Dong Yingming broke the kiss with a ragged breath, his chest heaving as if he'd been dragged from beneath a crashing wave. His lips hovered inches above Yao Ziyang's, still trembling with the need to return to them—but there was more he needed to do first to prepare him.
He pulled himself up just slightly, rising onto his knees over Yao Ziyang's body, and in a swift motion, reached for the hem of his shirt. The soft cotton peeled upward, revealing the tanned, muscular plane of his body, abdomen tight with tension and veined with restraint. His scarred knuckles grazed his chest as he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. His caramel-colored skin gleamed faintly under the overhead light, muscles flexing in his arms and shoulders, chest rising and falling as he looked down—devoured the image of the man beneath him.
Yao Ziyang's lips were kiss-bruised and slightly parted, his obsidian eyes rimmed in pink from tears, practically glowing with need. That look alone nearly undid him.
Without delay, Dong Yingming dropped back down and captured Yao Ziyang's lips once more—this time hungrier. His kiss was slower now, deeper. A kiss meant to be remembered. A kiss that claimed.
One hand slid into Yao Ziyang's hair, fisting gently at the base of his neck, while the other traced down—over his neck, his collarbone, and slowly further down his chest. His fingers worshipped each inch as if memorizing him, brushing over a nipple just enough to elicit a soft gasp.
Yao Ziyang mewled, his legs shifting restlessly beneath the boss's frame. He tilted his hips upward in subtle, teasing circles, brushing his thighs against Dong Yingming's pelvis—again and again, testing the effect he had.
It worked.
A low groan escaped Dong Yingming's throat, his jaw tightening, his brows furrowed with the effort to stay in control. He responded with firmer hands, gliding lower now, savoring the warm smoothness of Yao Ziyang's waist, the tempting curve of his hips beneath the oversized shirt.
Yao Ziyang arched up against his touch—offering himself.
That was it.
Dong Yingming growled, an almost primal sound, and with trembling restraint, he tugged at the hem of the shirt Yao Ziyang wore.
"Off…"
He murmured, voice hoarse and thick with heat.
"I want to see you. Need to feel."
Yao Ziyang met his gaze, lips parted, breathing shallow—and he lifted his arms.
Dong Yingming pulled the shirt away gently, slowly, as though revealing something sacred. The moment the fabric was gone, his breath caught in his throat.
Yao Ziyang's body was everything he had imagined—and yet nothing could have prepared him for this. Pale, flawless skin that seemed to glow beneath the light. A slender waist that flared into the soft curve of his hips. Delicate collarbones, smooth shoulders, the faintest dip at his stomach where his muscles tensed with each breath.
He was beautiful. Otherworldly. Untouchable and yet now, right here beneath him—his.
Dong Yingming let his hands explore now with more freedom, running up Yao Ziyang's sides, across his chest, down his stomach. His fingers were reverent. Starved. He bent to kiss the space just below Yao Ziyang's collarbone, dragging his lips across his skin as if staking a claim.
And beneath him, Yao Ziyang trembled—not from fear, but from the overwhelming sensation of being wanted like this. His fingers threaded into Dong Yingming's hair again, gently pulling him closer, giving him more.
The room had no air now. Only heat. Only breath and skin and sensation.
And still, somewhere buried beneath Dong Yingming's spiraling lust, a single truth remained:
He loved him.
Dong Yingming's breath was shallow, heart pounding against his ribs like a warning drum. His mouth still tingled from the taste of Yao Ziyang's lips, swollen and pink from their kiss. The twink lay beneath him, shirt long discarded, chest rising and falling with unsteady anticipation, eyes gleaming like onyx rimmed in green—eyes that had only ever looked at him like this.
His fingers moved slowly, reverently, tracing over soft skin as if committing every inch to memory. But inside, Dong Yingming's mind was spinning.
He had taken the pills too late.
His body wasn't responding. Despite the fire surging through his veins, the heat under his skin, the hunger that coiled low in his belly—nothing happened. As flaccid as a deflated balloon. He cursed Zhang Wei silently.
