Arriving at Chongqing surprisingly wasn’t as tedious an affair as Yibo thought it would be. The set locations for his upcoming drama was kept under wraps for the most part, with only the director, involved actors and producers privy to it to prevent leaks and mobs of fans trying to catch crumbs to post on Weibo.
He opens up his WeChat, sends Zhan-ge!! Just landed! to Xiao Zhan, and then immediately types in Do you want to go get dinner tonight?? If you’re not busy of course but the butterflies in his stomach act up and he deletes it and closes his phone. There’s not much of a crowd—their crew flew here unannounced—but even under the face mask and the beanie, there are still a few people who do a double-take at the sight of him and suspiciously stare at him and his less-than-conspicuous entourage.
His phone vibrates in his pocket—Xiao Zhan sent him a bunny sticker with a thumbs up sign. It’s a cute sticker and Yibo really doesn’t want to closely examine the sudden warmth that rushes through him at the sticker. Not now, at least.
It’s just a sticker, Yibo thinks, frantically. And then his phone vibrates again just as he enters his assigned car. His hands are faster than his brain, because he’s suddenly holding his phone in front of him and pulling down his mask, and. He can’t help the grin on his face.
If you’re not busy, want to get dinner together?
He types in yes!!!!!! and deletes a few exclamation points. Four is enough. Three. Four. Three. Five? He settles the number of exclamation marks to three. Then he sends Xiao Zhan a selfie, his mouth set to a stern line but with a piece sign tapping at his temple that ruins the gravity of the frown.
Handsome as always, Lao-Wang!
Your turn, Zhan-ge!!
Noooo how can I ever compare to your glorious visage
It’s not hard since Zhan-ge is the prettiest person in the world
Too honest? he wonders, and then sends it anyway, with a winking emoji. It’s normal. It’s almost routine, or tradition even. Three years after A-ling and they still keep up this rainbow fart thing of theirs; nowadays, it’s become the only way he can dish out compliments and praises to Xiao Zhan without making his hopeless pining too obvious. Cheng Xiao and Seungyoun called him stupid, and Da-ge and Han-ge just raised their eyebrows and looked at each other like they were roasting Yibo through telepathy which. Whatever.
Yibo has this whole thing figured out. Even if they don’t believe that.
He gets a text from Seungyoun a few minutes later: Heard you’re in Chongqing? Too bad I missed you in Beijing.
He replies back with: Yeah. Short layover since the director didn’t want any fans to catch me there or something.
Three dots appear as Seungyoung types his reply to that. Gonna see Xiao Zhan while you’re there?
And. Yibo thinks about his own reply for a bit. Yeah, he settles. Because he doesn’t know what else to say. Seungyoun had asked him, many times before, if he was sure that he wanted to keep this—this thing—whatever this thing is—going.
The thing is this: Yibo has been half in love with Xiao Zhan while filming A-ling, and then head over heels in love after that. They still text each other, and send each other gifts or knick-knacks or cringy novelty items from souvenir shops, wherever they might be. Yibo thought it was just a crush, because Xiao Zhan is just…different. Xiao Zhan wasn’t trained as an idol from a young age even if he looked like it, so he tended to be more muted, and humble, and a bit naïve. Yibo thought he appreciated the authenticity, the novelty, the variety, the newfound excitement; maybe he latched onto it because it was something he’d never experienced before because idol culture was so disconnected from reality that it’s suddenly so different when it manages to dig its claws deep into someone from reality.
But then the novelty wore off, they became close, they became friends, and Yibo’s heart still flutters at Xiao Zhan’s smiles to him during their press tours, fanmeets and variety show appearances. The ridiculous selfies Xiao Zhan sends him are immediately saved to an album made specifically for Xiao Zhan’s selfies. The toys and gifts Xiao Zhan had sent him—all of them, no matter how ridiculous—are kept and maintained in his apartment in Beijing. He made a burner account and bought a VPN just to follow thirst accounts on Twitter and Weibo and cherishes even the blurry, shit quality pictures of Xiao Zhan in concerts from a hundred meters away if only because his smile is still visible even there. Somehow the pictures Xiao Zhan sends him are not enough and Yibo feels so, so greedy for more of him even if he’s not allowed to want this much.
