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The worst part of it all is that Feng Xin didn’t even want to come to this party. He’d wanted to skip it and stay home. It’s been a long week, and staying in on a Friday night is one of his favorite adult activities. He wanted to invite Mu Qing over to watch a movie, maybe, or that terrible reality show they both hate-watch.
“You just want to get in my pants,” Mu Qing had said on Tuesday, rolling his eyes. And sure, yeah, of course, Feng Xin had thought of that, too. He couldn’t tell Mu Qing that he wanted to spend time with him with their clothes on, though. He didn’t need to get laughed at during sex. Again.
So, after, while putting his clothes back on, Mu Qing announced he was going to the party and Feng Xin could come if he wanted to. Feng Xin had sighed and agreed and thought of Pei Ming calling him a doormat.
Mu Qing doesn’t even like parties, which has been abundantly clear all night. Feng Xin doesn’t know why they’re here. Shi Qingxuan would never hold it against Mu Qing if he canceled. They get together weekly as it is. Mu Qing doesn’t smoke and rarely drinks, never mind anything harder. He’s sitting away from everyone else, cross-legged on the floor of Shi Qingxuan’s fancy new penthouse, petting their cat. Feng Xin can’t deny it’s a cute sight, and the fact that Mu Qing is so flexible his knees nearly touch the ground when he sits like that is a sight, too.
Such a sight that Feng Xin doesn’t realize Mu Qing is watching him back at first. Mu Qing’s perfect brows are pulled together, and his lips are pressed in a thin line. What’s he pissed off about now?
“What did you say?”
Feng Xin startles and nearly spills his beer. He doesn’t remember saying anything, so he smiles charmingly and defers. “Just thinking out loud, sorry.”
The woman next to him laughs and touches his shoulder, as if they’re both in on the joke. Feng Xin wonders if Mu Qing is still watching. Feng Xin leans closer to the woman in case he is.
“So, what do you do for work?”
They cover careers, the general areas of the city they live in, and how they both know Shi Qingxuan before Feng Xin sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Mu Qing hovers behind the couch, his dark clothes absorbing all the light in the room. Feng Xin tilts his head back and raises his eyebrows in question.
“Hi,” Mu Qing says, his eyes darting to the woman. He nods briefly at her with a smile that she probably can’t tell is fake. “Feng Xin, can you help me with something?”
Feng Xin wishes he didn’t immediately get half-hard at the words, at Mu Qing’s tone, at the heated look in his eyes. He makes his apologies to the woman and promises to be back soon. He prays it’s an empty promise.
Mu Qing leads him without looking back, always trusting Feng Xin to follow. Feng Xin would be offended if it weren’t true. This place is too big, which makes it easy for Mu Qing to find a dark hallway off the main one that leads to a second (or maybe third?) bathroom.
“Mu Qing, what’s going— oof!”
Mu Qing’s hands are like claws at his shoulders, shoving him against the wall. He’s pretty sure Mu Qing’s nails are putting holes in his sweater. He can’t see his expression well in the dark, but he can hear the fast pace of his breathing. He wants to touch Mu Qing’s throat, to feel if his heart is going just as fast.
He knows the kiss is coming, and yet, somehow, he’s still surprised by it. Maybe it’s how vicious Mu Qing is, how sharp his mouth tastes, like all the cutting things he wants to say to Feng Xin are stored up on his tongue. Really, he tastes like peppermint, like the mints he always has on hand, but there’s something deeper there, something darker and entirely Mu Qing. Feng Xin could spend years, centuries trying to figure it out.
Mu Qing wrenches his mouth free, and Feng Xin reaches for him instinctively. He cups Mu Qing’s face, and he doesn’t let go when Mu Qing stiffens. “What’s gotten into you?”
Mu Qing scoffs. “What, I’m not allowed to kiss you now?”
Feng Xin looks around and back to where the music is filtering toward them through the space. “It’s your rule to keep this a secret, not mine.”
“You expect me to kiss you out there, in front of everyone?”
Feng Xin shrugs and strokes Mu Qing’s cheek with his thumb. His skin is so fucking soft. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“I know you wouldn’t. I saw your little display on the couch.”
Feng Xin laughs, bringing his other hand up so Mu Qing’s face is caught between his palms. “I was only talking to her. I don’t even know her name.”
