lay 'em down, feel 'em up
by fruitjuicer

lay 'em down, feel 'em up

fruitjuicer

Summary

“Do you know how?” Wang Yizhou asks, but it’s all a light tease, and he’s already taking his hand away, as if in expectation.

“Nope!” says Ji Li, confident. Then, in a move that he will recognise, in hindsight, to be the start of the complete undoing of his whole night, he adds, “But I’ll learn. Really quick.” He fishes out his phone from the pocket of his shorts, and holds it up, almost conspiratorial. “Bet I’ll have it down in one video. I’m very resourceful like that.”

Notes

Imported from Archive of Our Own. Original work id: 31286897.

Chapter 1

Ji Li is just still on the right side of touch starved and bored out of his mind when he gets the reply from Wang Yizhou that essentially breaks down to, once his typical pleasantries are out of the way: he has his apartment to himself. Would Ji Li, being that he is currently in the area, like to come over, eat too much food, drink his body’s water content in beer, and probably fall asleep in the middle of some movie he realises he didn’t actually want to watch after all about ten minutes in?

Sure, it doesn’t say all of that additional stuff, precisely, but Ji Li knows how to read through the lines, and how their nights tend to go, from experience, so. He bids adieu to his hotel room, laments the imminent damage he’s about to wreak on his diet and the exercise he’s going to have to subject himself to in order to break even, then texts Wang Yizhou back to let him know that no, he doesn’t need to come pick him up, that’s fine, he’ll head on over soon — when he’s already well out the door and on his way.

Of course, he shows up before the food has arrived, because he likes to keep Wang Yizhou guessing, a little, and Wang Yizhou either hasn’t learned better yet or just indulges him with it, like Wang Yizhou indulges him with innumerable other little things. It gives Ji Li something to be a brat about, anyway, as he kicks his way out of his shoes and meanders his way into the apartment to take up his usual position, draped over as much of the couch as he can stretch and contort himself to cover. It’s not like he couldn’t leave enough room for Wang Yizhou to sidle in alongside him if he tried, so he has fun with it, commandeers the pillows, and proceeds to not get up for the next few hours, save to sit up to eat, drink, and sling his arm around Wang Yizhou’s shoulder to crowd up in his space when he really wants to make sure Wang Yizhou’s undivided attention is on whatever nonsense he’s spouting at any given moment.

It’s easy to lose time, like that, just talking and messing around. Wang Yizhou asks after his cats, his family. Ji Li asks after his boxing thing, then mimes retching when Wang Yizhou invites him to come along to training. It’s nice. It’s always nice, though, so it’s not as if that’s a surprise. The only thing that stands out to Ji Li more than anything is that Wang Yizhou is matching his pace drink for drink, which is definitely an outlier. Ji Li figures he might have something on his mind, or might be having trouble sleeping, but puts it aside to ask after later, when they’re both actually sober for the conversation.

Ji Li is a few good leaps past pleasantly buzzed when they swing around to the movie portion of the evening, even with all the food in his gut sopping up the beer, and he makes it a noteworthy twenty minutes through the film he’s picked before he starts getting antsy. Weirdly, maybe, rather than leave it on to run as background noise, Wang Yizhou flicks it off when Ji Li makes his boredom more overtly and verbally known, and then scoots up the couch so he can sink against the back of it, hands folding in his lap before one flies back up to clasp his neck, mouth tugging around a discomforted twinge.

Ji Li, of course, expectedly, clambers up to join him at his side, and immediately insinuates himself into his space, slanting a bit into his shoulder. “What’s the matter? Sore?”

“No,” Wang Yizhou lies, transparent, then, “a little.”

“Serves you right,” says Ji Li, “all that weight training. It’s bad for you.” It’s bad for Ji Li, specifically, really, but that’s both here and there and best left unsaid.

Wang Yizhou laughs, but his breath snags around it, and he kneads at his neck again as his mouth crimps dangerously close to a grimace. Ji Li, because he’s a highly empathetic person, and a great friend, takes pity on him.

“Here, I’ll rub it for you,” he offers, propping his chin on Wang Yizhou’s shoulder, nose ghosting against the back of his hand, clasped over his neck. “Give you a massage. Because I am really, really great like that.”

“Do you know how?” Wang Yizhou asks, but it’s all a light tease, and he’s already taking his hand away, as if in expectation.

“Nope!” says Ji Li, confident. Then, in a move that he will recognise, in hindsight, to be the start of the complete undoing of his whole night, he adds, “But I’ll learn. Really quick.” He fishes out his phone from the pocket of his shorts, and holds it up, almost conspiratorial. “Bet I’ll have it down in one video. I’m very resourceful like that.”

“Very.” Wang Yizhou straightens up. He doesn’t start to peer over towards Ji Li’s hands right away, instead politely averting his eyes, like a gentleman, until Ji Li has finished unlocking his screen and tabbing into his internet browser app. Ji Li nudges him with his elbow when he’s done, turns the phone on its side to flip the screen into landscape, and angles it towards him. It’s important that they can both see what’s happening while he fat-fingers the keys until he manages to type something practically coherent into the search bar through the power of determination and autocorrect, after all.

“Absolutely,” Ji Li continues. “I’m amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Wang Yizhou agrees, because of course he does, and Ji Li definitely doesn’t shiver a little from both the sound of it and the scrape of Wang Yizhou’s breath against his hair as he leans in closer.

