LIAH 17. Every Time We Meet It’s Like This

Pei Siyin’s head was a little foggy, and the usual sharpness he carried had dulled. He took two steps closer to Song Shengyang, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and flipped it up slightly. “I didn’t take my clothes off. See? I’m still wearing them.”

More and more people were walking in and out of the restroom, and a few curious glances landed on the two of them. Song Shengyang tossed the paper towel into the trash and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Pei Siyin rushed after him, both arms wrapping tightly around his.

Song Shengyang glanced sideways at him. “I’m going home. Weren’t you here to eat?”

The lights above them cast a warm yellow glow, blurring the outline of Song Shengyang’s face as Pei Siyin looked up at him.

He leaned against Song Shengyang’s arm, swaying a little, eyelids drooping. “I’m done eating. I want to go home.”

Song Shengyang didn’t move. “Ask your classmates to take you back.”

“No.” Pei Siyin sobered up in an instant. “I want you to take me.”

As he spoke, he tightened his grip around Song Shengyang’s arm, clearly not planning to let go.

Song Shengyang paused for a second, then said slowly, “Go get your things. I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”

Pei Siyin nearly jumped. The light caught in his eyes, making them shine. “Okay!”

He hadn’t brought much, just his phone and keys stuffed into his pockets. The table had at least a dozen empty cans on it. He reached out, grabbed his phone, and didn’t even step back to his seat. “Guys, I’m heading out.”

“You’re leaving?” Ji Zhen squinted, still tipsy. His voice was sluggish. “Where you going?”

Pei Siyin touched his flushed cheeks, visibly in high spirits. “Someone’s picking me up. You guys go back to the dorm without me. Bye.”

Xue Feng and Chen Zhaomian nodded, still holding their half-finished milk teas. After Pei Siyin walked off, the three of them quietly crept over to the windows. Outside stood a tall man in a suit, long legs and sharp features.

Xue Feng sucked up a pearl. “Ji Zhen, no need for introductions. That has to be Siyin’s dream guy.”

Ji Zhen peeked his head halfway out and nodded. “Good-looking and looks rich. Not bad, not bad.”

Chen Zhaomian finished his milk tea, flipped the cup over, and pulled out his phone. He snapped a quick photo of the two standing close by the door. Biting his straw, he frowned and let out a sigh. “Didn’t see that coming. Really didn’t.”

The night air was chilly. Pei Siyin reached back, meaning to pull up his hood, only to remember he had lent the hoodie to Ji Zhen earlier.

“My hoodie,” Pei Siyin exclaimed. “I forgot to grab it.”

Then he muttered to himself, “Whatever. Ji Zhen’s still in a T-shirt anyway. Let him keep it.”

Song Shengyang opened the car door and got in first. He closed the window and waited for Pei Siyin to follow.

“It’s freezing out here.”

The temperature inside the car was just right. The windows were shut tight, and not a hint of wind got through. Pei Siyin leaned sleepily against the passenger seat, his head knocking lightly against the window as it swayed back and forth. Song Shengyang freed one hand and gave him a light slap. “Keep that up and you’re gonna concuss yourself.”

A few faint marks had appeared on the right side of Pei Siyin’s forehead. After a short nap, he felt a lot more alert. He yawned, cracked the window for some air, then turned toward Song Shengyang. “My head hurts.”

“You drank too much,” Song Shengyang said flatly.

Pei Siyin stared at his side profile, the corner of his lips curling just barely into a smile.

He said he was drunk, but after getting some air and a nap, his mind was already mostly clear.

When they reached the gate of the complex, Song Shengyang pulled over and parked. He didn’t make a move to get out. Pei Siyin unbuckled his seatbelt, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and slumped back into the seat. “I can’t move. No strength.”

Song Shengyang loosened his tie and picked up Pei Siyin’s phone. “I’ll call your friend to come get you.”

Pei Siyin immediately snatched the phone back and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Song Shengyang’s neck. Their faces were close enough to kiss. “You take me upstairs.”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.” Pei Siyin shut him up by pressing his lips softly to the corner of his mouth, inch by inch. Their cheeks brushed, and he whispered by his ear, “Come on. Take me upstairs.”

