Hot flashes

One day, Zhou Heng was leaning against the couch reading a book when Xiao Jue came up from behind, put his hands under his armpits, and lifted him up a bit.

Zhou Heng was taken aback by this sudden action, but then he realized that this was a test of his worth.

"Have you gained weight?" he asked.

Xiao Jue didn't speak, but put him down and sat down beside him, his expression unreadable. After a long while, he finally spoke: "A little heavy."

Zhou Heng couldn't help but laugh. "If you feed him like this every day, how can he not get heavy?"

Xiao Jue smiled at him, his gaze softening. He reached out and pulled him into his arms, resting his chin on his head, and said in a low voice, "A little harder."

Zhou Heng leaned against his chest, his hand resting on Xiao Jue's waist, and patted him gently. "Okay."

After that, Xiao Jue developed a habit. Every morning when he woke up, he would pull Zhou Heng over, hug him, and weigh him in his arms.

Zhou Heng found it both funny and helpless. "Are you raising pigs?" Xiao Jue looked down at him, his gaze very serious. "The pigs are fatter than you." Zhou Heng choked.

After half a month, Zhou Heng's face regained some weight, and his cheeks no longer had the protruding cheekbones they used to have; his face had regained some color.

At night, Xiao Jue finished reviewing the memorials and returned to his bedchamber. He pushed open the door and saw that the lights were still on.

Zhou Heng sat on the couch, having just finished bathing. His hair was still damp, strands clinging to his forehead. The collar of his undergarment was slightly open, revealing a small patch of skin below his collarbone, which was somewhat dazzling in the candlelight.

Xiao Jue paused for a moment.

He walked over and sat down on the edge of the tatami mat. Zhou Heng looked up and smiled at him. "You're back?"

Xiao Jue hummed in agreement and reached out to tuck a strand of Zhou Heng's wet hair behind his ear. Zhou Heng flinched slightly when his fingers touched his earlobe.

Xiao Jue's fingers stopped there, and his fingertips slowly caressed the thin earlobe.

Zhou Heng's breathing became erratic for a moment. He lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting a small shadow in the candlelight.

Xiao Jue's hand slid from behind his ear to the back of his neck, gently clasping his hand and pulling him closer. The two were very close, close enough to see the flickering candlelight in each other's pupils.

"Aheng," Xiao Jue said, his voice lower.

Zhou Heng looked up at him. Xiao Jue lowered his head, his lips brushing against the corner of Zhou Heng's eye.

Zhou Heng's eyelashes trembled. Xiao Jue's lips slid down, across his cheekbone, across his face, and stopped at the corner of his mouth. He didn't kiss him immediately, but simply lingered there, their breaths mingling.

Zhou Heng raised his hand and grabbed his collar.

Xiao Jue's lips descended.

Zhou Heng's lips still carried a slight medicinal taste, astringent. Xiao Jue held those lips in his mouth, slowly sucking, gradually dissolving the astringency.

Zhou Heng clenched his fists tighter. Xiao Jue's tongue parted his lips and teeth, probing inside.

Zhou Heng groaned and leaned back, but Xiao Jue grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him back.

Zhou Heng was breathless from his kiss, his hands climbing up his shoulders, his fingertips digging into the fabric. Xiao Jue released his lips, pressed his forehead against Zhou Heng's, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving violently.

Xiao Jue lowered his head and kissed Zhou Heng's collarbone, leaving a faint mark on his skin.

Zhou Heng tilted his head back and ran his fingers through his hair.

Xiao Jue's kisses traveled down his body, landing on his chest and ribs.

"Still so thin." His voice was muffled against the skin, hoarse like sandpaper.

Zhou Heng wanted to say something, but a wave of tingling sensation forced him to swallow it back. Xiao Jue's hand was on his waist, his thumb gently rubbing the protruding bone on his side.

Zhou Heng's body trembled, and his waist involuntarily arched upwards. Xiao Jue raised his head and looked at him.

His eyes were red as if they had been quenched with fire, and the churning emotions within them almost burned him through.

"Aheng," Xiao Jue called to him.

Zhou Heng reached out his hand, his fingers landing on the side of his face. "I'm here," he said.

Xiao Jue lowered his head, his forehead touching Xiao Jue's. "Aheng," he called out again.

Zhou Heng's hand slid from the side of his face to the back of his neck and gently pressed it. "I'm here." Xiao Jue closed his eyes, his eyelashes brushing against his brow bone.

That night was long. The candles burned down to almost nothing, and a thick layer of wax dripped from them.

The temperature inside the tent hadn't dropped, and occasionally a low, hoarse voice could be heard coming from inside—it was Xiao Jue calling his name, over and over again, "Aheng, Aheng."

Zhou Heng's voice broke in his throat, turning into intermittent gasps, which Xiao Jue blocked and swallowed back into his own mouth.

Xiao Jue turned him over, his heartbeat pressed against Zhou Heng's. The heartbeat was as fast as a drum, each beat transmitted through his skin, making Zhou Heng tremble all over.

Xiao Jue's lips landed on his shoulder blade, kissing the prominent ridge. "Does it hurt?"

Zhou Heng shook his head, burying his face in the pillow, his voice muffled. "...Be gentle."

Xiao Jue turned Zhou Heng's face from the pillow and kissed his lips. "It won't be light." His voice was hoarse.

The candlelight dimmed further. Inside the tent, only the breathing of two people remained, one heavy, the other light, intertwined, indistinguishable from one another.