“This one looks promising,” Ji Li says, squinting at the thumbnail, before he signs his death warrant and hits play. In the ensuing seconds it takes for the first extremely fake moan to blare out, full-blast, from his phone’s speakers, Ji Li manages to mute it, pause it, and fumble it so clumsily that he actually flings it to the floor. It makes a sound when it hits the tile that Ji Li is pretty sure phones should not make, and he casts his eyes up towards the Heavens and prays, under his breath, that it was either the gorilla glass, the hard case, or a combination of both, that just smashed into several thousand itty bitty pieces.

There’s a really, hauntingly long shocked silence, and then Wang Yizhou bursts into snorting laughter, which is even worse, and makes Ji Li clam up with a whole new panic.

“It happens,” Wang Yizhou tries to comfort him, in-between wheezes. He does not elaborate on the ‘it’ that supposedly happens.

“It does not happen!” Ji Li protests, frantic, as he scrambles to his feet. He also does not elaborate on the ‘it’ in question. It takes him a moment to feel like he’s entirely upright after he’s standing, body feeling doused in a fog from all the beer and food both. “Has it ever happened to you?”

“No,” Wang Yizhou admits.

“See?!” This is the worst. This is actually the worst. He mutters as much, under his breath, as he pads over the few paces the phone has skidded along the floor and stoops down to assess the damage.

“I’ll help,” Wang Yizhou says, really close, suddenly, and Ji Li almost jumps straight out of his skin when he sees and feels Wang Yizhou settle down at his side. Ji Li turns his phone over, and is immediately grateful for two things: the screen has timed out, and it only looks like the screen guard has smashed. His fingers itch to pull it away, but it’s not like he’s just got a spare on him, and knowing his luck, now, he’ll drop it again.

It was a pretty good throw. Nice clean break. Ji Li might even be proud of it, later, when he’s gotten over the hurdle of the mortifying ordeal of frisbeeing his phone because of unexpected porn in the first place.

“I don’t need help,” Ji Li sulks, turning what he hopes is an especially cutting glower on Wang Yizhou as he puffs out his cheeks.

Wang Yizhou just smiles, unaffected, and reaches between them to take Ji Li’s face in one of his hands. He presses down, forcing the air out of Ji Li’s cheeks in a sputtering rush, and has the audacity to just laugh again when Ji Li smacks his forearm.

“Stop it!” Ji Li sulks even more, springing to his feet. “I’m cross, I’m being cross right now,” then, “ow,” he adds after a beat, shaking out his hand.

Wang Yizhou rises to his feet with an obnoxiously unfair level of grace, considering all the alcohol he’s imbibed, and then, to Ji Li’s consternation and also terror, wraps his arms around Ji Li’s waist, drawing him up against him in one effortless tug. “Don’t be cross,” he says, very sincerely, despite the smile in his voice, mouth pressed to Ji Li’s hair, “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Ji Li snips. It comes out quicker than he wants it to, rushed out by the hammer of his heart. He hopes Wang Yizhou can’t feel that; he’s really been through enough over the last few minutes to last a good lifetime. “Are you made of stone? I’m wounded.”

“Let me see,” Wang Yizhou says, and before Ji Li can object, if he wanted to object, at least, Wang Yizhou is unwinding one of his arms from his middle to pluck up his hand, lifting it to face level, head tilting forward until his cheek is against Ji Li’s ear.

And Ji Li— okay. His brain to mouth filter? Relatively non-existent, as a general rule. After a few drinks? Forget the relatively part. So he can’t entirely be held accountable, then, for the way he sucks in a breath and then blurts out, like an idiot, “Da-ge should kiss it better.”

There’s a few seconds pause, in which Ji Li contemplates, completely seriously, wresting himself from Wang Yizhou’s grip and beelining straight for the sink to drown himself under the faucet, before Wang Yizhou drags his hand up the last little gap and presses a kiss to Ji Li’s palm with an over-exaggerated flourish that should not send a jolt of heat careening down his spine. Ji Li makes a sound which he hopes comes off as indignance, because it certainly does not sound indignant in his own ears, muffed beneath the race of his blood.

“Did that help?” Wang Yizhou asks brightly, smile broad against Ji Li’s palm. “Do you feel better?”

Ji Li, who is metaphorically strangling himself right now in an attempt to get out of his present situation and back to stable ground, just makes a choked sound that he really does intend to be Yes. Unfortunately, it sounds more like— not even no, just nonsense.

Maybe he shouldn’t have metaphorically choked himself so hard that he physically throttled his throat, but, anyway. He’s not going to need to worry about that shortly, because he’s going to die of mortification. He’s absolutely going to die. If he doesn’t drop dead in a few seconds from his blood running cold, he’s just going to take it in his own hands and make it happen by pulling the broken shards of his screen guard off and swallowing them whole.

He can feel every inch of Wang Yizhou tense up, pressed against his back, and he’s near-certain that it’s not his breath that he hears hitch, because Ji Li is definitely not breathing, not right now. Maybe he won’t even need to choke on his broken screen guard, maybe he’ll just faint because he’s not getting any air, and Wang Yizhou will be too stunned or something to catch him. Ji Li will crack his head clean open on the tile, one and done. That would be nice. That would be great, actually, anytime, now—

It’s a bit rude of Wang Yizhou, really, to interrupt his screaming, flaming train of thought by bringing Ji Li’s hand back up the little space it fell away over the last eternity of seconds. It’s a lot rude of him to press another kiss against it, one that lingers, as his other arm slides out from around Ji Li’s waist so his hand can settle in on Ji Li’s hip, fingers clawing down on the bone in a tentative little fetter.

