[ Food. Yes, he should eat, but Dan Heng thinks he could give up on food forever if Yingxing would continue touching him like that. It's easy for his eyes to close, for him to lean into the other's gentle touch, wishing for more even as he drinks up what he's given. But Yingxing isn't here for that, isn't offering the one thing he needs more than anything else—and why should he, they're friends, he's the only one with this stupid one-sided affection that won't go away—and so the older man pulls away after a moment to go and get him something to eat after all.
Dan Heng wraps himself tight in the covers and blinks, in genuine mortification, against tears that suddenly want to spring to his eyes. He doesn't cry, he never cries, but with his body so out of his control...
Luckily, he has himself under control again before Yingxing climbs the stairs once more. He's able to sit up, wrapped tightly enough in the towel to conceal everything, nodding his answer to that question as he accepts the tray with a small smile. And in the end, despite the twisted feeling in his guts, he's able to eat most of it, the warmth of the congee soothing as it settles in him, the vegetables cooked perfectly to mix in with it. ]
Thank you, [ he says again, as he hands the tray back, tiredness crashing over him like a wave—and before long at all he finds himself asleep, curled up in the covers and breathing in Yingxing's scent.
A few hours pass like that, peaceful and calm. But Dan Heng's heat is far from abated. It's around 2am when he wakes up, slick with sweat and arousal, panting into the rich scent of the cover into which his face is buried. Somehow, it's not enough, and it's almost in a trance that he spends the next several minutes up and moving around Yingxing's room, stealing clothes and piling them on the bed, making the other man's scent richer before snuggling into it again.
It helps a little. The next hour or so is fitful, Dan Heng drifting in and out of sleep, comforted by the scent of the other but still needing something else. He drinks from the water left at the bed, but it doesn't help—his body craves one thing, and one thing only, and...
Arbiter help him, this is so embarrassing when Yingxing is surely asleep on the couch downstairs, but... there's nothing for it, and there's almost no self control in the way he slips a hand under the towel, fingers pushing into his sopping, aching cunt as he moans into his other hand. ]
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Dan Heng wraps himself tight in the covers and blinks, in genuine mortification, against tears that suddenly want to spring to his eyes. He doesn't cry, he never cries, but with his body so out of his control...
Luckily, he has himself under control again before Yingxing climbs the stairs once more. He's able to sit up, wrapped tightly enough in the towel to conceal everything, nodding his answer to that question as he accepts the tray with a small smile. And in the end, despite the twisted feeling in his guts, he's able to eat most of it, the warmth of the congee soothing as it settles in him, the vegetables cooked perfectly to mix in with it. ]
Thank you, [ he says again, as he hands the tray back, tiredness crashing over him like a wave—and before long at all he finds himself asleep, curled up in the covers and breathing in Yingxing's scent.
A few hours pass like that, peaceful and calm. But Dan Heng's heat is far from abated. It's around 2am when he wakes up, slick with sweat and arousal, panting into the rich scent of the cover into which his face is buried. Somehow, it's not enough, and it's almost in a trance that he spends the next several minutes up and moving around Yingxing's room, stealing clothes and piling them on the bed, making the other man's scent richer before snuggling into it again.
It helps a little. The next hour or so is fitful, Dan Heng drifting in and out of sleep, comforted by the scent of the other but still needing something else. He drinks from the water left at the bed, but it doesn't help—his body craves one thing, and one thing only, and...
Arbiter help him, this is so embarrassing when Yingxing is surely asleep on the couch downstairs, but... there's nothing for it, and there's almost no self control in the way he slips a hand under the towel, fingers pushing into his sopping, aching cunt as he moans into his other hand. ]