Even Yibo admits that this crush…is definitely not a crush anymore. Maybe he should’ve had that realization while filming A-ling, where Xiao Zhan gave him an unforgettable 21st birthday. Or when Yibo puts his hand against his throat, or pinched at his thigh, or slapped him with a sword, or smiled at him all teasing while holding his hand, and he couldn’t help but imagine doing the same things to Xiao Zhan, but with Xiao Zhan under him, mouth wet, hair disheveled, saying Yibo, ah, Yibo, please—
It’s very unfortunate, because Xiao Zhan isn’t into guys at all. So Yibo keeps it inside under lock and key, plies Xiao Zhan with sweet words disguised as teasing, has dreams about calling Xiao Zhan his boyfriend, have a few unfortunate wet ones that force him to handwash his underwear, and his life goes on.
You sure you wanna keep that up? Seungyoun had asked. Career-wise, it wouldn’t do much. Maybe it’ll make him moody, make him the slightest bit off during concerts or fanmeets or shoots. Worst case would be him being too painfully and unconsciously obvious when interviewers ask about his love life. But he’s had bad days before. He’s too big a name to worry too much.
Personally, though? Yibo doesn’t want to think about it, else he’ll fall deeper than he already has, go miserable and bitter, and then he’s going to turn into an old grinch with seventeen hairless cats before the age of thirty while Xiao Zhan dazzles and romances his future wife who may just slightly be a husband who only slightly resembles Yibo—oh, no, no, nope. Yibo wants to physically shake his brain and knock some sense into it. Not going there.
His phone vibrates. Seungyoun had sent his reply at the same time as Xiao Zhan, who sent an attachment. He opens that one first, because he’s whipped as hell and he doesn’t have much dignity left to deny it.
Xiao Zhan’s wearing a face mask, but his eyes are crinkled into a smile, shining like honey against the soft gaze of the sunlight in front of him. His hair is longer, parted to the side, bangs softly brushing over his eyes, a stray strand curled over the middle of his forehead.
Yibo doesn’t notice he’s holding his breath. Because he can’t do anything else except vibrate in his seat, he opens Seungyoun’s reply first:
Oooooookay. Enjoy your trip.
He switches back to Xiao Zhan, and sends:
Lao Wang is too nice
He’s much much more beautiful
And you can only see half my face
And yet you’re still the most beautiful person in the world!!!!!
Too honest, Yibo thinks. Hopefully the number of exclamation marks communicate something more along the lines of I’m teasing you haha because we’re such good bros instead of you are honest-to-God the most beautiful person I have ever met and I’m in love with you. Three dots appear on Xiao Zhan’s side of the chat, and then:
Shut up -_-
Yibo laughs. He sends a sticker.
Filming that day ends earlier than planned. Everyone’s in a rather good mood, making for less frustrations on set and more pliable actors who’re able to shoot scenes perfectly in less than three takes. Yibo’s makeup is carefully wiped from his face with cotton pads soaked with micellar water, his assistant already putting his casual clothes in his designated changing area.
They’re getting dinner to one of Xiao Zhan’s favorite hotpot places which, according to a quick search, is around 30 minutes from the Yibo’s set and thankfully has mild options that Yibo’s tongue can keep up with. He likes Chongqing spice, can handle it well enough considering he’s been duped way too many times by Xiao Zhan’s apparently “mild” palate—though it actually is quite mild compared to other locals, but, well, Yibo is a lightweight.
Xiao Zhan enjoys it a lot, though. So.
It’s half past 9pm when he gets to the restaurant. It’s within a small neighborhood, flanked by smaller shops selling ceramic and silverware and fans and knick-knacks. The car can’t enter through the narrow alleyway where it stands, so Yibo thanks his driver and tells him he can leave before it drives off. He texts his location to his manager and his assistant, pulls his mask up more securely on his face, and then heads to the entrance.