'Fool of a doctor. Either the dosage is too weak or the timing is tragic.'
Yao Ziyang noticed the change. His lashes fluttered open, and he looked at Dong Yingming with eyes full of sweet confusion and lingering desire.
"What's wrong?"
He asked, voice breathy and light.
"Why'd you stop?"
Dong Yingming swallowed hard. He couldn't say it. Couldn't admit the truth—not when Yao Ziyang looked like this. Not when his legs were wrapped gently around his waist, not when his eyes trembled with anticipation, not when every inch of him radiated yearning. He couldn't bear to let him think or feel unwanted.
So he lied.
With a breathless chuckle that masked his frustration, he pressed a kiss to Yao Ziyang's temple and murmured.
"You're too perfect for me to rush things. You're not ready for me, baby. Not yet."
Yao Ziyang blinked, puzzled.
"Not ready? I—"
He started to protest, but was silenced by the soft glide of Dong Yingming's fingers against a sensitive nipple that made his back arch and a whimper spill from his lips.
"We won't go all the way but don't worry. I'm going to take care of you…"
Dong Yingming whispered, voice low and hoarse with emotion.
"I'm gonna make sure you feel good… all over. Slowly. Properly. Like you deserve."
Yao Ziyang's lashes fluttered, his thoughts interrupted by the overwhelming warmth spiraling up from within. His protests faded, replaced with soft gasps and the faintest, dreamy smile.
Dong Yingming watched that smile with aching affection.
He couldn't have Yao Ziyang tonight—not in the way his body and soul screamed for. But he could give him this. His hands. His mouth. His patience. His devotion. That would be enough for now.
And in the back of his mind, as he moved slowly, worshipfully, shifting Yao Ziyang onto his stomach and tucking his knees under him, Dong Yingming thought.
'Next time, I won't take any damn pills. And when I do take you, you'll never forget it.'
The air in the cell was thick with the scent of polished mahogany and faint jasmine incense, the kind of luxury afforded only to those who hold power. Smooth sheets pooled around Yao Ziyang's pale, slender frame as he lay on his stomach on the oversized plush bed, platinum-blonde hair fanned across the pillow like spilled moonlight. His twinkish body arched just enough—ass raised high, knees tucked under him—offering himself without a word.
Dong Yingming knelt behind him, tan, muscle-hardened body gleaming under the soft recessed lights. His black hair was slightly damp from sweat, blue eyes narrowed in quiet frustration. The scar on his cheek pulled tight as he clenched his jaw. Six libido suppressants. He'd popped them hours ago like they were mints, expecting numbness. Now they were kicking in hard—his cock lay soft and useless between his thighs, heavy but unmoving no matter how his blood roared.
But he wasn't about to leave Yao Ziyang aching.
Large, calloused hands settled on narrow hips. Dong Yingming's voice came low, rough.
"Stay just like that, baby. Let me take care of you."
Yao Ziyang shivered, black eyes half-lidded as he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Yingming… you don't have to—"
"I want to."
Dong Yingming's tone left no room for argument. He spread those smooth, pale cheeks with his thumbs, exposing the tight, pink little hole that had been driving him insane for weeks. It was clean—scrupulously, almost sweetly clean—and when he leaned in, the faint scent that greeted him was warm, faintly floral, like sun-warmed honey. His cock gave one useless twitch and then nothing. Fine. He didn't need it.
He dragged the flat of his tongue over the furled rim in one slow, reverent stroke.
'Fuck. It tastes like golden honey…'
The thought slammed into him, worshipful and helpless.
'Sweet as sin, warm as sunlight on bare skin. How the hell does something so filthy taste this good? I usually wouldn't do this sort of thing but a pampered young master is truly different.'
Yao Ziyang's breath hitched.
"Ah—!"
Dong Yingming licked again, slower, savoring. The taste bloomed across his tongue—rich, golden, intoxicating. A slick, almost syrupy wetness was already leaking from Yao Ziyang's hole, coating his tongue like warm nectar.
