Dong Yingming's heart skipped a violent beat. The underworld boss froze. He couldn't move.
Not for a full second.
For the briefest of moments, Dong Yingming's mind went blank. He looked at the glistening trail of sauce against milk-white skin—at the place where the hem of the shirt barely covered the top of Yao Ziyang's thigh—and felt a violent wave of lust crash against his ribs.
The libido suppressants had yet to kick in, and the intensity of his heartbeat was nearly audible in his ears. His pulse raced furiously, a deep flush rising beneath his caramel-colored skin, and for a moment, he wondered if the drugs would ever be enough. How could any drug tame the searing, primal desire he felt right now?
'Suppressants. Useless. Heavens help me.'
The underworld boss was a man of control. He had built empires on his restraint.
But Yao Ziyang was his only weakness.
Still, faced with that pleading gaze, that coy request that he couldn't bear to refuse, Dong Yingming felt himself surrender. He took a deep breath, his eyes clouding with helpless desire as he fought himself to remain still.
But when Yao Ziyang tilted his head and added, in that soft, breathy voice—the same one that made grown men drop to their knees for forgiveness—Dong Yingming felt the last of his restraint snap.
"Please… Yingming?"
The Omega breathed, biting his lower lip ever so slightly.
That did it.
As if drawn by gravity itself, Dong Yingming leaned forward from his chair, moving slowly, as though pulled by invisible threads, he deliberately slid from his seat and sank onto his knees before the Omega.
Even from this angle, Yao Ziyang's beauty was devastating. His skin was flawless—smooth and pale, shining softly under the warm bedroom lights, like moonlight cast upon untouched snow.
The air felt thicker—warmer. His fingers twitched, and his pupils had dilated almost imperceptibly. Dong Yingming swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.
He reached out first to steady the youth's knees, his fingers trembling faintly as he gently parted them, just enough to give himself access, careful not to touch anywhere indecent. Yao Ziyang's skin was impossibly smooth, like satin stretched over warm porcelain. His grip slid further between Yao Ziyang's legs, large hands rough and warm against the delicate skin of his inner thigh. Dong Yingming leaned forward, his breath brushing the inside of Yao Ziyang's thigh.
He leaned forward—lips hovered over the line of sauce, just where it met skin—placing one broad palm firmly against Yao Ziyang's soft thigh, feeling how the skin quivered delicately under his touch. His thumb brushed lightly across the sensitive flesh, tracing the slippery trail of spilled sauce. Dong Yingming's eyes darkened, turning molten as he gazed upward to meet Yao Ziyang's expectant, heated gaze.
Without breaking eye contact, Dong Yingming lowered his head. His lips parted slowly, hot breath whispering against the Omega's inner thigh, teasing him mercilessly. He hovered, tantalizingly close, feeling the slight shiver running through Yao Ziyang's lithe form.
Dong Yingming closed his eyes for a split second—praying, maybe, or cursing himself—and then let his tongue trace near the path of the sauce. Finally, his tongue touched warm skin and licked, lapping gently at the sauce, the taste sweet yet not half as intoxicating as the scent of Yao Ziyang's body. Slow and unhurried, the flat of his tongue dragging from just below the spill back upward in a warm, teasing glide. The taste of the sauce was sweet and savory, but it was Yao Ziyang's skin—soft, warm, and lightly scented with fresh soap—that sent shivers down Dong Yingming's spine.
Yao Ziyang trembled—just a little—and Dong Yingming felt it.
He leaned in further, Yao Ziyang gasped, his hand shooting out—from bracing the table to his fingers curling instinctively into Dong Yingming's short hair—a soft, delicate gasp slipping from his lips.
Then he exhaled, shakily.
The first touch was tentative, reverent. A slow sweep from the midpoint of Yao Ziyang's thigh upward, warm and unhurried, tasting salt and spice and something much sweeter—something intoxicating. His lips followed, pressing gently into the flesh like he was kissing the altar of a god he didn't deserve.
Yao Ziyang's breath caught before deepening, his chest rising and falling visibly beneath the thin black fabric of the borrowed shirt. Every nerve in his body came alive under Dong Yingming 's reverent caress, the sensation electrifying, stirring something wild and ancient within him.
The air between them grew thick—electric. Heavy. Every inch of Yao Ziyang's skin prickled with awareness. When Dong Yingming pulled back just slightly, his eyes rose to meet Yao Ziyang's.
