Jian lay sprawled beneath him, golden eyes half-lidded, his face wet from tears yet flushed from heat, looking utterly undone. The last kiss had melted him, left his body trembling and boneless. His legs felt like air, unsteady and weak, but his mind could only focus on the man above him—the one who seemed to fill every inch of his vision.
Xing Yu hovered there, silver hair cascading forward, strands brushing Jian's shoulders and tickling his skin. His narrowed steel-gray eyes burned down into him, sharp but unbearably tender.
"Xing…" Jian whispered, his voice fragile, trembling. His fingers reached up almost of their own accord, brushing the man's back with the gentlest of touches.
Xing Yu shuddered, his entire frame trembling from such a soft contact. His breath hitched as though Jian's hand carried the weight of fire.