“Feel better?” Wang Yizhou asks again, and Ji Li genuinely can’t tell if his voice is any rougher, not through his own heart now trying to beat its way out through the bars of his ribs. He’s having an out of body experience; that must be it. He’s actually passed out, and he’s having a terrifying, terrible, but also marginally better coma-dream about the divergence his night took, as if it’s barely scripted porn instead of a travesty, and him showing Wang Yizhou a few seconds of lewd massage on his phone was the hook to the main event.

“No,” Ji Li manages, a little more coherently, this time, at least. Small miracles— except the rattled gasp that punctuates it all after undoes any flimsy stretch or sense of composure, when Wang Yizhou just. Just presses his lips back against Ji Li’s palm, on the tail end of his sentence, mouthing at it, clumsy but undeniably deliberate. His breath is hot and damp, and when Ji Li— not flinches, not quite, because the movement doesn’t get there, doesn’t even need to get there; the moment he starts to jerk with whatever it is is the moment the hand on his hip tightens. Then Wang Yizhou is dragging him back the sliver he’s shied forward, and further, even further, arching Ji Li’s spine with it, just the fraction of a curve it takes to get his ass and the backs of his thighs to press against the line of Wang Yizhou behind him.

It’s hot, and jarring, and Ji Li feels himself lurch with it, like his insides are flipping over themselves. He knows he’s not going to fall over, that he’s not that clumsy, and that Wang Yizhou won’t let him, at that, but he flails anyway, reaches blindly out behind himself to grab at Wang Yizhou’s thigh for balance, almost dropping his phone back to the floor all over again before he tightens his fingers back down around it. It’s a good thing he did, because he feels Wang Yizhou’s breath punch out against the heel of his palm, feels the dart of his tongue against his bare skin, and Ji Li’s knees buckle better than he’s ever been able to make them do on stage command.

Wang Yizhou catches him. Already has him caught, really, and could hold him up easily enough with just his hand around his wrist and on his hip, but it’s for the best, really, just to be safe, that he nudges his knee between Ji Li’s legs to part them wide, too. That he tips Ji Li’s weight back so he’s supported by Wang Yizhou’s chest, too, and the brace of his thigh.

Ji Li is very much trying to rerail his inferno-wracked wreck of a train of thought, which would be hard for anyone, were they in his place, his place being straddling Wang Yizhou’s thigh. Even if they personified both the stone and sober of stone cold sober. He definitely thought he would be way cooler, himself, in the not insignificant hypotheticals he’s run in the past regarding this kind of situation, but as it stands, he is decidedly not cool. He’s actually pretty sure he’s shaking so bad that it’s shifting Wang Yizhou against him, feeding his own shudders right back in against his spine, and it all makes his teeth click together loudly when he tries to swallow to wet his run-dry mouth.

He tries to get his feet back underneath him properly, in a completely innocent move, when he feels Wang Yizhou lift his lips from his palm, except moving just— drags him up Wang Yizhou’s thigh, and whatever strength Ji Li’s scrounged up is sapped out again by the scrape of that blunt pressure along the insides of his thighs, over bare skin and his rucked up shorts. Ji Li really wants to make believe, at that, that the sound that slams out of his mouth is a moan, at least, something breathy and nice, but it’s not even close. It’s a damn death knell, and how quickly Wang Yizhou gathers him back up against his chest properly, supporting the whole of his weight, just proves it, that Ji Li is actually dying.

Ji Li flexes his toes on impulse, and confirms his feet aren’t actually touching the floor, anymore. At least, they don’t feel like it. He thinks he feels the tiles ghost against his toes when he points them down, but he also can’t be completely sure that he’s not just numbly detaching from anything lower than his knee out of self-preservation. Either way, it’s— it is really hot in a way Ji Li can’t mentally process, right now, at all.

“Are you okay?” Wang Yizhou asks, quiet. Ji Li would love to be touched by his concern, truly, because his da-ge really is the best, but instead all he’s touched by is Wang Yizhou’s hot breath brushing against the shell of his ear, and he scratches his nails up Wang Yizhou’s thigh as he fists his hand, grip clamping down tight on the fabric of his shorts. His palm feels slippery around his phone. Nothing is boding well, right now, at all.

“Yeah,” he manages, and it’s strained and strangled, but it’s also a complete word, and it’s fully comprehendible, so Ji Li’s going to take the victory. In fact, he’s going to take the victory and immediately slam dunk it off the balcony, by adding, after a breath, “It still hurts.” Because he can’t let himself get too comfortable or confident, here, now, can he?

Wang Yizhou— bless him, but fuck him, too, because it only takes him half a beat before he says, “Where does it hurt?” voice warm, and soft, and utterly unfair.

Ji Li just laughs, high, because the alternative available to him is very much a sob. The sob ends up coming out on its heels anyway, cutting him off, when Wang Yizhou drops his wrist, ducks his face, and Ji Li feels the scrape of his lips on his throat. They press down on his pulse, a tease of teeth and wet to the touch, but nothing more, nothing else, nothing yet.

