AN: Just a note, they are both minors in Orion terms because people live longer but they both grown. Little Xi is twenty and Ah-Ci is twenty one.
The door slid shut behind him with a near-silent hiss, the sound deafening in the suffocating silence of the hallway. He stood frozen, his back pressed against the cool wall, the image burned onto the back of his eyelids.
Jian Ci. The tissues. The bitten hem of that thin white t-shirt. The way his head was thrown back, tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. That expression, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss that was so private, so raw, it felt like a violation just to have witnessed it.
His heart hamred against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of panic and sothing else, sothing hot and coiling low in his gut.
He stumbled into his own room, the bag of snacks he’d been carrying forgotten on the floor. He paced, running a hand through his hair, trying to scrub the sight from his mind. Don’t think about it. Don’t.
But his mind, traitorous and eager, replayed it in perfect, lurid detail. The harsh, breathy pants he had heard just before the door closed. The final, choked grunt that must have followed. Fuck.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but it only made the vision clearer: Jian Ci’s slender fingers, the rhythmic movent under the desk, the sheer ecstasy on his face.
To him, Jian Ci was pure and angelic, spotless with no flaws. But today that image was completely undone. It was like watching a saint get corrupted by his own hand. And he, Yu Xi, was the sacrilegious witness.
A throbbing ache pulled his attention downward. He looked, and a wave of sha, hot and imdiate, washed over him. He was hard, painfully so, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants.
It was a physical betrayal of everything he thought he felt. Jian Ci was supposed to be pure, untouchable, a vision to be admired from a respectful distance. Not this. Not this hot, wickedwant that made his mouth go dry.
’Get a grip.’ He needed a cold shower right now.
He tore his clothes off, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and stumbled into the shower stall. He twisted the knob all the way to cold, flinching as the icy spray hit his skin.
He braced his hands against the tiled wall, head bowed, letting the water sluice over his back. ’Think about chs. Think about history. Think about anything else.’
But the cold was no match for the fire in his blood. His skin pebbled with goosebumps, yet he felt like he was burning up from the inside. His mind, ignoring every command, supplied the mory again.
Not just the sight, but the sound. That grunt. It echoed in the small, steamy enclosure, morphing, twisting. It wasn’t a mory anymore. It was a fantasy.
He imagined it was his na on Jian Ci’s lips. He imagined it was Jian Ci’s breath hot against his ear. ’Fuck.’
His control shattered.
One hand, slick with cold water, slid down his own chest, over the tense plane of his stomach. He wasn’t touching himself, not really. Just... tracing.
But in his mind, it wasn’t his hand. It was Jian Ci’s. He could almost feel the weight of him, pressed up against his back in the cramped shower, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the freezing water. He could feel the ghost of lips on the nape of his neck, the sharp, sweet threat of teeth.
A low moan escaped him, lost in the spray. His own fingers closed around his aching cock, and he gasped at the contact. ’This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong.’ he said to himself, but he was already lost, stroking himself with a firm, desperate grip.
He let the fantasy take him, let it burn away the sha. He imagined Jian Ci’s hand, paler, slender, but strong, replacing his own, pumping his length. He imagined that other hand sliding around his throat possessively.
"Ci-ge," he rasped, the na a prayer and a curse.
He pictured him, not as the innocent angel, but as a fever dream. Jian Ci’s elegant fingers tightening on his throat. Jian Ci’s mouth on his shoulder, kissing, biting, marking. His voice, low and stripped of its usual softness, whispering filth into his ear.
"You like watching , don’t you?" the phantom Jian Ci murmured, his breath scorching. "You stood there and got hard watching fuck my own hand. You wanted it to be you."
"Yes," YuXi gasped, his hips bucking into his own frantic fist. The water was cold, but his skin was on fire.
"Tell what you want, Little Xi. Be specific."
"I want your fucking mouth," he panted, his strokes becoming ssier, faster. "I want your perfect lips wrapped around my cock. I want to feel your tongue, fuck, Ci-ge, I want to co down your throat."
The fantasy was vivid, brutal in its clarity. He could feel it, the wet heat of an imaginary mouth, the suction, the dizzying sense of surrender.
His thighs tensed. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs, ragged and desperate. The coil in his abdon pulled taut, tighter, until it was a wire of pure sensation about to snap.
"I’m gonna—"
With a choked cry that was ripped from the deepest part of him, Yu Xi ca, his climax hitting him like a physical blow. His release shot across the shower wall in thick, white ribbons, imdiately washed away by the relentless cold water. He slumped against the tiles, panting, spent, his legs trembling.
In twenty years of his life, he had never done that. He had never touched himself but just a glimpse of Jian Ci’s aroused look and he lost it.
The water ran cold. His skin was icy. But all he could feel was the devastating, life-altering heat of what he had just done.
Minutes later, Yu Xi stepped out of the shower, steam curling around his shoulders, the robe clinging to his damp skin.
Strands of wet hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks, trailing water down his jaw. He was still toweling his neck when he heard Jian Ci’s voice from the bedroom.
"Hey."
Yu Xi froze. His entire body went stiff, heart thudding against his ribs. Did he know? Did Jian Ci sohow know that he had seen him doing... that? Did Jian Ci hear what he did in the bathroom?
Yu Xi felt exposed, like the walls had eyes. He wished the ground would open and swallow him whole.
Jian Ci stood up from the bed, his figure tall and imposing in the low light. His steps were slow, deliberate, and his aura, always intense, felt suffocating now. Yu Xi instinctively stepped back. Then again. And again, until his back hit the wall.
Jian Ci didn’t stop. He pressed his palm flat against the wall beside Yu Xi’s head, trapping him.
Yu Xi licked his lips, panic rising. Should he just confess? Should he tell him he saw sothing he shouldn’t have?
"Yu Xi," Jian Ci said, voice low.
"I..." Yu Xi stamred, his face burning.
Then sothing snapped. Why was he letting him corner him like this? It wasn’t like he did it on purpose.
Yu Xi shoved Jian Ci’s chest, breaking the tension. He stepped aside, robe swaying, and put distance between them, breath shaky but defiant.
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