The youth was flushed. Glowing. A delicate pink had risen to his cheeks and his lips were parted, breathing shallow. He looked like something ethereal—like moonlight wrapped in desire.
Dong Yingming was burning. His other hand's fingers dug into the chair. The air turned heavy, dense with a tangible heat. He pulled back, lips parted, breath heavy.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence rang with desire.
Dong Yingming stared up at him—his hair slightly tousled, his blue eyes dark with heat, his tongue unconsciously running along the corner of his mouth, chasing a final trace of sweetness.
Yao Ziyang's cheeks were flushed a deep pink. His thighs trembled faintly where Dong Yingming's hand still rested.
"…You really didn't have to do that."
The Omega said, breathless but smiling.
Dong Yingming slowly rose to his full height, towering over him.
"You asked…"
He murmured lowly.
"And I'll always give you anything you want."
His voice was rough, gravelly with restraint. It took everything in him not to grab the boy, pull him close, and kiss him breathless right there.
But he wouldn't. Not yet. Not while Yao Ziyang had just recovered. Not until he was sure he could handle it.
He abruptly—too abruptly—backed a step away, dragging a hand through his dark hair, his chest heaving like he'd just run a mile. He swallowed hard, turning his back for a second to collect himself.
"I…"
He rasped, voice rough.
"I need a moment."
He turned, practically stumbling toward the window to cool the fire raging inside him.
Behind him, Yao Ziyang watched, lips curving in a secret smile that grew wide, blooming with affection and longing. He could see that Dong Yingming was struggling, could feel the love and restraint coming off him in waves. And it only made him fall harder.
'Tonight…'
He thought to himself.
'I'll let him know he doesn't have to hold back anymore.'
His plan was working.
…
Dong Yingming leaned both palms against the cool glass of the window, eyes squeezed shut, chest rising and falling with ragged control. The scent of Yao Ziyang still clung to him—sweet, elusive, devastating. It stirred something ancient and carnal in his chest, something not even years of discipline could tame. His forehead pressed against the cool glass, his breath fogging the surface in ragged bursts. Outside, darkness had settled quietly over the prison yard, moonlight spilling through the heavy bars and tracing delicate patterns across the walls of the cell. But within him, there was no peace—only fire.
He gritted his teeth, feeling the lingering burn from the taste of Yao Ziyang's skin still hot upon his lips. Even the night air seemed incapable of soothing the raging inferno coiled in his gut.
He reached into his pocket again, fingers trembling slightly. He hesitated for just a second, then shook two more pills from the small white bottle and swallowed them dry, silently begging them to work faster. Six suppressants. It was madness—he'd never imagined he'd need more than one, let alone six in one night.
But then again, he'd never imagined someone like Yao Ziyang could exist either.
Six.
His hands trembled as he replaced the cork. If these didn't kick in, he would have to request an injectable version from Zhang Wei, or he'd lose himself—and not just in lust. He'd lose Yao Ziyang, and that was a price far too high.
'Stay calm…'
He told himself.
'This is your treasure. Your light. Your only warmth. Don't… don't hurt him.'
But from the reflection of the window, the sight awaiting him burned through every layer of restraint he'd managed to scrounge together.
Behind him, Yao Ziyang had watched Dong Yingming's retreat with amusement—and determination. The softness of his earlier expression had sharpened into something playful and mischievous, eyes glittering in anticipation. While Dong Yingming was having his own crisis, Yao Ziyang slowly, deliberately, rose from his seat and moved toward the bedside table.
He slid open the top drawer, withdrawing a delicate bottle of lotion—unscented, because he was confident that his own scent alone was enough to drive Dong Yingming wild, even if Dong Yingming himself couldn't consciously recognize the source. In this world, no one knew about pheromones or secondary genders—but Yao Ziyang did. And he was going to use that knowledge to his advantage.
Yao Ziyang was by the bed now, seated on the edge, one leg folded underneath him and the other stretched out long. A small bottle of unscented lotion rested on the bedside table, uncapped. The youth had rolled the sleeves of the oversized T-shirt up to his shoulders, revealing the delicate contours of his pale arms and was smoothing lotion into his skin—slowly, methodically, deliberately. He perched gracefully on the edge of their shared bed, his long, smooth leg splayed elegantly. Carefully, he squeezed another blob of lotion onto his palm and began smoothing it over his bare legs, fingers tracing slow, lingering circles from his ankles upward toward his knees.
