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Liu Xiao’s intentions are as opaque as ever as he presents Xia Fei with a conspicuous collar in one hand and a remote in the other. Dusk pools in through the arched windows of the parlour, melting the cool lamplight dispersed throughout it. There’s almost a reverence in how Liu Xiao does it—unnerving Xia Fei—an unspoken, shared history he’s gesturing towards. He positions himself across from Xia Fei on the chaise lounge, tilted towards him, polite gaze on him at once an invitation and a kind of goading. Saying without words: now wouldn’t this be an interesting game?
By now, Xia Fei’s seen this look enough times to know the sharp edges of the smile cut across his face, and trying to tread carefully, his eyes flit from his phone screen to Liu Xiao. Back to his phone again.
“You seriously still have that thing?” Scoffing, Xia Fei crosses his arms, glancing sidelong at Liu Xiao. He’s hopeful it might ward off the sly, suggestive slope of Liu Xiao’s upturned brows. A question, there. To make a point, Xia Fei taps away at his phone, looking at nothing in particular, making his disinterest at pulling on the thread Liu Xiao’s laid out abundantly clear. But Liu Xiao is still looking at him. The silence is suffocating, triple glazed windows keeping all the sounds of the city out—until the creak of the doors disturbs the stalemate.
Vein saunters in, whistling a tune under his breath. Something he must have heard on the radio, Xia Fei imagines. His arrival eases the nameless tension. He eyes what Liu Xiao has set down on the upholstery and chortles, and Xia Fei gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Oh I remember that gaming stream, with the punishments if he failed. Such fun,” Vein says, going over to Liu Xiao, an easy hand on his shoulder as he inspects the collar. “Always wondered how it worked.”
Liu Xiao stands, his back to Xia Fei, Vein leaning in too close as Liu Xiao gestures to the collar, says, “Ah, it’s remote controlled. You can alter the mode and intensity of the shock, too.”
“Huh. What level did you do for Felix? Not too high?”
“If I’m recalling it correctly, he maxed out at a—”
“Wait, wait wait,” interjects Xia Fei, “stop discussing me and my pain tolerance like I’m not sitting right here! And you, laoban, what exactly do you mean you remember that stream? Please don’t tell me you…”
“Naturally, I tuned in. You’re very entertaining—”
“Oh my god.” Xia Fei rubs his thumb against his temple, averting his gaze. But even in his periphery the collar lingers, teasingly, not dissimilar to Liu Xiao’s quietly pointed gaze earlier.
“So, Xia Fei, what do you think? Would you like to play a game tonight?”
Eventually, when he looks up, both Liu Xiao and Vein are staring at him with something laden in their eyes he can’t pinpoint. But it’s the same, and the synchronicity in the shared gaze un-spools a cold curiosity in Xia Fei; the true nature of their expression, whether playful intrigue or a crueler, more carnivorous hunger is another question hanging in the air. The refusal sitting in the base of his throat falters. Xia Fei can’t find it in himself to say no. What gets him to nod he can’t name in exact terms, but steeling himself, he agrees.
“Vein plays too,” adds Xia Fei.
“Of course, and I have the perfect role for him too—” he hands the remote over to Vein— “You’ll be administering the punishments.”
Vein winks at Xia Fei. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
“Fine then. Now, what kind of game is this anyway?”
The first time:
It seemed simple enough; an exchange without a catch. Xia Fei couldn’t remember if he’d been curled up on his side in the dark, midday sun slipping past the blinds, or somewhere else entirely. Still reeling from a comedown he couldn’t quite shake. It had been days, by then. But he recalled the bright blue light of his screen, his eyes narrowing over the details Liu Xiao texted. A Quede Games sponsored stream for their latest release, a horror game. I agreed to this? He squinted at the terms and then set any preservations aside rationalising that it couldn’t be helped, now. Not when he was now a model without an agency backing him.
The catch came on the day, a key detail that Xia Fei had been the one to forget. Liu Xiao smiling and perfectly polite, sticking out against the backdrop of Xia Fei’s modest studio flat, perched on the secondhand sofa. Not the first time he’d been there, but just as out of place, the wrong light, the wrong purpose. Right as they were about to begin setting up for stream he sprung it on Xia Fei. Presented it to him with disquieting earnestness, easy to believe in even if a better part of Xia Fei knew better. Oh, did you forget what we talked about? Won’t it be more interesting, like this?
Vein shoos the two of them up to take a seat; Liu Xiao, by his side, too close, fastens the shock collar around his throat (a graze of silver rings and onyx gems against his bare skin, brief). Xia Fei holds back a shiver, but Liu Xiao, watching closely, seems to notice, his hands working with more care than before to adjust the tightness and position of the battery pack to the side of his neck. The collar is a dark leather, the inner lining royal blue, its exterior adorned with smaller decorative buckles and a D-ring. With a start Xia Fei’s eyes scan the room, weary, wondering if Liu Xiao’s hidden a leash somewhere. That would be too far, even for him, Xia Fei tells himself.
At last, Liu Xiao steps back.
“It should be a bit on the tighter side, but if it’s too much just let me know,” he says.
The collar isn’t uncomfortable, exactly. It sits snugly against his neck, with metal contact points that would transfer the electricity to his skin, beneath that even.
Vein hums, tilts his head. “Comfortable?”
Hand tracing just below the collar, Xia Fei nods. “Fine, it’s fine.” He can’t seem to hold Vein’s eye without his cheeks flaring with warmth. Instead, casts his eyes over one of the windows, a tree in the courtyard quivering in the fast fading light.
