Shao almost hadn’t come.
He’d almost turned down the very polite invitation.
But Dizzee’s eyes had sparkled and Thor’s thumb was rubbing circles into Dizzee’s hand that he was holding and the two were practically glowing. They’re the sun and the moon, hanging in the blackness in space but dancing in soft curves around each other, eternal and unstoppable.
Shao’s a distant star, his light weak but still there. Still coming into their orbit, just barely, and joining the dance. He thinks he’d throw himself out of his orbit if he could, to hurl himself into the implied space on dizzee’s other side.
The hand thor isn’t holding twitches and fidgets, never still, as if it’s searching for something. The rings on the delicate fingers glimmer and Shao has to remind himself that it’s not looking for him. There’s no way. No, it’s waiting to bury itself in Thor’s hair later, when he knows they are curled up into each other on the dingy mattress of Thor’s apartment.
Shao is no stranger to pain but this is a new sort of ache, one he doesn’t know how to deal with. It’s not like he’s a virgin, even before Annie he’d fucked plenty. But never with men, never with friends this close, never with celestial beings of the like of Dizzee and Thor. They don’t fuck, they make love. He doesn’t know what to do with the yearning that quivers in his stomach and crawls up his spine, making him lick his lips.
So finally he says yes.
He regrets it as soon as they reach the club. They step inside and instantly are surrounded by a crowd of people. No big deal, but they are all touching each other, in ways that Shao’s brain still screams is wrong. There are people who look like women touching other women and men touching men and men touching men touching women or people who look like neither touching other people and shao draws back, only to find himself bumping into someone behind him.
He freezes at the burning strip of contact, all the way up from his thigh to his shoulder He can feel the slight dig of buttons sewn all over overalls and knows it’s Dizzee. There’s a brush of breath over his shoulder and Shao wants to scream, wants to run, wants nothing more than to lean into the touch. That’s what scares him, how much he wants it.
Worse maybe, is seeing the look in Thor’s eyes as he watches Shao pull away from dizzee. There’s something knowing there, but Thor doesn’t say anything, doesn’t yell or try and beat the shit out of shao for making moves on his boyfriend. Instead he speaks, his plush lips pulled up in a half smile as he does:
Shao knows he could say no and they’d let him leave, would even walk him out to make sure he really was okay. He knows he should take the out, but there’s something dizzying about looking into Thor’s bright blue eyes, something making Shhao feel drunk and reckless. So instead he just says:
“Yeah, man. Lead the way.”
And then they’re plunging back into the crowd, Thor in front of shao and Dizzee behind, gently shepherding him towards a corner of the dance floor. They know every inch of this club and Shao knows none of it.
They stop and Shao regrets it instantly. The crowd presses in around them now that they’re no longer moving, pinning Shao closer to Thor and Dizzee than he’d like. Or maybe, he likes it more than he’d care to admit.
Thor and Dizzee are already lost in the music, hips and shoulders moving as they dance. They’re lithe, jeans hugging in all the right places, a slit of skin showing where shirt meets pants. Shao wants to trace that path with his tongue and he bites his cheek to stop himself from thinking about it.
Watching is bad enough, but with every pulse of the music’s beat, Dizzee and Thor sway in unison, bodies rocking closer to Shaolin, occasionally touching, just barely. Shao is already overheating but when their skin meets his he burns. It’s innocent, a thigh brushing his knee or an elbow pressing up against his ribcage, but it’s a tantalizing option for there to be more.
Shao has seen them dance together before, when they didn’t know he was watching, and has seen the raw sexuality of it, something purely joyful in the way they would grind up against each other. Despite being sexual it hadn’t felt voyeuristic, just happy, a natural expression of their love. They avoid such dancing around shao, and the other get down brothers. Still, there’s a hint of that sexuality hanging in the air, waiting for shao to reach out and touch it.
Then dizzee stumbles, knocked off his feet by someone shoving up against him from behind them, and Shao reaches out to catch him. Dizzee falls into his arms as if he’s meant to be there, his legs splayed out around Shao’s, thighs brushing enough for the fabric of their jeans to drag against each other.
And Dizzee is giggling, eyes shining in the rainbow club lights, and shao can hear Thor join in behind him, exuberant and unashamed. And something breaks in Shao, the dam finally giving in against the force of his nature.
One of Shao’s hands stays supporting Dizzee but the other rises, cups itself around Dizzee’s jaw, the sharp jut of bone under soft skin. With a gentle tug, their paths are colliding, as natural as anything, as if it were meant to be. Dizzee leans in and so does Shao and they kiss, a gentle thing. It stays chaste, just a soft press of lips together, but it makes Shao feel like he’s filled with fireworks. His eyes falls shut and only then does he notice that Thor’s laughter has stopped.
Shao pulls away, ignoring how Dizzee is smiling dopily at him, lips and cheeks pink. When Thor raises a hand, shao feels no fear, as if he knows what will happen next, as if he expected Thor to hook a hand around the back of his head and pull him in too.
Kissing Thor is different, slower, but no less impressive. Shao’s hand reluctantly leaves Dizzee to clutch at the soft strands of Thor’s hair, petting softly, making Thor make a breathy little noise into the kiss. Shao wants to hear more, wants to know exactly how vocal he can make him, but now is not the time. Instead he pulls away and just looks at them.
Dizzee moves over to Thor, pulling him into a half hug before slotting into place to kiss him, a practiced, familiar move. Shao watches them and instead of the ache from before he feels something swelling inside, a rush of happiness, of satisfaction, of knowing that they’re his as much as he is theirs.
Sinuously, shao moves forwards and presses his body into where theirs are already joined, chest against chest against chest. Someone giggles, then hums, then they’re moving as one, swaying to the music, bodies in perfect coordination. It feels like they’ve been doing this forever.
It feels like coming home.