The restaurant is well-lit with soft orange lighting inside, a quaint and homey feel to it even when looking at it from the outside. Yibo recognizes Xiao Zhan in front of the restaurant, just to the side of the entrance, wearing his face mask tucked under his chin with his glasses hanging at the back of his head—they’re going to fall and he’s going to break them, really—wearing a baby blue dress shirt, sleeves neatly rolled to the forearms, and ripped black jeans that hug a particular asset that Yibo tries not to stare at. There aren’t many people around at this time, especially since it’s a Tuesday night, but there are still a few customers and passersby, some who double take at the sight of Xiao Zhan, either because he’s, well, Xiao Zhan, and also because he’s a very attractive man. Yibo can’t blame them. Thankfully, they don’t do anything but dawdle and gape discreetly before leaving.
Xiao Zhan’s talking to someone—did he invite them? He’s laughing a bit, shoulders shaking lightly as he swats at the man for maybe a corny joke he made. He’s half a head shorter than Xiao Zhan, messy dark hair, thin stylish glasses, dimples on his cheeks, pierced ears. His hands are shoved into his pockets, legs kicked back into a relaxed pose, but his face is leaning towards Xiao Zhan’s face, eyes fixed on his face.
Yibo is inexperienced in majority of the aspects of love, but he knows flirting when he sees it. He grits his teeth, jaw flexing slightly, mouth pursed, as he makes his way over to Xiao Zhan and his…friend.
“—changed a bit,” the friend says to Xiao Zhan as Yibo approaches. “Found someone new in your life?”
“Ah, well…” Xiao Zhan catches a glimpse of him, and waves. “Yibo! Hey, you’re early.”
“Zhan-ge,” Yibo breathes out. “Hi.”
Xiao Zhan smiles with his teeth, eyes crinkling. “Hi yourself.”
“Oh, are you guys already…?” the friend says. Oddly, Xiao Zhan coughs, turning slightly pink. “Ah, ah—Zhan-Zhan! You sly dog! You never told me? After all those times you talked about—”
Talked about what, Yibo wonders. And then, I’m sorry, Zhan-Zhan?!
“No, it’s not—” Xiao Zhan says, rather unconvincingly as his friend begins to laugh, and then, looking on the verge of panic, turns to Yibo, “Yibo, this is Yu Yang. A-Yang, this is Yibo. My friend.”
“Mm,” Yu Yang says, a smile on his face. “Nice to meet you! You’re a lot more handsome in person, I can say that much. Zhan-Zhan is so lucky.” He’s friendly, with a playful energy. He’s a Xia Zhan’s friend who is, apparently, close enough for him to address Xiao Zhan as Zhan-Zhan. There is absolutely no reason for Yibo to dislike him.
And yet. Yibo tries to breathe. It’s a bit unfair to this Yu Yang, for Yibo to be unprecedently rude just because he can’t get his feelings under control. “Nice to meet you,” he says, curt and overly polite, for lack of anything else to say.
Yu Yang’s grin twitches on his lips, though Yibo isn’t sure if it’s widening or faltering.
In his periphery, Xiao Zhan raises his eyebrows. Then, as though to diffuse the tension, he says, “It was nice to see you again, Yu Yang. I didn’t expect to bump into you here considering how much you hate their chili oil.”
“My boyfriend likes this particular hotpot,” Yu Yang shrugs, and Yibo’s mind stutters to a halt. “And it’s also Xiao Zhan’s favorite so of course it gets crowded most times. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“I barely even go here anymore,” Xiao Zhan says.
“Details,” Yu Yang sniffs. “I actually have to make a reservation for this place. You’re officially my least favorite ex.”
His what? Yibo’s eyebrows raise, and he looks to Xiao Zhan. Who doesn’t say anything in response to that, only laughing slightly, but—his eyes glance over at Yibo, quick enough that perhaps Yibo imagined it, but he’s swallowing ever so slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing, like he’s nervous, or, or—
And then he turns back to Yu Yang and says, with forced playfulness, with a voice too soft and too quiet, “Yang-Yang, I’m your only ex.”
Yu Yang’s phone rings in his pocket. “Oh,” he says, very innocently. “Well, that’s my cue to leave. Don’t be a stranger, alright, Zhan-Zhan?”
“I would never,” Xiao Zhan says, playful but sincere.
“Okay,” Yu Yang says, “catch you next time.”
And then he kisses Xiao Zhan.
On the cheek. It was a peck on the cheek, barely a second long. Yibo has done the same thing to his friends. Yibo has done the same thing with his friends, sometimes more than a second longer, sometimes almost brushing the corner of their lips. Yu Yang kisses Xiao Zhan on the swell of his cheek, away from his mouth, lasting half a second.