Here he stands in front of the two of them like he’s awaiting a sentence, Vein reclined on the chaise lounge, the remote dangling from his grasp and Liu Xiao hovering beside him. In spite of himself, his newly adorned neck prickles with heat that he tries to swallow. A phantom of the future pain.
“Wow, this is an interrogation, basically,” he says, his fingers brushing his bangs, more out of a need for something to do than vanity.
“No, no. That's no fun. In this game, if we think you're lying, you'll get a shock. It's simple: all you need to do is tell the truth, or, take a risk and try to fool us.”
With the leaving of light, the room is a shade cooler. As if the oncoming of night has seeped into the old walls of the estate, Xia Fei’s skin goosebumping.
He chews on the inside of his cheek. “Okay, but how exactly will you know when I’m lying?”
“Let’s see if you can figure it out.” Liu Xiao’s lips curl. “We’ll start with something easy. What’s your name and date of birth?”
“Xia Fei. I was born on July 27th—you know these things already—”
“It’s just to get a baseline.” He glances back towards Vein, some imperceptible exchange communicated between the two of them. Turned away from Xia Fei, Liu Xiao gestures towards himself, but it’s obscured by his frame. Vein nods, short. Then, he leans forward.
“Right, Felix, tell me: did you always follow the meal plan we agreed on after I caught you sneaking treats that third time?”
Incredulous, Xia Fei laughs. “What? Laoban that hardly matters any…I don’t think you need to dwell on that too much…”
“Ah, that’s not a real answer, you realise,” Liu Xiao chimes in, almost helpful, as Vein’s thumb taps against one of the buttons.
“Alright, five seconds. Five—”
“How am I supposed to remember—”
“—Four—”
“Okay, okay, maybe not…always? I mean, I’m not perfect…I wouldn’t purposefully go into the break rooms and snack, but occasionally someone would call me over there after a shoot for a chat and offer and…”
The pain is there and gone in a flash, a short and not-quite sharp pulse, concentrated, but the after affects roll through him. He unfurls his clenched fists.
“Hey! I was being honest that time…”
Vein is grinning, an almost childish gleam in his eyes as they float from the remote in his hands to Xia Fei, his new toys. “Did it hurt?”
“Not…really? Just, surprised me.”
“Well then that was your warning.”
It’s Liu Xiao’s expression he can’t quite parse, caught between pleased and neutral, his gaze trained on Vein. When he finally looks at Xia Fei it tips over into pleasure. Something is thrumming through Xia Fei—it must still be the shock.
“Vein mentioned something that’s worth dwelling on, your prolific career as a model—” the question that leaves Liu Xiao’s lips seems carefully considered— “What did you like most about it?”
“The money, of course.”
“And what didn’t you like about it?”
“The exploitation—but that goes without saying. And the overtime, and social politics, the nasty gossips, the condescending directors, the—”
“I see. Good job telling the truth. I am wondering though…do you feel like Vein ever exploited you?”
His eyes are trained on Vein when he says the first thing he can think of: “Wh—no! No, no, of course not, no way.”
Xia Fei believes his insistence to be entirely truthful, but the spark of pain this time is worse, and he grunts, an involuntary expulsion of air. His eyelashes quivering as he blinks through the shock.
“His reactions are different from before.” Vein says in a casual, curious way, tilting over to Liu Xiao.
“He played them up for his viewers.”
“Seriously, this is unfair…”
Shaking his head, Liu Xiao turns his attention to Xia Fei. “Sometimes you can even fool yourself—”
“Bullshit—”
“Well?” Vein’s voice is light, but not without warning. “How is it that I exploited you, Felix?”
“Laoban…ugh it’s…look it’s not like I think you actually exploited me big time or anything. It’s just. Sometimes you’d cut me some slack and other times you were a little…draconian, that’s all. And I’m of the opinion that most bosses exploit their employees, anyway. It’s inherent in the position. It’s like landlords.”
“Hm, is it?” His eyes flicker to Liu Xiao.
“It is, apparently,” Liu Xiao says. “How about explaining a time Vein annoyed you, so I can get a good idea of what you mean.”
Xia Fei takes one long breath in. “Fine. Since you mentioned snacking earlier, laoban, let’s talk about how unfair it was that you were so strict and unforgiving—to a part-timer too!
“Going as far to make me a meal plan and monitor every single bite of food that entered my mouth—what about the time you told me to mind my diet during summer fashion week while you sat there snacking on all the things you’d say I wasn’t allowed and—ah—” his shoulders tense up, a sharp-ish pinch pulsing at the side of his neck.
“You’re exaggerating—”
“I’m not—ow—” Another pinch.
Vein laughs, fingers tapping a rhythm on the side of the remote. “I gave you treats so long as you behaved. I invited you out for hotpot often, too. I went easy on you, Felix—”
“You’d barely let me eat the meat! I was overworked and underfed—”
“Please. I even talked with the best nutritionist in Bridon to make sure your caloric intake was optimal for your lifestyle and career. And I made sure you had some leeway.”
“How can that be called leeway…?”
Half-braced, the shock that comes is a quick nick that’s over in a flash; Xia Fei clenches his jaw, suddenly sure that by the end of this interrogation there would be a tender ache over his temples.
“What was that even for?”
“All your whining. And calling me draconian earlier.” He taps the remote for emphasis, “you should know by now how benevolent I am, going so far as to ease you into the pain. Xavier, ask him something else; we’re done discussing this.”
