Together, they created a rhythm—down with the firm heel of the palm, up with the curl of the fingers, Yao Ziyang's thumb brushing the underside near the sensitive ridge. Dong Yingming's breath hitched when he did it again, and a satisfied warmth bloomed in Yao Ziyang's chest.
Dong Yingming had reached down with his other hand, slipped it into Yao Ziyang's waistband and, wrapping around his hardened member, began stroking him back.
His touch was practiced but patient, his movements tailored to Yao Ziyang's sharp little breaths and quiet whimpers. He stroked him with the same care—tight at the base, loosening near the tip, letting his thumb circle the head in slow, teasing swirls.
They moved together—bodies close, thighs brushing, breathing growing heavier. Every motion of their hands was mirrored: squeeze, release, upward pull, and a gentle twist that made Yao Ziyang's hips jerk forward. Their foreheads touched, damp with heat, eyes fluttering closed.
Yao Ziyang's hand was slick now, moving easier, confident in its grasp, no longer needing guidance. He adjusted the angle, learning how Dong Yingming liked the pressure to build—starting slow, then quickening just a bit, using short, fluid strokes near the top that made the older man groan softly, lips brushing Yao Ziyang's temple.
"I'm close! Fuck! Yao Ziyang! Ah!"
When Yao Ziyang's release came, it wasn't loud or messy. It was quiet and close, foreheads brushing, hands slowing, pulses racing in sync.
Dong Yingming came seconds after with a harsh breath and a low, guttural sound, hand gripping the sheets, his control nearly snapped. Yao Ziyang stayed with him through it, gentle until the very end, until Dong Yingming exhaled like he hadn't breathed in days.
When Dong Yingming finally spilled over the other's hand, it was with a deep exhale through gritted teeth, his muscles tightening beneath Yao Ziyang's touch. He didn't pull away immediately—he stayed close, his hand still stroking Yao Ziyang until his second release followed, sharp and shaking, spilling against his stomach in the warmth between them.
"Ah! Brother Dong!"
Their hands slowed together, now only gliding gently, soothing the last tremors of pleasure. Dong Yingming reached for a cloth folded neatly near the bed, cleaned them both quietly, and tucked Yao Ziyang back into his chest without a word.
The younger man sighed, soft and yet unsated, fingers curling against Dong Yingming's side.
"Was that enough?"
Dong Yingming asked after a long silence, voice thick but tender.
Yao Ziyang looked up at him, lips barely parted, flushed and glowing from the aftershocks.
"It was perfect."
And it was. Not just because of the release—but because of the care. The control. The connection. However, Yao Ziyang began to feel greedy again. He wanted more. More touching. More claiming. He didn't clean all of himself for nothing!
After Dong Yingming handed Yao Ziyang a clean cloth and tucked him against his chest—his arms a secure wall around the smaller man's frame—Yao Ziyang buried his face into his man's shoulder, still catching his breath.
"You okay?"
Dong Yingming asked quietly, voice rumbling deep in his chest.
Yao Ziyang nodded, lips curving in a lazy, mischievous smile.
"Better than okay…but…"
Dong Yingming rested his chin atop his head, exhaling slowly.
"But?"
Silence lingered afterward—thick, sultry. Yao Ziyang looked up, lips kiss-swollen and flushed but calm, steady. Lustful.
Dong Yingming's hand cupped his face, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.
"You're dangerous."
He whispered.
"So are you."
Yao Ziyang murmured back, crawling into his lap like a shadow.
Yao Ziyang stay tucked against Dong Yingming, their breaths still settling in the quiet room. The air was heavy with the scent of skin and something unspoken, lingering like the warmth between their bodies. Yao Ziyang's fingers trailed idly along Dong Yingming's forearm—light, suggestive strokes meant less to tease and more to invite.
He tilted his head, voice soft and daring.
"I cleaned up… in the bath. Just in case you wanted more."
Dong Yingming stilled. Averting his gaze, afraid he'd finally lose control and pounce.
