RTCBM 31

Mu Yuan lashed out with another kick. Wen Shang took two solid hits, the pain forcing a sharp breath out of him. His brows drew together slightly, and he exhaled through clenched teeth. Gripping Mu Yuan’s other ankle, he yanked him forward, lifted both legs, and spread them apart, resting them on his shoulders. The tight rim of Mu Yuan’s entrance was now pressed flush against the semi-hardened tip of his cock.

Wen Shang didn’t rush to enter. He rubbed slowly, teasing along the edge of the entrance with shallow strokes. He picked up a packet of lube, tore it open, and squeezed it into his palm, coating his fingers evenly before reaching down between Mu Yuan’s legs. His long, defined fingers pressed in bit by bit, stretching him open while casually searching for that sensitive spot inside.

Mu Yuan cooperated the whole way through, trying his best to relax and take him in.

First came the index finger, then the middle finger, going deeper step by step. When his fingertips scraped a certain spot, Mu Yuan couldn’t hold back a moan from deep in his throat. The sound, languid and indulgent, slithered through the air like a sly serpent, slipping into Wen Shang’s ears and striking straight at the core of his desire, dragging every bit of lust from within him to the surface.

The cock between his legs hardened even further. Wen Shang’s breathing grew heavier, and his fingers began thrusting faster, deliberately targeting that sensitive point inside Mu Yuan’s body, sometimes skimming past it, sometimes pressing harder.

The intrusion triggered an instinctive reaction. Mu Yuan’s hole began clenching uncontrollably, squeezing tight around all three of Wen Shang’s fingers.

A loud smack landed square on Mu Yuan’s ass. Wen Shang controlled the force just right. It sounded sharp, but didn’t actually hurt. “Loosen up. Breathe deep.”

“Just get in already… hurry the fuck up…” Mu Yuan urged, voice raspy, soaked in lust.

Listening to Mu Yuan’s uncontrollable, filthy moans was a kind of pleasure in itself for Wen Shang.

Once he saw Mu Yuan had gradually adjusted, Wen Shang withdrew his fingers. As they slid out, the lube stretched into a thin, glistening string clinging to his fingertips. That hole, shy and twitching, opened and closed as if secreting more slick on its own, obscenely inviting.

Adrenaline surged through his veins. The need he had been holding back exploded in full force. Wen Shang tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it over his aching cock in seconds. Lining himself up with the wet, parted entrance, he pushed in with a rough, hungry thrust.

Once he was buried to the base, he started moving. Shallow thrusts at first, then deeper.

Each movement slammed forward with precision, targeting that sensitive spot inside. Every time he grazed it, Mu Yuan couldn’t stop himself from arching up, lifting his hips eagerly to meet Wen Shang’s thrusts. He rocked back against him, moaning shamelessly, the sounds spilling from his mouth far more lewd than he ever thought himself capable of.

“Feels that good getting fucked by me?” Wen Shang rammed in again, the thick shaft that had just pulled out now buried to the hilt once more.

Mu Yuan caught the mocking smirk on his face and refused to give him the satisfaction. He shot back, tone sharp and sarcastic, “Who said it feels good? I’m just lightheaded.”

As he spoke, Mu Yuan pressed a hand to his forehead and put on a deliberately dazed expression. “Ugh… I can’t… sorry… I’ve got needle phobia… this is too much… why’s everything spinning?”

To top it off, he even rolled his eyes at him.

Fuck… calling him a damn fuckboy wasn’t even an exaggeration.

Wen Shang was so furious he could grind his teeth to dust. He lunged forward and sank his teeth into Mu Yuan’s shoulder, hard enough to leave a deep bite mark. His thrusts turned even rougher than before.

“Needle phobia, huh. I’ll fuck you till you black out.”

They went at it three times. Then moved to Wen Shang’s place and went another round. After everything, Mu Yuan passed out cold, completely drained.

By the time he opened his eyes again, the sun was already high in the sky.

Mu Yuan had been woken by something wet and ticklish brushing against his face. Still half-asleep, he rubbed his eyes and slowly blinked them open. Wen Shang was nowhere to be seen. In his place, curled up on the pillow, was Nai Gai. At some point, the lizard had crept into the bed and was now quietly lying beside him, staring with wide eyes, tongue flicking out.