“No, no we’re not—shit that one hurt,” his words run into each other, breathy, the collared column of his neck taut. His heart rate is picking up, sparking in his chest like a live-wire. It’s the anticipation of the pain that makes it worse, he thinks, the echo of the pain igniting the anticipation in turn, a fraught trap to be caught in.
Liu Xiao, light-footed, comes to stand by Xia Fei’s side, an arm hovering in the space between them. A slow, measured approach. It’s something meant for a spooked animal, not Xia Fei.
“You have to relax, Felix, or it’ll only hurt more”— a hand on his back, Liu Xiao’s, and a jolt in his nerves. Dull aftershocks. Vein smiles in a way that says nothing at all, a smile made up of omission.
Xia Fei steps away from Liu Xiao’s grasp. “You can turn it up higher.”
Vein and Liu Xiao exchange a glance, Liu Xiao’s chin tipping up in a minuscule nod. “Of course, but shouldn’t you ask Vein more politely?”
Xia Fei rolls his eyes. “Right. Sure, please inflict more pain on—ah—” his throat seizes shut as the current zings through him, short—“I’m sorry I’m sorry, please, then.”
“Please…?” Liu Xiao edges closer again. The trace of a smirk on his lips.
Not before side-eyeing Liu Xiao, he sighs. “Please…could you turn it up, laoban?” He surprises himself with the note of desperation in it, all for show, his bottom lip jutting out in a practised pout.
“Whatever you want, Felix.” Vein nods; a performance well done, or passable at least.
Though the irony in it is laughable, Xia Fei holds his tongue. He’s only just playing along—or, there’s more to it to him than just being some simple game. There’s bone deep defiance, there’s something to prove. Xia Fei doesn’t know that he’ll prove anything here, though. It feels like entirely misguided stubbornness. Some scrappy animal, intent on keeping up with the apex predators.
“Vein asked, so now I’m curious, have you ever found me annoying as a client?”
“Yes, obviously, how could I not?”
Still close by, Liu Xiao laughs, feathery and fleeting. His breath brushes Xia Fei’s ear. “Getting nervous; but you’re telling the truth—now, I believe you mentioned once that you hate owing people favours more than anything, why is that?”
Xia Fei goes rigid. Something about the conviction in Liu Xiao’s assertion unnerving him—let’s see if you can figure it out—thrumming through Xia Fei’s head. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it with two sets of eager eyes on him. He tries to shake it away and hums under his breath, considering the question to collect himself.
“A lot of the time…it isn’t really a favour people are after; it’s a debt to be repaid. And I hate to be in debt—it’s a hassle. People who insist that you owe them are just looking for a reason to exploit you. Is that a good enough answer?”
Liu Xiao tips his head back, a subtle nod.
Vein considers Xia Fei, blank-faced, and in that moment Xia Fei considers him in turn.
Considers before:
Vein laid down a clear line from the start in stark red ink. He might have saved Xia Fei’s life, but Xia Fei found that it had never come with a debt dragging the goodwill down. No, it had been something like natural inclination, something like a whim, sleeve soaked in chlorine for the sake of it. Just because. Xia Fei considered the liberties Vein could have taken, freely, and without consequence. Many, many moments Xia Fei left himself wide open as if baring his neck for the wolf to dig into; he’d been bracing himself for it, the moment Vein crossed the line for good. Though it had never been mistrust of Vein specifically fuelling his thinking—he reasoned it was the logical conclusion. In the end you’re exploited, or on the path to it.
So Xia Fei waited, and once, drunkenly, deliriously he called it. This was it. After the Summer Fashion Week Gala. He was going to do it, this time. White hotel walls, whiter sheets, unwrinkled, something sterile and lamplit. Xia Fei stumbling in to disturb the serenity of an unmarred room. Vein, snaking an arm around his waist to steady him, scolding him soft and low. That close, he smelled like smoke and sandalwood. Vein, laying him down on the made bed, taking off his shoes. He was going to do it this time and, nauseous, Xia Fei wanted him to. Laying there with Vein looming over him, edges softened by the blur of Xia Fei’s vision, a hazy film coating the suite, everything felt mixed up. Glad this was finally it, and then sick of himself for thinking it. A cocktail of shame, desire, desperation and repulsion.
Felix, he remembered him saying, cool fingers pressed to his cheek. This was it—he handed himself over, pliant—are you still with me?—a sigh. Firm hands maneuvering him, stripping him layer by layer with a precision so tender it bordered on a different kind of violence. Xia Fei’s heart twitched and trembled, willing Vein to cross the line and a lump in his throat. Lead for a tongue. He could feel himself growing half-hard, hear himself breathing heavy. If Vein did it they’ll talk. They’ll talk, and it’ll all be true.
But once Vein got him down to his boxers, his hands hot on Xia Fei’s body, he vanished. Time elapsed in a drunken daze, Xia Fei mumbling half-sentences unintelligible to even himself. And once Vein returned, he didn’t drag his fingernails over exposed flesh, didn’t part Xia Fei’s lips with his thumb, didn’t get into bed with him. Drink some water, Felix, it’s just over there. An indulgent pet of his head, devoid of heat. Goodnight. I’ll call tomorrow morning.
Vein remained steadfast. As the door clicked shut, Xia Fei started to cry. He could still feel himself through his trousers, slowly softening. Alone in that hotel room, Xia Fei hated Vein as much as he loved him, then—
“Xia Fei, what are you thinking about right now?” Liu Xiao asks, with an innocent tilt of his head.
The intrusion startles Xia Fei back to himself, back to this room and those eyes on him, predation latent in their unblinking gazes, ready to feast. When Xia Fei swallows, his throat is sandpaper dry and he’s reminded of the collar circling his neck, reminded there’s no way to wriggle out of this unscathed. Foolish to think he could best Liu Xiao at a game where the mechanics elude him.
