Quite naturally, their visits to that house increased from once a week to twice.
Qin Siyu always went over on Saturday evening, spent Sunday at the hospital, then returned to the house.
The morning after the day they played the piano, they each told the other what had happened when they first met. One had intended to steal something; the other had just escaped a “punishment” and gone to pray to God. They kissed deeply for a long time, and their feelings seemed to grow even stronger.
These days, when Qin Siyu came home from the hospital, he was usually exhausted. He would lie down on the living-room sofa and rest. Aston would bring him a glass of warm water, always at exactly the temperature Qin Siyu liked best, and set it nearby. Then he would pull up a chair and sit beside the sofa, watching him. Qin Siyu would turn toward him, and their eyes would lock for a very long time. Sometimes he would offer Aston his right hand to hold.
Occasionally Aston squeezed onto the sofa too, putting his arms around Qin Siyu and resting his head in the hollow of Qin Siyu’s neck. He was such a big, tall, solid man; fortunately the sofa was long enough. Qin Siyu would wind his fingers into Aston’s golden hair and smooth it down, thinking he had somehow acquired a golden retriever.
More than anything, the two of them liked sitting together and chatting, talking about the things that had happened over the past few days and the things they had experienced as children.
There was always more they wanted to discover about each other.
At dinner they sat facing one another across the table, eating slowly and talking at leisure.
Different as their lives were, each wanted to understand the other’s.
When they had spare time, they sometimes played ball in the yard.
There was a little basketball hoop in the yard of their rented house.
Qin Siyu knew how to play a little. His family was poor, but basketball was something he could practice. Chinatown’s YMCA often organized classes, and afterward people could play on their own. He sometimes played in school competitions, though he never had much time to devote to it.
Aston was much the same. All his former private schools had gymnasiums, but basketball had a working-class association and wasn’t considered a sport for the upper class. Aston wasn’t particularly skilled at it either. The sports in which he could win championships were tennis and polo.
But basketball was fun even if neither of them was especially good.
In Aston’s old imaginings, he would have fallen for an elegant, dignified woman. Yet here he was, loving the sight of the person opposite him bending low, his eyes lifted challengingly, muscles taut, long Achilles tendons showing, his whole body alive with power as they competed over a basketball.
Qin Siyu always felt as though he were dreaming too. He had fallen in love with a white person, and a man at that, and not merely any man but Kingsley Aston. And that white man, that man, that Kingsley Aston, loved him in return.
Every single part of it had seemed impossible, yet every part had happened.
He was a deviant. And so was the other man.
As for the evenings, they were always indulging their desires.
Both were extraordinarily self-controlled, and they had not actually gone all the way, yet they were completely engrossed in desire.
One day Qin Siyu remarked, “Scientists say that indulging desire… damages the brain.”
With his face buried against Qin Siyu’s chest, Aston coaxed him. “Twice a week certainly won’t hurt.”
“Twice a week is certainly a lot,” Qin Siyu insisted.
“As you command,” Aston said.
Qin Siyu stared at him. What command? What on earth was he obeying?
As it turned out, Aston made that particular encounter almost unbearable for him.
Whenever Qin Siyu thought he was about to reach release, Aston would hold him back and say, “Sean, you mustn’t. You have to protect your brain.”
Qin Siyu could only gasp.
After Aston did it five times in a row, Qin Siyu was nearly at his breaking point. “Kingsley, please… please let me…”
“Mm?” Aston studied him. “You don’t want to protect your brain anymore?”
“Please…!”
When they were finally done, Aston laughed. “I don’t believe doing those things damages the brain.”
Qin Siyu was speechless. In truth, he hadn’t noticed any such effect either.
“Those scientists are old men,” Aston declared. “Their bodies don’t work anymore and they’ve grown bitter. They made it all up to deceive us.”
Qin Siyu could hardly believe what he was hearing.
Once, after getting out of bed, Qin Siyu discovered a love bite on the side of his neck.
The red mark stood out all the more against his fair skin.
He had no choice but to put on a high-necked knitted sweater to hide it.
Wu Xintong saw him and remarked, “Sean, you’re looking so fashionable today!”
Qin Siyu didn’t bother replying.
That idiot Wu Xintong.
Qin Siyu also began using the nickname “Kingsy” for Aston.
He wanted something even more intimate than the formal name “Kingsley.”