“Do you ever?”
Feng Xin slaps his cheek lightly, more of a tap. Mu Qing’s mouth falls open, but he doesn’t say anything. Feng Xin feels himself growing harder. “That’s not fair and you know it.”
“Whatever. You just came here looking for someone to get your dick wet.”
“Go ahead, then,” Feng Xin says. If Mu Qing wants to play this game, then they’ll play the game. Mu Qing tries to pull back, but Feng Xin draws him in, lacing his hands behind Mu Qing’s head, trapping strands of his ponytail between his fingers. “You’re the one who dragged me back here. Don’t pretend you don’t want it.”
Mu Qing grumbles but he’s on his knees in the space of a few seconds. Feng Xin laughs to himself. Mu Qing is normally a mystery, an enigma. His walls have walls. Bullying Feng Xin is the closest he’ll come to asking for what he wants, and Feng Xin has learned how to read him. Mostly.
Mu Qing cups Feng Xin’s erection through his jeans before he unbuttons them. “Already?” he sneers.
“Don’t pretend like you’re not,” Feng Xin says. “I could feel you, sweetheart.”
Mu Qing huffs but he doesn’t argue the pet name. He never does anymore. Feng Xin prefers to think it means he likes it, but who could ever know with Mu Qing? Mu Qing’s breath and tongue are hot through the fabric of his underwear, and then hot against his cock, boxer briefs rolled down tight across his thighs. For all his bravado and pretense, Mu Qing takes half of Feng Xin’s cock in one go, pushing himself toward the root in the same motion.
“Hungry for it, huh?” Feng Xin only risks asking because Mu Qing’s mouth is too full to talk back. His fingers shake when he pushes back the hair Mu Qing artfully left out of his ponytail.
It’s silky, it always is, just as soft as Mu Qing’s skin. Feng Xin has seen him do his multistep skincare routine, seen him work oil through his hair and then gently comb it out. He’s felt Mu Qing’s silk blend pillowcases and seen him apply a lip mask and pull his hair away from his face before bed. Feng Xin would watch every stupid step of it all every night if Mu Qing let him. He’d come to parties like this by Mu Qing’s side. He’d hold his hand, kiss him in front of their friends.
For now, he settles for sliding his hand along Mu Qing’s sharp jaw and encouraging him to take Feng Xin’s cock down his throat. “Good at this,” he mutters, and Mu Qing hums. The sound of it is lost over the music from the other room, but Feng Xin can feel it. “You look so pretty with your mouth around my dick.”
Mu Qing pulls off and Feng Xin can just make out his eye-roll in the dim light. “Seriously? Do you have to be so vulgar?”
Feng Xin slips his hand to the back of Mu Qing’s neck and tugs lightly. The air on his wet cock is cold, and Mu Qing’s mouth is a furnace. “This was your idea,” Feng Xin reminds him. “You couldn’t even make it through the party without needing it.”
“I don’t need it,” Mu Qing spits at him, but he doesn’t pull away from Feng Xin’s hand. He doesn’t stand up and leave. “I don’t need you.”
“My bad,” Feng Xin says. “You wanna go back?”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing mutters, and then his mouth is sliding back down Feng Xin’s cock.
Feng Xin wishes he could hear the soft whimpers Mu Qing makes when he sucks him off. Mu Qing is moving faster now, taking more and more of his cock. Feng Xin can feel him making noise, and he moves his hand so he can thumb over Mu Qing’s throat, to feel the vibrations there, too. Mu Qing would never admit it, but Feng Xin knows he gets desperate like this, on his knees. That some part of him hungers for it, that he feels powerful when he takes Feng Xin’s cock into himself to the root.
He’ll never forget the first time Mu Qing did this for him — the first time Mu Qing did it for anyone, which didn’t help with how fast Feng Xin came. Mu Qing had been headstrong in the way he is to anything he commits to. Failure isn’t an option for him, and steep learning curves are for lesser men.
Feng Xin presses his thumb into Mu Qing’s throat more firmly and watches the way his eyelashes flutter. “Touch yourself,” Feng Xin says softly.