Mu Yuan yawned and rolled over, slinging one arm across Nai Gai’s body. Still feeling unsatisfied, he tossed a leg over it as well, hugging the giant lizard like a pillow and drifting right back to sleep.

When Wen Shang stepped out of the bathroom after his shower, he was greeted by the sight of his beloved pet wrapped up in Mu Yuan’s limbs like some kind of living body pillow.

He stood frozen in place for a second, then walked quietly to the bedside. Without disturbing the sleeping figure, he picked up his phone from the table and took a quick photo to preserve the scene.

Mu Yuan had always been a restless sleeper. After a moment of peace, he began to roll back and forth across the bed. One turn too many and with a loud thud, he rolled right off the other side and crashed onto the floor, the impact jolting him awake.

Wen Shang calmly slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Mu Yuan slowly climbed to his feet, stretching and scratching his stomach as he yawned. He glanced in Wen Shang’s direction and asked groggily,
“I’m starving. Is breakfast ready?”

This guy really had no shame. Who exactly owned this apartment?

Wen Shang’s eyes remained fixed on Mu Yuan, who was now seated across from him at the dining table. He could not help but wonder what the hell it was about this man. No education, no filter, spoke like a thug, dressed with the taste of a drunk uncle, and chewed with his mouth open. Not a shred of manners or class. It was absurd.

And yet, that face of his really was annoyingly decent. His hair too… why waste time on all those ridiculous styles when leaving it natural looked far better. That morning, while Mu Yuan was still asleep, Wen Shang had run his fingers through it out of curiosity. The strands were surprisingly soft. His body, was shockingly flexible, able to withstand a good amount of rough handling. He might be a gangster, but there was something strangely upright about him. And he could sing Cantonese opera like a pro.

Damn. Since when did he go from listing flaws to counting good points?

Mu Yuan stuffed his cheeks full of food. When he looked up, he noticed that Wen Shang’s breakfast was still untouched. Cheeks puffed out, he mumbled,
“Why you not eating?”

“Stop talking with your mouth full,” Wen Shang replied, giving him a side glance.

Mu Yuan quickly swallowed the food and picked up his milk, chugging it down in one go. Now full and recharged, he seemed back to his usual cocky self.

“Your housekeeper’s cooking is really good. Where did you find her? I need one to cook for me too.”

Wen Shang folded his arms and stared at him for a couple of seconds before speaking. “I made that breakfast.”

Mu Yuan looked genuinely stunned. His eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“No shit. You? A man like you can cook?”

“What’s so strange about that? You’re in your late twenties. Can’t even cook for yourself. What, you planning to live like a useless brat forever?”

“I can’t cook,” Mu Yuan said proudly, puffing out his chest like it was something to brag about.

“You’re seriously proud of that?” Wen Shang’s tone carried a hint of contempt.

“So what if I can’t cook?” Mu Yuan looked completely unfazed.

Wen Shang raised an eyebrow. “Then how do you usually handle your meals?”

“Instant noodles and takeout.”

“You can actually eat that stuff?”

“Why not? I’ve been living like this for years and I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

Wen Shang recalled something Luo Yi had mentioned before. Mu Yuan’s family had been gone for a long time. He had been on his own since he was sixteen, thrown into the underworld with nothing but his fists and guts. Wen Shang found it hard to believe someone could survive this long on junk food alone.

“I mean, it’s not like I can’t cook at all,” Mu Yuan added. “My hotpot’s pretty damn good. I can steam crab too.”

Wen Shang stared at him in silence. Who the hell couldn’t throw everything into a pot and boil it?

Mu Yuan’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen. It was a message from Ah Zhi, reminding him about the gang’s meeting that morning and telling him to get there early.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, pulled on his jacket, and stood up to leave. As he passed Wen Shang, he slapped him twice on the shoulder.

“I took you off the blacklist. I’ll call you in a few days,” he said with a wink. “Let’s do what we did last night again.”

Wen Shang’s face dropped faster than a landslide. That urge to punch someone surged up from his gut.

“Can you shut the fuck up for once? Is there anything in your head besides sex? All day, every day, it’s just fucking this and fucking that. What’s in your veins, semen instead of blood?”