Aston had no experience with nicknames and told Qin Siyu to choose whatever he liked.
The most common nickname for “Kingsley” was surely “King,” preserving the name’s meaning and symbolism. But Qin Siyu didn’t like it. He wanted none of the expectations and responsibilities carried in that name: nobility, majesty, leadership, glory. He didn’t want to call him that.
After considering it, he settled on “Kingsy.” “It’s so cute! And the ‘sy’ at the end is a lot like a shortened version of my own name, Sean.”
Aston raised an eyebrow.
It sounded childish.
Children were the ones who liked tacking a “y” onto everything. Mom became mommy, Dad daddy, dog doggy, cat kitty, horse horsie, and even ghost became ghosty.
But Aston liked having Qin Siyu call him “Kingsy.”
All his life, even his parents had addressed him only by his given name or his full name. In their social circle, using a child’s formal name signaled authority and proper upbringing. It emphasized status and family.
They were deliberately avoiding anything else.
His parents, Alexander and Victoria, called each other “Alex” and “Vicky,” yet with their son they deliberately kept their distance, deliberately erected barriers, deliberately prevented him from imagining warmth or intimacy. They needed that distance to maintain a sense of control over him. Alex said that only ordinary families liked that kind of atmosphere.
His friends naturally called him by his full given name too.
So this was the first time anyone had ever called him by a nickname. For the first time in his life, he felt that he genuinely had an intimate relationship.
Sometimes he called Qin Siyu “Seany” in return, a nickname of his own invention.
“Kingsy!” Qin Siyu would ask. “Do you have class tomorrow morning? What time are you leaving?”
Or, “Did you eat dinner at the dining hall tonight? What did you have, Kingsy?”
Sometimes, even in bed, Qin Siyu would plead, “Don’t do that, Kingsy, don’t do that to me—”
Which only made Aston more relentless.
On one occasion Aston had student-council business and couldn’t get away in time to eat with Qin Siyu. He asked Endicott Cliff to pass on the message. He wrote a note explaining why and handed it to his friend.
Cliff agreed. Aston, meanwhile, was surrounded by admirers and escorted elsewhere as though he were the moon among stars. He walked at the center of the group, his head slightly inclined and his eyes lowered as he listened to an excited speaker beside him. Occasionally he contributed a casual remark or two. Yet whenever he opened his mouth, the whole group listened with complete attention.
Cliff unfolded the note a little and saw the signature: “Kingsy”. He fell silent.
No one dared call Aston “Kingsy.”
“Kingsley can’t make it. He’s still with the student council,” Cliff told Qin Siyu. Qin Siyu was leaning against a wall, looking up at the clouds, both hands thrust into his pockets. He looked effortlessly carefree.
“Oh.” Qin Siyu straightened and smiled at Cliff. His expression seemed to carry an even more alluring charm than before, and the little mole beneath his eye was particularly striking. “I see. Thank you.” With that he turned to go.
“You—”
Qin Siyu turned partway back. “Hmm?”
“Nothing.”
Qin Siyu didn’t press him. He left one hand in his pocket and waved the other casually behind him. “Bye-bye.” Then he strode away.
Cliff Endicott watched his retreating back with complicated feelings.
He had always imagined his best friend’s wife would be a noble, elegant woman. Why—
Kingsley, he thought, have you lost your mind?
In October, Qin Siyu applied to declare his major.
Most students settled on a major during their second year, usually by the end of that year. Qin Siyu, however, knew exactly what he wanted to do. He had completed his prerequisite courses during his first year, and in the two months since entering his second, had met several times with his academic adviser and prepared his materials. So he submitted his application in October.
He wanted to begin specialized courses earlier and, if possible, leave university sooner.
The school also allowed students to reapply once for each major. In other words, if this application was rejected, he could use the remaining months to improve his qualifications and apply a second time later in his sophomore year.
The packet contained his transcript, published papers, records of volunteer service, a letter of recommendation from Professor Watson, another from Dr. Sterling, his personal statement, and so on.
After it was discovered that Pearl actually had systemic lupus erythematosus, Dr. Sterling had unexpectedly apologized. Ms. Miller was later confirmed to have porphyria rather than the disease first suspected, which astonished Sterling even more. Afterward, their relationship became fairly good.
So when Qin Siyu asked him for a recommendation, Dr. Sterling agreed.