Mu Qing glares up at him but he lets go of Feng Xin’s thighs to unbutton his pants. They’re slick and shiny, a wide-leg fit that flatters his thin form. They’re going to be wrinkled now at the knees. Feng Xin wonders if he’ll have bruises, too.
He takes more of Feng Xin in once he has a hand on his own cock, his pace fast if the jerky movement of his shoulder is any indication. Mu Qing loves to deepthroat him if he’s being touched at the same time, regardless if that’s his hand or Feng Xin’s hand or, memorably, Feng Xin’s mouth while he teases Mu Qing’s hole with spit-slick fingertips. Mu Qing will never admit that Feng Xin’s cock cutting off his air does anything for him, but Feng Xin has seen his eyes go glassy when he’s forced to breathe so carefully through his nose. It unlocks some pleasure center in Mu Qing’s brain that lets him think less and feel more, and Feng Xin wants to do that for him all the time.
“‘M close,” Feng Xin says, stroking Mu Qing’s cheek. Mu Qing slips a hand underneath his mouth to cup Feng Xin’s balls, squeezing and tugging lightly as he pushes himself down, his throat a vice around Feng Xin’s cock. “Want me to come in your mouth?” Feng Xin makes himself ask. He can’t come on Mu Qing’s face, not here and not now. It’s a little too dark for him to appreciate the look of it anyway.
Mu Qing nods and speeds up the hand he has on himself, and Feng Xin winds his free hand into Mu Qing’s ponytail. He doesn’t tug, mindful of Mu Qing’s hazy glare, he just needs something to hold onto. The wall at his back can only do so much, and he groans and leans forward anyway, curling over Mu Qing, watching himself disappear in Mu Qing’s red, wet mouth again and again.
His orgasm hits him like a car crash, it always does with Mu Qing. Violent and sudden and all-consuming, a paradigm shift that makes him want to do something stupid like tell Mu Qing he lo– likes him.
Feng Xin is blinking away sparks of light from closing his eyes too hard when Mu Qing stands. His lips look bruised, and he shoves his way into Feng Xin’s space and bites his jaw, hard. Feng Xin hisses and Mu Qing kisses him. He straddles one of Feng Xin’s legs, grinding his cock against his thigh. He hasn’t even pulled himself out of his underwear, and Feng Xin focuses on getting his breath back with Mu Qing’s tongue in his mouth, all peppermint and the bitter taste of his own come.
“Here,” Feng Xin says mindlessly, “here, let me,” and he’s pushing Mu Qing around and yanking him bodily into himself, wrapping one arm around his chest to hold him there while the other slips into Mu Qing’s pants to free his cock. He’s so wet that Feng Xin’s hand slips at first. “You’re gonna drip all over your nice pants.”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing whines. His hips are already working, pushing his dick into Feng Xin’s fist. He’s close, Feng Xin knows all his tells. He knows how Mu Qing shivers, how his whole body goes tight and then loose and then tight again and again when he’s on the edge, as if he’s trying to hold himself back from something.
Feng Xin tightens his grip and works his hand faster. He hooks his chin over Mu Qing’s shoulder and watches his hand move, pressing absent kisses to Mu Qing’s neck. Mu Qing lets out a throaty moan at the same moment the track switches over in the living room. They both freeze, but the chatter from the other room doesn’t pause.
“So loud,” Feng Xin whispers into his ear, nipping at his neck. He mouths wetly at Mu Qing's nape and Mu Qing whines. “It’s like you want to get caught. Want whoever walks back here to see you like this, on display.”
“Shut up, you know that’s not— ah, ah, nnnghh.”
“I won’t let anyone see you, I promise. I’ve got you, not them,” Feng Xin says. Mu Qing shakes against him, fucking into Feng Xin’s hand. “You don’t have to scare off women who talk to me or mark your territory or whatever this is, you know? No one else is this desperate to get their mouth on my dick.”
“Stupid,” Mu Qing gasps. “Maybe they should be.”
Feng Xin groans and grinds against Mu Qing’s ass. Mu Qing tucked him neatly back into his pants while Feng Xin was trying to remember which way was up, so thankfully he won’t leave any precome on Mu Qing’s clothes. Mu Qing pushes back into it, and Feng Xin thinks about fucking like this, about how Mu Qing would have to press up on his tiptoes to get the angle right, about how he’d have to arch his back all prettily.
