As a beta with naturally low bodily needs, Ning Qing had never once self-soothed, nor had he ever actively clicked on adult videos on the Stellar Net.
Now forced to do it himself, he fumbled blindly with his fingers, utterly clueless about the technique. The steam made his thoughts grow increasingly sluggish, leaving him with no choice but to bite his thumb and press his legs tightly together, rubbing against himself.
Amidst the swirling white mist, his damp black hair draped over his smooth shoulders, exuding an air of unwitting, dazzling allure.
Ah, it still wasn’t working.
Where exactly was he going wrong?
The water in the bathtub was gradually cooling down, but his body temperature remained stubbornly high. Just then, someone knocked on the door with extreme politeness. “Senior, are you done washing? You’ve been in there for half an hour. Any longer and it’ll be too late to confirm tomorrow’s tactical arrangements.”
Ning Qing froze.
The timing was entirely too delicate. Separated by a mere door, on the outside stood Cyril, well-dressed and acting like a total gentleman, while on the inside was Ning Qing, disheveled and flushed bright red, having failed to even resolve his physical issue.
If he walked straight out wearing just a thin bathrobe, even an idiot could tell what he’d been doing.
It was so humiliating that Ning Qing plunged his entire head underwater, like a camel burying its head in a sand dune, pretending he couldn’t hear a thing and waiting for Cyril to leave on his own.
But Cyril was overly enthusiastic, after pacing back and forth at the door a few times, he muttered to himself, “How strange, why hasn’t Senior answered me for so long? Could his illness from the other day have acted up suddenly, causing him to faint in the bathroom?”
Right after he spoke, a rustling sound echoed, suggesting he was trying the passcode lock on the door handle.
“I’m fine, don’t come in!”
Ning Qing finally abandoned all shame. His normally crisp voice was now laced with a sticky, nasal tone, like honey drizzled shaved ice, making someone desperately want to taste his sweetness.
“Really, you don’t need my help, Senior?”
The slow whisper reverberated through the silent bathroom. The towering, 1.9 meter tall alpha’s shadow closed in steadily with each interrogative pause, pressing so close it was almost flush against the frosted glass.
“However…”
“Senior’s condition doesn’t look too good.”
Though clearly being cared for by a kind partner, for some reason, Ning Qing’s mind flashed back to that nightmare from the other day, as if someone were scanning his entire body with frivolous, scorching gazes, forcing him to surrender.
All around was dead silent. Cyril shrugged knowingly and turned away with a smile. “Alright, then I’ll wait another five minutes for Senior.”
At that exact instant, a certain string in Ning Qing’s brain snapped.
Splashes of water flew, impurities surfaced, and droplets spilling over the edge pattered down onto the tiles.
Having managed to straighten up, Ning Qing slumped back down into the bathtub in defeat.
His heart beat chaotically in his chest. Numbly, he dried his body with a bath towel. Under such humiliating stimulation, he had actually…
Actually…
Ten minutes later, the bathroom door crept open.
Experiencing the potency of lust for the very first time, Ning Qing wrapped himself up in a plush bath towel like a rice dumpling and marched out with his head down. The exposed joint of his ankle was flushed pink, retaining none of the mighty air of his ten match, nine win daylight persona.
Ning Qing didn’t utter a peep. When Cyril stepped closer to look, he discovered that Ning Qing’s earlobes were completely red.
So he was just shy.
It took a full three minutes of system buffering before Ning Qing pushed away the big dog like head resting near his shoulder, his eyes darting away. “Cyril, don’t stare at me like that. I was just a bit tired, which is why I stayed in a little longer.”
“Mm, I know everything.”
Cyril tactfully skipped over the topic. Of course he knew what Ning Qing had been through.
Those green caresses and clumsy reactions had long been comprehensively recorded in his optical computer via a score of surveillance cameras far more advanced than black market goods. Besides, compared to a twin younger brother who could only be looked at and not eaten, he clearly held the advantage of proximity.
He draped a coat over Ning Qing’s shoulders, his fingertips brushing naturally across his shoulder. The fair skin, still damp from the water, easily bruised into faint red marks under pressure, truly a body extremely well-suited for manufacturing branding marks. Cyril silently created a new to do list item.
Ning Qing remained completely oblivious to this. He had come out in such a rush that his slippers were left behind in the bathroom, forcing him to walk barefoot and leaving a trail of wet footprints on the woolen carpet straight to the bedroom.
Cyril perhaps noticed something, but out of respect for his own dignity, he didn’t ask further.
It was good that he didn’t ask, some matters required a tacit, mutual silence.
Arriving at the command room converted from the study.
By the time they began discussing tactical arrangements for the match with Cyril, Ning Qing had completely recovered his usual composure.
The ceiling and walls of the study projected a galaxy full of stars, indigo starlight shimmering through Ning Qing’s hair. This was a star map projector commonly used in interstellar warfare, capable of stereoscopically rendering the relative positions of planets.
Ning Qing sat cross legged on the floor, using a laser pointer to make tactical markers on those heavily annotated planets.
In this era where everything could be entrusted to AI calculations, he still preferred manual calculations, and once finished, he would hang the pen over his ear, giving off a distinct top student vibe.
The selection match format was one on one combat, but the formal tournament was much more complex.
The planet based preliminary rounds were held in the Deep Star simulated battlefield. After uploading their consciousnesses, they would be dropped into fallen zones occupied by the Zerg during past campaigns, fighting under simulated historical conditions.