Yao Ziyang's voice grew quieter, a little more earnest.
"If you want me like that… I'm ready."
A long breath escaped Dong Yingming's chest, and he turned his gaze to the younger man on top of him. There was no mockery nor disgust in Yao Ziyang's expression—only sincerity. Hope. Willingness.
Dong Yingming brushed his thumb along the side of Yao Ziyang's face.
"You have no idea how badly I want to…"
He murmured, his voice low, cracked with restraint.
"But not tonight. You're still recovering. I'm not going to risk hurting you. Ever. No matter what."
Yao Ziyang blinked, lips parting as though to protest, but Dong Yingming quieted him with a kiss—slow and firm, stealing the words from his mouth.
"Let me take care of you another way so your sincerity won't go to waste."
Dong Yingming whispered against his skin, sliding down slightly, large hands anchoring at Yao Ziyang's hips.
Yao Ziyang's breath hitched as Dong Yingming gently urged him to lie back, opening his thighs just enough for one large hand to settle between them. The contrast of size was striking—his palm broad, his fingers strong but controlled, moving with deliberate purpose as he cupped Yao Ziyang gently, reverently.
"You don't have to—"
Yao Ziyang began, but Dong Yingming shook his head, cutting him off with a low growl of a whisper.
"I want to."
Yao Ziyang gave a stiff smile as a response, the roles somehow reversed! Dong Yingming's hand moved slowly at first—just soft caresses, drawing circles over sensitive skin, feeling the way Yao Ziyang's body responded, the way his thighs tensed and relaxed beneath him. He watched every reaction, eyes dark with focus.
Yao Ziyang lay on his back, chest warm against Dong Yingming's chest. A haze of trust lingered between them—softened by the shared heat of skin against skin and the silence that often follows closeness too deep for words.
Dong Yingming lifted the shirt, resting a hand low on Yao Ziyang's belly at first, fingers moving with idle affection. But as Yao Ziyang arched slightly into his touch, seeking more, Dong Yingming's other hand wrapped around himself, slowly working into a rhythm as he pressed his face into Yao Ziyang's nape—breathing him in like a grounding scent. Sweet. Intoxicating.
His free hand slid downward, trailing the curve of Yao Ziyang's hip, and paused just beneath him. There was no rush in his movements, only intention. He nudged Yao Ziyang's thighs open just enough for his fingers to explore—slowly, gently, not pushing but asking.
Yao Ziyang inhaled sharply, a flush spreading across his cheeks, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he reached in front of him, resting his hand over the boss's wrist—a quiet confirmation. Yes, he trusted him. Yes, he wanted this.
Dong Yingming kissed the side of his neck, murmuring low and soft. An electric spark shoots throughout Yao Ziyang's body for a split second.
"Tell me if anything's too much."
With care, he eased a finger inside, slow and deliberate, testing the response of Yao Ziyang's body. He didn't push further than he should, just enough for Yao Ziyang to feel filled—warm, grounded, and claimed. His own hand kept its rhythm, timed with the slow, careful pressure of his finger moving in and out.
This confirmed to Yao Ziyang this man's body was indeed that of a bottom virgin! Just one finger was enough to completely have him come undone. Yao Ziyang let out a soft sound, something between a sigh and a gasp, curling slightly into the pillow. It wasn't just the sensation—it was the feeling of being held open and close at the same time, like someone had unlocked something private inside him and was holding it with reverence.
Dong Yingming's breathing grew heavier against his ear, his own body tensing behind him. But even in his pleasure, his focus never wavered from the man in his arms. He listened to every breath, watched every shiver, and adjusted his pace to keep Yao Ziyang in balance—never letting sensation tip into discomfort.
Their bodies moved together in quiet rhythm. Yao Ziyang's hand slipped down over his own stomach, fingers brushing where he throbbed, syncing instinctively with Dong Yingming's rhythm. They were two pulses, two needs, but joined—intimate and mirrored.