He took his time, deliberate and sensual, each movement a languid caress against soft, pale skin. The lotion glistened faintly in the dim lamplight, making his limbs shine enticingly, almost ethereal in their perfection.
He moved higher, brushing fingertips slowly over his thighs, kneading lightly into sensitive muscle, allowing his skin to absorb the cream completely. His movements were smooth and practiced, deliberately provocative, even as he kept his expression carefully innocent, as though unaware of his own allure.
And it was at precisely this moment Dong Yingming chose to turn from the window.
Dong Yingming couldn't move. Could barely breathe. He paused at the sight, eyes widening, lips parting soundlessly.
Each motion of Yao Ziyang's hands was graceful, like a performance meant for a single pair of eyes—his. The lotion caught the light, giving his skin a faint sheen, highlighting every curve, every bend of his wrist and dip of his collarbone. He rubbed some into the inside of his elbow, then down to his wrists, and when he reached his thighs again—still bare, still flawless—the older man nearly collapsed.
Yao Ziyang looked like a vision—his platinum hair falling gently over his cheeks, skin glowing softly under the warm bedroom lights, his long legs bared completely beneath the oversized black shirt. He appeared lost in his own world, fingertips gliding over and over soft thighs, rubbing and spreading lotion across his skin with deliberate tenderness, his expression quietly indulgent.
Dong Yingming's throat tightened painfully. The suppressants had done nothing. Heat surged through him, pulsing fiercely, pooling low in his gut. The sight was utterly mesmerizing, provocative in ways he hadn't imagined possible.
"Ah…Yingming?"
Yao Ziyang murmured, catching Dong Yingming's eye, as if just noticing him. His voice was soft, laced with faux-innocence.
"Sorry, my skin felt a bit dry after the bath… You don't mind, do you?"
Yao Ziyang's voice was sweet, feather-light, deliberately casual.
Dong Yingming didn't speak at first. Couldn't. He swallowed roughly, his voice coming out far more hoarse than he intended.
"N-no. Of course not."
Yao Ziyang gave a sheepish little smile and turned his attention back to the task at hand, pumping a bit more lotion into his palm.
"The dry air here is no joke. I keep thinking about the hospital... they kept the room so sterile, it just dried me out."
He rubbed the lotion into his thighs again, this time slower—his fingers gliding along the smooth skin, slipping just under the hem of the shirt.
Dong Yingming's jaw clenched. His hands had curled into fists at his sides.
The shirt—the damned shirt—was his, oversized but not enough to hide the vision sitting before him. It slid off one shoulder now, baring a sliver of collarbone that made the older man's mouth go dry.
Yao Ziyang glanced up through his lashes, feigning casualness.
"You don't mind me borrowing this to sleep in tonight, do you?"
Dong Yingming's throat worked.
"No…"
He said, voice hoarse, nearly unrecognizable.
"It looks good on you."
It looked too good on him. Like a veil hiding temptation instead of virtue.
Yao Ziyang laughed softly, clearly pleased. He reached forward, this time to smooth lotion over his foot, flexing his toes and revealing the subtle definition of his calves.
Dong Yingming's gaze traced every motion. Each curve. Each stroke of those delicate hands.
He took a breath, then another. His knees felt weak.
"You should—"
His voice broke. He tried again.
"You should lie down. Let your stomach rest."
"I will…"
Yao Ziyang said sweetly.
"After I finish taking care of myself. You've already done so much."
He paused, then added.
"I want to be... perfect for tonight."
Dong Yingming's chest tightened so sharply it felt like something had stabbed him.
That single line—so innocent in tone, yet devastating in implication—struck him to the core.
He wanted to kiss Yao Ziyang. Devour him. Wrap him in silk and never let the world look his way again. But more than anything, he wanted to protect him—from illness, from fear, from even the shadow of pain.
Even if it meant breaking his own heart with restraint.
And yet, even with the suppressants coursing through his blood, he was losing.
He stepped closer, drawn like metal to a magnet. His eyes traced the slow circles Yao Ziyang's fingers drew on his skin, the gentle squeeze, the tantalizing slide of delicate hands gliding higher.
Yao Ziyang smiled innocently up at him, eyes wide, almost beseeching.
"I think I missed a spot…"
He whispered softly, shifting his weight as he spread his legs, exposing just a bit more of his inner thigh.
