《止暗情》卿竹觅旻

3、痛觉 Ste

　　Steam swirled thick in the bathroom of Xu Chao’s apartment.

　　Ji Chuci draped himself over the tub’s edge, hot water lapping past his lean waist. Xu Chao stood behind him, cotton swab and iodophor in hand, tending to fresh lacerations slicing across his back—wounds sustained during last night’s interrogation of the human organ trafficker in the abandoned church. Shards of glass had embedded deep in his flesh, forcing Xu Chao to pluck out every fragment himself.

　　The second the swab pressed into raw tissue, Ji Chuci trembled faintly, a soft, ragged gasp catching in his throat, light as a kitten’s paw brushing silk.

　　“Does it hurt?” Xu Chao never paused his work, his voice muffled by rolling steam.

　　“Mmm…” Ji Chuci buried his face in the crook of his arms, his tone thick yet laced with an uncanny satisfaction. “It doesn’t hurt when Brother touches me.”

　　Xu Chao’s movements faltered. He lifted his gaze to the mirror. Through billowing white mist, he watched Ji Chuci tilt his head up, damp black hair plastered to his temples, his eyes blazing unnervingly bright as they locked onto Xu Chao’s reflection. This was not the stare of someone enduring agony—it was pure indulgence.

　　The way an addict fixates on a syringe.

　　“You glutton for pain,” Xu Chao muttered under his breath, yet lightened the pressure of his fingers instinctively.

　　Ji Chuci laughed, his shoulders jolting, tugging at his wounds and triggering another faint spasm. He craved this sensation desperately: the split burn of torn skin, taut, strained muscle fibers, followed by the sharp press of Xu Chao’s angered fingers sinking into his gashes. Pain surged like an electric current up his nerve endings, bursting into tiny, brilliant sparks across his cerebral cortex.

　　Only in these moments did he feel truly alive, not a precise mechanical contraption wrapped in human skin.

　　“Brother,” Ji Chuci twisted around abruptly, his soaking-wet arm wrapping around Xu Chao’s calf, “what happened to that organ trafficker in the end?”

　　“He’s dead.” Xu Chao snipped a length of gauze, his tone as casual as commenting on the weather. “I slipped your souvenir—that scalpel you left behind—straight into his left ventricle. The coroner ruled it an acute myocardial infarction.”

　　Ji Chuci’s eyes lit up instantly, two wispy ghost flames igniting in their depths. “You copied what I do?”

　　“You taught me well.” Xu Chao did not glance up as he continued bandaging, his fingers brushing inadvertently over the sensitive curve of his side. Ji Chuci shuddered from head to toe, a stifled whimper escaping his lips as his toes curled tight.

　　“Touch… here too…” Ji Chuci seized Xu Chao’s wrist, guiding his hand down to his lower abdomen, where an old scar lingered. Years ago, jagged steel rebar had split him open while he’d rushed to save Xu Chao. “This scar itches sometimes… rub it for me.”

　　Xu Chao stared at him for a long beat before letting out a cold scoff, complying and pressing his palm to the mark. He bore down hard, grinding slowly along the scar’s uneven ridges. Ji Chuci arched his neck at once, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly as a flush spread rapidly across his eyes—not from pain, but overwhelming euphoria.

　　His sensitivity to agony was far beyond ordinary people. Torment unbearable to others was merely a staircase leading him to rapture. Xu Chao had known this since they were children at the orphanage; back then, Ji Chuci would deliberately bash himself against table corners just to taste the split-second shock. Later, when he studied medicine, he grew obsessed with anatomical charts of nerve blocks, fixated on mapping how pain signals traveled and were processed by the brain.

　　Xu Chao alone was his painkiller—and his hallucinogen.

　　“That’s enough.” Xu Chao pulled his hand away sharply, grabbing a bath towel to wrap Ji Chuci tightly. “If you keep this up, you won’t be able to stand at the operating table tomorrow.”

　　Only his flushed face peeked out from the coarse towel, his eyes glistening with plaintive, coquettish grievance. “Brother, you’re so cruel…”

　　“Cut the act.” Xu Chao hauled him out of the water like scooping up a misbehaving cat. “There’s a charity gala tonight. You’re coming with me.”

　　Ji Chuci wriggled in his grip, flicking droplets from his damp hair onto Xu Chao’s face. “No way—it’s dreadfully tedious.”

　　“You have no choice.” Xu Chao tossed him onto the bed, looming over his frame with a frigid stare. “All the municipal hospital’s sponsors will be there; you need to make an appearance. Besides…” He paused, his gaze darkening, “I want to see you in a suit.”

　　Ji Chuci blinked, then broke into a soft smile. He lived for Xu Chao’s unyielding orders, the thrill of being completely possessed—especially when that control carried the quiet promise of pain.

　　“Fine.” He nodded obediently, then added quietly, “But Brother has to tie my tie for me.”

　　The charity gala hummed with clinking glasses and idle chatter.

　　Ji Chuci wore a well-tailored charcoal grey suit, his white dress shirt buttoned all the way to the collar, a Windsor knot knotted by Xu Chao’s own hands around his neck. He stood at Xu Chao’s side, eyes cast slightly downward, a perfectly measured, modest smile playing on his lips, while Xu Chao’s palm rested possessively low on his waist.

　　“Captain Xu, who’s this?”

　　“My younger brother, Ji Chuci—surgeon at the municipal hospital.” Xu Chao’s tone remained neutral, yet his fingers brushed meaningfully along Ji Chuci’s hip.

