Every Single Thing I Touch || HeartLiming "Moonlight Chicken"

22. Pillow Talk

Trigger warnings: mention of abuse, blood and sexual activity. SORRY FOR THE TEARS!!!!!

Enjoy!!!!

"I know that he loves me 'cause he told me so, I know that he loves me 'cause his feelings show; When he stares at me, you see he cares for me, you see how he is so deep in love. I know that he loves me 'cause it's obvious, I know that he loves me 'cause it's me he trusts. And he's missing me if he's not kissing me, and when he looks at me, his brown eyes tell it so"

—Destiny's Child, "Brown Eyes"

The early morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting warm, golden light across Liming's bedroom. He let out a soft groan, rolling over to avoid the brightness, his lips parting in an unconscious smack. His body felt heavy, sore in ways that made him wince even before fully opening his eyes. The sheets beneath him were a tangle, clinging to his skin, still damp with the remnants of last night's passion. When Liming finally blinked his eyes open, the first thing he saw was Heart, looming over him. His heart (organ) gave a startled jump, but the surprise melted almost instantly into something softer, more familiar. But as he tried to shift, to move even an inch, a sharp wave of pain cut through his muscles, a vivid reminder of everything that had happened.

A kaleidoscope of images flooded his mind, each one more intense than the last.

True to his promise, Heart had ravished him, over and over again—at least six times in the bedroom alone. Liming remembered the way Heart's hands had gripped him, how he was pulled onto Heart's lap the moment they slid into the car and how Liming had ridden him in the garage itself. The way Heart's touch had been firm, demanding—he couldn't wait a second longer even after their little escapade in the elevator. Liming had felt every inch of that hunger, every desperate pull and push, every bruise that blossomed on his skin a testament to how much Heart had wanted him.

Even on the drive home, there had been no reprieve. Liming could still feel the heat in his cheeks from each red light, where he had dragged Heart's face to his and kissed him with a fervor that bordered on madness. His body had been alive with need, pulsing and aching in all the right places. By the time they finally stumbled out of the car and into his apartment complex, they were a mess of tangled limbs and lips. Liming had kissed Heart against every surface they passed—the gate, the front door, and every inch of hallway that led to his apartment. Garments were discarded carelessly, left like breadcrumbs marking their frenzied path to the bedroom. Liming's shirt, Heart's jacket—none of it mattered as they moved, desperate and aching for more.

But they hadn't made it to the bed, not really.

Heart hadn't allowed that much patience. Liming could still hear his own voice, hoarse from the screaming, the way his body trembled when Heart pushed into him, right there, against the wall, without mercy. But Liming was no stranger to teasing Heart once he found Heart's weak points. He managed to make the other shudder like a leaf during Autumn, as Heart let our frenzied groans which Liming managed to swallow before they left his lips. Liming felt superior once he realized that there are times when Heart becomes weak—moments where he had the upper hand, even during sex. But by the end of the night—or closer to morning—Heart won, as he always did.

Now, in the stillness of morning, Liming's body throbbed with the aftermath of it all—muscles protesting, lips swollen, skin tender wherever Heart had kissed, touched, or bitten. Heart's gaze was heavy on him, as though he was waiting for something, maybe a sign, maybe a word. But all Liming could do was exhale slowly, blinking up at him, his body a delicious wreck.