6. Card Game Part 1

“What are you after?”

Lu Zhenming’s face carried a hint of relaxed fatigue. After putting on his pants, he helped Yin Yan to the lounge chair and sat down on the edge himself.

Yin Yan didn’t answer. He wiped off the paint on Lu Zhenming’s chest with his fingers, brought it up to his nose, sniffed it, and squinted his eyes in amusement. “Did you make this yourself?”

Lu Zhenming’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, teased by the gesture, but he kept his composure and casually replied, “Yeah.”

“Industrial pigment. Still as rough as ever,” Yin Yan chuckled softly. “Earlier, I noticed that your painting isn’t reflective. Is that saponified wax?”

“Beeswax mixed directly into the paint. Fifteen percent.”

“That’s a high ratio. No wonder it’s so absorbent. I’m a little worried about the layer’s strength. It might crack…”

“Yin Yan,” Lu Zhenming interrupted, uninterested in discussing art any longer. His hand reached between Yin Yan’s legs. “We’re not done yet.”

He wasn’t sure whether it was his palm that was too hot or Yin Yan’s skin that was too cold, but Lu Zhenming suddenly had the illusion that he was pressing hot iron against a snow sculpture, melting it layer by layer, as if he could eventually touch that icy core. Yet, Yin Yan’s gaze remained detached and indifferent, even tinged with mockery. The look triggered Lu Zhenming’s simmering rage once again.

He turned and walked toward the storage room, pulling out an 80×80 cm pinewood frame in a grid pattern. After sanding off the splinters with sandpaper, he picked out a bottle of poppy oil from a row of medium containers on the shelf.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

Lu Zhenming returned to the lounge chair and gestured with his chin.

Yin Yan hesitated briefly, his breathing growing deeper. He obediently stood up, his eyes and the corners of his mouth curving provocatively. Lu Zhenming slapped him on the ass.

“Stop being such a tease.”

His gaze was so serious that Yin Yan had no choice but to comply. In that instant, he fell into a kind of anticipation, a submission to something vast and intangible, something tied to humanity’s primal, enduring desires. He had no choice but to surrender.

Lu Zhenming instructed Yin Yan to sit on the frame as if it were a horizontal bar. The order was simple, but executing it was difficult. The wooden bars couldn’t support the weight of an adult man, so Yin Yan had to bend his knees slightly, half-sitting and half-leaning against it.

Lu Zhenming’s unexpected creativity was enough to surprise Yin Yan. The improvised, resourceful setup was more thrilling than anything he’d experienced before. Just the anticipation of what was to come was enough to make his body stir with excitement.

Lu Zhenming let out a low chuckle, but there was something beneath that sound. A subtle warning, much like Yin Yan’s earlier teasing.

And it hit Yin Yan precisely where it was meant to.

Before Lu Zhenming even touched him, Yin Yan was already fully erect. The itch spread from his erection to his chest, looping back and forth between his heart and his throbbing arousal. The sensation swelled and rippled outward, flooding his skin and muscles like a tidal wave.

“I’m itching,” he said softly.

Lu Zhenming chuckled again as he unscrewed the glass bottle in his hand. Tilting it slightly, he let a bead of oil hang just above Yin Yan’s erection, trembling at the edge but never falling.

Yin Yan groaned, a sound caught somewhere between release and restraint. As he drew breath to repeat his plea, Lu Zhenming suddenly closed the bottle with a snap, his expression shifting with a trace of malicious amusement as he watched Yin Yan’s growing frustration.

“Where does it itch?”

His smile deepened, his eyes locked onto Yin Yan with wicked anticipation. He wanted to hear him say it. He wanted to hear those filthy, forbidden words fall from the mouth of someone who rarely, if ever, used crude language.

Yin Yan’s gaze wavered, flickering between resistance and surrender. But he knew, just as Lu Zhenming did, that his resistance was futile. Eventually, under that unwavering, penetrating gaze, he would break. And that was the part he enjoyed most. The slow collapse of his own defenses.

The shame began to creep up his neck, turning his pale skin pink as it spread. It deepened, blossoming across his chest and shoulders, until his whole body seemed to glow with the flush of humiliation. Only then did he force out a strangled, defeated whisper, laced with self-loathing and surrender.

After speaking, he cast Lu Zhenming a sideways glance, reluctant and yet faintly defiant, a challenge issued by someone who had already lost, but who still wanted to pretend otherwise. It was a weak, half-hearted act of provocation, as if daring Lu Zhenming to push him further.

Lu Zhenming’s satisfaction was written all over his face. He had gotten exactly what he wanted.

A line of clear oil dripped down, descending like salvation, followed by his hand sliding firmly along Yin Yan’s length from base to tip. Any resistance Yin Yan had melted away instantly. Obediently, he leaned forward, instinctively seeking the solid comfort of Lu Zhenming’s shoulder.

But just as Yin Yan thought he could collapse against him, Lu Zhenming abruptly stepped back, pulling both his body and his moving hand away.