“Nothing,” he says quickly, the words falling out of his mouth heavy-handed. An obvious lie. It surprises Xia Fei when Vein doesn’t press down on the button immediately. He’s as still as a hunter, waiting.
“I’ll ask again, then: what were you thinking about a moment ago? You remember, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t, so stop—”
There’s no need for Liu Xiao to nod or signal to Vein. This time the shock is equal parts satisfying—relief from the questioning—as it is searing, dialled up. Prolonged too: it catches him off guard, the tension travelling beyond his neck. He forgets to take Vein’s advice, relax, to heart, biting down hard on his tongue. Xia Fei chokes out a gasp as he crumples to his knees, the polished hardwood something to hold onto while he rides out the strange sensation. Tongue sore, forearms twitching, trying to push the pain out, he remembers something else. His lips pressed together and face burning the first time it happened, on stream, hands balled into fists and neatly in his lap. Then, he was sitting, afforded that dignity at least. Then, his audience extended beyond Vein and Liu Xiao. The memory feels on par with electricity, sharp and centralised—leaving him with his heartbeat in his ears.
“Fuck,” he mutters more to the floor than either Vein or Liu Xiao. A memory he’d purposefully pressed into the recesses of his mind; now it rolls over him, a ceaseless and unseen current.
“You alright?” Vein asks airily, but his asking unwinds the tension throbbing through Xia Fei.
A little embarrassed, and at a loss, he says, “uh, my tongue. Hurts.”
“Oh my,” Liu Xiao, above him, “Let me check it’s not bleeding.”
“How exactly are you—”
Kneeling, he’s almost level with Xia Fei, but still hovering above; artificial light reflecting in his glasses and obscuring his eyes, a smile that could read as sincere concern on any other face. But it’s too wide, too self-satisfied. A different heat snakes its way into Xia Fei’s stomach, coiling.
“Say ‘ahh’ for me?” he asks, tone deceptively gentle. “So I can check.”
“Fuck off,” breathes Xia Fei.
But Liu Xiao casts his gaze over to Vein, who from this angle looks as though he’s a god sitting upon a throne keeping a careful eye on his subjects. It’s just that: one quiet moment, something exchanged in the silence, and then Vein is tapping on the remote teasingly.
“Come on Felix—you should know by now to do as you’re told. Quickly.”
“Laoban, I can’t, that’s way too—” the heat in his gut collides with the sharp spark that starts at his neck, and lasts longer too. No mercy; Xia Fei curses again, the sound curling into a whine as he braces the floor on his hands and knees again— “fine, fine, I will, oh my god.”
“It will only take a moment. Hold out your tongue.”
Body cast in candescence, he shifts into a seated position, tipping his head back and opening his mouth into a modest oval shape. Hesitant, boiling over with shame. Shame and then something else, the heat pooling in a place he doesn’t want it. No, no, he thinks, this cannot be happening.
“Wider, please.”
Xia Fei closes his eyes, complies. His tongue wets his bottom lip. He wants to die. There’s an appeased hum from Liu Xiao, as he leans in on one knee, a hand feathering under his jaw. Skin nearly on skin. A withholding of contact that Xia Fei should be glad of. But it’s taking too long, and he opens his eyes and catches Liu Xiao’s expression shift. There’s silent amusement and a twinkle in his eye one moment, and then his gaze flicks down in decisive motion. Lands on Xia Fei’s hands placed near his crotch, where the heat has settled, half-hard. And Liu Xiao’s smile sobers; the furrow in his brow is brief and quizzical. Xia Fei’s jaw goes slack, still breathing heavily and tongue in his mouth again, feeling foreign and heavy.
“Oh, I wasn’t done checking,” Liu Xiao says, faux-apologetic. “Open up for me again?”
At that, he looks towards Vein, and Xia Fei feverishly thinks—hopes—that Liu Xiao won’t tell Vein, so long as he plays along and makes a fool of himself. He thinks back to the soul crushing humiliation of the hotel room. How he can’t relive the tempered void in Vein’s eyes, his tender care and rejection. So he does as told, his heart hammering, shifting to obscure as much of himself as possible.
“Good, good.” Liu Xiao pauses. “Though, I am curious: were you as turned on during that stream as you are right now?”
“Xavier—”
“Vein, he’s hard right now.”
“Shut up, I—laoban he’s—I’m not….”
“You’re a bad liar, you know,” says Vein, not unkindly. Hand loose on the remote, he adds, “I should punish you for that.”
Xia Fei shakes his head, whimpers, “don’t, please, I…”
“Are you sure you’re in a position to beg me not to, Felix?”
Biting his lip, he glances away from Vein.
“Care to answer my question?” Liu Xiao edges a little closer, pointedly letting his eyes trace over the outline of Xia Fei’s hardened cock.
Xia Fei can tell the sympathy Liu Xiao adorns is all performance, his cursory glance to Vein as efficient and wordless as all the other times tonight. Only, as Xia Fei blinks up at Vein across from them in his comfortable seat, he swears there’s a second of hesitation. A resigned frown when Vein’s thumb presses down; this current carries with it a new weight, his mouth falling open and an obscene sound escaping, not his own surely. The startling clarity of the pleasure, of his body betraying him. His skin is hot all over, prickling. The fact his not-dead boss is watching him with keen eyes. Wolfish. When the shock stops, Xia Fei still feels the ghost of the static shock at the side of his neck.
