Axolotl Translations

That night had been utter chaos. Even now, the memory sent his head spinning. It felt like a drunken haze, where events unfolded with a strange, unavoidable logic.

……

Just as Qi Xingchen had warned, the inhibitor’s effect had drastically weakened. Ruan Zhao had endured as long as he could, his body drenched in sweat, every pore soaked.

The searing heat clawed at him, a wildfire consuming his veins, threatening to boil his blood. Everything around him burned.

Everything, that is, except Qi Xingchen. He was cool to the touch, a welcome respite from the feverish torment.

Ruan Zhao couldn’t help but cling to him, pressing closer, closer—like a koala wrapping itself around a tree. And then, through the haze, he caught a familiar scent: crisp and sharp, laced with ice and mint. Qi Xingchen’s pheromones.

……

His voice, usually calm and cold, now carried a noticeable rasp, as if scraped raw with sandpaper. He told Ruan Zhao—he was in heat too.

After that, there was no turning back.

The room was empty, save for a single chair. Ruan Zhao was pinned against it, his waist gripped firmly, his legs forced apart.

Qi Xingchen crowded his space, leaning down, his breath hot against Ruan Zhao’s skin. He reached up, gently brushing back the damp strands clinging to Ruan Zhao’s flushed cheeks.

Their breaths tangled. Their scents intertwined, twisting, merging—forming something entirely new, something inevitable.

Just as he’d promised from the start, Qi Xingchen never forced anything on Ruan Zhao. Instead, he asked. Every desire, every action, preceded by a request for permission. Only with consent did he proceed.

“Zhaozhao.” His voice was thick, almost syrupy, dripping with languid temptation, coaxing and sweet—like a lover’s whisper. His gaze lingered on Ruan Zhao’s flushed lips, and in a hushed tone, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

The space between them was infinitesimal. Each warm breath ghosted across the sensitive skin of Ruan Zhao’s ear, sending a delicate shiver down his spine.

Ruan Zhao lifted his hazy, half-lidded eyes, meeting Qi Xingchen’s gaze—deep and dark as ink, pooling with unreadable emotions. The overhead fluorescent light, reflecting off the metal walls, cast a sharp, blinding glow that shattered in his pupils, like countless fractured stars.

As if under a spell, Ruan Zhao stared into those eyes, his thoughts drifting, his head nodding before he even registered the movement. The next instant, lips pressed against his.

……

The kiss was hungry, unrestrained, fierce. His lips were pried open without hesitation, the kiss plunging deep, claiming everything within.

The soft flesh of his mouth was swept over by a rough tongue, his own delicate tongue caught, sucked, and teased. Even the saliva pooling between them was greedily swallowed. Like a dog gnawing on a bone—rough, eager, and addicted to the taste.

And Ruan Zhao was that sweet, irresistible bone. He felt his breath grow shallow, his chest tightening from the overwhelming sensation, the air thinning with each desperate, gasping breath.

Wet fingers tightened in Qi Xingchen’s hair, a slight pull, a silent plea for space.

Qi Xingchen followed the gentle force, leaning back just enough to allow Ruan Zhao a breath. A thin, silver strand of saliva stretched between their lips, breaking in midair.

In that brief moment, Ruan Zhao’s lips had swollen, a deep, bruised red, like crushed flower petals—decadent and drenched in color, as if another kiss would cause them to spill sweet nectar. Qi Xingchen’s breath hitched, a low, muffled chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Zhaozhao, you taste sweet inside.” His fingertip brushed away the lingering moisture from the corner of Ruan Zhao’s lips, his gaze dark and hazy with temptation. “So sweet.”

Ruan Zhao seemed to have forgotten how to breathe through his nose. His lips remained slightly parted, his breaths shallow, quivering gasps.

Through the small opening, the soft, wet interior of his mouth was faintly visible—and at the very tip of his tongue, a faint red mark lingered. A fresh bite.

Qi Xingchen’s eyes darkened instantly. That single, faint imprint ignited desire, thick and relentless.

The cool scent of mint in the air intensified, nearly overpowering the delicate fragrance of lilies of the valley. He leaned in again, unable to resist, his thumb tracing Ruan Zhao’s swollen lips before gently tilting his face, pressing lightly—forcing his mouth to open just a little wider, revealing every inch of that soft, glistening tongue.

“May I have another taste?”

“If you don’t say anything, I’ll take that as a yes.”

