A Straight Man's Unexpected Pregnancy with the British Duke's Baby - Chapter 3

Listening to Shi Yuan’s soft, tearful voice, Huo Sang fell silent for a moment, his body tensing uncontrollably.

Shi Yuan: “!!”

What a pervert!

He had originally intended to scold Huo Sang, but just as the words reached his lips, Shi Yuan suddenly paused.

Huo Sang was too close.

So close that Shi Yuan could clearly feel not only how tense Huo Sang’s entire body was, but also that his body temperature was abnormally high.

Shi Yuan’s breathing faltered.

An indescribable restlessness surged violently from within him, burning his chest tight. The more it burned, the redder his face grew, and the more unbearable it became.

“Mmm…” He couldn’t help but let out a low moan.

…

Something was wrong.

Something was definitely wrong.

He instinctively held his breath, but his body felt as if it had lost control, going limp all over.

He looked up at Huo Sang and realized Huo Sang was in the same state.

Huo Sang’s breathing was heavy, his eyes turbulent with barely restrained emotion, and his face was flushed with an unnatural redness.

Holy shit.

Shi Yuan’s mind went blank.

Did we get drugged!?

“The wine was spiked,” Huo Sang clearly understood what was happening, his tone tinged with suppressed anger.

Whoever drugged it was most likely targeting him.

How dare they pull something like this right under his nose, and yet no one in the entire bar noticed anything unusual—what a bunch of useless idiots!

Without another thought, he grabbed Shi Yuan’s wrist, his voice hoarse: “Let’s go back to the dorm.”

Shi Yuan was pulled forward, stumbling right into Huo Sang.

His legs were so weak he could barely stand, let alone walk.

Huo Sang frowned, then simply scooped him up, wrapping an arm around him and lifting him effortlessly into a bridal carry.

The person in his arms was burning up.

Under the influence of the drug, Shi Yuan unconsciously pressed closer against Huo Sang.

Huo Sang relied almost entirely on instinct to restrain himself as he carried Shi Yuan step by step back to the dorm.

Shi Yuan’s consciousness was hazy.

At this moment, he felt a newfound respect for Huo Sang. He had only taken one sip and was already this miserable, while Huo Sang had genuinely drunk most of the bottle. Yet, even in this state, Huo Sang could still remain clear-headed.

Huo Sang kicked open the dorm room door and brought Shi Yuan into the bedroom.

Shi Yuan was laid down, sinking into the deep blue bedsheets. The fabric wrinkled slightly, like ripples forming on water.

Shi Yuan’s shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of pale, slender waist that rose and fell gently with his breathing, continuously drawing Huo Sang’s heated gaze and tugging at his sensitive, heightened nerves.

Huo Sang’s gaze felt as if it had been scalded.

He abruptly closed his eyes and turned to leave, but his fingertips were lightly hooked by Shi Yuan.

Shi Yuan lay half on the bed, breathing rapidly, the corners of his eyes flushed red, looking at Huo Sang with shameless insistence: “Help me.”

Huo Sang: “…”

A string in his mind snapped.

The rationality he had painstakingly maintained all the way back was nothing but a joke in front of Shi Yuan.

He rolled up his sleeves, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, and said to Shi Yuan: “I’ll use my hand.”

Shi Yuan rarely admitted that Huo Sang was better than him.

But in this matter, he truly couldn’t find a single fault with Huo Sang.

Homegrown flowers aren’t as fragrant as wild ones, and the same principle applied to “Miss Thumb.”

When it was finally over.

The overwhelming restlessness stirred up by the drug finally subsided a notch. Shi Yuan felt as if he had been fished out of water—his breathing was smooth, and his limbs were relaxed.

Utterly comfortable.

He lay lazily sprawled out, catching his breath for a few seconds, but still remembered that Huo Sang hadn’t been taken care of yet.

The thought flashed through his mind, and his gaze uncontrollably drifted to the place on Huo Sang that was currently in its ultimate, completed state.

Shi Yuan: “…”

You little British bloke are terrifying.

He opened his mouth, about to say something.

But Hawthorne had already turned around, decisively retreating from the room and heading straight back to his own bedroom.

Shi Yuan blinked.

Staring blankly at the ceiling for two seconds.

…Just like that, he left?

His mind was filled with the images he had just seen. He abruptly sat up, staring at the doorway as he fell into deep thought.

Chinese people emphasize reciprocity. Shi Yuan felt that only caring about his own pleasure was somewhat inconsiderate.

So, forcing his sore and weak legs to move, he jumped out of bed and, just before Hawthorne closed the door, slipped into the room.