“Just to clear things up,” Liu Xiao starts, unblinking, “there were certain…rumours during the peak of your modelling career. They weren’t true, were they?”
Vein clicks his tongue. “Please, Xavier, is that really—”
Before thinking better of it, Xia Fei’s hand lurches out to grab Liu Xiao’s collar, closing the distance between them. “No, not a single fucking one was true. Not one.” But Liu Xiao doesn’t so much as flinch, his face remaining unmoved and that same-old gleam of condescension clear in his eyes. He allows Xia Fei to wrinkle his absurdly expensive black T-shirt with his fist clenched around the fabric, limbs lax, as if to signal that Xia Fei isn’t a threat to him at all. Fingers curl around his wrist, a delicate pressure. Xia Fei tightens his hold; Liu Xiao’s eyes soften as a smile teases his lips.
“Felix.” Vein’s voice, tinged with familiar authority, cuts through the heady anger flaring within him. “Cool it. Or, do you need a leash to go with that collar too, hm?”
At that, his grip loosens, heat in his stomach again, going lower. Liu Xiao extracts his hand from his shirt collar, knocking Xia Fei back to his seat on the floor. His expression edges into smugness.
“Are you still turned on, by the way?”
Xia Fei shakes his head no, not trusting himself to speak.
“I think you are,” states Liu Xiao, a delicate softness in the assertion.
“Don’t bully the poor thing,” Vein cuts in, glancing between the two of them for a moment before pointing a finger at Xia Fei. “Felix, come here.”
The instruction doesn’t register right away. Xia Fei blinks back at him, at his body beckoning Xia Fei to him, and thinks again of the red line drawn down, then, and how it’s different now. Xia Fei isn’t quite the same; neither is Vein.
“Come,” he says, “I’m not going to eat you or anything.”
Xia Fei starts to say, laoban, but the words don’t even make it out of his mouth. He crawls, hands rough against the hardwood and then the Persian rug, his cheeks reddened and his hardness straining against his jeans. Right now he must look like a fool, but Vein told him to come so he does. Xia Fei slots himself between Vein’s legs, cranes his neck a little to look at him with attentiveness.
Vein’s free hand dances along the shock collar. “Felix…”
Xia Fei slots himself closer. Daringly his hips twitch, crotch brushing against Vein’s leg. It’s a small acquiescence, an insistent pulse pumping through Xia Fei, a stifled noise leaving his lips. Vein’s hand smooths over his shoulder, firm. When he leans into it, the frown etched on Vein’s features deepens. Maybe Xia Fei should take it as a sign, a warning, but his base desire says to keep on pressing, to rock into it and savour the note of astonishment in the dip of Vein’s brows. The voltage that thrills through him in the midst of this catches him out. It punches a groan out of him. There’s undeniable pleasure curling at the end of it and the embarrassment stays on his skin like static.
“Ah—why—”
“You lied. You’re still turned on, clearly. Rules are rules…”
Xia Fei keeps rocking into the solid pressure of Vein’s leg, inelegant, and mutters, “sorry, sorry,” as if the remorse will reverse the boundary being crossed. He gasps, a small noise, when he feels the slight shift of Vein’s leg pressing back. Subtle, silent permission. Xia Fei wonders if he’s imagining it, scanning Vein’s face for any sign of encouragement. But he’s blank-faced, an ambivalent neutrality Xia Fei can’t decipher.
In the haze of pleasure, the friction not quite enough, Liu Xiao’s voice wafts over: “Did you want them to be true?”
Xia Fei twists his gaze and finds Liu Xiao close behind him. His eyes are crinkled with a knowing smile—knowing the answer to his question already. And Xia Fei knows on some level what he’s getting at, though it takes him a syrupy slow moment for it to crystallise.
But Vein’s eyes narrow in the instant Liu Xiao asks, crimson darkened to something dangerous.
“The rumours, I mean. Did you want them to be true?” Claws digging into a wide open wound, twisting.
“Xavier,” Vein warns, short and sharp.
Though Xia Fei’s eyes are on Vein, he can sense Liu Xiao’s presence, spectral, a different kind of warmth to Vein’s solidity. He chances a glance over his shoulder. Liu Xiao is patient.
“Rules are rules, aren’t they?” Then, lower, meant for Xia Fei, “Not going to talk? Is that a lie by omission?”
“I—” Xia Fei’s head is filled with electric buzz, his legs quivering as he tries to restrain from chasing the humiliating heat. Vein’s grip on his shoulder tightens— “I didn’t—I don’t—”
Liu Xiao’s laughter is light; Xia Fei spots his arm outstretched in his periphery, palm up and open. A request. Clicking his tongue, Vein’s grip on Xia Fei’s shoulder loosens; settles instead on his head, as if in consolation.
“Ask him something else.” Vein does not yield the remote to Liu Xiao, a finality in his tone which hangs heavy in the air. Liu Xiao’s hand hovers there in midair for a beat longer before he drops it casually, lips pursed. Xia Fei wonders whether he imagines the traces of regret somewhere on his face.
Vein’s fingers card through Xia Fei’s hair absentmindedly, before he pauses. His eyes dip down to Xia Fei’s crotch, the hardness bordering on painful. Sighing, Vein nods down to him, “readjust yourself a little.” His voice is firm, but tinged with fond exasperation. Still, Xia Fei cocks his head to the side, unsure what Vein means and whines when Vein pulls his leg back.
