AVRL 41

Perhaps because the atmosphere tonight was relaxed and gentle, Meng Chi’s kisses were also very tender. He ground lightly against Yu Tingzhi’s lips, neither too hard nor too soft, the tip of his tongue curling around and sucking on Yu Tingzhi’s cupid’s bow before delving deeper into his mouth, stirring like a swimming fish.

At times he pressed against the roof of Yu Tingzhi’s mouth, at times he hooked the tip of his tongue. When Yu Tingzhi tried to reclaim the initiative, he would retreat slightly, teasing Yu Tingzhi until his heart itched unbearably.

This kind of licking and kissing, carrying a touch of provocation, made Yu Tingzhi feel more and more that Meng Chi was like a seductive little cat, skilled to perfection at playing hard to get.

The wet, smacking sounds interwove with heavy breathing. Yu Tingzhi restrained his restless heart, one hand pressing the back of Meng Chi’s head while the other slipped into the rolled-up shirt. While enjoying the kisses, he also patiently soothed the cat, firmly taking control of him.

Only when Meng Chi’s breathing grew rapid, shifting from the earlier ease of mastery to a gradual, unsatisfied craving, did Yu Tingzhi begin his counterattack. He kissed him until his breath was labored and his lips were blood-red before releasing him, murmuring softly, “Little kitten.”

Meng Chi immediately recalled the previous “little puppy.” He gave a low laugh and asked slowly, “Do you like small animals that much? Last time it was a puppy, this time a kitten—what are you going to call me next time?”

Next time.

Yu Tingzhi narrowed his eyes slightly, staring at Meng Chi for two seconds with eyes filled with desire, watching him lost in passion, his gaze sparkling. Then he lowered his head, bit Meng Chi’s earlobe, and said in a low voice, “That depends on how you seduce me next time.”

The sensitive spot behind his ear was stimulated. Meng Chi drew in a sharp breath; the pain accompanied by a strange throbbing made him involuntarily arch his waist and abdomen as he panted in denial: “I didn’t seduce you. It’s just that your self-control is too poor.”

Yu Tingzhi chuckled lightly. His palm covered the back of Meng Chi’s neck, gathering and gently kneading, stroking him like a cat and drawing out deeper breaths. Then, in a rather serious tone, he said, “Blame yourself for being too captivating.”

At those words, Meng Chi’s heart skipped a beat for an instant—whether from the physical stimulation or from this heart-stirring sweet talk. In any case, he suddenly grew excited, finding a moment of exhilaration amid the chaotic, passionate flutter of his heart.

This life-drawing session had come suddenly. Although Meng Chi was mentally prepared, he actually had little painting experience, so he could only let Yu Tingzhi completely take the lead. He let Yu Tingzhi grasp his hand, guiding him to hold the brush, dip it in paint, moisten the brush, and begin to paint with sweeping strokes.

Meng Chi’s skin was sensitive. When Yu Tingzhi gripped a little harder, a patch of red marks surfaced on the back of his hand.

Seeing this, Yu Tingzhi temporarily set down the brush, brought over some hand cream, squeezed the milky-white paste into his palm, rubbed and melted it, then applied it little by little over that red patch on Meng Chi’s skin.

“Why so sensitive? One touch and you tremble,” Yu Tingzhi’s tone held a smile, his movements never stopping.

The fresh lemon top note of the cream spread through the room. The slightly cool sensation of the paste made Meng Chi unconsciously lengthen his breathing: “You’re using too much force. It’s a bit uncomfortable.”

“Life drawing is physical work,” Yu Tingzhi said with a light smile. One hand continued to hold the brush and paint, while the other massaged him.

His long, slender fingers slowly kneaded and soothed with the hand cream. The bit of red on Meng Chi’s skin not only failed to fade but grew even more vivid, like a delicate flower blooming.

The verbena note mixed into the hand cream grew increasingly rich. Both the scent and the touch made Meng Chi’s heart itch unbearably.

===Chapter 37===

“That’s enough. You do it,” Meng Chi said, releasing his hold on the brush and returning it to Yu Tingzhi.

Yu Tingzhi continued holding the brush and painting, his strokes rapid and decisive.