When Qin Siyu received the letter, he began unfolding the paper from the bottom.
He opened the last fold first. It was blank.
What? Qin Siyu opened another fold. Still blank.
Not even half a page? His vision nearly went black. Dr. Sterling’s personality was completely unlike anyone else’s! There was no predicting what he would do.
All the others, including Professor Watson, had written long letters!
He unfolded another section. Still blank!
Qin Siyu felt ready to faint. He looked at the final fold at the top and discovered that the entire recommendation consisted of just one sentence!
One sentence, scrawled messily: “He can save many lives. I am certain of it.”
Qin Siyu stared at the words, then placed the letter inside his application packet.
Typical Sterling.
Before he submitted his application, Aston had offered to review his materials. But Qin Siyu said, “Kingsy, I don’t need help with this one.”
He sealed the documents and signed his name. “Nobody could possibly do this better than I can right now, including you, Kingsy. Having you look through it would only waste time.”
Aston gazed at him deeply. “Mm.”
No one had ever told him so directly that his help wasn’t needed, or that he couldn’t do a better job. Qin Siyu was the first. Aston had long been accustomed to other people’s admiration and dependence.
Qin Siyu had in fact prepared himself to be rejected this time. After all, Chinese students were generally shunted into scientific and technical fields almost by default.
What he hadn’t expected was that just two weeks after submitting his application, his chosen major would be approved!
He could study that new interdisciplinary field of biochemistry!
In fact, it was meant to prepare students to become doctors!
He had a major!
He asked Aston to come home for the evening.
That night, as soon as Aston returned “home,” he smelled something delicious.
He stepped into the kitchen. Qin Siyu was standing there, busy with something.
Aston came up behind him, gently put his arms around him, and asked, “What are you making?”
“Old-hen soup,” Qin Siyu said. “From a free-range chicken.” He had added some nourishing ingredients.
“Mm? An older chicken?” Aston, predictably, didn’t understand. Abandoning his usual erect posture, he leaned loosely against Qin Siyu, chin on his shoulder. “Why use an old one?”
“The meat is firmer, and the amount of fat is just right.” Qin Siyu scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, swallowed it with a slurp, and said, “It’s almost done.”
He switched off the stove with a click.
“Let me taste it,” Aston said.
He licked away the little drop of moisture at the center of Qin Siyu’s upper lip, then deepened the kiss.
They kissed for a long time.
Qin Siyu filled another spoon. “Taste it properly.”
Holding the spoon in one hand and a small cloth beneath it in the other, he lowered his eyes and carefully blew on the soup until it cooled. Then he offered the spoon to Aston’s lips. “Here.”
Aston looked at him, lowered his lashes, bowed his head, and drank it all with complete seriousness.
“Well?” Qin Siyu asked.
Aston savored it for a moment. “Mm. Very good.”
Apparently unused to being fed, Aston’s face had turned a little red.
Qin Siyu smiled, thinking how obvious it was when white people blushed. “The rice will be ready soon. I’ll stir-fry some choy sum and steam some eggs. Go wait outside.”
“All right.”
They shared another light kiss, touching briefly before parting, and Aston went to the living room.
Once the dishes were served and the soup poured, they began eating.
Aston was good with chopsticks, but not quite as relaxed with them as usual. His movements were rather slow. He carefully picked up a mouthful of rice and just as carefully brought it to his mouth.
Qin Siyu laughed. Aston looked up, silently asking, What?
“Kingsy, you look like an idiot right now.”
Aston warned him, “Sean.”
“If a Daoist priest took one look at you, he’d definitely try to sell you some talisman water to drink.”
“…Sean.”
“Sorry.” Inwardly Qin Siyu decided he would make stir-fried peas next time, just to watch Aston pick them up one by one. He probably wouldn’t manage more than a few peas over the course of an entire meal.
“Sean,” Aston said, “you don’t feel sorry at all. Your eyes are darting around. You’re planning something wicked.”
Qin Siyu tilted his head. “Of course not.”
Aston said nothing.
After dinner Aston washed the dishes. He was tall and long-legged, dressed in an expensive shirt and trousers with perfectly pressed creases, every strand of hair immaculate. Yet here he stood with his sleeves rolled up, washing plates with a dishcloth.
Qin Siyu watched him.
“What are you looking at?” Aston asked.
“Probably no one could imagine those hands of yours washing dishes.”