Ji Li really wants to make a complaint to whatever deity, if existent, is assigned to make a mess out of the slapstick comedy parading as his life. He was really good at improv at SIVA! Amazing, even! So it’s unacceptable, it’s completely unacceptable, for the next words out of his mouth to be, “Not there.” It’s also unacceptable for them to sound like that, all scratchy and squeaky, but he doesn’t think his many complaints about his unfair and unjust circumstances are reaching any ears but ones that are either deaf or just delighted by his misfortune.

Wang Yizhou doesn’t even lift his mouth off Ji Li’s throat when he drags it down, lower, into the divot where it starts to feed into his shoulder, pushing the neck of his shirt aside to press another kiss against him. It’s firmer, but still chaste, close-mouthed, nothing but the threat of teeth and damp.

“Here?” he asks, voice roughened.

It feels like Wang Yizhou’s hands are shaking; Ji Li’s sure of it, they’re a little out of beat and out of sync to the rattle of his own shoulders. And yet, and still, he’s somehow managing to sound so clear— Ji Li really can’t understand it. It’s not as if Ji Li’s not experienced, so, is it an age thing? Do you just fall into being— adept, at falling into these sorts of— whatever this is. Whatever you can even call having your thigh shoved between someone’s legs while you’re mouthing at their throat, both tipsy, and vice versa.

Ji Li is drowning out of his depth, and Wang Yizhou is doing anything and everything but helping, but Ji Li also doesn’t want him to stop. If there’s some sort of standardised point where you can laugh this sort of thing off as a joke, surely they must have shot well past it by now, so he clears his throat, then swallows a few times for good measure. Manages, after that, to croak out, “Yeah,” in a way that doesn’t embarrass himself, then, “I’m gonna fall over,” in a way that utterly humiliates him instead.

Wang Yizhou takes his mouth away, and it drags a shameful whine out of Ji Li to lose the touch of it, because it’s very much the opposite of his intent and request. Wang Yizhou gently pries his phone from his clammy fingers, slides it into his pocket, and between the breath he has to take to steady himself from the feel of Wang Yizhou’s fingers stroking along his thigh, he’s lifted his mouth to his ear, the caress of it washing out the sensation of his arms wrapping around Ji Li’s waist.

“Don’t worry,” Wang Yizhou murmurs, “Da-ge’s got you,” voice so heavy it blurs out and bleeds into something dark. Ji Li doesn’t get to catch his breath again, not when Wang Yizhou starts lifting him like he’s nothing, up off his feet, and walking him backwards, his weight completely supported against his chest. Ji Li feels it a few steps and seconds later, through the stunned numbness of his own slack body, the way it reverberates back through his thighs when Wang Yizhou’s calves clip the couch. Then he’s following it, bending at the knees, sinking down and bringing Ji Li in to follow, in to sit between his sprawled thighs, brought up flush into his lap. The graze of his mouth against Ji Li’s ear, his hair, is as stark and hot and unmistakable as the hotter press of his cock, half-hard, against his ass.

If the prod of Wang Yizhou’s cock against him, a blunt pressure digging in just tight enough through the layers of their shorts that Ji Li can honest to fuck feel it twitch against him when he hitches his hips back into it wasn’t enough to send him careening into the present, log him on into the proceedings, well, he’d be a lost cause entirely. As it is, he could not be more aware of his whole body, right now, and how that bleeds over into an awareness of Wang Yizhou’s body. Of the drag of his arms as they unfurl from Ji Li’s waist only for his hands to smooth back in to fill the space he’s carved out and left, one coming to rest on his hip, the other palming the flat of his belly, fingers fanning out. And, yeah, Ji Li’s known how big Wang Yizhou is compared to him, since it’s not as if Wang Yizhou hasn’t held him like this before, he just hasn’t held him like this, before.

It’s all a lot, suddenly, how Wang Yizhou’s hands almost wrap around the whole of his waist; how they probably could, if Wang Yizhou wanted them to, and how they definitely would, if Ji Li asked for them to. That’s not even— that’s not even touching how big Wang Yizhou’s cock feels, not even fully hard, not as swollen and heavy as it can get against his ass. It’s just resting there, rocking, just slightly and just so, when Ji Li pushes back into it, but it’s so blunt and huge already that Ji Li feels heat lance up his gut. Feels a tightness in his throat that’s hard to swallow around, like he’s already being filled up with it, and that doesn’t promise much for how well he’s going to— he’s not going to be able to handle it. Not with how he groans, hoarse, head spinning, his own cock throbbing where it’s pinned up against the seam of his hip, already leaking wet and slick at the tip.

Ji Li’s hands fall away from him, find his sides, fingernails catching on the couch and on Wang Yizhou, and he can’t help it, the way he just lets all of his weight pool into the heels of his palms. How he falls back into it, ruts himself against Wang Yizhou’s cock, head tipping until it actually meets the slope of Wang Yizhou’s shoulder, because Wang Yizhou lets it, even turns his own face so he can mouth at Ji Li’s cheek. His lips are trembling, and his hands angle the awkward writhes of the arching line of Ji Li’s frame until not an inch of him doesn’t drag over the swell of Wang Yizhou’s cock as he— he doesn’t even ride it. It’s some half-formed mockery of it, a shade of the real thing that Ji Li’s lunged out for because he doesn’t think he can wait long enough to get to it properly.

The moment it actually hits him that he’s probably going to come in his shorts, all over himself, while he’s grinding himself down in Wang Yizhou’s lap, own cock untouched, Ji Li whines, the sound long and choked up and ripped raw from his throat. It’s actually happening— this is definitely happening, to him, right now, and he can’t get his head around it, how could he hope to get his head around it?