Hawthorne stood behind the door, stunned, his bloodshot eyes fixed intently on Shi Yuan.

Bracing himself, Shi Yuan reached out his hand.

“Brother Yuan will help you.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it.

Because Hawthorne’s current state clearly no longer fell within the realm of normalcy.

Looking further down… it was even more abnormal.

Shi Yuan was somewhat shocked.

He couldn’t even muster jealousy, only admiration… and a faint sense of worry.

So terrifying.

Could he really be of help?

Originally, he had only intended a simple mutual assistance, but now, he suddenly had an extremely ominous premonition and was already beginning to worry about indescribable things for himself.

Shi Yuan took a deep breath and, with a resolve to face death, pointed at the bed, commanding Hawthorne, “Lie down.”

Hawthorne glanced at him.

Surprisingly, he obediently walked over and lay down.

Shi Yuan felt uneasy, but things had come to this point; he could only brace himself and continue.

He dawdled over, filled with a mix of grief and indignation as he began his task. Little did he know, this task would last at least half an hour.

In the end, his hands were exhausted, and he collapsed into Hawthorne’s arms like a salted fish, panting heavily.

Within seconds, Shi Yuan began to regret again why he hadn’t left in time.

Because he clearly felt Hawthorne changing once more.

Shi Yuan: “…”

Seriously, bro? Not done yet?

Shi Yuan instinctively knew he couldn’t stay any longer, but his legs were too weak to get down, and, shamefully, the effects of the drug in his system were rising again.

Why does this drug come in waves!

Perhaps he was completely dazed by the absurd effects of the drug.

When Hawthorne’s hand landed on the small of his back, pulling him down, he even forgot to resist.

He even subconsciously adjusted his posture to lie more comfortably.

In Hawthorne’s eyes, it was no different from actively welcoming him.

Shi Yuan: “…”

Help.

And so, things spiraled completely out of control.

…

The next day, Shi Yuan woke up a little after five. Hawthorne was still asleep.

What a diligent Chinese.

Shi Yuan slowly opened his eyes, lying in bed. There happened to be a full-length dressing mirror beside the bed. He didn’t even need to look to know how disheveled he must appear!

After all, he had been forced to stare at it all night.

Shi Yuan’s mindset had shifted from constantly brainwashing himself that he was straight, to reluctantly brainwashing himself that Hawthorne was the dominant one, only to have his gentle suggestion to switch positions brutally rejected. Later, he began wondering why it still wasn’t over, until he finally gave up thinking altogether, letting Hawthorne do the work—he didn’t care if it ever ended.

The entire event was recorded by the dressing mirror beside the bed. Shi Yuan calmed his mind and began admiring the sight of oats colliding with milk in the mirror.

And as time passed, Shi Yuan’s fair skin gradually took on a pink hue.

Oats colliding with milk gradually turned into oats colliding with strawberry milk.

Wow—oh.

It was indeed a pleasing sight.

How come I never noticed before that I could look this good?

Shi Yuan was utterly captivated by his own beauty, his tail practically soaring to the clouds, and he even felt a bit smug.

He absolutely would not admit that this smugness was physical in nature.

…

Shi Yuan let out a long, weary sigh.

At this point, all he could do was console himself. Even if he hadn’t exactly brought glory to the Chinese people in the realm of fitness, at least he hadn’t let them down when it came to… quality selection.

Just imagine—the very pinnacle of the British Empire had been subdued beneath him, and he had managed to defeat imperialism in just one night. Truly, he had brought honor to his country.

Although this “defeat” was a bit… watered down. Strictly speaking, it was more of an “anal defeat.”

But that wasn’t important.

What mattered was that Hawthorne was sleeping like the dead. As for what exactly happened last night, wasn’t that just a matter of whatever he decided to say?

Shi Yuan struggled out of bed on shaky legs and, relying on sheer willpower, tidied up the chaotic room until it was spotless. He even stripped the bedsheets and tossed them into the washing machine, replacing them with fresh ones.

Once everything was done, Shi Yuan stepped out of Hawthorne’s room with satisfaction.

It was like cooking and eating—the one who cooks works hard for hours, so the one who enjoys the meal should naturally take on the task of washing the dishes afterward.

One could say he was a man of principle.

What goes around comes around… Wait, no! I can’t take any more.

Shi Yuan patted his chest with a lingering sense of dread.

That was close—almost got led astray. Good thing his mind worked fast.

He was straight, as straight as they come.

Shi Yuan stood on his tiptoes and gave himself a hearty round of praise.

The movement tugged at his backside, and Shi Yuan’s face scrunched up.