“No one could imagine a great many of the things these hands can do,” Aston replied blandly.
His tone was perfectly calm, but for some reason Qin Siyu felt certain that he hadn’t meant anything respectable.
That evening they went to the cinema together to watch a new film.
When they entered, everyone around them looked their way.
One white man and one Chinese man, both men, coming to the cinema together.
In other circumstances they might have been classmates, but at a cinema? They had to be close friends at the very least. It was extraordinarily unusual.
There was also a peculiar atmosphere between them.
They seemed so equal, so attuned, so comfortable together, and both were extraordinarily beautiful.
Both men were fairly tall for their respective communities. The Chinese man’s features were gentle, but his eyes were sharp. When a white couple frowned and stared at them, he gave them one light sideways glance without breaking stride or acknowledging them, then looked ahead again.
The white man noticed. Perhaps he asked his companion what he had been looking at. The Chinese man shook his head. The white man turned as they continued walking, looked at the couple behind them, and showed a face of breathtaking handsomeness.
They disappeared past the ticket checkpoint, leaving the people in the lobby exchanging glances.
The film was called The Invisible Man, adapted from the novel of the same name. It was a monster story, said to feature astonishing special effects and an enormous technical breakthrough.
Elio’s Notes: Universal’s The Invisible Man had its general American release on November 13, 1933. Earlier limited screenings occurred, but the film’s appearance in this October-set sequence may be ahead of its wider release; the author’s chronology is retained. Source: American Film Institute Catalog.
It concerned a man wrapped in bandages and wearing dark glasses who was actually invisible underneath. He had conducted experiments with drugs in hopes of someday living with the woman he loved, but the substances changed his temperament. He killed countless people, caused a train to derail, robbed a bank and scattered its banknotes among the public. At last the police shot him, and in the final scene, as he lay on a bed, his face finally became visible: handsome and peaceful.
The effects were truly remarkable. A suit of clothes floated about as naturally as though a person wore it, and the audience couldn’t detect the ropes or wires.
At the end of the film, just as the protagonist’s face appeared, Aston suddenly moved his fingers and clasped the hand of the person beside him.
Qin Siyu went rigid for a moment.
They were sitting in darkness, and the film was at its climax, but all around them… there were other people.
Aston propped up his chin with one hand and held Qin Siyu’s with the other.
A second later Qin Siyu tightened his fingers too, threading them firmly between Aston’s.
For the first time, their ten fingers interlaced in a crowd.
People were all around them, and the two of them sent one another a secret signal of love.
The film lasted only seventy minutes. By the time they got home, it was around ten o’clock. After showering, they sat at the table again, snacking and chatting.
How strange, Qin Siyu thought. Dinner and a movie were the most ordinary things in American family life, yet they made him so happy.
The previous year a company called “Lay’s” had introduced something called “potato chips,” and Qin Siyu loved them.
Elio’s Notes: Herman Lay began selling potato chips in 1932, but the familiar Lay’s brand name dates to 1944. The 1933 brand reference is therefore anachronistic, though potato chips themselves already existed. Source: PepsiCo brand history.
He was good at saving money, yet once every three months he absolutely had to buy a bag of potato chips. He was disciplined, making one bag last a fortnight: he ate only two or three chips at a time, sealed the bag with a little clip, and on the final day tipped even the crumbs into his mouth.
They were delicious.
“Kingsy,” Qin Siyu said, “I wanted to come home tonight because I’ve been accepted into the biochemistry major.”
“I’d guessed.” Aston’s deep blue eyes rested on him. “I am so proud of you, Sean. Congratulations.”
No one had ever said those words to Qin Siyu in his entire life. Qin Sanfu and Lin Xiangmei were naturally proud of him, and even liked bragging about him, but they had never said it directly to him. To his face, they always seemed dissatisfied.
The first “I am so proud of you” of his life had come from Kingsley Aston, someone so dazzling. In the eyes of the world, the distance between them was enormous, as vast as that between clouds and mud. Yet Aston was proud of his achievements.
“Kingsy,” Qin Siyu asked, “do you think I can become a doctor?”
“You can. I’m certain.”
“And when that happens,” Qin Siyu asked, “will you still be able to say ‘Congratulations’? Will you still be sitting across from me?”
“I will,” Aston answered again.