Ji Li feels Wang Yizhou’s breath catch against his cheek, feels his lips close down around a kiss that’s more teeth, now, something edging towards a bite, and when he opens his mouth again, Ji Li doesn’t even wait for it. He doesn’t even know what’s supposed to come, but he doesn’t even care. “Please,” he forces out, tongue thick around the word, bucking into Wang Yizhou’s hands.

There’s no way Wang Yizhou knows what he’s asking for, because even Ji Li doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Wang Yizhou makes a little gentling sound against his cheek, soft, shushing him, really, and the hand on his belly starts to drift, drags in a half-circle before it presses down to fill in the space Ji Li makes for it when he sucks in a ragged, panting breath.

“You’re okay,” Wang Yizhou tells him, pushing each word into the blood-hot skin of his cheek, the jut of his jaw, “that’s it, I’ve got you.”

Ji Li moans, squirming, eyes squeezing shut. “Do you?” slips out, because he can’t clamp his teeth shut fast around it, nonsense to answer Wang Yizhou’s own senseless assurances that shouldn’t make Ji Li burn all over like they do. He can feel sweat pricking the back of his neck, and the snub of his cock up against his too-tight shorts.

“Yeah,” is all Wang Yizhou says, sweet and searing him through. His hand moves from Ji Li’s hip in one long drag down his thigh that scrapes through him and opens Ji Li up under his skin, rucking his shorts over his knee before he hooks his fingers underneath the crook of it. He pulls him up, spreads his thigh out nice and wide like Ji Li’s still nothing at all to move, and it makes him spill down Wang Yizhou’s chest, makes his ass slide down his cock in a way that strings something broken and hungry out of Ji Li’s mouth from the pit of his chest.

“Yeah,” Wang Yizhou repeats, rougher, thighs flexing where they’re cradling him, his hips twitching up. Ji Li feels an ache streak across the inside of his thigh as Wang Yizhou coaxes him to plant his foot on the couch, fingers petting at his belly through his shirt when Ji Li whimpers out. “Yeah, I do, I’ve got you, come here.”

Ji Li doesn’t need to ask where here is, doesn’t think he could get his mouth to work around it, anyway, where it’s slack and parted around his shallow, straining breaths. It’s good, though: Wang Yizhou doesn’t make him. Wang Yizhou knows where he wants him, and he’s happy to show Ji Li where he wants him, too, going slow for him so Ji Li can follow every inch of the drag of Wang Yizhou’s hand out from behind his knee. It strokes up his trembling thigh, maps his waist, trails the fan of his ribs— when the cup of his palm skims over his chest and rolls against his nipple, Ji Li keens, then burns up with it, somewhow, impossibly hotter and worse, gut clenching with something thick and mottled and mortified. Something that clots and curdles when Wang Yizhou’s palm just lingers over the swell of his pectoral, kneading, almost idle.

Then, he turns his wrist, slow, going off course, stroking and circling until the pads of his fingers find the nub and pinch at it, hard enough to slap Ji Li’s breath out of him in one heaving hiss. His heel digs into the couch as he bucks up against the brace of Wang Yizhou’s hands, straining.

“You like that,” Wang Yizhou murmurs, and there’s no question in it, just awe and something else that’s too much for Ji Li to make sense of, not when Wang Yizhou’s fingers are rolling his nipple into a peak, the scrape of his shirt and Wang Yizhou’s callouses both making him feel all too raw and sensitive. He feels the hand on his belly start to slide lower, lower, until it finds the line of his cock and closes over the whole of it, squeezing down, hot and hard and perfect.

Ji Li wants to say something, something like Yeah or I do, wants to know what to do with his hands besides leave them flexing and flitting about uselessly at his sides, but he gets neither. He can only cry out, too loud, instead, deafening even in his own ears, as he tries to fuck himself up into the clasp of Wang Yizhou’s hand between his spread out thighs. He thinks, faintly, that he’s trying to get into it as much as he’s trying to get away from it, out from beneath and between the overwhelming pressure of the sensation of being trapped between Wang Yizhou’s chest and his hands.

“Oh,” Ji Li manages to mumble out, stupidly, when he finds his voice, somewhere around the point Wang Yizhou’s thumb shucks up the hem of his shirt. It dips to hook in his waistband, the blunt nail teasing at the soft smattering of hair dusting down his navel, the rest of his hand still pressed, heady, dizzyingly, against Ji Li’s shaft, the knead of it lighter but still an insistent constant.

Wang Yizhou doesn’t stop, but he definitely slows, definitely steadies the roll of his hips against Ji Li’s ass to something gradual, controlled, his other hand smoothing over his sternum to tease his other nipple into a tight, hard peak beneath his shirt.

It all gives Ji Li a bit of space, almost, to catch his breath, so he’s no longer feeling like he’s about to white out, on top of everything else happening. Even if it doesn’t do much more than that, doesn’t temper his thundering heart or slow his rushing blood, what with Wang Yizhou’s touch and the overbearing embrace of his entire presence stirring the heat churning in him to melting point, breaking point— it’s something. With something, Ji Li can go “Oh, wow, wow—” breathy and whiny and maybe a little hysterical, too, for good measure.