So Song Shengyang did.

The first thing Pei Siyin did after getting home was shower. The smell of barbecue clinging to him was too strong to ignore. He stripped off all his clothes, tossed them into the washing machine, and hit the button, watching them spin.

In the living room, Song Shengyang was on the phone. Pei Siyin towel-dried his hair as he walked over and quietly turned down the volume on the TV. Then he sat beside him on the couch.

On the other end of the call, a woman’s voice could be faintly heard. Song Shengyang looked annoyed. He had already taken off his jacket and tossed it to the side. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a stretch of pale, defined chest.

Pei Siyin couldn’t make out what they were talking about. He only heard fragments like “not going” and “stop bothering me.”

The call dragged on, so Pei Siyin went to the bathroom and came back again.

He hadn’t changed into pajamas after his shower. Instead, he wore a white bathrobe. The belt around his waist looked like one tug would pull it loose. Song Shengyang heard him come back and looked up, just as Pei Siyin pushed his shoulder and climbed directly onto his lap.

The robe bunched up on his thighs. He guided Song Shengyang’s hand onto his leg. His skin was soft and still damp from the shower. Song Shengyang glanced at him, still on the phone, his expression puzzled.

Pei Siyin’s wet hair dripped onto his shoulders. Song Shengyang lifted the towel from the couch, tossed it over his head and mouthed, Get off.

Pei Siyin tossed the towel aside.

He didn’t interrupt the call. He just made his presence known in a different way.

He pried open Song Shengyang’s mouth easily. A faint trace of mint lingered inside. Mimicking what Song Shengyang had taught him the night before, he pressed his tongue in firmly, stealing his breath with a kiss that burned deep. It didn’t take long before Song Shengyang took over completely. He ended the call, grabbed Pei Siyin by the waist, and pinned him to the couch.

His breath was unsteady.

“What are you trying to pull now?”

In the shuffle, the bathrobe had ridden up to his lower abdomen. Pei Siyin was breathing hard, his lower body pressed tightly against Song Shengyang. “I’m not doing anything. Just a kiss.”

“This is a kiss?” Song Shengyang held his waist, one hand braced beside his shoulder. His Adam’s apple bobbed with difficulty as his gaze shifted upward. “You couldn’t even wear underwear? Are you broke?”

Pei Siyin let out a small laugh. He took the hand resting on his waist and slowly guided it along his skin, the motion languid and seductive. “No, I washed them. That’s all.”

Song Shengyang’s fingers pressed against the inside of his thigh, and for the first time, his eyes dropped to take in Pei Siyin’s lower half.

Pei Siyin lay back on the couch, biting his lip uneasily. Song Shengyang used one hand to push the robe a little higher. The corners of Pei Siyin’s eyes were flushed, hard to say if it was from the steam of the shower or from the way Song Shengyang stared at him with unfiltered heat.

It was a shame Pei Siyin couldn’t see the way his gaze lowered. He could only tilt his head back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Song Shengyang didn’t pull his hand away. He kept it firmly pressed in place.

Pei Siyin’s waist was slender and pale. His ass was full and round, the flesh softly spilling to either side as he lay there. His lower body was clean, completely smooth, without a trace of hair. His cock, like his face, was finely shaped, delicate and beautiful.

Song Shengyang had always assumed that if he ever saw a man’s body up close, he’d recoil. That he’d want to get away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, what rose in him was a deep, relentless hunger, and all of it was for Pei Siyin.

One of Pei Siyin’s legs curled around his waist, while the other hung off the side of the couch, too long for the narrow space. His thighs were spread wide apart. Song Shengyang leaned down. His fingers slipped under the robe and brushed lightly over the small, stiffened bud on Pei Siyin’s chest.

Pei Siyin let out a soft moan and instinctively tried to shrink back.

“Why does this happen every time we meet?” Song Shengyang rubbed his fingertips gently over it before pulling away, sliding his hand instead to stroke the curve of his waist. “Pei Siyin, we’ve only known each other for seven days.”