The whine tumbles into a wordless exclaim when the heel of one of Vein’s loafers nudges at the inside of his leg, tracing the seam of his jeans. Oh, is all his mind can produce, Vein saying without words: wider. Once Xia Fei complies, spreading his legs and his gaze elsewhere, too embarrassed, Vein gives an assenting hum. The sole of his shoe settles on the outline of Xia Fei’s dick, and just the act of it draws out a moan from his lips.
“How kind,” says Liu Xiao, “you do have a soft spot for him, don’t you?”
Vein clicks his tongue, his eyes on Xia Fei.
Xia Fei who can’t think of anything other than bucking up into the pressure on his cock, this pain distinct from the prick of electricity, his hands braced behind him as he gives himself to it. And Vein just watches him with widened eyes, something lurking behind his expression. His foot stays still, but he lets Xia Fei do as he pleases, desperate pants and gasps filling the silence of the parlour.
Then, spectral warmth. Liu Xiao crouches beside him, reaching out with a deliberate tenderness to brush aside Xia Fei’s bangs, a finger curling behind his ear. It’s done so delicately that it dizzies Xia Fei, his heart stuttering in his chest.
Liu Xiao’s hand lingers there as he says, feather-soft, “Xia Fei, shouldn’t you hold still—to make this easier for your laoban?” Pointedly, he stares up at Vein. An easy smile graces his lips, dropping his hand.
There’s a note of question in Vein’s frown, and though it’s directed towards Liu Xiao, Xia Fei feels a pang of guilt. It must show plainly on his face; after a long stretch of silence, Vein softens slightly. Xia Fei, glassy-eyed, keeps his hips as still as possible, trying to be obedient. Casually observant, Vein’s foot takes an experimental drag down Xia Fei’s clothed cock, heel to toe. Acting on instinct, Xia Fei bucks up into it with a choked cry, his abdomen flexing as he tries to still his hips, stop himself from squirming underneath the hardness of the shoe’s sole.
Vein presses a new button on the remote. Xia Fei expects a shock and goes rigid, automatic, but a ticklish buzz thrums through him. A warning—which shouldn’t turn him on any more than he already is, but he presses his lips shut to stop any sound from escaping.
“Felix, behave,” he scolds, “or the next one will hurt.”
He nods, eyes squeezed shut. His body quivers with the effort it takes to not chase the press of Vein’s loafer, his entire face flushed and mouth half-open.
“Xia Fei, do you have any embarrassing secrets? Something you’d want to take to your grave?”
“Mm….this. This, one hundred percent,” he manages to say, breathing uneven. His eyes flutter open, gaze unfocused.
Liu Xiao laughs. “Aside from this, then. Maybe,” he taps his chin, “an inappropriate dream you once had, or…taking something that wasn’t yours, and perhaps using it in an…unconventional way…?”
The words are like ice down his back. A hazy recollection of Liu Xiao in Xia Fei’s flat, after, clothes crumpled on the floor and blinds drawn; a den of grief, certainly. And a familiar trench coat scrunched up on his bed that Liu Xiao’s eyes seemed to skirt over, letting it rest there without question. Back then, Xia Fei assumed he hadn’t seen it.
“What kind of…no, of course not.” Xia Fei looks at Vein, hopeful he can convince him at least.
But Liu Xiao tuts. “Even if you charm him, you can’t fool me. Try again.”
Again, the odd certainty to his tone rings wrong to Xia Fei. The confident curl of his lips—it dawns on him that there is no coincidence with Liu Xiao. That somehow, he could decipher Xia Fei’s truth from his lies with startling, eerie accuracy. The futility pools in his gut, hot; Xia Fei a trapped animal and Liu Xiao his smiling hunter.
“No…nothing. No secrets,” he mumbles, knowing it’s no use.
The pain, along with the spike of fear, only inflames the arousal. Mouth opened in protest dissolving into pants, his hips jerking up into the steady press of Vein’s shoe. This time, the voltage is searing and seems to go on, like teeth clamped around his neck, and on. Xia Fei starts to babble, unable to keep still like Liu Xiao and Vein has asked him to.
He thinks he curses. He thinks he says, “you’ve got—ah, you’ve got it wrong—I’m not saying—not to laoban—I can’t, I can’t say it—” Vein presses his heel down— “fuck, I can’t, I can’t—punish me however you want, I won’t.”
Once the electric shock subsides, Vein cradles Xia Fei’s face with careful deliberation. His fingertips across Xia Fei’s jaw, tilting his head up towards him.
“Oh, so you’re asking for it, Felix?” Vein holds him there, makes him watch as he clicks the button to increase the voltage. Once, twice, and once more. Xia Fei whines, but it’s a last ditch plea that does no good now. And not with Vein, whose hunger is on display now, his lips a subtle curl which cements the pit in Xia Fei’s stomach. The plain violence, dyed with a more tender tint, flickers through Vein’s face— one which Vein has never allowed himself to direct towards Xia Fei. A kind of desire that Xia Fei finds himself craving. He stays still as a deer in headlights. Calloused fingertips press against his jawline, dipping down to flick one of the buckles of the collar, before Vein leans back in his seat and administers Xia Fei’s punishment.
Xia Fei cries out, the sound half-stuck in his throat, as the heightened current clamps down on his neck and sends tremors through his aching limbs. His hands fly out to grasp onto something on animal instinct, one hand gripping the tailored fabric of Vein’s trousers and the other splayed over Liu Xiao’s knee.
“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” he chants in sordid prayer, the sound twisting into a whimper with the rock of Vein’s heel. The electric current is retribution and Xia Fei a desperate devotee to a god without mercy.
“You asked for this, so be good and withstand it for me,” Vein strokes his hair, his words low and not-quite warm.