Regardless, Yibo feels something ugly swell in his stomach when Xiao Zhan doesn’t even pull away.
Yu Yang glances at Yibo, and winks. Yibo bristles.
“See you, A-Yang,” Xiao Zhan says, not noticing the wink, waving politely to Yu Yang, who waves back as he leaves.
Yibo plays with the tripe and hot noodles on his plate, drinks more tea than usual, and makes several orders of baijiu even though filming starts at 10am tomorrow. Xiao Zhan is talking about the interesting photoshoot he has in three days, which is apparently in Henan, and that he’d be leaving tomorrow afternoon. He’s nervous, Yibo thinks. Bouncing his leg under the table, clenching his chopsticks, avoiding eye contact, smiling oddly in a way that doesn’t fit him, like he’s just stretching his mouth and not actually smiling.
Yang-Yang, I’m your only ex.
“Yibo?” Xiao Zhan says. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Yibo says, coughing when it comes out rougher than he meant it to be. “Just a bit tired.”
“Oh, you should’ve said,” Xiao Zhan says, looking guilty, and. Yibo does not want that. “Listen, if you’re not in the mood, I don’t mind ending the night early.” He licks his dry lips, and Yibo’s gaze goes there, watching the pink tongue dart out of his mouth, which is red from the hotpot.
Yang-Yang, I’m your only ex.
“Yu Yang,” Yibo says without thinking. Xiao Zhan doesn’t really freeze but—he looks like he’s steeling himself, like maybe he expected the night to go here. “You two…dated? Like, before?”
“Yeah,” Xiao Zhan says, casual in every way except for how his voice goes slightly high in the way it does when he’s nervous. “We just dated for a few months before breaking it off.”
“Oh. I see.”
A server gives Yibo more baijiu. He drinks several mouthfuls. He doesn’t know why the thought of Xiao Zhan and Yu Yang bothers him so much. They’re exes. And now they’re good friends. And Yu Yang has a boyfriend who isn’t Xiao Zhan.
And Xiao Zhan has never ever mentioned this to Yibo.
“Actually, Zhan-ge, I think I do want to leave early,” Yibo then says, and, again, he’s not thinking. He calls a server and asks for the check, trying to ignore the way his heart is beating and breaking at the same time when Xiao Zhan looks at him, partly hurt, partly surprised, but still doesn’t say anything, and this night is ruined because Yibo is being childish and mean and.
Xiao Zhan is entitled to his privacy. He’s entitled to keeping parts of his past a secret from Yibo. As far as they’re both concerned, they’re close friends, and they should respect each other’s boundaries.
But the facts are: Xiao Zhan has an ex. Who is male. Because apparently Zhan-ge is attracted to guys and Yibo has spent several years completely unaware of that fact and now all he’s thinking about is maybe Xiao Zhan kept this a secret from him because maybe he doesn’t want to date Yibo, because Yibo will take the chance to ask him out and Xiao Zhan’s too nice to say no. Or worse…Yibo doesn’t want to think about what worse could be.
They leave the restaurant after paying, already getting a DiDi and walking to a nearby and car-friendly pick-up point at the end of the street. There’s no one else there, just them and the rare motorcyclist quickly passing by. Xiao Zhan is slightly hunched, eyes gazing at his feet, and he’s quiet and fidgeting, and Yibo feels like an asshole because all he’s thinking about is asking him the next time he’ll be free and if they can go on a date and maybe Yibo will be allowed to kiss him and hold his hand, but Xiao Zhan never said anything about liking guys and maybe that means he’s still off-limits.
“Zhan-ge,” Yibo says, because the silence is stifling, but he says it too sharply against the quiet, starless night breeze, because Xiao Zhan looks up, sudden, clenching his jaw. “How come you never said anything about—?”
Xiao Zhan deliberates his words for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “It just didn’t come up,” he then says, chuckling weakly. “Yibo, if…you’re uncomfortable with—with me and this, this thing. I understand if you don’t want to—”
Yibo snaps his head to Xiao Zhan’s direction. “What?” he demands. Xiao Zhan winces. “Why would I be—uncomfortable?”