　　Ji Chuci lifted his gaze on cue, offering a faintly bashful grin. “Director Wang, it’s an honor to meet you. I’ve heard Brother speak of you often.”

　　Everyone could tell this “brother” was no ordinary acquaintance, yet no one dared press for details. Xu Chao was famously fiercely protective of his own, and his methods were notoriously brutal.

　　Midway through the banquet, Ji Chuci excused himself for fresh air and slipped out to the balcony alone. Cool night wind cut through the cloying scent of wine clinging to his clothes. He pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket, slipped one between his teeth, and left it unlit—he hated how tobacco dulled his sense of taste.

　　Footsteps sounded behind him; he knew exactly who it was without turning.

　　“Hiding out here?” Xu Chao stepped beside him, plucking the unlit cigarette from his lips, lighting it with a drag of his own before holding it back to Ji Chuci’s mouth. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

　　“My mouth felt empty downstairs.” Ji Chuci leaned in to draw from the cigarette held between Xu Chao’s fingers. The sharp bite of nicotine flooded his throat, making him squint like a startled small animal.

　　Watching his flustered expression, Xu Chao suddenly reached out, his thumb grinding hard against Ji Chuci’s lower lip to wipe away non-existent ash. The pressure left the flesh swollen pink, a tiny bead of blood welling to the surface.

　　“It hurts…” Ji Chuci mumbled, yet swept his tongue over the broken skin to taste the metallic tang of blood. His eyes lit up, as though he’d stumbled upon a delightful new toy.

　　Xu Chao’s gaze darkened. He dipped his head and captured Ji Chuci’s mouth in a bruising kiss, bitter tobacco tang tangled with unyielding force. The faint copper taste of blood bloomed between their lips, woven into Xu Chao’s scent, and Ji Chuci’s knees buckled instantly.

　　“Let’s go back.” Xu Chao pulled away, his voice rough. “The performance’s over.”

　　Back inside the banquet hall, they resumed their roles as affectionate brothers. Only Ji Chuci felt the dull throb of the fresh cut on his lower lip, and only he knew Xu Chao’s suit pocket held the blood-stained tissue he’d wiped from his mouth moments before.

　　It was the night’s finest souvenir.

　　Late that night, they returned to the apartment.

　　Ji Chuci had barely shed his coat when Xu Chao slammed him against the entryway wall. No lamps were lit; only neon glow from distant city windows streaked shifting light across their skin.

　　“Brother…” Ji Chuci tilted his head upward, offering his lips freely. “More…”

　　Xu Chao did not kiss him. He only stared at the tiny, crusted wound on his lower lip. “Does it hurt?”

　　“Yes,” Ji Chuci answered honestly, then added softly, “but I love it.”

　　Xu Chao let out a low, rough laugh. He bent down, sinking his teeth into the scab and yanking sharply. Tiny beads of blood seeped forth at once. Ji Chuci shuddered all over, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat, and clung tighter to Xu Chao’s frame.

　　“Pain-seeking thing,” Xu Chao murmured, his tone laced with warped fondness.

　　He hoisted Ji Chuci over one shoulder and carried him toward the bedroom. Ji Chuci hung limp across his back like a sack of soft flour, giggling endlessly and deliberately prodding Xu Chao’s lower spine with his toes.

　　The second he was tossed onto the mattress, Ji Chuci’s fingers latched onto Xu Chao’s belt buckle. His eyes glazed over, tears pricking them from the lingering rush of pain. “Hurt me… please, Brother.”

　　Xu Chao said nothing. He unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, revealing a sculpted chest crisscrossed with old faded scars. He took Ji Chuci’s hand and pressed it to the longest, thickest scar centered over his heart.

　　“This one,” Xu Chao rumbled low, “twelve years old. You threw yourself between me and the orphanage director’s lit cigarette to shield me.”

　　Ji Chuci’s fingertips trembled as he brushed the raised scar tissue. He remembered every second of that day. Xu Chao had been forced to kneel atop shards of broken glass, and Ji Chuci had lunged forward to take the burning cigarette to his own chest. The tobacco had sizzled through his skin, yet he’d smiled.

　　In that instant, Xu Chao’s gaze had shifted from revulsion to shock, aching worry—and the wild, desperate joy of recognizing a fellow monster.

　　“Brother,” Ji Chuci leaned in, laving the scar with his tongue like a wild beast tending its mate’s wounds. “How many matching scars do we have left?”

　　“Not many.” Xu Chao cupped the back of his head, pressing his face firm against his chest. “But we’ll make more soon.”

　　He rolled over to pin Ji Chuci beneath him, one hand sliding down his body with punishing, ungentle force. Ji Chuci arched his back from the sharp ache, yet breathed out a sound of pure satisfaction. Pain was their anchor, proof of one another’s existence; pain was their language, far truer than any saccharine love confession.

　　Waves of agony and euphoria crashed over Ji Chuci, drowning every nerve in his body.

　　Xu Chao moved against him, and Ji Chuci rocked in tandem, his consciousness drifting in and out of focus.

　　In the pitch-black room, they were two feral beasts, biting one another raw yet licking each other’s wounds clean. Sensation of agony bound them tight, a rope tying their two rotting hearts together, dragging them down into the deep sea that existed only for each other.

　　Outside the windows, the city roared on with endless noise. Trapped within their closed loop of agony and twisted devotion, neither could say which of them had sunk deeper into the abyss.