'Addictive. He's pouring it out for me.'
Dong Yingming's inner voice was reverent, almost prayerful.
'My pretty little prisoner. My perfect love. I'd drown in this taste and thank him for every drop.'
He sealed his mouth over the fluttering hole and sucked gently.
Yao Ziyang moaned, high and broken.
"Yingming—oh god, your mouth—!"
Dong Yingming growled against the sensitive flesh, the vibration making Yao Ziyang's thighs tremble. He pushed Yao Ziyang's waist higher with both hands, forcing that pert ass up until Dong Yingming's nose and mouth were completely buried between the soft, pale cheeks. His scar brushed warm skin. He didn't care. He licked deeper, tongue tracing every delicate ridge before pressing firmly against the center.
The slick kept coming—sweet, viscous, coating his lips and chin.
'He's leaking for me like he was made for this.'
Dong Yingming's thoughts spun, worshipful and greedy.
'This hole is mine. This taste is mine. I'd stay here for hours, days, just licking him open until he forgets his own name.'
He stiffened his tongue and pushed inside.
Yao Ziyang cried out, fingers twisting in the sheets.
"Yes—fuck, right there—! Your tongue—hgn, feels so deep—ahhn, Yingming, don't stop—!"
Dong Yingming thrust his tongue in and out in slow, filthy strokes, fucking him open with nothing but wet heat and devotion. His nose pressed tight against the smooth skin between Yao Ziyang's cheeks, breathing in that honeyed scent with every inhale. The slick coated his entire lower face now, dripping down his chin, and he groaned like a starving man at a feast.
'He tastes like heaven wrapped in sin. I'd kill for this. I'd die for this...'
His inner voice was raw with reverence.
'My beautiful boy. Keep moaning for me. Keep giving me more of that sweet fucking nectar.'
Yao Ziyang's voice cracked into another moan, hips pushing back desperately against Dong Yingming's face.
"Yingming—! It's—fuck, it's so good—your tongue—mmgh, inside me—ahh, please, more—!"
Dong Yingming answered by burying himself even deeper, tongue curling, sucking, worshipping every slick inch he could reach. His flaccid cock lay forgotten between his thighs. None of it mattered.
Only this taste. Only these moans. Only Yao Ziyang.
The wet, obscene sounds of Dong Yingming's mouth working between Yao Ziyang's spread cheeks and the boy's increasingly desperate moans echoed through out the room.
Dong Yingming's tongue was buried deep inside the tight, fluttering heat, curling and thrusting in slow, greedy strokes. The taste—sweet like liquid gold, warm and intoxicating—coated his tongue, his lips, his chin. He couldn't get enough.
'My perfect little song bird, cry for me…'
He thought worshipfully, blue eyes half-lidded with raw hunger.
'Leak more of this addictive nectar just for me. I'd live between these cheeks if I could.'
Yao Ziyang whimpered into the pillow, platinum-blonde hair sticking to his damp forehead.
"Yingming—nngh, feels—aaahh, so good—hah, ha, don't stop—ahh—"
Without warning, Dong Yingming pulled his tongue back just enough to press the thick pad of one finger against the slick entrance. He pushed in slowly, sliding the digit alongside his still-probing tongue.
The sudden stretch made Yao Ziyang's whole body jerk.
"Aah—! Yingming—!"
His voice cracked high and sharp. Black eyes flew wide open as pleasure slammed through him like lightning. His small, twitching cock—already leaking—pulsed hard against the sheets.
"I'm—fuck—I'm cumming—!"
He came untouched, hips stuttering, pale thighs trembling violently. Thin ropes of semen spurted onto the expensive sheets in messy pulses, soaking the fabric beneath his stomach. His hole clenched rhythmically around Dong Yingming's tongue and invading finger, milking them both with every wave of orgasm.
But Dong Yingming didn't stop.