“Sit up straight.”

His tone was indifferent, his command cold. Piece by piece, he adjusted Yin Yan’s posture, meticulously correcting every detail, as though testing how far Yin Yan would compromise in pursuit of this warped desire.

He wouldn’t allow Yin Yan to lower his head to watch him jerk him off. Nor would he let him throw his head back in helpless surrender when the pleasure became unbearable. He didn’t even permit him to make a sound. Because Yin Yan’s voice was too seductive, and Lu Zhenming’s self-control was too fragile. One moan, one breathy exhale, and he’d be undone, driven by the impulse to throw him down, break him apart, and lose control entirely.

He feared that Yin Yan, like he once said, would suddenly freeze, slipping back into that cold, unresponsive state, leaving him hanging halfway in the air again.

So, he poured everything he had into this. Every ounce of skill, every complex, meticulous technique he had perfected, moves that had left countless others drowning in helpless desire. Now, he wielded them against Yin Yan with a kind of quiet vengeance, unconsciously infused with resentment, his touch deliberately seeking out every weak spot.

Yin Yan’s response was exactly as he’d imagined. Teetering on the edge, as if suspended by a single thread above an abyss. Heaven and hell were separated by nothing more than Lu Zhenming’s godlike hand, which held complete control over him.

That image sent an unexpected rush of pleasure through Lu Zhenming. He realized, with grim amusement, that he was no different from Yin Yan. Twisted. Deranged. Incomprehensible and impossible to define. It was a silent battle between strength and restraint, fought beneath an outwardly calm surface.

He was jerking someone else off, and yet he was just as hard, just as desperate for release. But instead of giving himself relief, he tightened his grip on Yin Yan, ensuring that he, too, would be denied any escape.

“Do you want to come?”

Lu Zhenming asked the question casually, his voice low, his eyes locked on Yin Yan’s face as he deliberately shifted his movements, making them uneven and unpredictable.

On the edge of climax, every touch was unbearable, every surge of pleasure unpredictable. Yin Yan nodded, but it wasn’t just a nod. His entire upper body moved, his waist driving the motion, his chest pulling his neck forward. His flushed face rose and fell in wave-like undulations, and the last ripple lingered at the corners of his eyes like a final cresting wave, crashing silently against Lu Zhenming’s chest.

“…I want to…”

Lu Zhenming felt a pang of frustration, as if he’d walked straight into his own trap. He lightly slapped Yin Yan’s testicles, eliciting a gasp, which only further stoked his desire and deepened his simmering anger. His hand enveloped the most sensitive part of Yin Yan’s erection, applying slow, deliberate pressure in a circular motion. Yin Yan instantly forgot every command not to make noise and cried out, trembling:

“Zhenming… I want to come…”

For two whole years, Yin Yan hadn’t called his name with such intimacy. And now, in the middle of this debauched moment, it slipped past his lips.

Lu Zhenming tightened his grip, denying him release no matter how desperately he begged. When Yin Yan’s trembling eased, Lu Zhenming would push him right back to the edge, over and over again, leaving him trapped in this agonizing purgatory.

Yin Yan finally looked up at him, seeking mercy. There was no longer any teasing in his eyes, no defiance, only complete collapse and submission.

This was the moment Lu Zhenming had been waiting for. He wanted to know if, at the peak of his climax, Yin Yan would finally open his arms and give him a barrierless embrace.

But the scene Lu Zhenming had longed for never came.

Yin Yan started to fall backward, completely spent. His head dropped, as if entrusting his life to Lu Zhenming, whether he’d catch him or let him crash to the ground.

Lu Zhenming lost the gamble without a shred of dignity. He threw his arms around Yin Yan, collapsing to his knees on the shattered frame beneath them. Shards of broken glass pierced the backs of his hands, drawing blood as dark and vivid as the paint staining his chest.

“Are you insane?!”

Yin Yan just smiled.

Lu Zhenming carefully examined Yin Yan’s body, checking him from head to toe. There were only a few minor scrapes, overlapping the fading whip marks on his skin.

“Yin Yan, we need to set a safe word. I’m afraid I might lose control, and you’ll end up getting hurt…”

“Lu Zhenming, do you want to play that kind of game too?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Yin Yan was still smiling. “Fine, how about ‘Zhenming’?”

Lu Zhenming’s heart twinged again, and he struggled to pull that barbed smile out from where it seemed lodged deep in his chest. “That’s not funny at all. Pick something else.”

But Yin Yan only drove the thorn in deeper. “Then how about ‘I love you’?”

“…‘Zhenming’ it is.”

Lu Zhenming sighed helplessly, feeling a strong urge to toss Yin Yan back onto the pile of broken frames. He had no idea what was going on in Yin Yan’s mind. Why he was so fixated on masochism, all while dragging them both through the same torment.

Yin Yan seemed equally puzzled. Staring at Lu Zhenming’s frustrated expression, he quietly asked:

“What are you after, then?