“Are you going to let me take you home after this?” Feng Xin asks. “Let me fuck you for real? I want to stretch you out on my cock. Want to hear you beg for it.”
“I don’t beg, you— you idiot. Shut up, shut up, just— ah!”
Feng Xin slams his hand over Mu Qing’s mouth before he thinks it through. “Quiet, sweetheart.”
Mu Qing moans against his palm, his breath hot and damp. Feng Xin is surprised his knees haven’t buckled yet, but he’s leaning almost all his weight on Feng Xin anyway. Feng Xin’s hand is big, and Mu Qing’s features are delicate. It’s easy to slide his hand up and cover Mu Qing’s nose, too.
Mu Qing makes a high, surprised sound and grabs Feng Xin’s forearm with both hands, but he doesn’t shove him away. He doesn’t smash his heel into Feng Xin’s instep or kick at him or rake his nails down Feng Xin’s arm. He just holds on and shakes, letting Feng Xin steal his breath in this dark hallway with all their friends a few steps away.
“Come on, Mu Qing, come on. I want to feel you.”
Mu Qing’s hands tighten on Feng Xin’s arm and his body goes taut as a bowstring. Feng Xin is careful to catch his release in his hand, to try to spare his outfit and Shi Qingxuan’s expensive wood floors. When Feng Xin removes the hand from his mouth, Mu Qing whines and gasps for air, his hips twitching into nothing. He turns his head and folds himself in, leaning on Feng Xin’s chest.
Feng Xin lets him, tipping his head back so Mu Qing can nuzzle his head under Feng Xin’s chin. He holds him with one hand, the other held out awkwardly. Mu Qing’s breath evens out and he steps away, like it’s dangerous for him to stay pressed close now that they’re not having sex. He wrinkles his nose when he sees the mess of Feng Xin’s hand.
Feng Xin shrugs. “I think one of these doors is a bathroom so I’ll— what the fuck!”
Mu Qing smirks at him, dragging his tongue across Feng Xin’s palm. He holds Feng Xin’s wrist in his hands and cleans up his come with slow, deliberate licks, lapping at it like he’s the cat who’s gotten the cream. He lets Feng Xin’s hand fall when he’s finished and tightens his ponytail, pulling at the halves of it so it’s perfect again.
“I’m going to go get a mint,” he says, watching Feng Xin carefully. “You’re going to wash your hands, and then we’re going to leave.” He says it all with the same authority he says anything, but there’s a question in his eyes.
“Together?” Feng Xin asks. It’s harder to breathe now than it was when he was buried in Mu Qing’s throat.
Mu Qing shrugs, a little forced. “Who cares what those assholes think, right?”
Feng Xin pulls him in with his sticky hand and kisses him, deep and thorough. Mu Qing groans and lets him, biting gently at Feng Xin’s tongue and sucking on it.
“Right,” Feng Xin breathes when he pulls back, and Mu Qing flashes him a bright, small smile before schooling his expression.
“If you tell them what we were just doing, though, I’ll push you in front of a train.”
Feng Xin laughs. He feels so light, he could start floating at any second. He’s pretty sure Mu Qing would tether him. “I’d never expect anything less.”
“Hurry up, I don’t have all night,” Mu Qing says and, with a flick of his ponytail, he’s headed back to the party.
Feng Xin does hurry. He’s more than a little scared that Mu Qing will change his mind by the time he reenters the room, but Mu Qing has slipped on his coat and is holding his bag, ready to go. He hands Feng Xin his own jacket and exchanges cheek kisses with Shi Qingxuan and echoes He Xuan’s nod.
“It’s about time,” Shi Qingxuan squeals into his ear. “Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“Yeah, because that really narrows it down,” He Xuan says dryly.
Shi Qingxuan slaps his arm. “Don’t you dare slut shame me!”
He Xuan rubs his arm and purses his lips. “It was a joke, jiejie.”
Shi Qingxuan sniffs and walks away. Feng Xin knows they’ll only make it five minutes of ignoring their boyfriend, max. Feng Xin is grateful Xie Lian and Hua Cheng are out of town this weekend. He wants Xie Lian to see this, to know he’s one step closer to coming clean, but he doesn’t want to see Hua Cheng’s smugness on full display for a roomful of people. He doesn’t know if it would scare Mu Qing off.
