BIAC CH 33

Chapter 33: You’re Mine… I Wish They All Knew…

That night, when Tang He finally wrapped up a long day of official business and returned to Du Jianyou’s cozy little apartment, it was already quite late.

Du Jianyou was lounging in a bathrobe, the belt loosely tied at his waist, showing off a long, bare leg that swayed lazily. In the living room, only a floor lamp was lit. He sat curled up comfortably in a single armchair, flipping through a fashion magazine, sipping on a glass of Opus One 2004 vintage wine, nibbling on a petite crème angel cake from Petite Chanson, listening to soft bossa nova, and waiting for Lord Tang to come home.

The moment Tang He stepped through the entryway and saw this relaxed, indulgent scene, the fatigue of his day melted away.

He changed into slippers, walked over to Du Jianyou, and pulled an envelope from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Handing it over, he said with a smile, “Tutu, happy birthday.” Then he sat down on the long sofa across from him. He knew—he couldn’t touch him before showering.

Du Jianyou looked at the envelope with deep suspicion. Shouldn’t birthday gifts come in boxes? At the very least, there should be a big ribbon tied around it. And now—just an envelope? Could it be that this mega-rich, overworked CEO was simply giving him a check? The more he thought about it, the more nervous he got. He held the envelope tightly, hesitating to open it.

“Aren’t you going to take a look?” Tang He prompted him.

Left with no choice under Tang He’s eager gaze, Du Jianyou finally mustered the courage to open it. He pulled out the card inside.

Bathed in the dim yellow glow of the floor lamp, he stared at the Tiffany blue cardstock, unable to believe what he was seeing. “This is… this is…?” His voice trembled so much he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“It’s an invitation to next year’s Autumn/Winter Paris Fashion Week. The Spring/Summer show is just two weeks away, and I was worried we wouldn’t be able to rearrange our work schedules in time. So we’ll skip the September show and go to the Valentine’s week one instead. Look at the dates—February 10th to 17th next year. Make sure to keep that week open. You’re flying to Paris with me…”

Before Tang He could even finish speaking, Du Jianyou let out a scream and launched himself into Tang He’s arms.

He wrapped his arms around him, kissing and nipping him excitedly, before reverently gazing once again at the VIP invitation—personally issued by the French Federation of Fashion, with DU, JIAN-YOU elegantly handwritten in stylized script. And at the bottom, there were even the signatures of legendary fashion icons: Riccardo Tisci, John Galliano, Jean-Paul Gaultier…

It even had the designers’ autographs.

He knew that this invitation wasn’t some generic printout—it was a precious gift that Tang He had painstakingly prepared. He had done his homework, found out which designers Du Jianyou liked, and pulled all sorts of strings just to get it.

Du Jianyou held the invitation with great care, gently stroking the signatures as he murmured dreamily, “This really is the best gift in the world.”

Seeing his gift receive such praise, Tang He was utterly satisfied. All the effort he’d gone through—running around during that last business trip just to get these two invitation cards, tracking down each of the so-called masters in person and collecting their autographs one by one—had finally paid off. Still, he couldn’t help acting a little spoiled.

“I thought I was the best gift in the world,” Tang He said, pressing Du Jianyou down onto the long sofa. His hand slipped inside the loose robe, playfully greeting Little Du through the inner layer.

Du Jianyou didn’t resist. He bit his lip, his gaze affectionate as he hooked one leg over Tang He’s, inviting him closer.

Tang He leaned down and kissed him, the bristles of his stubble making Du Jianyou squirm a little from the itch. Du Jianyou laughed softly, “Then let me see if this ‘best gift in the world’ of mine… can give me the best… ahh…”

Tang He’s sudden advance once again left him unable to finish his sentence.

Tang He’s hands expertly explored Du Jianyou’s sensitive spots, his lips brushing lightly over his brows and lashes. The warm yellow light from the floor lamp cast a gentle glow over Du Jianyou’s face and body, like moonlight. His robe had slipped off, now draped loosely over his arms, waist, and legs—those same legs that were now wrapped tightly around Tang He. He was trapped within them. Like a snake shedding its skin, writhing continuously to the soft rhythm.

Tang He gently kissed the twisting little snake, soothing him. “Don’t rush.” From his lips, he tasted a hint of alcohol… and something sweet. Cream. That was when Tang He remembered—he hadn’t eaten his cake yet!

He deepened the kiss. Now, it was time to savor his exclusive dessert.

Du Jianyou was being kissed as if he were drowning—Tang He was drawing every breath from him. He waved his arms unconsciously, struggling for air. His hand accidentally knocked over the cake plate on the table beside them, plunging straight into what was left of the cake. Cream got everywhere.

Du Jianyou, who was a clean freak, snapped back to his senses. He pouted, trying to get up and wipe his hand clean—but Tang He didn’t let him.

Instead, he pulled his hand close and began to lick it, bit by bit. First the palm, then the back of the hand, followed by each slender finger. His nimble tongue traced every inch of skin, outlining each line in his palm, curling around every knuckle. He licked every bit of cake off Du Jianyou’s hand slowly and tenderly, then gave his verdict:

“Too sweet.”

Du Jianyou’s heart was in chaos from the way he was being sucked and licked. He kissed Tang He again, right on those cream-covered lips. He knew Tang He didn’t like sweets.

He only liked him.

Their bodies intertwined, the limited space of the sofa only amplifying their desire.

The rest of the room remained in darkness—only this spot was lit. Like a spotlight cast on two actors in a play, dim yet focused. And like actors on stage, the two of them were completely absorbed, reverent in their performance.

They stared at each other, exploring both the known and the unknown—repressed yet passionate, gritted teeth yet utterly unrestrained. This was a battle of wills against one another, and even more so, against themselves. Neither of them was willing to be the first to surrender. All they could do was keep provoking and testing, hoping the other would give in first, climax first, reach the peak first. Like a choreographed dance—one advancing while the other retreated, one fleeing while the other pursued. The relentless tide surged and receded again and again, nearly dragging them both under.

“…Hurry… give it to me…”

In the end, Du Jianyou couldn’t hold back anymore. He gritted his teeth and barked, full of frustration. In front of this seasoned warrior of the battlefield, no matter how much he armed himself, he was ultimately no match. So be it—he couldn’t win, so what? It wasn’t like they had to fight to the death anyway. After all, wasn’t he always the one who ended up being tormented half to death each time?

Tang He, as he wished, raised his spear and mounted his horse. Metal gleamed under the sun and moon; the iron cavalry galloped, shaking the mountain ridge.

Thankfully, the mountain ridge was sturdy. He paid double for that sofa. The sales clerk even emphasized back then: the sofa frame was solid and durable.

Tang He held him tightly and thrust with all his strength. Du Jianyou’s sweaty body grew so slippery it was nearly slipping away. And he truly wanted to slip away—he was nearing his limit from this onslaught. But his body had a will of its own, refusing to retreat.
Instead, it leaned even closer to the heat, recklessly breaking away just to crash back together again.

A mouth that said no, but a body that said yes—he was living it.

To them, this wasn’t just physical intimacy. This was something sacred, like a solemn wish made before blowing out a candle—meant to be heard by the heavens.

“You’re mine. You’re mine,” Du Jianyou couldn’t help but cry out at the peak, “I really wish they all knew…”

“I’m yours. Whether they know or not, I’m yours—and you’re mine too,” Tang He panted, soothing him, declaring it, holding him tight.

(To be continued…)