Qin Siyu looked at him. He thought of the way their fingers had interlaced in the darkness of the cinema, and understood just how much it meant for Aston to hold his hand among other people, even in a movie theater. His eyes suddenly reddened. “Kingsy, Dr. Sterling taught me a stronger way of tying a knot today.”
“What is it?”
“Hmm…” Qin Siyu looked around, stood, and went to his toolbox. He pulled out a length of waxed linen thread.
It was new and red. He unwrapped it, drew out a length, and came back.
Aston remained seated at the table, waiting.
“Hold out your left hand,” Qin Siyu said.
Aston obeyed. Qin Siyu tied one end of the red thread around the base of his left ring finger. “Like this.”
Aston lowered his gaze and obediently let Qin Siyu loop the string around the base of his left ring finger.
Qin Siyu loved beautiful things. He left the thread’s tail a little long; after tying a surgeon’s knot, he used the loose end to form a bow with enormous butterfly wings.
“Learned it?” he asked.
“More or less.” Aston said, “Now you hold out your hand.”
Qin Siyu offered his hand and spread all five fingers against the tabletop.
Aston tucked the other end of the thread beneath his finger. Recalling each step Qin Siyu had demonstrated, he tried it. “Is this part right?”
“Very clever,” Qin Siyu praised him.
Aston also tied a bow in imitation of Qin Siyu’s. Now a single red thread joined their ring fingers: one end on Qin Siyu’s hand, the other on Aston’s.
“A stronger kind of knot.” Aston curled his fingers slightly, tugging at the red thread. “So what does this represent?”
Qin Siyu gave his own knot a little tug and smiled. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Aston studied him for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”
He stood up with perfect composure and moved away from the table, giving the red thread a gentle tug to lead Qin Siyu into the living room, where he sat beside the sofa.
Qin Siyu stared at him in confusion.
Aston began making a telephone call. Qin Siyu had no idea whom he was calling, perhaps an expert on East Asian culture. “In China, what does it mean when two people’s ring fingers are tied together by a red silk thread?”
Then he listened quietly.
A minute later, he hung up. Gently pulling the red string, he drew Qin Siyu toward him, settled him on his lap, cupped his face in both hands, and kissed him.
Their tongues entwined. Aston said, “You’ve lied to me again. This thread represents a destined marriage. A lifetime.”
Qin Siyu slid his fingers between Aston’s until their hands were clasped. One loop was tied to Aston’s left hand, the other to Qin Siyu’s right, and the red cord between them lay close against their skin.
He didn’t know why he had tied that thread.
Could the one and only person fated to him for life truly be Kingsley?
How far could they go together?
Was it really possible?
Would Aston witness the day he entered medical school?
Would Aston see him become a resident?
Would he still be there when Qin Siyu finally became a doctor?
Perhaps even when he retired… Qin Siyu would tell him stories one by one, continuing all the way to the very last patient he ever treated.
Could it happen?
Could such a wonderful thing really happen?
Aston took several of Qin Siyu’s fingers and raised them to his lips. The surgeon’s knot lay above the palm, on the front of the finger, tightly secured, while the decorative bow sat on the back.
Aston extended the tip of his tongue and moistened the red surgeon’s knot.
Holding Qin Siyu’s hand, he moved his tongue upward along the pad of the ring finger until he reached the tip. He licked the fingertip several times, opened his mouth, and took the entire finger inside.
A shiver ran through Qin Siyu.
Aston held the finger gently between his teeth and circled its tip with his tongue.
“You—”
Aston glanced up at him, then lowered his eyes again. He sucked Qin Siyu’s finger, sliding from base to tip, taking it into his mouth once more, and slowly drawing it out with soft, audible sounds.
This—Qin Siyu thought. This was simply—
When Aston finally released him, his lips made a little popping sound. Qin Siyu’s finger was wet, the red thread still tied around its base.
Aston lifted Qin Siyu onto the sofa and began unfastening his shirt.
Their fingers were still interlaced, so Aston undressed him with his free hand.
Fair skin emerged. Aston lifted the length of red thread hanging between their palms and folded a small loop into it. Holding the loop, he brushed it over Qin Siyu’s body.
He traced it over his Adam’s apple, his chest, and his lower abdomen, dragging it down from the muscles of his chest toward his navel. He circled the navel several times before drawing the loop downward along the lower belly, repeating the movement.