Ouch, that hurt.

He’d accidentally boarded an express train—the “straight” kind of straight, and the “high-speed” kind of train.

Thank goodness he wasn’t a woman. Otherwise, given how wild Hawthorne was last night, it might very well have been an express train straight to the maternity ward.

It was hard not to suspect that Hawthorne was the reincarnation of a sunflower—yellow and obsessed with the sun.

…

Hawthorne didn’t wake up until noon.

His head was splitting. Frowning, he pressed his fingers to his temples and rolled over. Memories from the previous night slowly surfaced, frame by frame…

Hawthorne’s pupils suddenly contracted.

He bolted upright, breathing heavily, and quickly scanned the room.

It was clean and tidy, the air fresh, everything neatly in place. There wasn’t a trace of disorder, no sign at all of what had transpired the night before.

…Could it have been just a dream?

His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.

It wasn’t entirely implausible.

After all, for him, Shi Yuan appearing in his dreams had long become routine.

Over six hundred days and nights, living under the same roof, seeing that person everywhere he looked—it was hard not to dream about him.

The only difference was that last night’s dream had been more restrained than usual.

Probably because, in the dream, Shi Yuan had responded to him, had frowned and asked him to be gentler.

So, in the dream, he had been controlled, patient, even excessively gentle the entire time.

…

Hawthorne’s gaze suddenly dropped.

He stared at the bedsheets, then at the fresh pair of underwear he was wearing.

He froze.

If last night was just a dream, then who changed these?

Hawthorne’s mind exploded with a buzz. Reflexively, he threw off the covers, scrambled out of bed, hastily pulled on some clothes, and strode out of the room.

In the living room.

Shi Yuan had just returned from outside, holding a tube of ointment he’d just bought. His other hand was unconsciously supporting his lower back as he pondered how exactly he was supposed to apply the stuff to himself.

The door clicked open.

Shi Yuan jolted, swiftly hiding the ointment behind his back.

…Could the drug’s effects still be lingering?

Are you sure it’s fine? It’s not meant for pigs, is it!

Before he could think further, Hawthorne had already walked toward him.

Shi Yuan instinctively stepped back, retreating until his heel bumped against the edge of the sofa. With a thud, he fell backward onto it.

His bottom stung instantly, and he immediately straightened his back, barely daring to rest on the sofa’s edge—like a timid new bride.

Hawthorne stopped in front of him, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly.

“Last night…”

Shi Yuan’s ears perked up, his eyes gleaming for a moment.

Come on, say you’ll take responsibility for me, say it.

After all, applying the ointment himself was really inconvenient.

The air fell silent for a second.

Hawthorne’s gaze landed on the side of Shi Yuan’s lowered neck—a stretch of skin pale and delicate, with soft curves. He stared for two seconds, his Adam’s apple moving faintly.

“Was it you who took me back to my room?”

Shi Yuan: “…?”

Did you say thank you?

Hawthorne paused, then added, “And the bedsheets and my clothes…”

This time, Shi Yuan learned to cut in, almost boasting: “I changed them all for you. You were completely out of it last night.”

Hurry up and praise me.

Hawthorne looked at his moist, rosy face, fell silent for half a second, and asked skeptically, “Nothing else?”

Shi Yuan was taken aback.

In that moment of looking up, a sudden realization dawned on him.

So… Hawthorne had completely forgotten about last night?

Shi Yuan: “Ha.”

Good that he forgot!

Otherwise, as a proper tough Chinese guy, being pinned down and thoroughly done by some Brit all night would be utterly humiliating if word got out.

Shi Yuan nodded along: “That’s all.”

Hawthorne stared at his face, a slight frown forming between his brows.

Before he could say anything, Shi Yuan abruptly stood up, flapping his wings metaphorically, and stormed back into the bedroom in a huff.

The moment the door closed, Shi Yuan’s whole body slumped.

His knees gave way, unable to support him as he knelt on the floor.

“Huff—”

It took him a while to catch his breath, his breathing slowly steadying.

That vague sense of awkwardness and irritation churned in his chest for a few rounds before he casually brushed it aside.

Whatever.

He slowly got up, dragged the mirror to the bedside, carefully removed his clothes, and squeezed out the ointment.

The person in the mirror had pale, delicate skin, with clean and beautiful lines.

“Tsk.” Shi Yuan stared at his reflection, couldn’t help but strike a few poses. “So good-looking.”

Such a vain guy.

Almost tempted to do himself a favor right then.

At that thought, his expression darkened again.

No wonder Hawthorne was so infuriating—he got to experience all the good stuff.

Lucky bastard.