Ruan Zhao’s entire body felt boneless, melting into Qi Xingchen’s support. Were it not for the arms around him, he would have slid right off the chair. His ears buzzed, an endless ringing in the background. His vision blurred—patches of scattered light breaking apart before his eyes.

He had no idea what the man was saying. All he felt was the sticky, feverish heat engulfing him once again. The scent of mint completely filled his mouth, as if it had seeped into every part of him—as if he had become one with it.

……

Time slipped away. Perhaps the delayed effects of the inhibitor had finally kicked in, because Ruan Zhao slowly regained a bit of clarity.

He was now beneath Qi Xingchen, his back pressed against the floor, a thin jacket hastily placed beneath him. Soft, feather-light kisses drifted down, landing on his face like fallen petals. From his forehead, to his closed eyes, and finally, to his swollen lips.

This time, the man was gentle—as if he ached for him. No more biting, sucking, or fierce kisses—just soft licks, tracing along his lips, again and again, as if trying to soothe the sting.

Ruan Zhao turned his face away, avoiding the lingering touch. “Stop kissing me.” His voice was weak, pitiful, carrying the remnants of earlier sobs. A soft whimper slipped through. “It hurts…”

Qi Xingchen’s gaze was serious, unwavering. “It won’t hurt if I lick it.”

Ruan Zhao pushed him away in the end. Then, lay there for a while, catching his breath.

His neck ached, his lips burned, and even his waist throbbed. There wasn’t a single part of him that felt comfortable. He didn’t need to look to know how disheveled he must appear.

Ruan Zhao had no idea how long Qi Xingchen had been kissing him, nor how he’d transitioned from the chair to the floor. There was a gap in his memory—a stretch of blankness where time had simply vanished.

A faint chill trickled down his collar, sneaking against his fevered skin. The sudden contrast sent a shiver through him, and he realized his shirt collar had been tugged open, several buttons undone. He hastily tugged at the wrinkled fabric, trying to fix it, but his fingers fumbled for the top button.

His gaze wandered, and in the farthest corner of the room, he spotted it: a single button, flung away, as if ripped off with excessive force. Ruan Zhao’s eyelashes trembled.

Slowly, he checked himself over. His shirt and pants were still in place, untouched—no signs of being removed. Then he lowered his head and saw his own hand. On his fingertips, a faint bite mark—not deep, not harsh. His knuckles were flushed red, as if they had been kissed and sucked on for a long time.

Ruan Zhao tried to hold back, but in the end, he couldn’t. He muttered under his breath, “Pervert.”

Qi Xingchen stood beside him silently, like a stone statue, wisely choosing not to respond.

“Help me up.” Ruan Zhao’s legs were weak, his waist sore—he had no strength left. The floor was dirty, and even with the jacket beneath him, he didn’t want to remain there.

He’d expected Qi Xingchen to simply pull him up, offering support. Instead, Qi Xingchen bent down, slid his hands beneath his thighs, and lifted him, like a child.

The sudden feeling of being airborne made Ruan Zhao yelp. Afraid of falling, his arms instinctively wrapped around Qi Xingchen’s neck, holding on tight.

“Who told you to pick me up?” And in such a humiliating position too. His toes curled in embarrassment, his fair skin flushing a lovely shade of pink. Flustered, he snapped, “Put me down! Right now!”

Qi Xingchen obeyed, gently setting him back onto the chair. Ruan Zhao sat there, eyes red, lips swollen—like someone thoroughly bullied. He glared at Qi Xingchen, his expression fierce. He even wanted to slap him twice, just to vent—but he was too exhausted. He could barely lift his hand, let alone hit anyone. So all he could do was sit there, eyes rimmed with redness, voice hoarse beyond recognition, and accuse him: “You bullied me…”

Qi Xingchen replied calmly, without a hint of guilt: “You let me.”

Ruan Zhao: “…?”

“I asked if I could kiss you.” Qi Xingchen’s expression remained neutral, his tone steady, like he was stating a simple, undeniable fact. “And you agreed.”

Ruan Zhao vaguely remembered that part.

“Even if that’s the case…” Ruan Zhao paused, then became even more self-righteous. “You still didn’t have to kiss me so hard.”

Qi Xingchen asked, “Are you still feeling uncomfortable?”

Ruan Zhao shook his head, then nodded again. The feverish heat that had sunk into his bones was finally gone—but in its place was a different kind of discomfort. Qi Xingchen never held back when he kissed. It hurt.