“I just—” Yibo swallows. “Zhan-ge, I just—I know I’m not entitled to your trust, but I wish you told me that you liked guys because—” Because what, Wang Yibo? Find out he’s into guys, ask him out, and then get rejected outright? Destroy your friendship because you can’t control your feelings and never speak to him again? Wallow in cookie dough ice cream and blankly stare at billboards and TV screens for the rest of his life?
“I’m sorry,” Xiao Zhan says softly. He laughs, wetly, sadly, and Yibo doesn’t why until he says, “To be fair, I thought it was kind of obvious, considering my feelings for you.”
Yibo’s mind short circuits. “Your what?” he says, blankly. Xiao Zhan looks embarrassed, seems to not want to say anything more, but Yibo presses on, “What feelings?”
“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says, weak and cold at the same time. He’s not looking at him when he says, with a too-fake laugh, “You don’t have to make fun of me, Yibo.”
“Zhan-ge,” Yibo says, and his heart is beating much too loudly. He touches a hand to Xiao Zhan’s elbow, and moves down to his wrist, keeping his fingers curled there, the tip of his forefinger warm against his pulse. Can I hold your hand, he thinks, will you allow me. “What feelings?” he says, softly.
Xiao Zhan lets out a stuttered breath. His voice breaks when he says, “Yibo, please—”
Yibo thinks, fuck it, darts his hand lower and clasps Xiao Zhan’s hand in his. It’s cold and clammy, and Xiao Zhan flinches, hand clenching and unclenching and back again. He raises it to his lips, presses his mouth to the bony knuckles. Yibo doesn’t let go, hopes he hasn’t misunderstood, hopes Xiao Zhan can understand this, hopes for the best. Xiao Zhan’s breath hitches, and he whips his head to face Yibo,
“Did—” Yibo swallows. “Did I misunderstand?”
Xiao Zhan kisses him and—it’s nothing, it’s a peck, three seconds long (not that Yibo’s counting), close-lipped, tasting like spicy hotpot with the aftertaste of baijiu and. It might just be the best kiss Yibo has ever had, his mind blanking, blocking out anything that isn’t Xiao Zhan.
They pull away just before their DiDi arrives, Xiao Zhan staring at him and Yibo staring at his lips, looking warm and inviting under the warm orange streetlights. Yibo doesn’t let go of Xiao Zhan’s hand as they enter the car.
The backseat of the car is dark. Yibo steals a kiss, excitedly, eagerly, making Xiao Zhan laugh against his mouth, but he’s not pulling away—he leans in, slotting their mouths over each other, Yibo feels drunk on him, and it’s a good feeling. The best. “Can I come over?” Yibo murmurs. He rubs a thumb over Xiao Zhan’s, at the swell of his thumb, at the back of his hand, at the delicate skin in the crease where his wrist meets his palm.
Xiao Zhan’s lets out a shallow breath, but his voice is surprisingly solid when he says, “Yes. Yes, please.”
Yibo would be happy to die like this: Xiao Zhan on his lap, ass against his hard cock, breath hitching out little gasps from his throat, his arms around Yibo’s neck, fingers grasping and playing with the short hairs at his nape; Yibo’s hands, untucking his shirt out of his pants just to slide them over the warm bare skin of his torso; their mouths slotted over one another hot and wet, all tongue and teeth, messy and uncontrolled, unwilling to separate from the other.
Yibo thinks that he can’t keep his hands off of Xiao Zhan anymore, not now when he knows what it’s like to have him squirming on his lap. Their DiDi had dropped them off at Xiao Zhan’s empty apartment, in a neighborhood far from his parents’ home; Xiao Zhan blushing, shy and bashful, but still keeping his eyes on Yibo, like he’s daring him to do something, anything.
So Yibo kissed him, and he kissed back. And then Yibo slammed Xiao Zhan against the door, a thigh between his legs, and Xiao Zhan let out a whimper that will definitely make an appearance during lonely nights in the future.
They had migrated to living room, Yibo pushed down onto Xiao Zhan’s plush velvet sofa as Xiao Zhan crawled into Yibo’s lap like it was made for him to sit on. Maybe it is.