Wang Yizhou doesn’t laugh at him; he would never laugh at him, of course, not when it’s something like this, a bit too bare to be safe, but still, it’s nice of him not to. It’s nice how he starts pressing kisses against his face, his ear, his hair, any bit of Ji Li that he can reach. It’s still hot, and it’s still hungry, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to drown underneath it, just that it’s there. That it’s good, good like Wang Yizhou’s hands on him, his thighs around him, his cock against him.

“Ji Li,” he murmurs, voice rough around it, toeing towards hoarse, wrecked. Ji Li feels his chest clench with the thought that whips through him, that he did that, made his voice turn out like that. Even though it hasn’t been his best hour, or even his brightest moment, in many respects, Wang Yizhou is seeming at least a fraction as much ruined as Ji Li absolutely feels, and it’s his fault. Ji Li squirms up into his hand with a gasp, feeling Wang Yizhou’s thumbnail catch between his waistband and his bare skin, dipping deeper down behind the fabric, teasing at the thicker thatch of hair trailing down between his legs.

“Yeah,” Ji Li pants, “yeah, please.” He figures he needs to; he figures Wang Yizhou needs it, because that’s the kind of person Wang Yizhou is, and Ji Li knows he’s absolutely lost down the road of too far gone for him that even that thought makes his cock twitch and throb. He gets his useless hands up, at last, twists and tucks them until he’s grappling Wang Yizhou’s thighs in a white-knuckled grip.

“Please,” Ji Li whines out again, impatient, and Wang Yizhou doesn’t keep him waiting, not after that, apparently satisfied and encouraged enough to lift his hand from Ji Li’s chest. He wraps it around his throat, palm a slack collar, and his fingers tilt Ji Li’s jaw so Ji Li is turning up and towards him, getting to an angle that’s just right for Wang Yizhou to press their mouths together.

Ji Li expects something gentle, in the back of his head, so it’s a genuine shock to him when he doesn’t— Wang Yizhou doesn’t lead him into it, just licks straight into his mouth, harsh and wet. He holds him there to take it, muffling Ji Li’s hiccuping whine when he gets the rest of his hand down his shorts to pull his cock out, hand wrapping around the whole of it. His thumb snubs at the tip, smearing his precome around where its leaking, steadily, from his slit, and the sound is filthy and slick and humiliating for how wet it is, for how Ji Li can feel Wang Yizhou jerk against him as he realises just how wet Ji Li is. His teeth graze Ji Li’s bottom lip as he pants out in a rush, before he’s surging back, tongue laving in past Ji Li’s teeth, curving against the roof of his mouth.

It’s a pretty bad angle— or, well, it’s not like anything is capable of being bad, when it’s all wrapped up and around Wang Yizhou’s hand jacking his cock; when it’s all a part of Wang Yizhou wetting the glide of his strokes with Ji Li’s precome until his cock is slippery in his fist, sliding through it without resistance. But Ji Li’s thigh is starting to cramp, where Wang Yizhou has propped his foot up on the couch to better hold him open, and the strain is thrumming through his muscles, making them all tight and knotted under his skin. The sound he makes into Wang Yizhou’s mouth when a rock of his hips jams through him, jarring his leg, isn’t all pleasure.

Wang Yizhou tips his face back to get a proper look at him, his eyes sharp and clear despite the blush mottling his cheeks, his mouth red and kiss-bruised. Ji Li definitely wants to crawl behind the couch, or something, somewhere in the middle of feeling more aroused than he’s ever felt in his life, because he’s pretty sure at his age he should not be the one aching in his hips from holding his legs out for a few minutes.

His hand doesn’t entirely stop, where it’s nice and tight around Ji Li’s shaft, fingers rolling his tip between them, but Wang Yizhou’s other hand does stroke down his throat, over the tremor in his tendons and the slam of his pulse. He traces the slope of Ji Li’s shoulder before his palm finds his ribs and lies flat across the bow of them, fingers almost slotting between the delicate, laddering bones when they fan out. Ji Li feels it coming— that Wang Yizhou is going to ask him if he’s okay, and he doesn’t want him to, both because he’s embarrassed and because he’s positive he’ll probably come all over the both of them if he hears it. He tries to crane his neck to get his mouth back on Wang Yizhou’s, trying to distract him, and he whines when Wang Yizhou lets him get that far but doesn’t let him deepen it, hushing him between shallow bites to the swell of Ji Li’s bottom lip when Ji Li tries to work his tongue in past Wang Yizhou’s teeth.

“Come on,” Wang Yizhou says against him, and he’s smiling a little against Ji Li’s mouth, which is unfair, and an utter diversion from his hand petting down his ribs to find his hip. Ji Li only realises he’s started to move when Wang Yizhou takes his hand off his cock, too, and he gets an indignant sound out before he’s lifted, scrabbling at air. Wang Yizhou draws around his side and slides in between Ji Li’s legs, draping his thighs over his lap as he starts to shuffle them both back.

Ji Li helps. He definitely helps. He gets his hands underneath him and everything, even if Wang Yizhou does end up shouldering most of his weight as he gets him onto the couch proper, gets him propped up by the cushions instead of Wang Yizhou’s chest. He strokes his hands down Ji Li’s flanks in little lines that he can tell from Wang Yizhou’s tender expression are meant to be soothing, but just end up going straight to Ji Li’s cock.

And, yeah, okay, maybe it’s really hot that Wang Yizhou can just move him around like this, and it is definitely something Ji Li has thought about, fleetingly, once or thrice, when Wang Yizhou has put his hands on him and moved him around in other circumstances. Ones where he hasn’t also had Ji Li’s cock out for him, waistband pinning it against his belly, precome dripping onto his shirt. Anyone would think about it, though, the moment someone like Wang Yizhou got their hands around their hips or their waist or their arms, shuffling them into a different place, no real force behind it, just a gentle sort of guidance, even when the motion is a tug or a pull.

