Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 8

“Begin,” Fang Mingxing said, turning his face to rest his jaw on his arm. The faint smile at the corner of his mouth deepened as he spoke with a lazy, magnetic drawl like someone just waking from a nap. In the humid air, his voice was particularly arresting.

“Don’t be nervous. Just proceed with your usual technique.”

This relaxed tone strangely smoothed out some of Junhao’s tension. He took a deep breath; the air was hot and damp, carrying the scent of body wash and a faint, crisp, and pleasant cold fragrance radiating from Fang Mingxing.

Gritting his teeth, Junhao pressed his bare hands against the man’s skin.

He tried his best to control himself, but for hands accustomed to battling steel and concrete, “gentle” was a relative term compared to his raw strength. His coarse palm lines rubbed against the smooth, tight skin, making a faint but distinct rasping sound, like sandpaper passing over a fine surface.

Almost instantly, a vivid, nearly transparent flush spread across that fair back, visible to the naked eye. It looked like cinnabar bleeding into the snow.

Junhao’s heart leaped into his throat. He held his breath, every muscle in his body tensing, his ears perked to catch the expected cry of pain or complaint.

However, there was none.

Fang Mingxing simply buried his face deeper into the crook of his arm, leaving only the crown of his black hair visible. Under Junhao’s hands, the man’s body tightened for a fleeting, almost imperceptible moment before relaxing even more completely. He seemed to surrender all his strength to the table beneath him and the rough hands above him.

Then, from deep within his throat, he let out an extremely low, heavy, and almost satisfied sigh. It was light as a feather brushing against an ear, nearly drowned out by the sound of flowing water: “Mmm”

Junhao froze, his hands coming to an involuntary stop.

Did I hear that right? That sound, it didn’t sound like pain.

“Continue,” Fang Mingxing’s muffled voice came from his arms. It was a bit blurry but carried an undeniable urge, the tail end of the sentence dragging into a lazy huskiness. “That’s it, just like that.”

Junhao was utterly bewildered. He could only follow his instincts and continue scrubbing. His thick knuckles scraped over the sharp edges of Fang Mingxing’s shoulder blades. His heavy, calloused palms, backed by the steady weight of his entire body, pressed and kneaded the symmetrical back muscles. From the groove of the spine all the way down, every scrape was solid and real.

Beneath him, Fang Mingxing’s body seemed to share a strange resonance with his palms. It dipped under the pressure and trembled slightly with every scrape, as if every muscle fiber were being awakened, combed, and tamed by that rough touch.

Junhao remained silent, but the man’s increasingly clear and suppressed breathing the occasional, unconscious curling and relaxing of his toes acted like secret codes. They became a silent yet powerful drumbeat, thumping against Junhao’s increasingly chaotic heart.

This feeling was too bizarre. The temperature of the skin beneath his palms was rising, growing so hot it made him panic. Sweat broke out on his own forehead, making it hard to tell if it was from the stifling steam or a heat rising from within. The air felt thick and viscous, wrapping around him until he felt he might suffocate. He only hoped this would end quickly.

Finally, the back was finished. Junhao stopped, his voice gravelly as he said, “Finished… you can turn over now.”

Fang Mingxing sat up as instructed. His chest heaved slightly, and a captivating flush had spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Those obsidian eyes, dampened by steam, were startlingly bright, swirling with an emotion Junhao couldn’t begin to read. He stared directly at Junhao with a satisfied, playful curve to his lips the lazy look of a predator after a full meal.

Junhao felt his skin crawl under that gaze. It felt tangible, hot enough to burn. He hurriedly looked away, his throat dry. “The, the front.”

“Alright,” Fang Mingxing said agreeably. His voice was saturated with amusement as he lay back down, stretching his body out shamelessly.

The awkwardness of the front-side scrub skyrocketed. Junhao’s eyes were locked onto the small area where his palms moved, not daring to shift even a millimeter, as if he were performing a high-precision, dangerous operation. Yet, his peripheral vision couldn’t help but catch the tight abdominal muscles rising and falling with every breath, and the defined V-line dipping below the water, leaving a shadow that invited the imagination.

Worse still was the other man’s unshielded gaze full of admiration and scrutiny locked onto Junhao’s face, his bobbing Adam’s apple, and his arms, where the muscles bunched from the effort. That look carried a physical heat, causing fine shivers to erupt wherever it landed.

Junhao’s hands began to tremble uncontrollably, his movements growing stiff and clumsy until he lost all rhythm.

“Master,” Fang Mingxing suddenly spoke. His voice was lower than before, yet more resonant, carrying a strange piercing quality that easily cut through the ambient noise. “You have such a look and build staying here to scrub backs.” He let out a soft laugh, a sound like a feather scratching at the heart. “Don’t you feel it’s a waste?”

Junhao’s movements stiffened, his heart suddenly constricting. Fang Mingxing’s gaze was like an invisible hook, locking onto Junhao’s darting eyes, refusing to let him escape. He spoke clearly and slowly: “Why don’t you come with me? You won’t have to serve so many people or look at so many different faces.”

Boom! A massive explosion went off in Junhao’s head, like being hit by a thousand-pound hammer. His vision went dark, and his ears rang. He snapped his head up, crashing into Fang Mingxing’s bottomless eyes. The things swirling there were too complex, too intense, he didn’t understand them, he only knew they were dangerous. It felt like being suddenly thrown into a deep-sea vortex, surrounded by irresistible forces that wanted to swallow him whole.

“I… I can’t do anything else!” he almost roared. His voice was dry and distorted from extreme tension and a nameless panic. He yanked his hands back as if he had been scalded by boiling water. “I only, I only know how to use my strength! I don’t know anything else!”

In his desperation, he grabbed the nearby showerhead and began spraying water over Fang Mingxing’s body without aim. The stream was sharp and fierce, splashing everywhere and soaking his own uniform. The act was nearly crude less of a rinse and more of a desperate attempt to wash away the short conversation, those eyes, and the chaos currently overturning his heart.

Fang Mingxing closed his eyes against the spray. Water droplets slid down his handsome face, yet he wasn’t angry. Instead, he began to laugh softly. The sound vibrated from his chest delighted, certain rippling through the steam until Junhao’s heart trembled.

When the haphazard rinsing was finally over, Junhao almost fled, shoving the bathrobe back into Fang Mingxing’s hands. His voice was rushed and sharp: “It’s done. If there’s nothing else, I’m going down!”

“Don’t be in such a hurry.”

From behind came the rustling sound of Fang Mingxing leisurely putting on his robe. Then, the sound of footsteps approached. That crisp, cold fragrance returned, closer than before, nearly enveloping him.

Junhao’s muscles turned to stone; even his fingertips were frozen. Then, he felt a slight, cold sensation at the waistband of his work pants against his lower back.

A stiff, smooth-edged business card was tucked in there by two long, powerful fingers with a composed yet undeniable force. The cold edge of the card pressed against his skin, which had suddenly turned scalding. The temperature difference sent a violent, uncontrollable shudder through his entire body.

“My name is Fang Mingxing,” that magnetic voice which now sounded like a curse whispered near the back of his ear. A warm breath brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck, raising a fine layer of goosebumps. “When you’ve thought it through, call me.”

He paused, the smile in his voice deepening with the certainty of a hunter who has already caught his prey.

“Or…”

“I’ll just come back to have my back scrubbed again.”