Yao Ziyang lay against Dong Yingming, bare and open, his breath uneven as the older man's hand moved with slow, purposeful care. One finger, warm and steady, pressed inside him—not rough or demanding, but exploratory, as though Dong Yingming was learning about him with every small movement.
Then, suddenly, something shifted.
Dong Yingming's finger found a spot deep inside him that made his entire body jolt. It wasn't pain—no, it was something sharp but sweet, like heat blooming out from the center of him in waves. His breath hitched, and a sound escaped his throat—raw and surprised.
"There it is~."
Dong Yingming murmured, almost to himself, voice thick with barely held control and pride.
A warm rush flooded through Yao Ziyang's chest, spreading lower, down his thighs, curling his toes. His whole core was responding, like something deep and secret had been unlocked. It wasn't just pleasure—it was overwhelming, intimate, almost too much.
He buried his face into the pillow, eyes fluttering closed, whimpering softly as the sensation repeated—each careful press sending sparks down his spine, his body trembling under the intensity of it. Dong Yingming never rushed, never pushed harder than Yao Ziyang could take. He moved with confidence, but with restraint—like someone who knew exactly how powerful this moment was.
Yao Ziyang's hands gripped the sheets, hips twitching as he gasped again, his body pulsing with growing need. It felt like every nerve was turning inward, pulled toward that single point Dong Yingming kept returning to—slowly, deliberately, until the pleasure was humming through him like a wire pulled too tight.
He wasn't sure if he was going to cry or beg or break apart completely—but he knew, without question, that he was safe.
Dong Yingming kissed the exposed back of his neck, murmuring something he didn't catch. He held him a little tighter, sharp canines brushing his skin. A scratch. A mark.
This became his complete undoing. Immediately, as if a switch was flicked, Yao Ziyang became much more vocal, his body writhing and twisting. His slender, lithe face was flushed and his eyes were glazed over with desire as his body trembled with ecstasy. Yao Ziyang's back arched, fingers digging into the sheets as he let out breathy gasps and mewls. Each breath Yao Ziyang took felt like a desperate gasp, as if he were trying to memorize every moment of sheer pleasure coursing through his quaking body. His chest rose and fell with the rapid rhythm of his pounding heart, each beat sending another wave of pleasure through him.
Yao Ziyang's lips were parted, breath shaky and uneven, his cheeks glowing with heat. His eyes fluttered open, then closed again, unable to stay focused on anything. He looked utterly undone — not just from pleasure, but from the weight of being touched like he mattered.
His body trembled with each gentle movement of Dong Yingming's hand, caught in a place between reality and sensation. His mouth moved as if trying to speak, but all that came out were soft, broken sounds — whimpers, gasps, quiet cries that said more than words could.
Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, not from pain, but from how overwhelming it all was — the care, the pleasure, the tenderness. His body wasn't used to being handled like something precious.
Dong Yingming watched him with dark, focused eyes. He stilled for a moment before brushing the tears away with light kisses. Yao Ziyang was flushed, glassy-eyed, and trembling, completely lost in the moment — and safe in it.
Then his fingers slid further—warm, slick, practiced—working over Yao Ziyang with a rhythm that was impatient but intoxicating. Every pass brought a sharper inhale, every curl of his finger a small jolt through Yao Ziyang's core.
He whispered encouragement, praise, reassurance.
"That's it… good. Just feel it."
His voice was low and rough, like velvet over gravel, threading into Yao Ziyang's spine.
The younger man arched slightly, hands grasping at the bedsheets, his breath coming quicker now. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted in a soft, unguarded moan. He felt open—utterly seen and cared for, not just wanted, but understood.
Dong Yingming didn't want to rush but he was nearing the edge. He let Yao Ziyang build slowly, matching the tempo of his trembling breath with strokes that grew firmer, more precise. By the time Yao Ziyang reached the edge, his whole body was taut with pleasure, nerves on fire with Dong Yingming's patient, unrelenting touch.