Dong Yingming's fists clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles turned white. His breath stuttered, uneven and hot. The suppressants were useless. He was on the brink, his self-control nearly shattered.
"Could you help me?"
Yao Ziyang whispered, his voice soft as silk, eyes shimmering with quiet invitation.
"I can't quite reach… Yingming~"
Dong Yingming stood utterly still, heart pounding violently, every muscle in his body straining against the last thread of restraint he had.
This wasn't fair.
This man, who was like no other, was asking—no, begging—for him to touch. How could he resist something so achingly beautiful, so utterly irresistible?
He made his way forward, eyes darkening with heat, jaw locked, fists clenched at his sides—all caution abandoned.
'Should I take another dose?'
No—he'd already taken too many. Zhang Wei had warned him during a rare moment of medical clarity that pushing beyond recommended dosage of pills in one night could lead to headaches, chest tightness, or worse:
Nerve sensitivity backlash. Dong Yingming had brushed it off at the time, thinking there was no force on earth that could overpower his discipline.
But he hadn't anticipated Yao Ziyang.
He hadn't known what it meant to be pushed to the edge by gentle gazes and soft touches. Now here he was, standing at the edge of an internal war. Libido suppressants surging through his blood, stomach twisting from both restraint and chemical imbalance, and his mind dangerously close to breaking under the weight of how good Yao Ziyang looked. How good he always looked.
Another pang of warmth rose inside him—not lust, but something deeper, scarier.
'I'm going to end up in a coffin…'
He thought darkly.
'Carved with his name.'
He grit his teeth.
'I should fire Zhang. The pills don't work. That man's a damn quack—or maybe they're working fine, and I'm the one who's broken.'
He was just about to reach out and grab the lotion bottle dangling from Yao Ziyang's hand, he'd force his eyes to the wall, and breathe through the next few minutes when—
Clack.
The bottle of lotion hit the floor and rolled underneath the bed with a quiet thud.
Dong Yingming turned his head automatically toward the sound, pulled from his spiraling thoughts and subtle plans.
What he saw next knocked every coherent thought out of him.
Yao Ziyang had leaned over the edge of the bed to retrieve the lotion, his slim body stretching delicately as he reached. The oversized shirt—the very one Dong Yingming had once worn during bloodied nights to feel grounded—lifted with the movement.
And beneath it, a perfect curve of an ass. Round, soft, and teasingly bare. Just a glimpse of pale skin, but it was enough to render Dong Yingming completely blank.
There was no conscious thought. Only the beat of his heart, the fire in his chest, and the overwhelming sense that if he didn't touch Yao Ziyang right now, he'd combust.
In one motion, he grabbed Yao Ziyang by the waist, lifting him mid-reach and pulling him upright before he could even react.
"Ah—!"
That soft noise barely left Yao Ziyang's lips before Dong Yingming's mouth crushed down on his.
It was not the gentle kiss of a lover—it was the kiss of a man unraveling at the seams. Dong Yingming kissed him like a storm breaking free after centuries of restraint, arms wrapping around Yao Ziyang's body as if to mold them together. Their mouths clashed, opened, and tongues met in a dizzying dance of heat and hunger.
Yao Ziyang let out a soft gasp into his mouth, startled—but quickly melting, his hands flying up to Dong Yingming's broad shoulders as their bodies collided again and again.
They stumbled back, lips never parting, Dong Yingming guiding him with strength and desperation until Yao Ziyang's knees hit the bed and they fell together onto the mattress, Dong Yingming's weight carefully cradling him beneath. The kiss didn't break—not even once. If anything, it deepened.
Yao Ziyang's fingers curled into the fabric at Dong Yingming's back, pulling him closer. He could feel every tense line of the underworld boss's powerful body hovering just above him, heat pouring off him like molten iron. The boss braced himself on his elbows, just barely keeping his full weight from crushing the delicate boy below him.
Dong Yingming devoured every moan, every sigh Yao Ziyang let out against his lips, as if they were the only air he could breathe. Every part of his body ached to take, but still—still—he kissed him like a vow. Like he needed to remember every moment, every second, of the first time Yao Ziyang truly gave himself over.
Yao Ziyang's legs shifted, hooking slightly around Dong Yingming's hips, welcoming the closeness. Welcoming him.
Still kissing, Dong Yingming whispered roughly against his mouth.
"You drive me insane."
And Yao Ziyang, breathless and flushed, responded with a whisper of his own.
"Hgn, good. I want you to."