Against the Algorithm

Chapter 57: The Space They Made

Summary: Wrapped in early morning quiet, they move in rhythm—careful, breathless, and reverent. It isn't just about want or heat. It's about trust. The kind that lingers long after the silence, the kind that asks nothing but stays. And when the morning light filters in, and the world tries to return, it's clear—they've made something of their own. And they're not letting it go.

Notes:

Author's Note: It gets a little heated and spicy! 🔥

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The room was still.

The only light came from the faint gray that crept in through the sheer curtain—morning not quite broken, but not fully gone from night either. Everything was quiet, even the usual distant hum of the base's systems muffled beneath the soft weight of early silence.

Sicheng stirred slowly. His breath came first, deep and steady, and then his awareness followed. Yao was still asleep, curled on her side, her back pressed to his chest. Her hair had come loose from the braid during the night, strands splayed like silk across the pillow and the edge of his arm.

She was warm.

Soft.

Curled perfectly into him.

His arm draped over her middle, loosely at first, until he shifted slightly, just enough to feel her fully against him, and realized where his hand had settled. Just beneath her shirt. The thin cotton had ridden up during the night, and his fingers now rested over the soft curve of her lower stomach... just brushing the top of her underwear. And suddenly, his breath caught. Not harshly. Just enough. Just deep enough for his body to wake up completely. He didn't move. Didn't dare. But the heat sparked instantly, low and steady, curling in his gut as his thumb shifted instinctively, barely grazing the edge of the cotton where her stomach met the waistband.

Bare skin.

Soft.

Warm.

Real.

His jaw clenched. A quiet, deep groan threatened to slip free, but he swallowed it, forcing it down. He hadn't meant to wake like this. He hadn't planned to... But her scent was already sinking into him. The steady, sweet rhythm of her breathing. The heat of her, tucked completely against him. She murmured something in her sleep, shifting just slightly and it made everything worse. Her hips pressed back the faintest bit into his thighs, her hand curling tighter around the pillow she held.

Sicheng lowered his head. Pressed his lips against her neck. Not to wake her. Just to feel her. A soft nuzzle, a barely-there breath against her skin. She didn't stir. Didn't pull away. And his hand stayed exactly where it was, curved over her stomach, fingers lightly splayed, the edge of her underwear teasing beneath his palm. He didn't move again. Not yet. He just stayed still. Breathing her in.

Wrapped around the woman he'd never meant to fall this hard for and utterly unwilling to let go.

She shifted faintly in his arms. A soft inhale, followed by the gentle tension of waking.

Sicheng felt it immediately—the way her spine straightened slightly, the way her breath caught just a little against the steady rhythm of his. Her lashes fluttered, her head tilted, and the sound she made was more felt than heard—a quiet, unsure murmur that barely reached the edge of his ear. He didn't move. Not yet. He pressed a slow, warm breath into the curve of her neck, and when she didn't pull away, when her back remained pressed to his chest, her body soft and pliant against his. He shifted just enough. His lips brushed her skin, then teeth followed. A slow drag. Just enough pressure to make her inhale sharply, her fingers twitching against the sheets. His voice came low. Rough with restraint. "Can I make you feel good?"