The hand cream clinging to the brush became slick and transparent as the strokes deepened. The base notes of white musk and amber wood were activated by the friction and collision, slowly blending into the air. What was originally a gentle, mellow scent became fierce because of Yu Tingzhi’s extremely rapid brushwork.

It wasn’t the first time Meng Chi had participated in Yu Tingzhi’s painting, yet he was still stimulated, still shaken. It was as if he had once again become the paper under Yu Tingzhi’s hand. The oceanic fragrance dispersed in the air, interweaving like a net that enveloped him; mouth, nose, lips, and teeth were all filled with the scent that belonged to Yu Tingzhi—forceful and unyielding as it invaded him.

The brush outlined vivid flowers that separated from and blended with each other, colliding and pulling, inseparable, as if glued together.

Meng Chi felt that there must be some destructive factor existing inside Yu Tingzhi’s body, goading him to shatter Meng Chi, then reassemble him, making him heat up little by little under his palm until he melted.

“Teacher Yu,” the scene before his eyes grew chaotic. Meng Chi spoke in a daze, “Your… this painting… isn’t it a bit too fierce?”

“Is it?” Yu Tingzhi’s brush never stopped, still tapping rapidly. “I thought I was being restrained enough.”

Perhaps Meng Chi’s reminder had an effect. Yu Tingzhi’s brush speed slowed, becoming gentle, as if a violent storm had turned into a soft breeze and fine rain.

Yet Meng Chi found it somewhat hard to endure. Accustomed to his fierce style of painting, the sudden gentleness, while filling his emptiness, also awakened another kind of craving in him. Meng Chi sighed inwardly, feeling that perhaps he too had a destructive factor in his body—that he and Yu Tingzhi were cut from the same cloth.

They were both ordinary mortals. Why not indulge their desires freely?

Perhaps infected by this, Meng Chi, as the model, also felt an impulse to take up the brush. In order to completely seize the initiative, and also for that little desire for revenge in his heart, Meng Chi pulled out the satin sash from Yu Tingzhi’s bathrobe and bound Yu Tingzhi’s hands.

With the painter’s hands bound, the brush was controlled by someone else. He could only watch as Meng Chi danced on the edge of a blade.

This feeling of being restricted and suppressed made Yu Tingzhi restless, yet it also made him pleased.

He allowed Meng Chi to act recklessly, sinking and enjoying together with him.

This life-drawing session lasted several hours—from the gathering of nightfall until the depths of the quiet night.

Jiang Hong’s bed was a wooden-craft bed that couldn’t withstand much; the slightest movement would produce creaking protests. Quite a bit of white paint had already stuck to the pure white quilt, making it look dirty and messy. After all, this wasn’t their own home, so the two of them had some reservations and didn’t toss about on this bed. Instead they moved to the sofa to continue their artistic creation.

When Meng Chi knelt on the sofa, he saw the sketchboard that had fallen to the floor. On the white paper was precisely the content Yu Tingzhi had just painted.

With only a few casual lines he had outlined Meng Chi’s figure. Not only that, he had simplified the complex, directly removing the obstructing clothing from Meng Chi’s body and instead using vines to wind around him, half-covering and half-revealing as he depicted the way Meng Chi had been kneeling on the bed.

“Teacher Yu, is this life drawing or creative work?” Meng Chi teased him. “Wasn’t I wearing clothes just now?”

Yu Tingzhi showed not the slightest embarrassment. He glanced at Meng Chi’s current appearance, then directly lifted him up and carried him step by step to the full-length dressing mirror on the wardrobe: “Actually, I’d rather paint the way you look right now.”

With their breathing, a layer of mist fogged the mirror. The beautiful scenery indoors became hazy, yet it added even more ambiguous, seductive meaning.

Meng Chi felt more and more that being a life-drawing model was more tormenting than being a photography model. Yet this dual stimulation also made him increasingly excited. Threads of wildness burst from his emotion-filled eyes. He frankly met Yu Tingzhi’s gaze in the mirror and laughed with a curse: “You really are a lecher.”

Yu Tingzhi smiled without speaking. He took Meng Chi’s hand and outlined a few strokes on the mirror, fully displaying their current posture.

