Hot flashes

Zhou Heng looked at the blood-soaked gauze and finally couldn't resist, walking over to it. "Let me do it."

Xiao Jue paused, glanced at him sideways, and did not object.

Zhou Heng took the bandage and carefully untied it.

The wound was exposed; it was an irregular laceration. Although medicine had been applied, it was clearly not fully healed. In fact, due to the bumpy ride over the past few days and the movements just now, it had slightly opened up and was slowly oozing blood.

It wasn't particularly deep, but its location was tricky, and you could tell it was painful just by looking at it.

Zhou Heng's breath hitched. He took a clean cloth and some ointment left by the army doctor, moistened the cloth, and gently wiped away the dried blood and fresh blood around the wound.

His movements were light and slow, his fingertips occasionally and inevitably touching the warm skin, and he could feel the strength contained beneath the taut muscles, as well as the pain he was enduring behind that strength.

Xiao Jue remained silent, his back muscles rising and falling slightly with Zhou Heng's movements, his breathing steady, as if he felt no pain.

He reapplied the medicine and bandaged the wound. Zhou Heng's technique was far less skilled than the military doctor's, but he was extremely careful, afraid of hurting him. When he finally tightened the bandage, his fingers trembled slightly.

"Okay," he said in a low voice, his voice a little hoarse.

Xiao Jue turned around. His face remained expressionless, but his deep, pool-like eyes, illuminated by the candlelight, clearly reflected Zhou Heng's features.

He suddenly raised his hand and, with his uninjured right hand, grasped Zhou Heng's fingers, which were still covered in ointment and hadn't had time to retract.

His palms were burning hot, calloused from years of wielding knives, and they firmly enveloped Zhou Heng's slightly cool fingertips.

Zhou Heng's heart skipped a beat, and he tried to pull away, but Zhou Heng's grip tightened.

"Are you scared?" Xiao Jue asked, his voice low and hoarse, unlike the coldness he had shown during the discussion earlier, carrying an indescribable, almost weary hoarseness.

Zhou Heng looked at his pale yet still strikingly handsome face so close to his, at the crimson glint in his eyes, shook his head, then nodded. "...Mm."

Xiao Jue seemed to chuckle very lightly.

He loosened his grip on Zhou Heng's fingers and instead used his fingertips to gently brush against Zhou Heng's lower lip, where he had unconsciously bitten a mark due to nervousness.

"This injury won't kill me," he said calmly.

After saying that, he suddenly put his arm around Zhou Heng's waist and led him to the bed. His movements were still forceful, but there seemed to be a subtle, more considerate side to his injured left shoulder than usual.

Zhou Heng was pinned down on the couch, enveloped by the familiar cold scent of pine wood mixed with the bloody smell of medicine.

He pressed against Xiao Jue's chest, his hands feeling the warmth of the skin and the roughness of the bandages. "You're injured!" he exclaimed urgently.

Xiao Jue stopped moving, looking down at him. The candlelight flickered in his eyes like a dark flame. "It's alright," he repeated, then leaned down and kissed Zhou Heng's lips before he could say anything more.

The kiss carried a strong sense of predation, yet strangely mixed with a hint of greedy demand, as if trying to draw some strength from Zhou Heng's lips and tongue to combat pain and exhaustion.

His kiss was deep and intense. Although his left hand moved slightly slower, it still firmly held Zhou Heng's waist, while his right hand was inserted into Zhou Heng's hair, not allowing him to retreat in the slightest.

Zhou Heng initially struggled to push away his intact right shoulder, vaguely protesting "injury...", but was quickly overwhelmed by the scorching breath and irresistible force.

He could feel the heaviness in Xiao Jue's heartbeat, smell the stronger medicinal scent on him, and sense the tautness of the scar under slight movements through their closely pressed bodies.

In the end, he gave up struggling. Even when Xiao Jue let out a barely audible groan due to the movement aggravating his wounds, he trembled and gently wrapped his arm around Xiao Jue's neck with the hand that was still free, clumsily and cautiously responding to the kiss filled with the scent of blood and fire.

Xiao Jue's body stiffened almost imperceptibly for a moment, and then the kiss became even more intense, as if it wanted to devour him whole.

However, there was a certain restraint in his movements, and he no longer unleashed his strength as recklessly as before.

Clothes were removed, and the candlelight flickered.

Finally, Xiao Jue's sweaty forehead pressed against Zhou Heng's neck, breathing heavily, hot beads of sweat dripping into the hollow of Zhou Heng's collarbone.

Exhausted, Zhou Heng unconsciously and very lightly touched the edge of the bandage on the back of his shoulder.

Xiao Jue trembled violently, then pulled him even tighter into his arms, as if he wanted to meld him into his very bones.

A deep, husky voice, tinged with post-coital languor and a barely perceptible hoarseness, rang in Zhou Heng's ears:

"Go to sleep."

Outside the tent, the night wind howled, and the Milky Way hung low.

Inside the tent, the pain temporarily subsided, and desires were somewhat satisfied.