Obsessed with a High-Ranking Esper (BL)-Chapter 240: NSFW 4
What’s wrong?" Jian Ci called, his voice too tight.
Through the fogged glass of the shower, Yu Xi’s shape was a blur of supple skin and motion. "Can you wash my back for me?"
The request hit Jian Ci like a physical blow. Wash his back. Get closer. See more. Touch him. Just thinking about it made his hardness painfully harder. "Fuck! " he swore internally. His cock gave a violent, eager twitch, straining against the robe’s belt. No. He couldn’t do this. "Use the loofah," Jian Ci said, the words coming out rushed. "You can reach your back."
A soft, amused sound from the shower. A hand wiped a clear streak on the glass, revealing one dark, knowing eye. "I have washed your back... what, several times before? And you can’t return the favor? Woooow."
The guilt-trip was obvious, playful and it worked. Jian Ci’s resistance crumbled. "Fine. Fine, I will wash it for you." He pushed the door open wider, a cloud of warm, damp air hitting him in the face, smelling of the vanilla and amber shower gel and something else, something purely, essentially male.
His heart wasn’t just beating. It was pounding in his ears, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out the shower’s spray. He stepped into the bathroom, the tile cool under his feet. Yu Xi’s arm snaked out from behind the shower door, offering a lathered loofah. Jian Ci took it, his fingers brushing against Yu Xi’s wet ones. A jolt, electric and hot, shot up his arm.
Yu Xi turned, presenting his back and Jian Ci’s brain short-circuited.
It wasn’t just a back. It was... a masterpiece. Toned muscles moved under slick, wet skin as Yu Xi adjusted his stance. Faint, silvery scars crossed his shoulder blade. Jian Ci’s gaze, helpless, trailed down. Down the narrowing V of his lat muscles. Down to that small waist, cinched and perfect. And lower. Yu Xi’s ass.
He had seen it before countless times in his room, at the private locker. But now, wet and glistening under the shower’s stream, water sluicing down the firm, rounded curves... it had a different meaning. It was a sexual thing. A thing he wanted to grab, knead, spread and fuck. The desire was so sharp, so sudden, it stole the air from his lungs.
"Hurry up," Yu Xi said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated right through Jian Ci’s chest.
"Oh. Right." Jian Ci’s hand, holding the loofah, felt clumsy and huge. He raised it, placing the rough, soapy surface against Yu Xi’s skin. He started to scrub, small circles at first, then broader strokes. The muscle beneath was hard and warm.
Jian Ci’s free hand itched. His fingers curled into his palm, nails biting into his flesh. He wanted to drop the loofah and put his palms flat on that wet skin. He wanted to drag his hands down Yu Xi’s spine, over his hips, and grip that ass. He wanted to pull Yu Xi back against him, let him feel the rigid, aching line of his cock through the robe.
The thought was so vivid, so fucking nasty, that Jian Ci’s breath caught. He scrubbed faster, harder, as if he could scour the image from his own mind.
Up and down, over the shoulders, down to the small of the back. He was avoiding the lower half, staying in safe territory, but his eyes weren’t. They were glued to the water tracing the cleft of Yu Xi’s ass, disappearing into shadow.
"There," Jian Ci said abruptly, his voice rough. He was done. He couldn’t take another second. He thrust the loofah back through the shower door, his hand retreating like he had been burned.
He turned to the sink, turning on the cold tap. He shoved his hands under the water, washing off the soap, the sensation of Yu Xi’s skin and the lingering heat. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror.
His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wild and his lips parted. He looked a hot mess. He turned off the water and grabbed a towel, drying his hands with rough, jerky motions.
He turned only his head back towards the shower, unable to make his whole body follow. He meant to just announce his exit but he met Yu Xi’s eyes.
Yu Xi had turned, just slightly. He was watching Jian Ci through the clear patch on the glass. His gaze was heavy-lidded and dark. The air in the bathroom thickened, charged. Jian Ci’s cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a desperate, pleading ache.
"I am... I am going to bed," Jian Ci stammered, tearing his gaze away. He fled, pushing the bathroom door shut behind him with a soft, final click.
Alone in the steam, Yu Xi let out a slow, shaky breath. He looked down at himself. At his own cock, which was fully, achingly hard, jutting up, the head flushed and wet with pre-cum that mixed with the shower spray.
He wrapped a hand around it, hissing at the contact. It was hot, and solid, and needy. He gave himself one slow, rough stroke, his head falling back against the tile.
"Fuck," he whispered to the empty, steamy room. The word was full of want, of frustration, the same crisis happening on the other side of that door.
Jian Ci stood in the middle of the dim hotel room, the robe feeling like a prison. He untied the belt, letting it fall open. He looked down. His cock stood straight out, the tip damp, leaking a clear bead of desire onto his stomach.
He was having a mental crisis. Jian Ci knew this couldn’t be solved by breathing exercises. Only a cold shower would work but Yu Xi was in there.
He lay on the bed and imagined Yu Xi walking out. Imagined Yu Xi’s eyes on him, dark and hungry. Imagined Yu Xi crossing the room, not saying a word, just pushing the robe off Jian Ci’s shoulders and...
His mind replayed the last two minutes in stark, vivid detail. Yu Xi’s back flexing. The scars there. The way his shoulders moved. The sound of his belt coming undone. The lean curve of his waist. The fucking bend as he took his pants off. The underwear. The black fabric pulled taut. The snap of the elastic. That glimpse of skin.
"Fuck," he whispered.
Jian Ci’s hand moved without permission. He unbuttoned his pyjamas shirt frantically, revealing his chest and abs. His fingers brushed over the cotton covering his cock.
A sharp, electric jolt shot up his spine. He gasped, his head falling back against the headboard. He wasn’t just hard. He was desperate. A deep, gnawing hunger he hadn’t known he possessed was uncoiling in his gut, hot and urgent.
He curled his fingers, gripping himself through the fabric. The pressure was unbearable and perfect. He gave a slow, experimental rub, the heel of his palm pressing against the swollen head. A low groan ripped from his throat. Holy fuck. It felt... it felt amazing. Every nerve ending was on fire, screaming for more.