“Um, have a good night!”
It’s the woman Feng Xin was talking to on the couch. Mu Qing goes still at his side. Feng Xin turns to him, and the smirk Mu Qing wears is a brutal slash across his face. He needs to stop Mu Qing from attacking an innocent.
“You, too!” Feng Xin says, waving.
“We will,” Mu Qing says menacingly, their answers running into each other.
The woman’s brow furrows. “Can I ask—?”
“What exactly,” Mu Qing says. He steps in front of Feng Xin. “Did you want to ask?”
Her cheeks go pink. “I was wondering where you got your coat? It’s so cute!”
Mu Qing’s smirk drops off his face, and Feng Xin fights not to laugh. “Oh, I…”
“He made it,” Feng Xin butts in. “Give her your info, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing fumbles with getting his phone out, but he transfers his socials with a tap and ducks his head in thanks. “I update the shop once a week, on Mondays, but I do custom work, too.”
“Great, thank you! Have a fun night, you too!”
Now Mu Qing is the one blushing, and he pliantly lets Feng Xin lead him out of the apartment. “See? Not everyone is out to steal your man.”
“My man,” Mu Qing says with a scoff. He stabs at the down button for the elevator. “She was still checking you out. She kept staring at your chest.”
“I think it was just at her eye level,” Feng Xin offers. Mu Qing snorts. “But it’s not her fault I have great tits.”
Mu Qing goes redder. “Shut up, don’t say it like that.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like them.” They step onto the elevator and Feng Xin purposely runs his hand across his chest, puffing it out to exaggerate his pecs.
“I hate them,” Mu Qing says. “I hate you.”
“Sure, yeah. You coming over, then?”
Mu Qing won’t look at him. The tips of his ears look hot to the touch. “If you stop saying dumb things, yes.”
“What if I say I want to fuck you?” Feng Xin asks. “Is that a dumb thing?”
Mu Qing huffs but doesn’t disagree. He stares at the door to the elevator like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. When it dings and opens to the lobby, he throws a look at Feng Xin over his shoulder. “For you, that’s genius-level.”
Mu Qing doesn’t mention the stranger again until he’s taking off his coat and shoes in Feng Xin’s apartment. “What would you do, anyway? With her I mean.”
Feng Xin stares at him, trying to puzzle his way through the question. Mu Qing groans and shoves him against the door. When Feng Xin reaches for him, Mu Qing grabs his wrists and presses them against the door. No one but Feng Xin ever seems to realize how strong he is. “Tell me,” Mu Qing insists.
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Idiot. Come on.” Mu Qing turns his back. He walks toward Feng Xin’s bedroom like he owns the place. Feng Xin wishes he did. Or, rather, he wishes Mu Qing would move in. Feng Xin’s place is bigger than Mu Qing’s, newer and nicer. He even has a room he mostly uses for weights and storage that Mu Qing could take over with all his sewing machines and dress forms.
Feng Xin follows Mu Qing again, because he’s never really had a choice otherwise. He’d follow Mu Qing anywhere, to the ends of the earth, and Mu Qing would judge him so hard for even thinking that. Mu Qing is halfway out of his shirt when Feng Xin rounds the corner, and it’s impossible for him not to lay his hands on Mu Qing’s waist, to drag them down to his hips and then up to his chest.
“Move.” Mu Qing elbows him off so he can get out of his pants. “Take off your clothes.”
He’s bossy, but it’s easy to follow orders when Feng Xin wants the same thing. Feng Xin tries to pull him in for a kiss once they’re both stripped down to their underwear, but Mu Qing evades him and goes to sit on the bed, his legs primly crossed.
“What would you do if I was her?”
Oh. Now Feng Xin understands, but also: “The fuck?”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “If you’d brought her home, instead of me—”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Shut up! It’s just a… I’m curious, stop freaking out. If you’d brought her home, what would you do with her?”
“Well, we probably wouldn’t have gotten almost naked so fast,” Feng Xin says.
“Bullshit. You fucked someone in a club bathroom.”
“That was one time!” Feng Xin protests. “And I didn’t, I mean, we didn’t, uh. Do that.”