'So tight… so perfect…'
Dong Yingming's inner voice was reverent, almost feverish.
'Look at him falling apart for me. My beautiful boy spilling all over the sheets while I'm still buried inside him. I won't stop until he's shaking and begging.'
He kept his tongue pressed deep, licking around his own finger as he began to slowly pump it in and out. The slick nectar coated everything now—his knuckle, his palm, dripping down to his wrist. With his free hand, Dong Yingming gripped one of Yao Ziyang's soft, pale ass cheeks and spread it wider, opening him up obscenely. The sight of that pink hole stretching around his thick finger and glistening tongue made something dark and possessive coil low in his gut.
"Fuck, mmm, that's it, baby…"
Dong Yingming growled against the wet flesh, voice muffled.
"Come for me. Let me feel you squeeze."
Yao Ziyang sobbed in overstimulation, face pressed into the pillow.
"Yingming—! Too much—ahh, I just kah-came—your finger, aagh—your tongue, hgnn—please—!"
Dong Yingming ignored the plea, sliding a second knuckle deeper, curling his finger to rub firmly against that sensitive spot inside. His tongue continued its relentless licking, flicking around the stretched rim and pushing in alongside the digit whenever he could. The wet, squelching sounds filled the cell as he finger-fucked him through the aftershocks, spreading that cheek even wider so he could watch every inch disappear into Yao Ziyang's body.
'He's still leaking that sweet honey for me…'
Dong Yingming thought, eyes dark with worship.
'Even after he came. This hole was made for me. I could do this all night—stretch him, taste him, ruin him until he forgets everything but my name.'
Yao Ziyang's moans turned into broken little cries, hips twitching helplessly between pleasure and sensitivity.
"Yingming—oh god!—I can't—aahhhng—your finger—hah, mngh, feels so—ughh, deep—!"
Dong Yingming only hummed in satisfaction, tongue and finger working in tandem, determined to push his beautiful boy even higher. The suppressants kept his own cock soft and heavy between his thighs, but he didn't care.
He had everything he needed right here, buried face-first in heaven.
Dong Yingming could feel how slick and pliant Yao Ziyang's hole had become around his tongue and single finger—wet, fluttering, greedy.
'He's opening up so beautifully for me…'
He thought, reverence mixing with raw hunger.
'My sweet, innocent boy… leaking all this golden honey just for my mouth. I think he's ready for another.'
He pulled his tongue back just enough to press a second thick finger against the twitching entrance, slick with that addictive nectar. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed both fingers in alongside his tongue.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming.
Yao Ziyang's entire body seized. A broken, high-pitched cry tore from his throat as his inexperienced hole was forced wider than it had ever been.
"Yingming—! Aaaghh—too much, hggnn—too full—!"
His black eyes rolled back, whites showing as hot tears spilled down his flushed cheeks. His red tongue lolled uselessly from his open mouth, drool pooling on the silk pillow and dripping down his chin in shiny strands. His toes stretched out straight, then curled tightly from the overwhelming pleasure-pain, legs shaking violently. Both hands fisted the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white, as if the fabric was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
The intensity made his hips jerk forward involuntarily, sliding his body a few inches up the bed and away from Dong Yingming's relentless mouth and fingers.
Dong Yingming's blue eyes flashed with sudden, possessive anger.
'Running away? After giving me this taste? After moaning so sweetly for me?'
The thought burned hot in his chest. His free hand snapped to Yao Ziyang's narrow waist, fingers digging in with bruising strength.
"Where do you think you're going?"
He growled, voice low and dangerous against the wet flesh.
In one powerful motion, Dong Yingming shifted his muscular body forward, using his weight to press Yao Ziyang's raised ass down flat against the mattress. His mouth and fingers followed without mercy, crushing the boy's lower body into the plush bed. The new angle pinned Yao Ziyang completely—cock trapped and rubbing against the cum-soaked sheets, ass helplessly presented.