It’s not that Ji Li even thinks he’s easy to move, either, everyone around him is just, freakishly proportioned, and all their hands are at hip level, and— the thought flits out of his head with a whimper when Wang Yizhou’s fingers hook into his waistband properly. He pulls Ji Li’s legs up and bends them back, water-easy, to pull them free alongside his briefs, stripping him down until he’s left naked, save for his shirt.

“Hey,” Wang Yizhou whispers, and then he’s right there, bent over Ji Li, one hand bearing down on the couch at his hip, bracing his weight, the other brushing up Ji Li’s throat. His fingers curve behind the shell of Ji Li’s ear, dipping into the ruffled mess of his hair, and his thumb comes to rest on his jaw. It’s tender, and it makes Ji Li feel opened up and shown around in a whole new way to just having his cock in Wang Yizhou’s hand and his tongue in his mouth. It’s hard to breathe through; made worse when Wang Yizhou’s thumb just circles, drifts, until it presses against the corner of his lips, the pad touch-rough on his tongue when Ji Li laps at it, more out of nerves than for any particular purpose. The impulse pays out when Wang Yizhou’s eyes darken, and he shifts it, pushes it further in past the seam, until his nail taps against Ji Li’s top teeth when he parts his mouth around it properly.

“Uh,” Ji Li breathes out in a rush, spinning out, a little, from the unsteadying sensation of having Wang Yizhou— hold his mouth open, almost. His thumb is just shy of pushing Ji Li’s tongue down to gag him, which is, yeah, that’s something that has the heat in his gut clamping down in on itself, his hips twitching up, bucking into nothing. “You’re, ah, can we—” He wants to say that Wang Yizhou is too dressed, but the glances he keeps stealing down between his spread legs, to where his thighs are framing the bulge of Wang Yizhou’s clothed cock, jutting between them, looking—

Yeah, Ji Li really doesn’t think, as much as he’d like to see Wang Yizhou’s cock, and feel it properly, that he’s going to be able to manage to hold off coming if he actually does. Not when the heat and the need has barely receded during this whole breather interlude. Ji Li needs a few more minutes, so he gets the safer bet past his tongue instead. “Wanna kiss.” He manages to swallow down the please, but only because it’s too much, it’ll be too much for him.

Wang Yizhou doesn’t need manners, anyway, not from Ji Li. Not when he’s already leaning in the last few inches between them on the first word, and waiting, polite and patient enough for the two of them, for Ji Li to finish the last, so he can give him what he must have known he was going to ask for anyway. He presses their mouths together, obscene, feeding his tongue in past his thumb where it hooks down on Ji Li’s teeth, opening him up wide to it. His other hand tangles down between their legs, pinning Ji Li’s cock impossibly flatter against his belly, heel to the root and fingers fanning around the tip, palm curving, idle, against his shaft. He kneads at the underside, catching the way it twitches and jerks under the attention just as his mouth catches Ji Li’s whine and swallows it down whole.

Somewhere between one kiss and the next, between Wang Yizhou’s hand turning over to fist Ji Li’s cock, he slides his thumb back out of Ji Li’s mouth, and Ji Li feels the damp smear of his own spit on the inside of his wrist, a breath later. Wang Yizhou takes his hand from its clutch at his side and brings it over, down into their laps, but not quite further, not yet. He drags their mouths apart just enough that Ji Li can breathe in, sharp, and see the question in the black of Wang Yizhou’s eyes, blown wide. He strokes the pulse in Ji Li’s wrist, so close to— if he just brought it down more, lower—

“Yeah,” Ji Li chokes out, “yeah, uh huh.” He can do that, now. He can definitely do that, that’s not too much, anymore, and he wants it. Wang Yizhou doesn’t make him wait after he’s said it, doesn’t make him beg, just shoves their mouths back together and sucks on Ji Li’s bottom lip as he drags his hand, palm-up, the rest of the distance, until he’s rubbing it against his cock, coaxing Ji Li’s fingers to close around the bulge of it.

“Fuck,” he croaks into Wang Yizhou’s mouth, around his tongue, eyes squeezing shut only to fly back open when Wang Yizhou draws away to kiss the corner of his mouth, rocking down into his hand. Ji Li can’t stop himself from dipping his chin towards his chest, Wang Yizhou’s mouth, spit-damp and scalding hot, scraping up his cheek as Ji Li looks between his legs, where his thighs are thrown open around Wang Yizhou’s hips. His cock is fisted so tightly in Wang Yizhou’s grip, his wrist barely even needing to flick to stroke Ji Li just right and perfect, and he looks further in, where Wang Yizhou’s shorts have been shoved up over the tense muscles of his thighs by the rut of his own hips and the roll of their bodies together, baring the black ink of one of his tattoos, the one that wraps around his thigh and creeps up high, past the hem, out of sight and anything but out of mind.

Ji Li looks over, last but hardly least, to— to Wang Yizhou’s cock, in Ji Li’s hand, too much to even close his fingers around to get a proper grip on it. His own need bludgeons through him brutally enough to take his breath away with it, his better sense that knows it’s too much too fast suddenly very quiet, in the back of his head, far away. Fuck, he thinks. “Fuck,” he says, again, raw, and, “want it, wanna feel you.”