Yao Ziyang's body trembled beneath Dong Yingming's touch—warm fingers stroking him in a rhythm so deliberate it was almost reverent. Each motion built on the last, coaxing out shivers, gasps, and quiet whimpers that slipped from parted lips without thought. His legs parted instinctively, thighs tightening now and then as waves of sensation crept higher with every stroke.
"Brother Dong…hah! Hah!"
His breath came faster, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, as though his lungs couldn't keep up with the rising pressure in his core. His hands grasped at the sheets, fingers curling tight in the fabric, and his hips began to twitch with growing urgency—rocking gently into Dong Yingming's hand, seeking more friction, more of that firm, slow pull.
"B-Brother-hah! Uh! Hah!"
Dong Yingming kept his eyes on him, watching every change in expression—the fluttering of lashes, the way his mouth opened just a little wider with each soft moan. His red tongue spilling out, as if begging to have a taste of the cock he craves, his unfocused obsidian eyes were half seen as they rolled back.
"You're close."
Dong Yingming murmured, his voice low, steady.
"Just let go."
And Yao Ziyang did.
His body arched with a sudden jerk, a sharp gasp catching in his throat as his release overtook him. It hit fast—tightening every muscle, curling his toes, his abdomen flexing hard as a pulsing wave of pleasure broke over him. A hot rush of cum spilled over until it poured down onto Dong Yingming's hand still inside. Thick and warm, each push wrings a helpless sound from Yao Ziyang's throat.
"Dong Yingming! Ah! Gods!"
His whole body trembled as the aftershocks ran through him, shivers rippling from his belly down to his fingertips. Dong Yingming slowed his hand, gentling his stroking fingers, letting Yao Ziyang come down gradually—offering comfort as much as pleasure.
Yao Ziyang collapsed back against the bed, breathless, eyes dazed and glowing with the flush of release. His lips were slightly parted, chest still heaving, and his skin damp with sweat and leftover steam from the bath. He looked undone—beautiful in a way that made Dong Yingming's throat tighten.
Release came in a low but strong cry, body shuddering, hands fisting the sheets, every part of him focused on the wave cresting through him. Dong Yingming stayed with him through it, holding him, guiding him through each tremor until the tension finally eased. His own release taking a back seat as he spills himself over his lover's thigh. Though quiet, it was equally powerful, covering the inner thighs and reaching up to the younger man's smooth and flushed chest. Glazing Yao Ziyang's perky nipples, making him look delectablely dangerous.
After, Yao Ziyang melted into his chest again, breathing ragged but full of warmth. Dong Yingming wiped his hand clean again, then worked on wiping down Yao Ziyang. After, he stroked his fingers gently through Yao Ziyang's hair, murmuring something that sounded almost like a prayer.
"You didn't need to stop."
Yao Ziyang said sleepily.
"I didn't want to break you…"
Dong Yingming replied.
"You matter too much."
Yao Ziyang didn't respond, but he smiled faintly, eyes already drifting shut, body sated and safe.
In the silence, Dong Yingming held him a little tighter. He leaned in and brushed a few damp strands of hair from Yao Ziyang's forehead.
"You did good…"
He said softly.
"You feel alright?"
Yao Ziyang nodded, too breathless to speak at first, then managed a quiet, bliss-drunk smile.
"More than alright…"
Dong Yingming kissed his temple, then pulled the blankets over him and settled in close, Yao Ziyang curling into the safety of his arms. No words were needed after that—the quiet, steady rhythm of two hearts close together was enough. However, Yao Ziyang still wanted to acknowledge his small victory.
"Tonight, I won."
Dong Yingming chuckled low, chest rumbling beneath the weight of the boy now curled against him.
"You always do."
The room was quiet again, but now the silence felt different. Softer. Like the hush that settles over the earth after a storm. The air was heavy with heat, but the tension had broken, melted down into something quieter—something fragile.
Both men, exhausted yet satisfied, fell into a warm and rare deep sleep. In each other's arms, there was no stirring or nightmares, just peace. Until the morning sun came up and along with it, alarming conditions!