Dong Yingming didn't pause. He scissored his two thick fingers wide, stretching the slick, twitching hole obscenely while his tongue continued thrusting in alongside them, licking deep into the stretched rim. Wet, filthy squelching sounds filled the cell as he pumped his fingers faster, curling them ruthlessly against that sensitive spot inside.
With his other hand, Dong Yingming grabbed one of Yao Ziyang's trembling legs, yanking it back and holding him firmly in place so he couldn't escape even an inch. Dong Yingming's face was now fully squished between the soft, pale cheeks—nose and mouth buried so deep it was harder to breathe, his scar pressing into warm skin, hot breath coming in short, greedy pants. He didn't care. He'd suffocate happily in this heaven.
'Mine…'
His inner thoughts roared with dark worship.
'This perfect, sweet little hole is mine. You're not getting away from my tongue, from my fingers, from this taste that drives me insane. I'll stretch you until you can't think of anything but me.'
Yao Ziyang was completely unraveled beneath him—face smashed into the pillow, drooling and sobbing, body twitching uncontrollably.
"Yingming—! Please—ahh—too deep, uugh—your fingers, mmng—your tongue, mmph—I can't—!"
The relentless scissoring, the thick tongue thrusting in tandem, the crushing pressure of his cock grinding against the messy sheets—it all became too much.
Yao Ziyang came again with a silent, shattered scream. His vision whited out completely, pure ecstasy and euphoria crashing through every nerve. His hole clenched violently around Dong Yingming's fingers and tongue, gushing more of that sweet slick as his trapped cock spurted fresh ropes of semen onto the already-soaked sheets. His entire body convulsed, toes curling, tears streaming, drool dripping freely while he shook apart under Dong Yingming's merciless worship.
Dong Yingming only growled deeper into the stretched hole, refusing to ease up even as Yao Ziyang's climax ripped through him.
'That's it, baby. Come apart for me. Give me everything.'
He kept scissoring, licking, devouring—determined to keep his beautiful boy right there, lost in pleasure, pinned and claimed.
Dong Yingming finally pulled his tongue out of Yao Ziyang's stretched, fluttering hole with a wet pop, thick strings of slick, sweet nectar still connecting his lips to the puffy, abused rim for a second before it broke. His blue eyes narrowed, a flicker of petty annoyance cutting through the haze of worship.
'Little brat… seducing me so easily with this perfect, honey-sweet hole while those damn suppressants leave me soft and useless.'
He wasn't angry at Yao Ziyang—not really—but the timing stung. He'd make sure the boy felt every second of it.
He kept his two thick fingers buried deep, pumping them steadily in and out with relentless, squelching thrusts.
"Not done with you yet, Baby Bird."
Dong Yingming growled low, voice rough with frustration and lingering hunger.
With his free hand, he gripped Yao Ziyang's narrow hips and yanked him backward, pulling the boy up until he was straddling Dong Yingming's powerful thighs in reverse. Yao Ziyang's pale, lithe body was now fully seated on Dong Yingming's lap, back arched, ass raised just enough for those fingers to keep fucking him without mercy. Dong Yingming's large, limp cock—thick even when soft—nestled hot and heavy between the boy's smooth thighs, pressed snugly against the underside of Yao Ziyang's spent cock and balls.
Dong Yingming's other hand snaked around Yao Ziyang's front, wrapping around the smaller, oversensitive cock. He started stroking it firmly, thumb rubbing over the slick, sensitive head with every pump of his fingers below.
Yao Ziyang's black eyes flew wide, tears still streaking his flushed cheeks. His red tongue lolled out again as he gasped sharply.
"Yingming—! Nngh-no—no more—ahhn—please! I already—hgn—came twice, aaghh—my body, hahh, hah—it's, mmngh—too much, haah, hah—your fingers—aaahh—!"
His voice was hoarse, cracking with overstimulation. The dual assault—thick fingers scissoring and thrusting deep into his slick, abused hole while a strong hand pumped his cock without mercy—sent violent shudders through his slender frame. His hole clenched desperately around the invading digits, still leaking that sweet, intoxicating slick, but his cock was painfully sensitive, twitching and jerking in Dong Yingming's grip.