Yibo pulls away. “Zhan-ge,” he breathes, pressing a firm kiss against the corner of Xiao Zhan’s lip, against that thrice-damned mole of his, and then mouths at his jaw, licking down his throat, a hint of teeth against his ear before he whispers, “How long?” and he bites down.
“Ah,” Xiao Zhan gasps, what a good reaction that was, and Yibo skims his hands over his small waist, over his ribcage, and then a thumb softly scratches at his nipple, and Xiao Zhan lets out a quiet whine as he grinds down onto Yibo’s cock. “Yibo.”
“How long, Zhan-ge?” Yibo repeats. He drops his left hand from Xiao Zhan’s torso, sliding down his thighs, and then sliding up to palm at his ass through his tight jeans. “How long have you wanted me?”
“Fuck,” Xiao Zhan says, arching against him, and he’s so hard, pressing against Yibo’s stomach, “so long, too long, ah.”
Yibo is drunk on this, on the smell of peach blossoms on Xiao Zhan’s neck, the high keening whines and whimpers and gasps from his mouth, the smooth softness of his bare skin, the sharp pull of his hands against Yibo’s hair, the admission that he has wanted Yibo, for so long, for too long.
“Off,” Yibo says, trying to unbutton Xiao Zhan’s shirt, but his hands are too shaky and clumsy and he ends up ripping one or two of them before he tries his best to push it down Xiao Zhan’s shoulders even with some of it still buttoned. Xiao Zhan laughs, helps him, and finally, finally—
“Fuck,” Yibo says. Xiao Zhan has such a nice body, smooth and toned, with dusky nipples, toned torso, a teasing little happy trail leading down to his still covered cock. He brings his hand back to Xiao Zhan’s waist—it’s so small against Yibo’s large hands, god—and then down to his hips, gripping them so tightly he hopes the skin would bruise even if he knows how bad of an idea that would be. “Zhan-ge, Xiao Zhan, let me—”
He tugs at Xiao Zhan’s belt, unbuckles it and slides it out from the loops, throwing it to the floor without care before he unbuttons his jeans, unzips him, and palms at his cock, hard and leaking in his underwear.
“Ah, ah,” Xiao Zhan gasps, bucking against his hand, his hands moving to Yibo’s shoulders and clenching tight, “yes, Yibo, please—”
Yibo likes him so much; he likes him especially when he’s begging and saying please. He tugs down his underwear, his cock slipping out and curving against Xiao Zhan’s stomach, and it’s just so Xiao Zhan to be pretty and have an equally pretty cock, so hard and wet and flushed pink. Yibo swipes a thumb over its leaking slit, and Xiao Zhan moans long and deep. He’s overcome with the urge to possess him, bundle him up and tuck him away to a place where Yibo is free to spoil and pamper him to his heart’s content.
“Do you like it when I do this, Xiao Zhan,” Yibo says, closing his fist over Xiao Zhan’s cock and pumping it once, twice, enjoying the way his hips jerked in tandem. “Tell me, tell me you like it.” He quickens the pace, tightening his hand, swiping at the slit when his hand nears the head of his cock.
“I like it, ah, Yibo, I,” Xiao Zhan gasps, moving his hips, his arms tight around Yibo’s shoulders, fucking his cock into Yibo’s hand, and he’s so wet. Yibo wants to suckle at it, lick the come off and swallow. Instead, he leans forward, latching onto a nipple, laving it with his tongue and biting, and Xiao Zhan lets out a high keening noise, “Please—ngh, Yibo, ah, ah—”
“So pretty, Zhan-ge,” Yibo breathes.
Xiao Zhan shouts at that, sudden and cut-off, and he comes into Yibo’s hand with a low drawn-out moan, hands clutching the back of Yibo’s shirt, cheek pressed to Yibo’s temple where his hot breath brushes against Yibo’s ear. Yibo kisses at his collar, nosing against the skin before biting. Xiao Zhan’s cock twitches at that, weakly, but. Yibo’s saving that information for later. For next time, if Xiao Zhan allowed it.
“Yibo, ah—” Xiao Zhan sighs, pulling away. Yibo is struck by just how pretty he is like this: sitting on his lap like he was meant to be there, his torso bared, dangling at his elbows with a dark crimson flush high on his cheeks, smiling at Yibo under the low light of the apartment as his cock softens between his legs. Xiao Zhan leans down to kiss him tenderly, once and then twice, his open mouth soft and heated. Yibo bites his lower lip suddenly, eliciting a surprised groan from Xiao Zhan; he licks it as though in apology.
