Chapter 232

Chapter 232

Evan, still nestled against Sara's chest, didn't linger long before slowly lifting his head. His eyes still held traces of unshed tears, yet blazed with fervent love.

Without a word, he leaned in slightly, first placing a soft kiss on Sara's eyelashes. The motion was as light as a feather brushing past, moist with the steam of the hot spring, kissing away the lingering droplets and touching the softest part of Sara's heart.

Sara's lashes fluttered slightly, and he instinctively closed his eyes.

Then, he felt Evan's kisses slide down from his eye, landing at the corner of his eye, then slowly moving to his lips. This kiss was no longer the tentative touch of before; it carried the unique passion and devotion of a young man, gently pressing and lingering, as though cherishing a rare treasure.

Before Sara could fully respond, Evan tilted his head slightly and placed a kiss on his earlobe, his tongue lightly tracing the warm flesh, making Sara's shoulder tremble faintly.

His movements were gentle and focused, each kiss brimming with reverence, as if worshipping the deity of his faith—no hint of sacrilege, only pure adoration.

"Sara..." Evan's voice was husky from kissing, his warm breath brushing Sara's ear with a tender intimacy. "I wrote poems for you. Whenever I missed you, I took them out to read."

As he spoke, he pressed close to Sara's ear and, in a voice only the two of them could hear, softly recited: "When night devours the day, and stars fall into eyes, I walk alone in darkness, until I meet you—my star, my light. When the cold wind sweeps the barren plain, and loneliness knots my heart, you come with warmth, like an angel descending, dispelling all my sorrow..."

His voice was soft, yet each word was clear, carrying the most genuine emotion of a young man. Every word flowed like warm spring water into Sara's heart. As he recited, his kisses never ceased—now lightly brushing Sara's cheek, now grazing his jawline, each motion impossibly gentle.

"You are my star, lighting the path before me; you are my angel, warming my lonely soul..." Evan murmured over and over, repeating the core lines of the poem, pouring out the longing and devotion buried deep in his heart for so long.

His eyes remained fixed on Sara, clear and focused, seeing nothing else but him—a look of complete trust and dependence, as if Sara were his entire world.

Sara had initially felt a bit helpless; he was never good at handling such direct and fervent expressions. He had just been about to raise his hand to ruffle Evan's hair and say, "Alright, you clingy little thing," but as he met Evan's eyes—brimming with love—all his words died in his throat.

He could clearly feel Evan's sincerity. It wasn't calculated flattery or insincere flattery, but a complete, unreserved offering—a passion so intense it could melt ice and snow.

Such genuine feeling, he had never experienced from anyone. In his early years, he had drifted through darkness and slaughter, his heart long wrapped in coldness and solitude, accustomed to walking alone, to hiding behind a facade of aloofness. He had never imagined that there would be a young man who, with such pure love, would slowly break through his frozen heart.

Evan continued kissing him, from lips to neck, each move careful and gentle, all while still softly reciting the poem. Those simple yet sincere words, amidst the steaming water vapor of the hot spring, became even more tender and moving.

Sara's body gradually relaxed. The frown that had barely creased his brow smoothed away, and his eyes shifted from initial helplessness to softness, even carrying a hint of indulgence and emotion he himself hadn't realized.

He raised his hand gently to encircle Evan's waist, pulling him closer, feeling the young man's warm body and rapid heartbeat. Evan's body was soft, leaning against him with complete trust, warming the heart that had long been accustomed to cold.

This warmth was not the heat of the hot spring, but something rising from the depths of his heart—real and blazing, gradually driving away the chill accumulated over the years.

"Alright, enough now," Sara's voice was slightly hoarse in a way he hardly noticed, yet unusually gentle. He patted Evan's back lightly. "Keep kissing, and the hot spring water will turn cold."

At this, Evan paused, lifted his head, a hint of reluctance still in his eyes, but obediently stopped kissing. Still, he kept his arms tightly wrapped around Sara's neck, pressing his forehead to Sara's, breathing quickly as he said, "I just miss you. I want to tell you everything and give you all my kisses."

Seeing him like this, Sara was even more moved. He couldn't help but lower his head and return a gentle kiss on Evan's lips, soft and lingering. "I know."

Three simple words, yet full of certainty and tenderness.

Hearing this, Evan's eyes lit up instantly, like a child given candy. A bright smile curled at his lips. He leaned in again, pecking Sara's lips lightly, then buried his head in Sara's chest, hugging him tightly, his voice muffled: "Sara, I'm so glad you're with me."

Sara let out a soft sigh, but couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. He raised his hand to stroke Evan's hair, his fingers gently brushing through the soft strands, feeling the warmth and heartbeat of the young man in his arms.

The steam of the hot spring swirled around them, enveloping them tightly, the air filled with a faint scent of sulfur mixed with the clean smell of the young man, exuding an incomparable sense of peace.

He knew that his cold heart, frozen for so many years, had finally been warmed by this passionate and pure young lover, with a wholehearted devotion. Maybe this kind of bond wasn't so bad after all.

Sara closed his eyes, feeling the warmth in his arms, and for the first time, a feeling of belonging slowly spread through his heart.

As a healthy young man at the age of sixteen, with his beloved now in the hot spring pool, skin against skin, hot and real, the most primal, instinctual desire rose like vines breaking through soil, suddenly taking root and growing wildly in his heart, naturally sweeping over all his thoughts.

