From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 752: At His Most Exposed (part two)

Darcy moved toward the bed, straightening the sheets, adjusting the pillows, small, methodical actions meant to pass the time while he waited. He intended to change his clothes afterwards, but only after ensuring that Ilyas was alright.

Minutes passed, long enough to feel wrong.

The sound of running water did not cease. Darcy’s movements slowed, then stopped entirely. A faint crease formed between his brows. Something was not right.

He turned toward the bathroom door and approached it, his steps quickening slightly. Raising his hand, he knocked firmly.

"Ilyas?" he called out. "Are you alright?"

There was a sudden noise from inside. Not just movement, chaotic movement.

Something clattered. Then, after a brief delay, Ilyas’s voice came through, strained and uneven. "Yeah... I will be out... ouch!"

The word broke off abruptly. A heavy sound followed. The unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor.

Darcy did not hesitate. He pushed the door open with force, the motion sharp and immediate as he stepped inside.

The scene that greeted him caused him to halt.

Ilyas was on the floor, bare and dripping from the shower, his hair hanging wet and dishevelled around his face. His skin was flushed, his cheeks tinged with a deep, unnatural red. His breathing was uneven, almost laboured, and his eyes, his eyes were bloodshot, unfocused.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ilyas noticed him. The reaction was immediate. He paled, whatever colour remained in his face draining away as embarrassment and shock took over.

Darcy turned his head slightly, breaking direct eye contact. Without a word, he reached toward the nearby rack and pulled down a towel.

When he turned back, his expression had regained its composure. He stepped forward just enough to extend the towel toward Ilyas, his arm steady. "Here," he said evenly. "Use this."

There was a brief pause before he added, his tone softening just slightly, "If your legs... if you can’t stand... I can get you a wheelchair." Another pause. "Or help you to the bed."

Ilyas froze. If there had ever been a moment where he wished the ground would open and swallow him whole, this was it.

Despite several attempts to relieve himself, his arousal remained painfully obvious. The drug hadn’t worn off at all.

His palms were sore, and a deep ache radiated through his lower body from the constant friction. His legs, once steady, had grown weak, and he suddenly lost his balance, teetering precariously.

To make matters worse, Darcy had caught him in this deeply humiliating predicament.

Trying to salvage some dignity, Ilyas grabbed the towel Darcy offered and wrapped it securely around his midsection. However, as he tried to stand, a sharp pain shot through his bottom, making him wince. He lost his grip on the wall and was about to hit the floor again when Darcy, thankfully, intervened, catching him just in time.

The warmth of Darcy’s hand on his waist sent a shiver down Ilyas’s spine. He wanted to push Darcy away, to distance himself from the moment, but Darcy spoke first, his voice laced with an understanding that made Ilyas freeze in place. "So that’s it..."

The young man flinched visibly. Mortification washed over Ilyas, rendering him speechless and unable to meet Darcy’s gaze.

"I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to overstep," Darcy said, withdrawing his hand as he gently helped Ilyas sit on the edge of the bathtub. "I won’t touch you like that again."

Darcy felt the chill of the cold shower clinging to Ilyas’s skin, making him acutely aware of how vulnerable he was. He watched as the young man shrank back, trying to make himself as small as possible, overwhelmed by shame. The Ilyas that Darcy had known was confident, opinionated, and poised, but now he was reduced to a pitiful state, all because of the actions of someone who had crossed a line.

The similarity between himself and Ilyas struck Darcy deeply, as he recognised the pain and humiliation in Ilyas’s eyes. His heart softened in response.

Turning his back to give Ilyas privacy, Darcy spoke softly, "If it’s any consolation... I know how you’re feeling. I..." he hesitated, "I’ve experienced something similar before."

Ilyas’s head snapped up, stunned by Darcy’s revelation. "What do you mean??" he asked, confusion and curiosity mingling in his voice.

What was he talking about? Did he mean he was drugged too? Or... had he gone through the same thing? Kidnapping and all?

A wave of discomfort washed over Ilyas thinking about that.

Darcy glanced at the floor, gathering his thoughts. "To be honest, it was worse than what you’re going through. But still I survived..." he paused, moistening his lips before speaking again. "Except for Micah, no one knows. I’m sharing this with you because I want you to feel safe with me. I won’t judge, mock, or even pity you."

Ilyas swallowed hard, struggling to process the weight of Darcy’s words. Could it really be true?

He had washed his skin like crazy, feeling disgusted thinking some creep had touched him. His skin was raw and broken. The reason he couldn’t have any orgasm was exactly that. His mentality rejected it. He couldn’t even imagine something sexy to release himself.

And now Darcy was saying he had experienced this before.... How was it possible? How did he overcome it?

His eyes began to redden as he recalled the contempt he had felt toward Darcy in the past...

"How did you flush it out of your system?" Ilyas asked in a hushed tone. "I can’t seem to..."

Darcy clenched his fists, frustration evident on his face. "Just shut your mind. Think of nothing. Your body knows what to do."

Ilyas lowered his gaze, his lips pursed in concentration. He was uncertain about what it was, whether it was the fact that Darcy was the one helping him or that they shared this painful experience, but he felt compelled to ask, "Can you... help me?"

Darcy flinched at the request, momentarily taken aback. He turned his head, surprised by Ilyas’s vulnerability.

Ilyas managed a smile, though it was tinged with desperation. "I’m at my wits’ end... it hurts."

Darcy gulped, feeling the weight of Ilyas’s innocent eyes on him. "I can call your partner or someone you fancy..." he suggested hesitantly.

"No... I can’t even imagine someone else... my hands are sore..." Ilyas admitted, his voice trailing off as he glanced away. "If it’s you... maybe..." he left the rest unspoken, the implication hanging in the air.

Darcy’s jaw tightened as guilt washed over him for what had happened to Ilyas. He realised he couldn’t refuse him again. He moved to sit behind Ilyas, gently leaning him back into his arms. He didn’t touch him directly at first, asking if Ilyas was okay with this level of contact.

Ilyas nodded, his tension easing slightly.

Darcy silently observed the flushed nape of Ilyas in front of him and reached out to touch him gently.

Ilyas flinched at the initial contact, suppressing a gasp. He squeezed his eyes shut in shame, so tense that he couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. But gradually, the warmth of Darcy’s strong chest enveloped him, and the steady rhythm of Darcy’s breathing began to calm his frayed nerves. He instinctively sensed he could trust this man. As he released his grip on his lip, his jaw began to relax. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find Darcy’s long, pale fingers in his line of sight. His ears flushed with embarrassment, but he didn’t pull away.

His breathing started to grow uneven as desire stirred within him.

When Darcy’s lips brushed against the back of Ilyas’s neck, his body instinctively arched in response. A rush of warmth spread across Darcy’s hands, a release Ilyas had been desperately chasing. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Finally, the pain eased, leaving behind a sense of relief. Darcy quickly cleaned them with the handheld shower and fetched another towel, leaning in close.

Darcy wrapped his arms around Ilyas, lifting him gently from the bathroom. He settled him onto a soft sofa before returning to gather more towels, drying Ilyas off in silence.

Ilyas lowered his head, staring at the ground, grappling with the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.

Darcy then retrieved a patient gown, carefully dressing Ilyas. "You’ll catch a cold like this..." he whispered gently.

He avoided touching Ilyas’s lower body, instead placing the pants in Ilyas’s hand. "I’ll be outside. Call me when you’re done."

With that, Darcy left the room, and Ilyas bit his bottom lip as he slipped on the underwear and pants. Although his arousal had subsided somewhat, he still felt the lingering warmth of Darcy’s touch igniting a fire within him.