Xiao Zhan pulls away from his lips to mouth at his jaw, and then to the dip between his collarbone, nosing down his shirt. He leaves Yibo’s lap to kneel in the space between Yibo’s legs, bare shoulders bracketed by his knees. “Ah,” Yibo says, his voice a bit strangled, “you, you don’t have to—”
“Mm,” Xiao Zhan says in dismissal. Yibo’s breath hitches as Xiao Zhan unzips his pants and pulls down his underwear and tucks it underneath his balls. “Hello,” Xiao Zhan tells his cock, which is completely hard and aching and leaking at the tip.
Yibo tries to prevent his laughter even though his cock twitches when Xiao Zhan’s breath hits it, but it turns out he doesn’t need to because Xiao Zhan mouths at the side of his cock, licking at the veins. Thoughts of laughing quickly leave Yibo’s brain. “You,” Xiao Zhan says, licking a broad stripe against the slit, “have a very nice cock, Lao Wang,” and then he fastens his mouth over the head and takes Yibo deep into his throat.
Yibo bucks his hips in surprise, gasping, hands flying to Xiao Zhan’s hair and tugging. Xiao Zhan’s mouth is red and wet around him, teary-eyed and moaning, and Yibo thinks it’s quite unfair of him to look as gorgeous as he does when sucking cock. No one is that pretty sucking cock.
In the midst of this, he thinks about how many other have had the privilege of seeing this. Yibo’s tightens his hands around Xiao Zhan’s hair, groaning and gasping out loud while thinking mine, mine, mine as Xiao Zhan pulls up to suckle and lick at the head of his cock like it’s ice cream, drool dripping down his chin, down Yibo’s balls.
Xiao Zhan pulls away and says, “Fuck my mouth,” and swallows again until his throat becomes good friends with Yibo’s cock, tightening around it and—fuck.
“Zhan-ge,” Yibo groans, “Zhan-ge, I’m—” He tugs at Xiao Zhan’s hair, gently pulling him down until Xiao Zhan’s nose digs into his pelvis and he makes a gagging sound, which makes Yibo let go. “D—Did I—"
“Harder, Yibo,” and god, his voice is so rough and raspy and ruined. Xiao Zhan sucks him again, does something with his tongue that leaves a hot, burning trail of desire running up Yibo’s spine before he swallows him again to the hilt and chokes himself on Yibo’s cock. A strangled noise makes its way out of Yibo’s throat, his hips bucking, and then, remembering Xiao Zhan’s explicit permission to fuck his mouth, pulls at his hair, and shallowly thrusts his hips, cock sliding inside Xiao Zhan’s mouth, against the roof of his mouth and the smooth warmth of his throat.
It’s so hot. Yibo’s going to have wet dreams for months. His balls tighten, and he feels the pressure building up in his groin—“Zhan-ge,” he gasps, hands tightening in Xiao Zhan’s hair, forcing himself not the pull even as his hips buck uncontrollably, “off, off, I’m coming—”
“Mmmm,” Xiao Zhan hums. Then, he sucks hard and Yibo jerks, full-bodied, seeing nothing but white, and just like that, he feels tired to the bone, muscles relaxed as he sinks into the sofa. Xiao Zhan pulls himself up, sitting back down on Yibo’s lap like he’s trying to make it his home. Yibo wouldn’t mind if he did.
Yibo grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him down, kissing him, tongue licking against his teeth. “Ah,” Yibo says, pulling away. He can taste himself, which should be gross, but instead, he finds it really, really hot. “Did you swallow…”
Xiao Zhan laughs, pressing a soft kiss at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Sorry, was that gross?”
“No, I think I’d like to do that again,” Yibo’s mouth says before he can think about it. “Uhh, that is, if you still want—"
“Yes, I still want.”
Yibo’s heart is probably stuck in his throat, judging by how constricted it feels. It’s not a bad feeling—far from it. “That—that’s good,” he says, his hands flying to Xiao Zhan’s waist when he shifts himself on the sofa. He doesn’t take them away, rubbing his fingers in circles around his bare skin. They should clean up, shower, get dressed—Xiao Zhan’s come is still on his stomach, some of it staining Yibo’s shirt, but— “Did you mean what you said, when we were waiting for our ride?”