"Too, aaughh, sensi‐tive, mmngh—please—slow down—aahhh—!"
Yao Ziyang begged, voice breaking into sobs. His platinum-blonde hair stuck to his sweaty face, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth as his hips tried uselessly to twist away.
"Yingming—unngh, I can't—my-my cock, hngh—my ass, hah—ouh, everything feels to-toh good, hiik—too much, nguh—please—!"
Dong Yingming's inner thoughts burned with dark satisfaction.
'Look at you falling apart so prettily. Begging so sweetly while I'm still soft because of those fucking pills. This is what you get for making me crave you this badly.'
He didn't slow down. His fingers fucked harder, curling ruthlessly against Yao Ziyang's prostate with every thrust, while his hand stroked the boy's cock faster, twisting at the head on every upstroke.
Yao Ziyang's body convulsed violently within seconds. A dry, shattering orgasm ripped through him—his hole spasming wildly around Dong Yingming's fingers, his cock twitching and dribbling thin, milky spurts of cum onto Dong Yingming's hand and the sheets below. No real load left, just pathetic little pulses of pleasure that left him shaking uncontrollably. His vision blurred, body going completely limp as the last waves crashed over him. He collapsed forward, spent and exhausted, barely able to hold himself up on trembling arms.
Only then did Dong Yingming finally ease his fingers out of the wrecked, puffy hole with a slow, wet slide. He lifted Yao Ziyang's collapsing body against his broad, tan chest, one arm wrapping possessively around the boy's waist, the other around his shoulders.
"Ssshh… okay, that's enough, baby…"
Dong Yingming murmured, voice softening now that his petty edge had been satisfied. He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to the back of Yao Ziyang's damp neck, blue eyes half-lidded with lingering reverence.
'My perfect little Song Bird. You took everything I gave you so beautifully.'
Yao Ziyang could only whimper softly, utterly spent, body limp and trembling in Dong Yingming's strong hold as the aftershocks slowly faded. The luxurious bed beneath them was a mess of cum, and sweet slick, but Dong Yingming held him close, content for now.
The air was quiet now, save for Yao Ziyang's ragged, heavy breathing.
Dong Yingming slowly lowered the boy's twitching, overstimulated body. Yao Ziyang let out a weak, broken whimper, his body limp and trembling on the ruined sheets.
"Easy, baby… easy, now."
Dong Yingming murmured, voice low and rough with guilt already creeping in.
'Shit, I pushed him too far. My sweet boy shaking, crying, coming apart so hard he nearly passed out. Fuck, how could I lose control like that?'
Dong Yingming shifted and sat at the edge of the low bed, bathed in warm, silver light that filtered through the cracks of the curtains. His broad shoulders were bare and slick with sweat that rolled down his toned body as he shook slightly with every breath he took. His hand rested beside him, fingers slick with translucent slick and saliva—glistening like dew in the dim light.
He lifted those fingers slowly, studying them.
Then, he tasted.
The moment his tongue met the clear, shining nectar, his pupils dilated. It was sweet—but not like sugar. It was soft, delicate, warm like honey left out in the sun, but with a depth that went deeper, like the scent of skin after rain.
His tongue swept over the pads of his fingers again.
Then again.
He licked slowly, eyes half-lidded, savoring it—not just the flavor, but what it meant. Who it came from. The body that had offered it, even unknowingly. His body. His Ziyang.
Dong Yingming's chest rose and fell with quiet reverence. He had tasted many things in his life—wealth, wine, blood, power. But nothing—nothing—had ever undone him like this.
And there was more.
His hand moved downward toward where Yao Ziyang lay limp and barely conscious. His large wet hand cups Yao Ziyang's cheek, to where the source still pulsed faintly with heat, before slipping between and sliding upward. The squelching sound grew louder as he coaxed more slick to flow out, then he spread Yao Ziyang open with both hands. He leaned in, breath ghosting over skin, and lowered his mouth.