Meng Chi cursed softly under his breath. Under a wave of tight spasms, he couldn’t help but add white paint to this sensual scene, dotted with mottled highlights.

The setting shifted from the sofa to the bathroom. Yu Tingzhi pinned Meng Chi against any place he found beautiful, raised his brush to paint, and left one heart-stirring image after another in his mind.

After the life drawing ended, it was already the dead of night. Meng Chi’s whole body was soft and weak; even his cheeks felt a bit sore. He regretted that he shouldn’t have been lazy and agreed to let Yu Tingzhi into the bathroom. If he had cleaned up himself, his mouth might have suffered one less ordeal and he wouldn’t have had to figure out how to tie a cherry stem into a knot.

The area around the sofa and coffee table was still a chaotic mess. Fortunately, during the earlier frolicking most of that half-bottle of peach-blossom wine had been poured onto Meng Chi and then thoroughly drunk by Yu Tingzhi. The sofa itself hadn’t been stained much; only a few traces remained on the floor.

This way, when explaining to Jiang Hong tomorrow, Yu Tingzhi could still find an excuse to bluff his way through.

This time was different from the last. Although Meng Chi was somewhat tipsy, he still retained his reason and hadn’t made his clothes so indecent that they couldn’t cover his body.

Coming out of the bathroom, Meng Chi planned to change into clothes and go back to sleep.

“Are you going back?” Yu Tingzhi poured a glass of milk and handed it to him.

Meng Chi’s throat was terribly dry, so he took it and drank a mouthful, which at least made his throat a bit more comfortable.

“Don’t leave. Sleep with me,” Yu Tingzhi suddenly said.

Meng Chi nearly choked on the milk. He lifted his eyes and glanced at Yu Tingzhi. Seeing that the color in his eyes was deep, once the desire had passed only a profound calm remained.

Clearly no particular emotion could be read, yet Meng Chi’s resolve to leave suddenly wavered. Why did he suddenly have the strong sense that he was a scum who finished sleeping and then left, heartlessly pulling out?

Meng Chi was truly exhausted. Coupled with the fact that the lights downstairs hadn’t been turned off yet—Jiang Hong seemed not to have rested—and the marks on his neck couldn’t be covered, he didn’t refuse. He obediently climbed back onto Yu Tingzhi’s bed.

“No more nonsense. I’m really out of strength,” Meng Chi muttered.

Yu Tingzhi chuckled lightly: “I’m not that much of a beast.”

Meng Chi’s waist ached and his backside hurt; his lips were swollen, and his body was covered with marks like blooming flowers. These words truly lacked persuasive power, so Meng Chi shot him a glare.

Actually Yu Tingzhi wasn’t much better off. Toward the end Meng Chi had also been quite fierce, nearly biting him until he bled. Quite a few tooth marks remained on his back and thighs—especially on that tattoo, where dots of red marks were scattered across it, as if vivid little red flowers had bloomed on the thorn vines.

Both were thoroughly exhausted. Not long after lying on the bed they fell asleep.

The next day, Yu Tingzhi was woken by the ringing of a phone. He opened his eyes, fumbled for his phone, first muted it, then turned his head to glance at the side.

Seeing that Meng Chi wasn’t there, he fully woke up and answered the call.

It was a call from his mother, Yu Shu. Yu Tingzhi told her about Grandma Song’s birthday celebration, and Yu Shu said she would return to the country. The two didn’t communicate much ordinarily, but they still understood each other’s schedules. Yu Shu asked why he had slept so late today. Yu Tingzhi casually found an excuse to brush it off, then chatted lightly for a while longer before Yu Shu said she had something to do and hung up.

After putting the phone back on the nightstand, Yu Tingzhi looked around. The room was almost the same as it had been before they slept the previous night—only Meng Chi and his clothes were missing. He didn’t know when he had left.

After washing up, Yu Tingzhi simply tidied the bedroom, making those traces less suggestive, before going out.

The entire day he did not see Meng Chi. The message he had sent Meng Chi that morning—“When did you leave?”—also received no reply.

It was not until evening, when he ran into those two little radish sprouts looking for Meng Chi, that he learned from Jiang Hong that Meng Chi had returned to Zewu at the crack of dawn that morning.

Something had happened to his master, Yang Zhengfeng.