Xia Fei makes a noise in his throat.
“You can withstand it.”
Once the shock stops he’s still moving through it, hips stuttering and one hand clamped down on Liu Xiao’s knee like a lifeline. Tiny sounds still escaping his lips. His face is flushed blood-red and sweat pools under his arms, between his legs. A part of Xia Fei wants to stop, exhausted, his dignity wrung out of him, but it’s too far gone.
Liu Xiao’s fingers trace the knuckle of Xia Fei’s hand as he leans in close. “Do you enjoy that it hurts?” Xia Fei shakes his head, no, no. “You don’t like it?”
Feverish delirium courses through him, his words hardly making sense to himself anymore. Un-precise meanderings, false starts. Please, haven’t I been good—punished enough—I can’t, I think I—don’t ask anymore—please, no more. Please, Liu Xiao. Please, Vein, Vein, Vein. The name slips past his lips loosely, like profanity. It feels good, and wrong.
Vein presses the button. Xia Fei writhes; the electricity is teeth tearing into his windpipe, his cry reflexive, suspended like a prey animal caught in the jaws of its captor. But he’s all mixed up, too. Pain blurs and spills over into a terrible pleasure—the sole of Vein’s shoe grinds down on his cock, delibarate and damning. It’s too much. Xia Fei’s head falls back. Everything is static, white noise.
When he comes it’s quiet, and it doesn’t feel good. He presses his lips together but an aborted, broken moan slips past. He's burning all over and ready to recoil. Hasn’t he crossed an untenable line, something he wouldn’t ever be able to take back? Eyes wet, his pants soaked and sticky, come cooling.
Xia Fei’s gaze falls to the ground, his mess. Face numb enough that the tears skimming down his reddened cheeks don’t register properly until Vein’s thumb traces over the soft skin below his eyes, too gentle. Xia Fei chokes back a small, sputtering sob, but Vein hushes the blubbering apologies.
“Too late for all of that; come up here and I’ll get that collar off for you,” before turning to Liu Xiao and saying, “Go and fetch him a towel, Xavier.”
When Xia Fei doesn’t move right away, Vein takes the initiative to tug him up towards the chaise lounge with a practiced ease. Though Xia Fei is still shivering, hot all over, his limbs loosened. He’s half in Vein’s lap. And Vein lets them linger in that closeness. It’s almost an afterglow, a hand on the nape of his neck. Xia Fei lets himself sink into it and slots his face into the crook of Vein’s neck. Beneath him, a sigh, between contentment and resignation. “Felix,” he murmurs. Two hands circle Xia Fei’s neck; Vein tugs on the collar. And Xia Fei, eyes still half-lidded, allows himself to be pulled back. Face to face now, kissing Vein comes to him as instinct and revelation.
But it’s a lopsided, badly placed attempt; Vein doesn’t seem to expect it. Not if his hum of exclamation is anything to go by. Xia Fei’s heart drops to his stomach and he freezes.
Vein laughs, a buzz against his lips. “Not like that,” he murmurs, and takes Xia Fei’s jaw in one hand. He steers their lips together, kisses Xia Fei back. There’s a slow, methodicalness to Vein’s mouth on his; Xia Fei presses back, over eager and breathing hard through his nose, but Vein holds him steady, working his tongue in. Words bubble at the back of Xia Fei’s throat but with no way to get them out it comes out a soft grunt. With one last drag of teeth over his lower lip, Vein parts from him. He’s staring at Xia Fei, expectant.
“Laoban, I didn’t mean to, I don’t—” he starts, shifting out of Vein’s lap to sit beside him more comfortably. “I…no, I did want them to be true sometimes. Sorry.”
Vein’s hands work at unfastening the shock collar. “A craving’s a craving. I guessed as much” says Vein, setting the collar aside.
“What, you—also do you have to put it like that?” Xia Fei wrinkles his nose. At the very least, Vein doesn’t seem repulsed; an easy smile rests on his lips. Xia Fei slumps in relief.
Just then, Liu Xiao returns. The heavy-set doors ease closed, and he comes over with a towel, his expression overtly pleased. Quietly, he passes the towel over, glancing between Vein and Xia Fei before speaking.
“Seems like you two were able to get even closer,” a conversational tone. “A perfect game to foster camaraderie. Very illuminating.”
Xia Fei shoots him a glare, and Vein chuckles coldly. “Quite, Xavier,” he says in English. “Anyway,” Vein goes on, poking Xia Fei’s neck. “Let me have a look—make sure your nerve endings are all in good shape.”
Spluttering, Xia Fei points at his own neck, facing away from Vein to give him better access to assess the damage. “What? My nerves? You’re kidding, right?”
“He is. The electric shocks are all surface level, so there shouldn’t be any nerve damage.”
“Still,” Vein shrugs. “How do you feel, Felix?”
Cool fingertips press at his nape, then move to the side of his neck. A soft squeeze, then release. Xia Fei purses his lips. “Sore,” he says.
“But you survived—Xavier, come, seems fine, right?”
At Vein’s request, Liu Xiao shifts closer to inspect alongside him, a hand placed on Xia Fei’s shoulder that he doesn’t have in him to swat away. Like this, Xia Fei once again feels strangely exposed, hands fidgeting as he tries to hold still with his head hung down.
“It does, though you might have gone overboard towards the end—”
“--He did ask for it.”
“Yes,” says Liu Xiao carefully, “but what voltage did you get to? I think you went a bit past his threshold from before.”
It occurs to Xia Fei that he doesn’t remember how badly it hurt last time—he assumed it was the same, or thereabout, and glares over his shoulder at Vein.