“Physical intimacy helps ease the symptoms of a heat cycle,” Qi Xingchen explained. “Proper kissing also promotes the release of pheromones… The inhibitor wasn’t working, so this was the only way.”

Ruan Zhao hesitated, half-believing, half-doubting. “So that’s the only reason you kissed me?”

Qi Xingchen shook his head. “No… I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Ruan Zhao turned his head, avoiding the blazing intensity of Qi Xingchen’s gaze. “So you really are a pervert.”

Qi Xingchen didn’t seem to mind the label at all. He simply took out a wet wipe, carefully cleaning the dust-stained fingers Ruan Zhao had used to support himself on the floor. Wiping away the sticky sweat and dirt, then grabbing another wipe to continue. Repeating the motion over and over—because if he focused on this, he could restrain himself. He could control the hunger clawing at him, keep himself from—

“Qi Xingchen.”

Hearing his full name, Qi Xingchen paused. He only looked up after a long moment. The delicate boy licked his lips, acting high and mighty. “I’m thirsty. Get me some water.”

Qi Xingchen: “You want to go out now?”

Ruan Zhao’s nasal voice was heavy with grievance. “You did this to me… How am I supposed to go out like this?”

Qi Xingchen: “It’s already dark outside. If I carry you, no one will notice.”

Ruan Zhao’s cheeks flushed. No matter what Qi Xingchen said, he refused to agree.

Seeing no other choice, Qi Xingchen tried again. “Then wait here. I’ll go to the convenience store and buy you some water.”

“No.” Ruan Zhao was starting to cling again.

After an Omega’s heat cycle, even without being marked, they naturally gravitated toward the person they’d been intimate with—like a sticky piece of caramel, impossible to shake off.

Ruan Zhao spread his arms, wrapping them around Qi Xingchen’s waist. Then, he burrowed into Qi Xingchen’s chest, rubbing his face against him, trying to find the most comfortable spot.

When the man didn’t hug him back immediately, he pouted. His voice turned soft and accusing. “Why aren’t you hugging me?”

Something inside Qi Xingchen snapped. He raised his arms and embraced him. His palm settled on the back of Ruan Zhao’s neck, rubbing it slowly, again and again.

The small gland had mostly receded, but under the lingering effects of the heat cycle, its edges remained swollen—a tiny bump, shaped like a chestnut.

The scent of lilies, laced with mint’s cool sweetness, lingered in the air. For a moment, it almost felt like the boy in front of him had been marked, his body carrying his scent.

Qi Xingchen’s breathing quickened. His pupils contracted, sharp with excitement. “Zhaozhao.”

“…Hmm?”

“Can I lick it?”

“Lick…?” Ruan Zhao blinked in confusion. “Lick what?”

Qi Xingchen’s rough fingertips pressed gently around Ruan Zhao’s gland, feeling the way the boy’s body trembled beneath his touch. His other arm tightened, pulling Ruan Zhao flush against him—holding him in place. “Here.”

Omega glands were delicate and sensitive. Even the slightest touch made them shudder.

“Can I?” Qi Xingchen’s voice was low, coaxing. “I’ll be careful. I won’t bite.”

Ruan Zhao’s breath hitched. His eyes glazed over, a soft mist of unshed tears forming. “No.” His refusal was soft, barely more than a sigh.

“Please, Zhaozhao… just one lick.” Qi Xingchen’s voice was hoarse, thick with raw desperation. The calm façade he had forced himself to maintain was completely shattered—his dark eyes were now clouded with undisguised longing. “I can’t take it anymore…”

He grabbed Ruan Zhao’s hand, pressing it against his chest.

Beneath his palm, Ruan Zhao could feel the erratic heartbeat, the burning heat of his skin—scorching and feverish. Qi Xingchen’s voice dropped even lower, a rasping whisper. “It hurts. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Ruan Zhao’s fingertips curled inward. It was only then that he suddenly remembered—the man in front of him was also an Omega, and because of him, he had been triggered into heat too.

“I still have inhibitors…” He instinctively reached for his backpack, but Qi Xingchen’s hand stopped him.

“Those don’t work on me.”

Ruan Zhao blinked, momentarily lost. “Then… what should we do?” His expression was hesitant, laced with uncertainty. “If you lick me… will you feel better?”

A fully rational Ruan Zhao would never have asked that question. And he certainly wouldn’t have let himself fall so easily into Qi Xingchen’s trap.

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