Xiao Zhan tucks a strand of hair behind Yibo’s ear. His fingers are trembling—it’s a complete 180 from how he’d been just a few minutes ago, sultry and greedy for Yibo’s cock. Now he’s almost shy and completely unsure. “Yes,” he croaks out—his voice is still wrecked, Yibo doesn’t understand why he feels so pleased about that—and then he lays a hand on Yibo’s cheek. “Do you. Want this?”
Yibo blinks. “Of course I do,” he says and—Xiao Zhan made the first move, technically. He’s the one who inadvertently confessed, and then kissed Yibo, and allowed Yibo in his personal apartment in his hometown. He is, suddenly, overcome with the urge to bury his face into Xiao Zhan’s neck and realizes, very happily, that he’s allowed, and so he does. “Ahhh, I’ve wanted this for so long, Zhan-ge,” he says, voice muffled. It’s his turn, now, to be known. He wraps his arms around Xiao Zhan’s waist, and he never wants to let go. “Thought you weren’t into men.”
Xiao Zhan barks out a laugh at that, fingers carding through Yibo’s hair in soft, hypnotic motions. “I thought you weren’t into men,” he says.
“You had a boyfriend,” Yibo says.
“I did,” Xiao Zhan agrees. “A few.”
Yibo pulls away. “A few?” he repeats.
“Well, two,” Xiao Zhan says, grinning.
“Mm,” Yibo says. This isn’t the time for jealousy, thinking about how many other people have seen Xiao Zhan like this, smiling and soft from orgasm, or seeing Xiao Zhan the way Yibo has—face flushed from orgasm, a cock down his throat, or panting and gasping in pleasure. Xiao Zhan is good at it, considering how he basically just sucked Yibo’s brain through his dick, and Yibo’s realistic enough to know that he’s not Xiao Zhan’s first. He supposes he just has to dick Xiao Zhan down hard enough to make him forget about them. Ruin him for anyone else.
“They didn’t last,” Xiao Zhan says. “We just didn’t…fit. Maybe in our goals or our personalities, I don’t know.” He laughs suddenly. “Yu Yang and I lasted for three months until I realized he had no intentions of ever topping me.”
“Oh,” Yibo says, in wonder, trying not to think about Xiao Zhan taking his cock, squirming underneath him or—riding him, bouncing on top of him. Trying. He fails.
Xiao Zhan blushes. “Sorry, that was—”
“No, I just,” Yibo breathes out, cupping Xiao Zhan’s jaw, trailing his thumb down his lips. “I keep thinking I want to fuck you.”
Xiao Zhan raises an eyebrow. “Now?” he says, incredulous.
“No! Not now—” Well, if Xiao Zhan was alright with it—“but. In the future, maybe.”
Xiao Zhan hums, his eyes looking bright and clear. “Mm, that’s a nice thought.”
“And,” Yibo says, heart jumping, and say it, Yibo, “maybe we can also. Go on dates. Hold hands.”
Xiao Zhan smiles at that, wide and bright, and Yibo feels tension leave him. “I’ll buy you flowers,” he says. “You’re not allergic, are you?”
“No,” Yibo says. He kisses Xiao Zhan, because he can. “I’ll take you snowboarding. We still haven’t done that. And ride with me, on my motorcycle.” Then, he says, in a fit of madness, “I’ve been dreaming of you for three years.”
“Oh,” Xiao Zhan says, “oh.” He kisses Yibo, because he can, because Xiao Zhan wants him as much as Yibo wants him. He’s not dreaming. He has this. He has this. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve wanted you for just as long.”
So much time wasted, Yibo thinks. And then: We have time now.
“Zhan-ge,” Yibo says against his mouth, “be my boyfriend?”
Xiao Zhan laughs, presses a kiss against his cheek, his eyes, his nose, and then his mouth, soft and sweet. “Of course,” he says. “I’d love to.”
In the morning, Yibo texts Seungyoun:
GUESS WHO GOT LAID
Also i have a boyfriend now, have fun being single