“Laoban, were you seriously trying to torture me?”
Vein laughs, full and long laughter, and ruffles Xia Fei’s hair. The endearment shows through the crinkle in his eyes, teeth glinting in the low light, opened curtains letting the black night in. Liu Xiao’s hiding a smile behind his hand, too. The laughter is entirely at Xia Fei’s expense, his sulking entertainment to them. It only makes him want to sulk more. He knows well enough to expect the callousness, even alongside something softer, more indulgent than sympathy; the eyes on him squinted with satisfaction, having had their fill. But Xia Fei’s mind is still tugging at a thread, his own unanswered question.
Vein ruffles his hair. “You did well playing along.”
“Good, because I’m never doing this again. Hated every second of that.”
Quirking a brow, Vein glances at Liu Xiao. “Xavier, what about now, was that a lie?”
Xia Fei studies Liu Xiao’s even expression, eyes narrowed. With the shock collar off now, there’s no doubt in his mind; Liu Xiao’s detection method has to be something out of the ordinary.
“A lie, of course.” Liu Xiao blinks at Xia Fei, innocent. “Xuezhang, shouldn’t you break out of the habit of lying about your true desires?”
(Something Xia Fei forgot, then remembered:
With Liu Xiao, the line had never been clear. It had an elusive, elasticity to it, fit for purpose. Liu Xiao was a pain in the ass client, and he was watching Xia Fei with a remote in hand, or later, watching Vein watch him, his professional entertainment; he wasn’t a friend; he wasn't not reliable; he’d answer Xia Fei’s calls when Vein couldn’t anymore. Simply put, he was there, a worthy enough receptor for mismanaged grief. Xia Fei couldn’t remember how it happened exactly, only that he needed to be somewhere else—Liu Xiao, benevolent, palm open and pointed towards the sky, took him to some place to forget.
How am I supposed to feel about any of this? A hazy thought that settled beneath the booze and the buzz from the coke Liu Xiao had cut into a neat line, before. Be my guest. Xia Fei had nothing to lose. Drunk and high and dancing. Forgetting what it was that Liu Xiao mentioned earlier in the night when he was still tipsy and agreeable. Liu Xiao completely still and keeping his eyes on Xia Fei, comfortable against the shimmering wall. The slick heat of the bodies on the dancefloor moved to music Xia Fei only half-heard—too gone to make out the warped words of a shitty remix. Xia Fei didn’t think about where the line was. You should be dancing, their bodies jostled closer together until Xia Fei had crowded Liu Xiao to a corner. The music still moved Xia Fei, hips rolling, unintended provocation.
Liu Xiao’s expression lit up in technicolour and strobe lights; shifting with the colours—from a pinched brow to softened surprised, just a flicker, before settling into curiosity, his lips parted. Answering the provocation, Liu Xiao brought them closer, a hand circling Xia Fei’s waist and rolling forwards to meet him. Xia Fei's whole body shuddered with heat. That close, he could trace the slope of Liu Xiao’s eyelid, to his lower lashes, long, and the two moles below one eye, obscured by his glasses frames. When Liu Xiao leaned in, he braced himself for the inevitable kiss, and got Liu Xiao’s lips brushing his ear instead. Bathroom?
As soon as the stall door slammed shut, the roles reversed; Liu Xiao cornered Xia Fei. With nowhere else to go in the small space, Xia Fei stumbled back until he sat down on the closed toilet lid. Gazed up at Liu Xiao and squirmed with equal parts anticipation and resistance. So? Liu Xiao waited as still as a bird of prey. Xia Fei’s words came out clumsy: maybe we shouldn’t—I don’t even want—and his hands reached out regardless. But Liu Xiao only tipped his head to the side, listening for something in the quiet, and chuckled, said You do, I think. Try again.
I don’t want to kiss you, he mumbled, letting the lie sit in the small space between them, pulling Liu Xiao by the waist with needy hands. And Liu Xiao letting Xia Fei do it, settling on his lap and then sealing his lips over Xia Fei’s, sliding his tongue in his mouth. The desire he’d half-heartedly hid given an answer. A hot and heady desecration, all the poison in his system heightening his senses. The buzz of the faulty lightbulb above and the hum of the speaker’s low bass two walls away; the burn of Liu Xiao’s hands holding his face and trawling through his hair, their bodies moving against each other, and a low groan escaping his lips—Liu Xiao easing away. Momentarily, his eyes seemed to convey some tender fondness that left Xia Fei feeling exposed, but it vanished—Xia Fei wondered whether he’d seen it right at all. Should we do another line, while we’re here? A return to some semblance of normalcy, with Liu Xiao clambering off him and then the rest of the night blurring like the sea of dancing bodies, Xia Fei forgetting finally.
Later, after the comedown and the hangover, after stewing indoors with regret and a headache, he had a job to do. Sitting there in the afternoon with Liu Xiao by his side, his thoughts strayed back to the faulty lightbulb and filthy club cubicle, Liu Xiao looking down at him, Liu Xiao’s lips on him, the blank space between that and waking in his bed, alone—the jolt of a shock, the arousal repressed. The awareness that he was being broadcast.)
Liu Xiao’s voice is dripping with the kind of condescension crafted for getting underneath Xia Fei’s skin, the title he uses doubly so. But, past that, the simplicity in Liu Xiao calling out his lie, the immediacy of it, clicks into place the missing piece.
“I’ve got it,” says Xia Fei. He points at Liu Xiao, and savours the expression that falls on his and Vein’s face. “I figured out your trick.”