He could clearly feel a wildfire ignited inside him, flames spreading from his heart to every limb, burning him so hot that even his breathing grew heavy and scorching. This fire not only blurred his reason but also stirred a fierce longing—to reach out and drag Sara into this same blaze, so they could drown together in this burning emotion.

"Can we, Sara?" Evan's voice was noticeably hoarse, his voice trembling slightly at the end, as if he were restraining something with great effort. As he asked softly, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the pale skin of Sara's neck, leaving a warm, damp kiss, his tongue instinctively sweeping across the delicate skin, making Sara's body tremble almost imperceptibly.

The intense desire he held back between his lips and teeth spread like the steam rising from the pool. Sara immediately understood Evan's intentions. Moreover, the scorching heat pressed against his thigh was so vivid, with the heat and urgency characteristic of youth—impossible to ignore.

Sara looked at the young man before him, whose eyes were veiled with a layer of mist, filled with longing and reverence. He murmured to himself: This is the little lover I chose.

Passionate, and always so forward.

He let out a helpless yet indulgent sigh in his heart and nodded gently to Evan.

That nod was like releasing the last restraint on Evan. In an instant, he pulled Sara tightly into his arms, with an irresistible force, pulling him into the whirlpool of his surging passion. His kisses fell densely on Sara's lips, cheeks, and neck, each movement carrying the unreserved passion of youth. Sara tilted his head back slightly, surrendering, wrapping his arms around Evan's waist, letting himself be carried along, sinking and floating together in this hot spring pool, in this lingering love, drifting in the ocean of joy that belonged only to the two of them. The ripples of the spring water swayed gently with their movements, dissolving all the tenderness and passion into the rising mist.

Most of the steam in the hot spring had dissipated. The warm water lapped gently around their ankles, carrying a faint sulfur smell. Sara leaned back against the rocks at the edge of the pool, his chest still heaving slightly, his fingers lazily poking Evan, who was slumped on his shoulder. The young man's cheeks still held a faint flush of their lovemaking, his wet hair stuck to the side of his neck, his light breaths brushing against Sara's skin.

Poked by Sara, Evan immediately looked up. The corners of his eyes were still a bit moist, but they instantly curved into crescent moons, revealing a pair of shallow dimples. His smile was endearing and soft, like a puppy that had just been given a treat.

Without speaking, he first reached out to gather some warm water beside Sara, his palm gently wiping along Sara's shoulder line, his movements so light it was as if he feared breaking something fragile. He even used his fingertips to carefully smooth away the water droplets caught in the hollow of Sara's collarbone, the warmth of his fingers mixed with the heat of the hot spring water, soothing his heart.

After wiping the moisture and marks from their skin, Evan grabbed a clean cotton towel from the stone platform by the pool—one he had deliberately brought, soft and carrying the faint scent of sunlight. He stood on tiptoe first, wrapping the towel around Sara's wet hair, his fingertips gently rubbing along the strands, slowly and carefully, not even missing the water behind Sara's ears. When he reached the ends, he deliberately loosened his grip, afraid of pulling.

After drying the hair, he unfolded the towel again, wrapping it from Sara's shoulders downward, his palm brushing along Sara's back to dry it slowly. Even the outline of the V-line on Sara's waist was lightly touched by the towel, drawing a soft chuckle from Sara: "Slow down, no one's rushing you."

Hearing this, Evan smiled even more sweetly, but his hands didn't stop. Only after he had dried almost all the water on Sara did he turn and run to his small bag by the platform—the bag he had placed there before entering the hot spring, its zipper not fully closed, revealing neatly folded clothes inside.

He rummaged a bit urgently, his fingertips brushing the fabric, his eyes lighting up as he pulled out a light gray cotton-linen outfit: "I originally brought this for myself, a loose fit, thinking I'd change into it after the bath. It should fit!"

This outfit was selected by Evan as a loose style. The cotton-linen fabric was soft yet crisp; on his 1.8m frame, it hung comfortably loose. But when he took the clothes and turned around to drape them over Sara, he realized—Sara was 6 cm taller, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The loose fabric instantly became form-fitting.

Evan first helped Sara into the shirt, pinching the buttons to fasten them. Because of the height difference, he had to tilt his head up slightly, his nose nearly brushing Sara's jawline, making the other lower his head to look at him, his breath growing even softer.

The shirt's shoulder seam rested exactly on Sara's shoulder peak, the cuffs fitting snugly around his forearms, highlighting the smooth muscle lines, even his waist and abdomen were gently outlined by the fabric. What was meant to be loose became a tailored fit on him. After helping with the pants as well, Evan reached out to tug at the hem of Sara's shirt, a little embarrassed as he scratched his head at how well it fit: "I didn't expect it to be this fitting..."

But Sara raised his arm, hooked a finger on the collar, glanced at the form-fitting waistline, and said with a tone of indulgent helplessness: "This 'loose fit' of yours saves me the effort of having new clothes made." Hearing this, Evan immediately broke into that soft smile again, reached out to wrap his arm around Sara's, and rubbed his head lightly against Sara's shoulder—his 1.8m frame leaning against a 1.86m person, the slight height difference making him seem particularly soft and warm, the air around them wrapped in the tender atmosphere left in the wake of their passion.