The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 257: Chapter 257 – Unquenchable thirst

Thump thump... thump thump... thump thump...

Xing Yu waited. Waited until the sound of Jian’s footsteps faded from the hallway, until he was sure the young man had stormed out of the room. Only then did he let his back sag against the edge of the table, his hand shooting up to cover his face.

His breath trembled. His fingers dug into his own cheek as though he could gouge out the image burned into his mind—but it was impossible. What he had just witnessed... it was etched into him, mercilessly vivid.

The towel falling.

That smooth back tapering into a narrow waist.

Those slender hips leading down to a perfectly shaped curve...

Even with his eyes shut tight, he could see it as clearly as if Jian still stood before him.

A soft pant escaped his lips. His palm pressed against his chest, right where his heart pounded furiously—like it wanted to beat its way out of his ribcage. Heat flushed through every vein, flooding him until his entire body trembled.

It was undeniable.

He was hard.

A groan rumbled from his throat as he dragged his hand down, rubbing his face as though he could erase the shame. Five years. Five long years since fate had put his mate before him, and five long years he had held himself back. If they were in Gia... if they were home, surrounded by their people, they would have been mated long ago. Married. They might even have a litter of children by now—tiny proof of their bond running around their orchard home.

His gaze fell to his trembling fingers, and he exhaled shakily.

All he wanted... all he craved... was to take the young man in his arms and never let go. To sink into him, to make Jian his completely, undeniably. To mark him in a way that no one could ever question, to let the entire universe see: he is mine.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet. Not without Old Man Lin’s blessing.

”Damn it...” Xing Yu muttered under his breath, running both hands through his hair until it stood on end. His body felt unbearably tight, his pants straining in a way that made it impossible to sit still. He shot up from the chair in frustration, pacing back and forth across the room.

And then his eyes caught on it.

The towel.

Still damp, abandoned carelessly on the wooden floor where Jian had dropped it moments earlier.

Xing Yu froze. His body moved on its own, footsteps heavy as he approached. His hand hovered for a second above the fabric before he finally bent down and picked it up. The instant the soft, damp cloth touched his fingers, he brought it up to his face.

The faint scent of soap clung to it. Clean, fresh... and beneath it, the subtle trace of Jian himself.

”Ahh...” A groan escaped as his knees buckled slightly. He pressed the towel harder against his face, inhaling like a man starved of air. ”Why does it smell so good...?” His voice was broken, husky. He dragged the cloth along his cheek, burying his face in it as though it could soothe the unbearable fire raging through him.

”I need Grandpa Lin’s permission,” he whispered harshly against the damp threads. ”If not... I’ll lose control. I’ll really...” His jaw clenched. On Gia, without the consent of the elder, no union was recognized. Without it, even if he claimed Jian, their bond would be branded as illegal, dismissed as nothing. Xing Yu didn’t just want Jian in secret. He wanted him legally, proudly, so that the entire cosmos would know Jian was his mate.

But right now—

He couldn’t control himself.

Clutching the towel, his eyes burned with fever as he rushed toward the bathroom, shoving the door shut behind him with a slam. His breath came fast and shallow, his hands shaking as they tugged down his pants. His aching length sprang free, flushed and painfully rigid. He braced himself against the sink, head lowered, his other hand wrapping around his arousal without hesitation.

The rough grip brought little pleasure on its own—but in his mind, Jian was still there. That lithe frame, the faint sway of his hips, the smooth curve leading down from his back. The way his shoulders flexed as he reached into the wardrobe, so oblivious, so maddeningly tempting.

Xing Yu bit down on a moan, stroking harder, faster, the scent lingering from the towel pressed against his cheek driving him wild. His whole body shook as he chased that vision, that single forbidden glimpse.

”Jian...” His voice broke into a whisper, guttural and raw.

The image of the young man burned brighter, overwhelming him completely.

It was too much. His breath hitched sharply as his body convulsed, spilling release into his rough hand before he could even process it. A strangled sound tore from his throat as he slumped forward, chest heaving.

For a long moment he stayed like that, forehead resting against the cool mirror, the towel still clutched desperately in his hand. Shame and desire battled inside him, leaving his chest tight, his heart aching.

”Grandpa Lin...” he muttered hoarsely, staring at his reflection with wild, glassy eyes. ”Please... give me permission soon. Or I’ll really go insane.”

******

Jian sat at the long dining table, the silence of the orchard home pressing down on him. His jaw worked furiously as he bit into a ripe peach, the fruit yielding with a loud, wet crunch. The sweet juices ran down his chin and over his hand, sticky and warm, but he didn’t bother wiping them. His eyes burned with irritation, and every bite was as if he was punishing the fruit for something it hadn’t done.

Eren, who had been quietly arranging an assortment of fruits on a plate with his usual methodical precision, finally glanced up. He caught sight of Jian’s furrowed brows, the restless tapping of his foot under the table, and the furious way he devoured the peach.

”What is up with you, Your Highness...?” Eren asked carefully, his voice low, though the amused curl on his lips betrayed him.

Jian’s glare shot across the table, sharp as a blade, daring him to push further. But Eren, used to that look, merely lowered his eyes back to his knife, slicing delicately through a pear as though nothing dangerous hovered in the air.

”I’m pissed.” Jian’s words cut out bluntly, filled with heat, his teeth sinking into another chunk of peach. The fruit cracked under the force, splattering across his lips, juice dripping steadily down his wrist until it pooled on the table.

”Well, I can see that,” Eren muttered under his breath, more to the fruit than to Jian, arranging the slices into a perfectly neat fan before sliding them onto a plate. His composure was infuriating. ”But can you tell me why?”

Jian bit down hard on his lower lip, his glare dropping to the half-eaten peach in his hand. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his fingers tightening until the fruit’s flesh squished between them. ”...Nothing,” he growled, forcing the word out like it might end the conversation.

Eren only hummed in response, as though he knew the boy was lying but didn’t feel like pressing. His knife made another clean cut, steady and precise.

The air shifted when footsteps approached. Jian’s head snapped up just as Xing Yu stepped into the hall. The man’s sharp presence immediately seized Jian’s attention, but it was Xing Yu’s eyes that faltered the moment they landed on him.

The sight was... devastating. Jian’s lips glistened wetly from the fruit, stained red by the peach’s flesh, and a trail of juice slid down the slender column of his wrist, dripping past his knuckles. His expression was fiery, irritated, raw with emotion, yet it only made him look more alive—like he was burning from the inside out.

Xing Yu froze in the doorway. For one unbearable heartbeat, his composure cracked. Heat surged so violently through him that his throat closed.

”My...” the word slipped out, rough and strangled before he caught himself. He spun abruptly, turning on his heel with almost military precision. ”I need to go.”

He didn’t wait for a response. His stride was too quick, almost desperate, as he rushed out of the hall.

Jian stared after him, chest twisting painfully. His jaw clenched as he looked back down at the half-destroyed peach in his hand, his heart beating unevenly. ”Tch...” he clicked his tongue, slamming the peach pit onto the table, his frustration only growing sharper.

Eren, ever the observer, didn’t look up from his plate, though his eyes flicked briefly toward Jian’s red lips and dripping wrist. A sly curve tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing.

Jian’s hand tightened on the edge of the table, his nails digging into the wood. He didn’t know what infuriated him more—that Xing Yu had seen him like that, or that he had walked away.