Qin Siyu wriggled like a shrimp, arching his waist, bending his back, twisting helplessly.
This was too—
“Sean,” Aston murmured in his deep, resonant voice, “I’m very happy.”
“Mm?”
“At least you want to spend your whole life this way.”
“Kingsy—”
Aston picked up a red pen from the small table beside the sofa. With elegant strokes, he wrote a line in cursive beneath Qin Siyu’s collarbone: Kingsley Aston.
Qin Siyu watched him, his chest rising and falling.
Aston seemed so pleased that he wrote his name again on the right side of Qin Siyu’s chest, arranging his given name above and his surname below.
Then he wrote it on his lower abdomen.
And again near his groin, the given name on one side, the surname on the other.
His whole body bore Aston’s name, exposed before him.
The feeling that his body had been publicly claimed was humiliating to Qin Siyu, yet exciting too. A tremor passed through him.
Aston admired his work, then interlaced their fingers again and kissed his lips.
As they kissed, Aston lifted the red thread once more, made a small loop, and drew it over Qin Siyu’s erection through his underwear, from the base to the tip.
Each time Qin Siyu arched his body and clenched his teeth.
He grew harder. After more than a dozen strokes, the tip emerged above the waistband of his underwear.
Aston smiled.
He carried Qin Siyu into the bedroom and set him down on the bed. Then Aston stripped off his shirt and trousers. His figure resembled a statue, though his arousal was unmistakable. He moved to lean over Qin Siyu.
Qin Siyu flinched in momentary fear and drew up his knees, retreating a little toward the headboard.
But Aston caught the crotch of his underwear in one hand, turned his wrist, and wound the fabric around his palm. With the underwear caught at Qin Siyu’s waist, a little pull on the gathered cloth dragged him back down toward the foot of the bed.
Qin Siyu couldn’t help moaning.
Seeing that the action had aroused him, Aston played with the tension in the fabric. He released it just as Qin Siyu breathed easier, then wound it around his palm again until it pulled tight, loosened it, and tightened it once more.
After several repetitions, the fabric gradually grew damp.
Qin Siyu panted. “I can’t. I can’t take any more—”
He thought, Perhaps I really am a deviant. Feeling like this, how could I possibly touch a woman?
However far they managed to go together, he would never have anyone else in this life. In that sense, Aston truly was his one destined match, though perhaps the destiny would last only a short time.
After tightening the cloth one last time and shifting it from side to side, Aston pulled it off entirely.
Qin Siyu lay with his legs apart, covering his eyes with his forearm.
The bedroom lights were off, and in the moonlight his body was as white as porcelain.
Their bodies tangled together. They touched one another everywhere, their breathing mingling.
Aston went to the head of the bed and used some old electrical wire from a drawer to secure Qin Siyu’s wrists to the bedposts on either side.
Electricity was spreading rapidly into homes. Middle-class households were installing new appliances and outlets, and before renting out the place the landlord had upgraded it and left some materials behind.
Qin Siyu’s eyes were damp. “Kingsy—”
Aston said, “I won’t go all the way in. But tonight I want to touch that place. If you regret it later, you can say I forced you and you couldn’t resist.”
Qin Siyu silently drew his legs up a little.
That final step was not something they could cross lightly.
Once they truly had intercourse, they would never be able to return to an ordinary life or become ordinary people again.
They would remain deviants forever.
Neither was willing, just yet, to drag the other completely down into that mire.
Even though Aston badly wanted to enter him.
In fact, they had never even formally defined their relationship.
Were they friends? Very close friends?
They were still leaving one another the chance to turn back.
But some things were impossible to endure.
Tonight, for example, the red thread bound their hands, and Qin Siyu had imagined spending a whole lifetime with him. Even the thought of that was more than Aston could bear.
They had told one another “I love you,” but in Western society those words were far removed from “a lifetime.” People seldom made such lasting promises.
Aston still wore the red thread around his hand. He lifted Qin Siyu’s legs and held him up, his fingers gripping the flesh of his thighs. The red silk fell along the outside of those pale legs, a striking sight.
Qin Siyu wrapped his legs around him. The thread was still tied to his own hand as he embraced Aston’s shoulders and back, and it hung down beside Aston’s waist.
It was waxed thread made for repairing shoes and was exceptionally strong.
Aston said again, “Stick out your tongue.”