“You told me you did!”
Feng Xin scratches the back of his head. ”I just, uh, went down on her?”
Mu Qing’s eyes go wide. It’s like he’s surprised that Feng Xin is a generous lover, and that is absolute bullshit. Feng Xin goes down on Mu Qing all the time! And he’s tried to do the other thing, but Mu Qing is so prickly and proper when it comes to sex sometimes.
Except he let you jerk him off practically in public tonight, says the dumbest voice in Feng Xin’s head. The one that’s all gut instinct, but it’s usually not wrong. Feng Xin takes a step toward the bed, then another. Mu Qing’s posture is rigid.
Feng Xin lowers his voice. “Is that what you want? You want me to eat you out, sweetheart?”
Mu Qing makes a high, surprised noise before he scowls. “I thought you wanted to fuck me.”
“I do.” Feng Xin gets closer, close enough to tuck Mu Qing’s hair behind his ear, to tug on his ponytail and watch his blush deepen. “I will, but I’m gonna eat you out first. Lay back.”
Mu Qing’s shoulders are around his ears but he shuffles back on the bed anyway, finding the pillows and making himself comfortable. “Shouldn’t I— won’t it be… easier, if I turn over?”
Feng Xin leans down to kiss his bony ankle and smooths his hands up Mu Qing’s strong calves. “Not if you were her,” he says, holding eye contact. “Not if I was about to eat your pussy.”
Mu Qing covers his face with both hands and mumbles something. Feng Xin laughs and kisses his knee, pushing his way between Mu Qing’s thighs. He kneads the muscle there, waiting for Mu Qing to look at him before he starts to tug his boxer briefs down and out of the way. He’d known Mu Qing was hard thanks to the bulge of him beneath the fabric, and he can’t help but lick at the leaking head of Mu Qing’s cock when it springs forward.
“You’re wet for me. Here, hold your knees.”
It’s easy to bend Mu Qing in half, he’s so fucking bendy. He lets Feng Xin arrange him, and he even consents to hand Feng Xin a pillow when he asks nicely. The pillow hits Feng Xin in the face, but that’s fine. It’s nothing new for them. When Feng Xin has him propped up and on display, he changes his mind.
“Wait, like this.” He coaxes Mu Qing’s legs down and then over his shoulders. He scrapes his teeth against Mu Qing’s inner thigh and grinds against the bed when Mu Qing moans. His moans continue the higher Feng Xin’s touch gets, and he cries out when Feng Xin bites down on the flesh of his ass.
“You—!” Mu Qing starts, but his words fall apart at the first swipe of Feng Xin’s tongue.
The only other time they’ve done this, Mu Qing was fidgety and shy, like he thought Feng Xin shouldn’t want to be doing this. Like he found it distasteful, even dirty. He hadn’t come from it, he’d pushed Feng Xin away too early, but his cock had never flagged, either. Feng Xin has thought about it so many times since, about working Mu Qing open again on his tongue, about the way his moans had gotten all high and breathy. About rimming him like he deserves.
It’s the same now. Mu Qing is already shaking against him, moving into the feeling as Feng Xin laps at him, whining when Feng Xin stiffens his tongue and slides it in, fucking Mu Qing with it as he trembles. “You’re so fucking hot,” Feng Xin slurs against Mu Qing’s warm skin, and Mu Qing kicks at his back, his heels sharp and unrelenting. Feng Xin pulls back just enough to say, “Lube,” before he dives in again.
Feng Xin imagines Mu Qing’s long body stretching as he reaches for the bedside table. He loves to see him arch like that, all his muscles shifting under his pale skin, but not enough to stop what he’s doing. Mu Qing is relaxed enough now that he can tease in a finger with only spit, so he does. He hears something drop onto the floor and Mu Qing curses.
“You fucking idiot, you— ah!”
“Relax,” Feng Xin says, raising his head to look at Mu Qing. “I’ll get it in a second, if we even need it.”