Mu Yuan was pissed now. He was being nice for once, and this asshole had to throw it right back at him. Did Wen Shang only feel good after picking a fight?

He snapped. “Wen Shang, who the hell keeps showing up at my door like a damn stalker? You came to me. I never forced you. Don’t want to fuck? Fine. I’ll just go find..”

Wen Shang didn’t need to hear the rest. He knew exactly what Mu Yuan was about to say.

Find someone else.

The fury exploded in his chest like a Molotov. He barked, “Five times a week, right? Fine. I’ll fuck you till you can’t walk.”

“That was last time. Prices have changed.” Mu Yuan’s dark eyes gleamed as they rolled back in mock thought. He held up seven fingers. “Now it’s seven.”

Motherfucker. He actually raised the rate.

Wen Shang had never met anyone like this. Someone who begged to get fucked and then had the balls to ask for more. His stamina was off the charts too. Most bottoms would be curled up in bed the next day with sore backs and wobbly legs, acting all clingy and spoiled.

But Mu Yuan was full of energy, bouncing around like an idiot, completely shameless. No filter, no sense of decency. Wen Shang had fucked him hard, and somehow the bastard still had the audacity to say it wasn’t enough.

Wen Shang had met his fair share of men who needed a good fucking, but never in his life had he met anyone so goddamn desperate for it.

He took a breath, tamped down the fire in his chest, and bargained, “Five times.”

Mu Yuan knew when to stop pushing. He raised his chin, pretending to reluctantly concede. “Fine, fine. Five it is. I’ll go easy on you.”

Wen Shang left his barely touched breakfast on the table and headed upstairs. Mu Yuan, satisfied that he’d gotten his way, didn’t bother figuring out whatever rich-boy mood swing that was. He hummed a little tune and sauntered toward the door.

Just as he reached the entryway, he patted his pockets and realized his keys weren’t there. They must have been left somewhere in the room. With a sigh, he turned around and jogged upstairs.

Wen Shang’s bedroom door was closed, but Mu Yuan pushed it open without knocking.
“Wen-ge, have you seen my keys?”

Wen Shang was shirtless, back turned, just about to change clothes. At the sound of the voice, he whipped around, brows furrowing in clear irritation. “You just barge in without knocking. Do you have no manners at all?”

Mu Yuan froze on the spot. For the first time, he noticed that Wen Shang had a tattoo on his back. He stared, stunned for a long moment, before muttering, “Sorry.”

That caught Wen Shang slightly off guard. Mu Yuan had actually apologized. Must be the end of the world.

“Wen-ge.” Mu Yuan called out to him again.

Wen Shang glanced at him. “What now?”

“Your tattoo. Where did you get it?”

“What does it have to do with you?” Wen Shang slipped into his dress shirt and buttoned it up, then grabbed Mu Yuan’s keys from the table and shoved them into his hand.

On his way home, Mu Yuan kept thinking about the tiger tattoo on Wen Shang’s back.

Tattoos weren’t unusual in their world. Plenty of people on the streets had them. But what struck him was that the tiger on Wen Shang’s back was identical to the one his second uncle used to have.

Many people had a tiger tattooed on their backs. But his uncle’s had a unique detail. A single blue rose placed on the tiger’s chest.

He had been around five or six back then. One day, while helping his uncle bathe, sitting on a little stool and scrubbing his back, he pointed at the tattoo and asked,
“Why does the tiger not have a rose?”

His uncle turned to look at him, smiling as he playfully tapped his nose. “Why should there be a rose?”

Mu Yuan tilted his head and answered earnestly, “Because they say, ‘A fierce tiger with a heart that smells of roses.’”

He had picked that line up from a drama on TV. As a kid, he didn’t really understand what it meant. But to his mind, tigers and roses simply belonged together.

To make his little nephew happy, his uncle had actually gone to a tattoo shop a few days later and asked the artist to add a rose.

That rose had been inked for Mu Yuan. Ever since then, that tiger with the blue rose had become one-of-a-kind, unmatched by any other.

He had stared at that tattoo for over a decade. Every detail was etched into his memory. The tiger on Wen Shang’s back had the same posture, the same expression, and even the same rose in the exact same place and shade.

There was no way that was just a coincidence.