The door closed with a click, and the hospital room filled with orange-yellow light became a small bedroom. Zhou Rong took a hot shower. He leaned forward, supporting himself with his hands beside the pillow, gazing at Si Nan lying on the bed.
Si Nan had a very satisfying dinner – though it was just a few chicken legs and sweet soup, he clearly enjoyed it immensely.
This was the best meal he had encountered since meeting Zhou Rong, he thought.
No need to gnaw on compressed biscuits, no need to drink cold water in the middle of winter, no need to worry about wolfing down food when extremely hungry and suddenly having to pick up a weapon to fight zombies. But none of this was something I could give him. I have nothing.
Zhou Rong swallowed, a bitter and indescribable sourness spreading from the base of his tongue. Si Nan moved slightly: “What’s wrong?”
“…Nothing,” Zhou Rong said softly, kissing the snow-white, soft gauze before his eyes.
The next moment, his nape was pressed by Si Nan’s hand. With a boom, the world spun, and Zhou Rong’s back heavily hit the bed board. Before he could even react, their positions were reversed. Si Nan straddled Zhou Rong’s solid waist, looking down at his face and raising an eyebrow: “What’s wrong with you? Want to fuck?”
Zhou Rong threateningly thrust his hips upward: “Who’s fucking who?”
Si Nan: “…”
Zhou Rong said maliciously: “Comrade Si Nan, the organization hopes you face the hardware differences. When have you ever seen someone fighting with a Type 92 pistol and an anti-tank rocket launcher?”
“You mean an anti-tank pile driver,” Si Nan smiled, reaching back to grasp that thing: “Anyway, the user experience isn’t good, might as well break it…”
Zhou Rong hastily pulled his hand away, forcibly stuffing Si Nan into the quilt, rolling him into a pancake and holding him in his arms. The two poked and scratched each other.
After a while, Zhou Rong was rock hard, tightly clamping Si Nan’s legs to prevent him from struggling, and with a slap, turned off the light and ordered: “No more playing, sleep!”
Si Nan: “Ear.”
Zhou Rong then continuously rubbed and kneaded Si Nan’s earlobe, massaging it so comfortably that his breathing gradually became deep and steady.
