop a tower of nerves. His ears burned scarlet; his toes curled against slick stones. He could feel Lianxiu's half-hard cock resting heavy and warm along the groove of his spine, not pushing, simply there, a quiet reminder that they had already crossed every forbidden line and somehow stepped into morning still holding each other. The thought made his stomach flip like a carp leaping for moonlight.
Lianxiu's right hand slid upward, slow as drifting petals, until his fingers closed around Xiuyuan's injured forearm.
A faint bruise still ringed the pale skin, purple fading to tender green. Lianxiu lifted the arm into the sunlight, turning it gently, studying the mark as though it were calligraphy written by the heavens themselves.
"Shixiong," he murmured, voice low enough that only the water and Xiuyuan's heartbeat heard, "does it still hurt?"
Xiuyuan swallowed. The ache was nothing compared to the electricity sparking under Lianxiu's thumb. "Hm," he managed, the sound barely more than a breath.
Silence pooled between them, thick and sweet. Then Lianxiu brought the bruised forearm to his lips.
The first kiss landed on the inside of Xiuyuan's wrist (soft, open-mouthed, a press of warmth that made Xiuyuan's knees dip). The second brushed the delicate blue vein that fluttered beneath the skin. Third, fourth, fifth: each kiss a petal falling, each one lower, tracing the faint line of the bruise toward the crook of Xiuyuan's elbow. Lianxiu's lashes cast trembling shadows on his cheeks; his free arm tightened across Xiuyuan's waist, anchoring him so thoroughly that Xiuyuan's spine bowed, offering more skin without meaning to.
Xiuyuan's breath came in tiny, frantic puffs. His nipples pebbled against the cool water; heat pooled low in his belly. Every press of Lianxiu's mouth felt like a vow: I see your hurt. I kiss it better. I claim every inch of you.
When Lianxiu reached the tender hollow inside the elbow, he lingered. Tongue darted out (just once), a shy, wet flick that tasted salt and skin and lingering medicine. Xiuyuan whimpered, the sound high and shocked, swallowed instantly by the hush of the stream. His cock, already half-risen from their earlier play, stiffened fully, brushing Lianxiu's encircling forearm beneath the water.
Lianxiu felt it. His own breath stuttered; the arm around Xiuyuan's waist flexed, pulling them impossibly closer. Yet he did not grind, did not demand. He simply returned to kissing (slow, worshipful), lips gliding back up the forearm, pausing to suck gently at the bruise's darkest spot as though drawing the pain out through his mouth.
Xiuyuan's head fell back against Lianxiu's shoulder, exposing the long line of his throat. His eyes fluttered shut; lips parted on silent pleas he was too shy to voice. Every nerve sang. Every inch of skin begged for the same reverent attention now lavished on his arm.
Lianxiu obliged without words. He turned Xiuyuan's palm upward, pressed a final kiss to the center (hot, lingering), then folded the arm gently across Xiuyuan's own chest, trapping it there beneath his larger hand. Their fingers laced. Water swirled around their joined hands, sunlight glittering on wet knuckles.
Xiuyuan was trembling now (fine, full-bodied shivers that had nothing to do with cold). He felt seduced, cherished, undone. And still Lianxiu only held him, chest to spine, heartbeats crashing together like twin waterfalls.
The stream carried their quiet gasps downstream, and winter forgot to be cold.