“We’re all very familiar with these rules, right, World Destroying Tyrannosaurus Rex.”
This was what Ning Qing had glanced. Cyril’s nickname in the simulation battlefield game.
Cyril’s expression looked a bit unnatural.
Perhaps this was just the burden of elite scholars.
Ning Qing didn’t think much of it, quickly steering the topic back to the subsequent finals, where advancing contestants would enter contaminated zones with live ammunition to execute search and rescue or exploration missions, potentially escorting trapped civilians or encountering uncleared Zerg.
“In previous years, there’s been a 10% probability of this happening. Given that my luck has always been rather poor, we still need to plan ahead. For instance, achieving full coordination and practice within the simulated battlefield.”
“Our goal isn’t just to qualify, but to adapt to the battlefield to the utmost extent… Mm?”
“Mmm-mmm.”
A heart shaped butter cookie was suddenly stuffed into Ning Qing’s mouth. He had to puff out his cheeks and chew slowly. Cyril’s callus roughened fingertips brushed against the tip of his tongue and parted instantly, even wiping away the cookie crumbs from the corner of his lips.
Ever since Cyril discovered his bad habits of skipping breakfast and dinner, surviving a whole day on a single bottle of nutrient fluid, and then forcing himself to train late into the night, he had grown very fond of feeding him candies and pastries from time to time.
With his stomach filled with something, the spasms stopped happening constantly.
This feeling was very strange.
His hometown had fallen, and his family had died far too young. The Empire treated worthless refugees like him as trash, dumping them off to other star districts, and ever since, he had drifted among various shelters in the fringe star systems. Even when he had friends, they would cut off contact before lasting half a year.
When receiving warmth, Ning Qing’s first reaction wasn’t to draw closer, but to push away.
As social animals, humans all hated parting ways. If things were destined not to last, it was better to draw a clear line right from the start to avoid sinking too deeply.
He and Cyril… after all, did not belong to the same social stratum. His own identity was far too sensitive; could he have Cyril help cover for him for a lifetime? That wasn’t realistic.
“Let’s stop here for today.”
The lights brightened, the galaxy dissolved, and Ning Qing turned off the star map.
Cyril put on a posture of patient listening.
“Cyril, you don’t have to do so much for me.”
Whenever Ning Qing grew irritated, he would wind his braids around his pinky finger, circle after circle, which made his hair increasingly curly and wavy, giving him a somewhat playful and cute look.
“Two months from now when the match ends, once you gain honors and a military rank, and have the ability to reject your family’s marriage arrangements, this temporary relationship of ours will come to an end.”
“I don’t quite understand what Senior means.”
Uncharacteristically, Cyril interrupted him, moving with extreme speed, carrying an urgency that clashed with his usual gentle demeanor.
Leaning his upper body forward, his height advantage of being a head taller created a condescending sense of oppression. He planted his palms on the floor, enclosing Ning Qing between them, altogether reminiscent of that demon doctor in his dream who left him utterly unable to move.
This made Ning Qing no longer able to ignore the stark disparities between them in status, gender, and physique.
That dream had jolted him awake: he should stay away from alphas, and furthermore, he should undergo gland removal surgery as soon as possible, when he first underwent secondary sex differentiation, his hormones had been unstable, and the doctor recommended waiting at least two months, which happened to coincide with the grand finals.
Having immersed himself in the upper crust vanity fair of the Empire for years, Cyril was accustomed to reading expressions. Even without Ning Qing spelling it out, he could discern this abruptly heightened wariness from his uncurling brows.
He had been a bit too eager for quick success.
He couldn’t push too tightly, now wasn’t the time to expose himself.
Standing so close with the atmosphere so tense, Ning Qing even thought Cyril was going to blow his top on the spot, but he merely fished out a piece from the jar of butter cookies beside Ning Qing and hesitantly popped it into his mouth.
The man chewed with a troubled expression, breaking into a dry cough halfway through.
Cyril smiled forcedly. “Senior isn’t very happy, perhaps today’s cookies aren’t to your taste… cough cough, they do taste quite greasy, next time I’ll have the chef use less butter.”
Alright, a robust alpha like that was still quite fragile when choking.
Ning Qing was a sucker for soft tactics rather than hard ones. Seeing him looking so pitiful, he let Cyril rest his head on his lap, this side lying position could alleviate the coughing and make it easier for him to adjust his breathing rhythm.
There was only one bad thing.
The indoor climate control system had baked the room quite warm, so Ning Qing was wearing rather short pajama shorts. When Cyril’s exhaled hot breath puffed against the base of his thighs, it tickled intensely.
He couldn’t help pressing his legs together tightly, just like he had in the bathroom.
Fortunately, no one noticed.
That day, a weird and wonderful dream visited Ning Qing’s night once again.
He slept poorly, because in the dream there was always a huge dog crushing him until he couldn’t breathe, licking his face from top to bottom with a barbs covered tongue.
The flesh of his cheeks was flattened by its snout, and the dog kept barking loudly right beside his ear.
“Awooo~~”
Sometimes, human words would spill from the dog’s mouth, saying that it went out hunting every day, bringing back bones for Ning Qing to eat. Why wasn’t Ning Qing eating them? Did he think they didn’t taste good? Did he hate it…
Ning Qing grew thoroughly annoyed by the racket, with only a single thought in his mind. I really want to slap it.
And so he did.