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“Jesus, it's freezing here,” said Yao, shivering under the covers.

“My hands haven't been this cold since I was dared to touch a frozen pole and firefighters had to pull me off.”

He hesitates for a moment and then shoves his hands under Zong's shirt. Zong hisses in irritation as Yao giggles. In one swift move, he has Yao pinned under him, arms pinioned above his head.

“What are you doing?” Zong asked, his voice rough.
“Getting warm.”

Yao flashes him a cheeky grin and stuffs his hands down the back of Zong's trousers.

Zong leant down and kissed the smirk right off his mouth. Yao moaned, warm and receptive, and cants his hips upwards with desperate force.

Zong pushes his hips down with one hand and rips off the undershirt with the other .

“I know how to keep warm,” Zong rumbles, biting at the column of Yao's neck.

Yao whines, completely undone. He needs more, more. His desire is all consuming, a fire of lust that roars at his chest. He mewls as Zong grinds down and presses his fingers into his hips.

“More, please," Yao begs.

Zong wraps one hand around him and strokes, slow and methodical. Yao grips at his back, his blunt nails trailing down.

Zong thrusts and all thoughts, appropriate or otherwise white out of his mind. Another sharp thrust of Zong's hips and white hot pleasure sparks behind his eyelids. Zong does it again and again until all he can feel is the mindless thrum of pleasure that hums along his spine and threatens to burn him up. It builds into a crescendo that has him gasping for breath and he comes, his eyes rolling back into his head.

Zong thrusts once more and then collapses next to him. Zong kisses his neck gently and Yao feels himself being pulled under by the tug of sleep.