His tongue darted out and licked—slow, reverent, exploratory. Not hungrily, but with intent. With devotion.
As if coaxing the nectar from a rare flower that only bloomed for him.
Another lick. A deeper one this time. Yao Ziyang could only whimper, unwilling to move—not because he didn't want more but out of sheer exhaustion.
The taste bloomed across Dong Yingming's tongue, more potent than before, and he let out a quiet breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He pressed in closer, his lips just brushing over the rim, drinking in the subtle salt, the warmth, the unnamable sweetness that drove him to madness.
It wasn't just pleasure—it was claiming.
He licked again, slower, lingering.
Not to tease.
To worship.
To thank the body that gave this to him, that let him close enough to take it in his mouth, to taste something this sacred, this pure.
Dong Yingming, a man who feared nothing, who ruled over others like a king with knives in both hands… was on his knees, reverent before a hidden sweetness meant for him alone.
And he would return to it.
Again and again.
For as long as it would let him.
Yao Ziyang's soft whimpers made Dong Yingming stop. He knew if he kept going it would really be too much for Yao Ziyang's body, so he moved again once more.
He rose from the bed, his muscle-hardened frame moving with surprising gentleness. In the adjacent marble bathroom, he washed his hands and face thoroughly, rinsing away the sweet taste that still lingered on his tongue like an addiction he couldn't shake. He dampened a soft mini towel with warm water, wringing it out carefully.
Returning to the bed, Dong Yingming knelt beside Yao Ziyang's pliant, overstimulated body. The boy's platinum-blonde hair was damp with sweat, black eyes half-closed and glassy, cheeks flushed and streaked with dried tears. Dong Yingming wiped him down with tender strokes—first his tear-stained face, then his drool-slick chin, his chest, his spent cock, and finally between his trembling thighs and the reddened, puffy hole that still fluttered weakly.
Yao Ziyang's breathing gradually slowed and evened out as exhaustion claimed him completely. His long lashes fluttered once, then stilled as he slipped into deep, unconscious sleep.
Dong Yingming's blue eyes softened with heavy regret as he watched him.
'I'm sorry, Ziyang. I didn't mean to break you like that. Even with those damn suppressants, I couldn't stop myself from touching you… from tasting you… from wanting to drown in you.'
Once the boy was clean and dry, Dong Yingming carefully lifted the limp body into his strong arms and carried him to the nearby plush couch. He laid him down gently, then stripped the cum-soaked sheets from the bed with efficient movements, replacing them with fresh, cool silk ones.
Finished, he dressed Yao Ziyang in one of his other oversized black T-shirts. The garment swallowed the lithe frame, the hem falling almost to mid-thigh, making Yao Ziyang look even smaller and more fragile. Dong Yingming pulled on a pair of loose black sweatpants himself, leaving his tan, scarred, muscular torso bare.
He carried Yao Ziyang back to the freshly made bed and tucked him in with careful precision, pulling the covers up to his chest. Then Dong Yingming lay down beside him on his side, one arm loosely draped over the boy's waist—not trapping, just protective. He kept watch through the night, blue eyes never closing, barely blinking. The scar on his cheek tightened as worry gnawed at him.
'What if he develops a fever again because of me? I'm supposed to be in control—the boss, feared by everyone—but I couldn't keep my hands, my mouth, my fingers off him. I don't want to hurt you, Ziyang. I can't stay away either.'
Yao Ziyang, deep in exhausted sleep and oblivious to the storm in Dong Yingming's chest, subconsciously shifted closer. His flushed cheek pressed against Dong Yingming's robust, warm chest, platinum hair spilling over tan skin as he snuggled in with a soft, content sigh. One small hand loosely fisted the fabric of Dong Yingming's sweatpants.
Dong Yingming's heart clenched. He remained awake, vigilant, ready to call the doctor at the slightest sign of distress.