“Of course we—”
Feng Xin shrugs with one shoulder and crooks his finger again, watching Mu Qing’s mouth fall open as Feng Xin brushes against his prostate. “I told you— you’re so wet for me, baby. Your pretty cunt is practically drip—”
Mu Qing brings his heel down hard on Feng Xin’s shoulder, really digging it in. “Don’t say that, you disgusting—”
“—so, so wet for me. I bet you’d be fine if I only slicked up my cock, huh? You’re so tight, I don’t want to hurt you, but I think you can take it.”
“You,” Mu Qing says, but he doesn’t complete whatever the thought is. He’s panting, the rapid rise and fall of his chest obvious.
Feng Xin pulls back and gets off the bed. He drops his underwear and grabs the bottle from the floor. Mu Qing watches him, his mouth half-open. Feng Xin squeezes some lube onto his hand and spreads it on his erection. It makes him hiss, he’s so hard he’s aching. “Do you want more of my fingers? My mouth?”
“I— your cock,” Mu Qing says. “I want, you should. Fuck me?”
“Yeah?”
Mu Qing glares at him. His hair is a mess, most of it falling out of the hair tie. “Fuck me already. Why else did you bring me home?”
Because you’re not just someone I met at a party, or a bar, Feng Xin thinks. “Right,” Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing is tight, it wasn’t just idle dirty talk. He’s always so fucking tight no matter how often they do this. It’s unreal. He’s tight and hot and his legs shake as Feng Xin pushes hard enough against him that the head of his cock finally pops in. Mu Qing shudders and moans and Feng Xin waits, as patient as he can be with the manic urge to just take Mu Qing.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Mu Qing says.
“I was trying to be polite,” Feng Xin says through gritted teeth.
“Fuck you,” Mu Qing mutters, and he wraps his legs tight around Feng Xin’s hips and his arms around Feng Xin’s back and pulls. Feng Xin lets him, because it feels so fucking good. If Mu Qing wants to be sore in the morning, that’s his problem. If Feng Xin wants to bring him tea in bed, then that’s also his problem.
Once he’s fully seated, he flicks Mu Qing’s ear. “Happy now?”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, probably because admitting he’s happy with anything Feng Xin does would kill him on the spot. The kiss is a surprise, though, all things considered, and it’s one that Feng Xin is happy to return. Mu Qing whines into his mouth when Feng Xin pulls out and he keens when Feng Xin slams back in. He’s holding on so tight that Feng Xin can’t quite achieve the kind of rhythm he wants to get going, but this is so, so good besides. Mu Qing clutches at him, refusing to let him get away. There’s nowhere else Feng Xin would rather be, even when Mu Qing turns his head to bite Feng Xin’s neck, a matching mark to the one on his jaw.
“I’m not going to be able to cover that up, fucker,” Feng Xin pants. It’s too high up, and he doesn’t own any fancy turtlenecks like Mu Qing. At least the one on his jaw could look like a punch.
“Good,” Mu Qing says. His eyes are bright, intent and searching.
“Good,” Feng Xin echoes, and he kisses him again. He’ll wear a million of Mu Qing’s bite marks, or whatever he wants to give him. It’s a good thing, too, judging by the pain in Feng Xin’s shoulders. Mu Qing always claws at him when he’s close to coming, digging in nails that are somehow both short and so sharp.
“Faster,” Mu Qing gasps, kicking at Feng Xin’s ass like he’s a horse or something.
Feng Xin pushes himself up, fighting Mu Qing’s hold. “Let go of your death grip then.”
Mu Qing pouts but does, his hands coming to rest on Feng Xin’s shoulders. He still digs his nails in, but he’s not restricting Feng Xin’s movements. Feng Xin can get the leverage he needs to snap his hips forward, driving Mu Qing’s ass into the pillow that’s still cushioning him and his shoulders into the bed. Mu Qing throws back his head, and Feng Xin’s mouth is drawn to his neck like a magnet.
“If you leave a mark I’ll—”
“Yeah, yeah, train. I got it.” Feng Xin keeps the press of his lips and teeth light, just enough to redden the skin for now, but not hard enough to last. It doesn’t stop him from sucking a hickey onto Mu Qing’s collarbone, though.
“Asshole,” Mu Qing moans. He likes to be bitten, loves it, as far as Feng Xin can tell, but Feng Xin would bet everything he owns that Mu Qing will never admit to it.
“Payback,” Feng Xin says, reaching between them to fist Mu Qing’s cock. Mu Qing shouts and tightens up around Feng Xin. “You’re close.”
