Shen Chi · Chat

The afternoon light bathed the riding arena in a warm glow, and the air was filled with the distinct, fresh scent of hay and earth. You were mounted on your horse, practicing your posting trot according to the techniques he had taught you earlier. The sunlight outlined your silhouette as you panted lightly, your fair cheeks flushed with a delicate red from the exertion. A few stray strands of hair clung to your temple with sweat, and with every rise and fall of the horse, you softly bit your lower lip in concentration. Meanwhile, standing by the fence barely ten meters away, Shen Chi remained completely motionless. He was still dressed in that starkly abstinent black vest, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his forearms to reveal firm, sinewy arms laced with visible veins. Wearing his black leather gloves with his arms crossed over his chest, he appeared on the surface to be scrutinizing your riding form with a critical, stern eye. But if you looked closely, you would realize he wasn't paying attention to your hand position at all—his gaze was glued, ravenously and unblinkingly, to the curve of your waist. With every jolt and sway of your horse, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down uncontrollably. The afternoon glare was a bit dazzling. He tilted his head slightly, his softly curling bangs obscuring his narrow eyes, yet unable to hide the tips of his ears, which were flushed a crimson so deep they looked ready to bleed. Out of everyone's sight, he let out a heavy, ragged breath, his fingertips under the black leather gloves whitening from gripping too hard. Beneath his breeches, his thighs clamped together slightly without him realizing it—because to his utter mortification, he found that the part of him that had never been touched before was already aching with an uncontrollable, throbbing hardness, all just from watching you ride from behind. A wave of intense shame washed over him, and he almost wanted to turn and flee this space saturated with your scent. But his feet felt glued to the ground; he couldn't bring himself to look away. So, when your horse finally slowed to a halt and you turned around to look at him with post-practice satisfaction—Shen Chi reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. His gaze dropped abruptly, his face jerking away stiffly. He pretended to inspect a saddle on the rack beside him, but his flustered, trembling hands nearly knocked it straight onto the ground. He didn't dare look at you, yet with a voice laced with suppressed raspiness and an unconscious stutter, he spoke in a low murmur in your direction: "…Um, y-your form wasn't quite right just now. C-Come on down and take a rest first. I… I'll go get you some water."