Qin Siyu obeyed. Aston’s tongue met his, tracing circles from the base toward the tip, playing and rubbing against it.
Qin Siyu felt something touch him from behind.
His whole body tensed, and the muscles there tightened too.
How… overwhelming.
Aston said nothing. They kissed, sucked at each other’s lips, and held each other. At the same time, Aston brought his erection gently against Qin Siyu’s opening, letting him grow accustomed to the sensation and relax a little.
Qin Siyu was terribly nervous. Aston continued for a long time, and the contact grew slick in the otherwise silent room.
Then Aston lowered his hips and pressed against the opening, trying to ease it open a little.
Kissing him, Qin Siyu felt himself being pressed and stretched. It hurt, yet there was also an aching sensation through his pelvis.
It was as if that part of his body had a will of its own, wanting to accommodate Aston, hold him, and draw him deep into his soul.
At one point he seemed to open a fraction, and the tip of Aston’s penis entered a little. Aston’s lower abdomen tightened. He stayed there without forcing his way farther, feeling the softness and tension at the entrance as he moved his hips back and forth in small motions.
Qin Siyu knew he had been opened just a little. The muscles had yielded inward, while Aston remained against the entrance, testing it with small movements.
It was simply—
The place where they touched was wet.
Aston seemed unable to stop. He withdrew and resumed the pressure for some time, then entered a fraction once more, this time slightly deeper, making small circles against the muscles.
Qin Siyu alternately tightened and relaxed. Everything was so slippery that he couldn’t keep hold of Aston.
Each time he contracted, Aston was pushed out; whenever he relaxed, Aston moved forward again until he caught just inside.
After more gentle pressure and circling, he could enter a little farther.
Again and again, Aston pressed toward the interior. At the deepest point, about half the head entered.
It was already difficult to go any farther. Qin Siyu could not accommodate more, and the entrance was stretched into a thin ring.
He had no idea how much time passed. Finally Qin Siyu couldn’t bear it anymore. “Enough… Kingsy, enough…”
Aston looked at his abdomen and rested both thumbs on it, stroking his lower belly while his other fingers still held Qin Siyu’s waist.
He slowly moved his thumbs upward from the base of Qin Siyu’s groin to his navel, then past it, almost to the bottom of his stomach, as though measuring something.
After his thumbs, Aston used the pads of the three middle fingers of each hand to stroke the area carefully.
The sensation of being touched on his lower abdomen like that was driving Qin Siyu wild.
Aston, too, could no longer tolerate the yearning of hovering at the entrance without entering. He withdrew and turned to rubbing their erections together. The red thread wound around the places where their bodies touched and pulled taut. Aston released Qin Siyu’s right hand, guided it against them, and moved it up and down several times. They climaxed together, and Qin Siyu shut his eyes.
He lay with his legs apart, panting.
They had crossed another boundary.
They kept telling themselves that all they were doing was comforting one another. Yet desire seemed like a bottomless pit they could never fill, because what they truly wanted was something deeper than physical satisfaction, something they could not obtain.
Aston kissed Qin Siyu’s lower abdomen.
The skin was fine and smooth. Aston kissed his way slowly along a line, drawing so close to that sensitive place that Qin Siyu couldn’t endure it. He arched again, trembling and letting out a faint moan.
Aston was still unsatisfied, but this time he no longer wanted to rely on his own restraint to set the limits. It was too tormenting. He released the two ties from Qin Siyu’s wrists, tossed him his underwear, and said, “Put these back on.”
“Ah…” Qin Siyu didn’t understand, but obediently put them on. He had barely finished when Aston leaned over him again, pressing against the opening through the cloth. Each time he pressed most of the tip partway in with the fabric still between them. The material grew soaked from the repeated pressure, as though it might tear.
But with the cloth between them, Aston couldn’t enter, and no longer had to keep restraining himself.
“I really can’t take any more…” Qin Siyu said.
After an unknown length of time, Aston climaxed against the cloth. He stayed pressed close, the fabric still between them, and some of the fluid seeped through it. Only after a long moment did he draw back a little.
Aston lifted him up and took him to bathe.
In the bathroom, Aston held Qin Siyu behind the knees and pressed him against the tiles, again resting against him without fully entering. He felt like a child who couldn’t step through the door of his home, yet who had found his way back simply by reaching the threshold. His whole heart settled into peace.