Mu Qing nods and bites his lip, his eyes screwed shut. He’s so beautiful, even like this with his face all screwed up and flushed. Feng Xin could lose hours to counting his eyelashes, or the faint freckles on the edges of his high cheekbones, the ones that are usually covered by the fall of his hair. He could spend days showing every part of Mu Qing’s body his love, even if he can never say it.
“That woman, she— she’s no one. There’s no one, sweetheart. You know that, right?”
Mu Qing blinks up at him, and his eyes are wet with tears. Feng Xin loves it when he gets like this, so lost in his pleasure that he’s not self-conscious about it. “Sh-shut up,” he mumbles, clenching down, hard, on Feng Xin’s cock.
Feng Xin groans and picks up his pace. Mu Qing knows, he has to know. When does he think Feng Xin has time to pick up anyone when he spends his days running the gym and his nights seeing Mu Qing? They practically live in each other’s pockets — they had even before they started this.
(“You need to tell him,” Xie Lian said last week over lunch, his expression wistful and a little sad. “You know it’s hard for him to— you have to tell him, Feng Xin. Imagine how happy you could be!)
“Oh, oh fuck, Feng Xin, right there, I— fuck, fuck don’t stop, ple— don’t stop.”
Feng Xin kisses him, licks the sounds out of his mouth as he works the hand on Mu Qing’s cock faster, moves his hips faster, trying to keep the right angle that makes Mu Qing moan. He can be honest with Mu Qing like this. He can be good for him, he’ll be so, so good for him. He can tell him with his body, show him all the ways they can fall apart together.
Mu Qing comes with a cry, splashing his release across Feng Xin’s hand and his own stomach. Feng Xin squeezes his eyes shut and rests his forehead on Mu Qing’s. He pushes into the tight heat of Mu Qing’s body again and again, chasing the high that’s already slamming into him. He collapses onto Mu Qing, smiling at the soft ugh he lets out.
“Why’re you so heavy,” Mu Qing grouses.
“Because you’re light as a feather.”
“I’m not the one crushing you!”
“I know, I can only dream.” Feng Xin lays a wet, smacking kiss on Mu Qing’s cheek and Mu Qing hisses.
“Next time,” Mu Qing promises darkly, and Feng Xin’s cock definitely doesn’t twitch where it’s still buried inside him. He pulls out and Mu Qing whines in discomfort.
“Yeah, yeah, hang on.” Feng Xin groans as he stands, stretching his arms above his head until his back pops. It’s only after that he realizes Mu Qing is watching him. “Want to take a picture?”
Mu Qing looks sharply away. “Get me a towel or something.”
Or something, like Feng Xin doesn’t carefully clean him up every time, no matter who needs it more. Mu Qing is finicky, particular. Feng Xin likes to make him feel good, even if it’s as simple as dragging a wet washcloth over his skin. Mu Qing sits stock still like he’s barely allowing it, a cat who’s as quick to purr as to claw at you. After, Mu Qing dresses again, and Feng Xin pulls on sweats and an old tee. Mu Qing hovers then, hesitant, halfway between the bed and the door. Feng Xin’s stomach swoops.
“It’s early still. Want to watch something?” he offers. Mu Qing makes a show of shrugging, but he leads the way to Feng Xin’s couch anyway. Feng Xin grabs water – normal for him and sparkling for Mu Qing, because he likes to see the brief flash of pleased surprise before Mu Qing smothers it – and settles in.
He knows already that he’s going to let Mu Qing pick the show, and he’s going to argue with him about it even when they both agree. He’s going to let Mu Qing stay until they’re falling asleep where they sit, and then he’s going to goad Mu Qing into sleeping here. He’s going to watch Mu Qing’s million-step bedtime routine, because Mu Qing has started leaving duplicates of all his products in a sleek little bag under Feng Xin’s bathroom sink, and then he’s going to lend Mu Qing pajamas that are too big. He’s going to cuddle Mu Qing while Mu Qing pretends to hate it, even though he never fights back. He’s going to fall asleep beside him and wake up tangled with him and he’s going to keep the big, warm feeling all of that gives him locked tight in his chest until he can be brave enough to admit what it means.