You would think Ji Li had struck him, for how Wang Yizhou groans out, pained, as he flinches right up into Ji Li’s hand. His grips on Ji Li, wrist and cock, both clamp down, and that slaps a long, thready whine right back out of Ji Li in turn, makes the crest of his need crash up to the shallows beneath his skin, all too urgent and all too much.

“I’m gonna,” Ji Li tries to get out, flushing white-hot and ashamed, “wait, Da-ge,” and— oh. Oh. It spills out, really, it does. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that it’s so easy to just call Wang Yizhou that, in that kind of voice, and it’s not his fault how Wang Yizhou reacts. He drops Ji Li’s wrist to snatch his face, dragging his chin back up, slamming their mouths together, and takes his hand off Ji Li’s cock just long enough to help Ji Li fumble with his waistband, their joined fingers scrabbling together to yank his shorts down far enough that Ji Li can skim his palm down bare skin. Wang Yizhou’s cock is scalding hot and silky smooth, damp slick wet at the tip, and the furl his fingers make around his shaft is all a scared, shocked little flinch as Wang Yizhou fists Ji Li’s cock again.

He starts to work him up and over the edge, even as Ji Li whines and writhes, fighting back against it helplessly, because of the part of him that’s all wound up and knotted around being good. Being good being where he doesn’t come all over himself in what feels like five hours and only five seconds, but way too soon, either way, compared to who he is with, who he is supposed to be pleasing, too. But Ji Li knows if he wants to play that part he has to say stop. He actually has to say stop, and Wang Yizhou will, Wang Yizhou won’t even ask. The part of him that’s just greedy, though? That’s bigger and it’s better, so Ji Li sobs out into Wang Yizhou’s mouth instead, tears stinging his eyes, needle-sharp and flame hot, as he comes all over Wang Yizhou’s fist and up his own belly, splattering their skin and his shirt.

He squeezes his hand uselessly around Wang Yizhou’s shaft while his other hand flings up to clutch desperately at Wang Yizhou’s nape, as if he could even hope to hold on, as Wang Yizhou keeps stroking him through it, slowing down, sweet. Wang Yizhou presses breathy praises against Ji Li’s lips that Ji Li doesn’t even hear, not for long, long seconds, yawning minutes, not until the ringing in his ears flickers and fades out, sinks back behind the rough scratching cadence of Wang Yizhou’s voice telling him he’s good, he’s so good, he looks so good for him. Ji Li chokes on it, chokes on the whole lot of it, ragged and wet, feeling his spent cock give a weak pulsing twitch within the loosening circle of Wang Yizhou’s fingers.

Given that Ji Li’s shame was already well and truly set in, beneath the muddle of everything else, it doesn’t take a lot for it to start overtaking the dominant sensation as he starts to calm down and get his head around it all. Ji Li puts up a fight against it anyway, biting his lip as he tries to fold his knees together, as best he can, with the bulk of Wang Yizhou still between his legs and Wang Yizhou’s cock in his hand, blood cooling beneath his skin and come drying on his stomach, tacky, soaking through his shirt.

Wang Yizhou doesn’t force his legs back open outright, but the way he moves between them pushes them wide anyway, as if in afterthought, as he carefully gets the hem of Ji Li’s shirt wrapped up in his fingers. He starts working it up, and Ji Li makes a sound of complaint when he has to take his hands away, has to raise them up over his head. He makes another, more whiny and needy, when Wang Yizhou only lets him cup his nape again, but pushes his hand back from his cock. He uses Ji Li’s shirt to wipe them down, first his own hands, before he sets himself to work on Ji Li as his sole focus, wiping his skin clean with sparing touches, pressure lightening around his groin, his quivering belly.

“I’ll wash it,” Wang Yizhou assures him, as if that could actually be the problem, of all things. Ji Li would wreck every shirt he owns by coming all over himself in it gladly if this was the process to hitting that point, and maybe he’d even expand his horizons to some of Wang Yizhou’s shirts, too, for good measure. And— wow, yeah, he has to hiss through his teeth to help dissipate some of the heat that sparks under his skin at that thought.

“S’not that,” he mumbles, muffled, tongue still a bit too thick in his dry mouth to work around his words right, then, “wanna, you, you too?”

Wang Yizhou gives his hands another brief wipe, then sets Ji Li’s stained shirt aside with a care that Ji Li definitely wouldn’t have shown, under the same circumstances. He then brings them up to rest on Ji Li’s sides, thumbs rolling over the juts of his hipbones, one hand unlatching to push Ji Li’s away when he tries to reach for his cock, because he figured second time would be the charm. Ji Li moans, hoarse, when Wang Yizhou circumvents a third attempt by casually pinning him by the wrist.

“We don’t have to,” Wang Yizhou says, gentle, and he’s lucky he’s— well, he’s lucky, because anyone else? Ji Li would be rolling his eyes, right now, probably.

As it stands, Ji Li just scoffs instead in a way that totally isn’t strangled, says “Duh?” in a voice that totally isn’t strained, and wriggles his wrist beneath the cuff of Wang Yizhou’s palm. “I want to, I want it,” he adds, flustered, when he can’t find any give in his grip.

“What do you want?” Wang Yizhou asks, gentler, even fond, now, and, nevermind. He’s a bastard. Ji Li is taking every nice thing he’s ever thought about Wang Yizhou right back, mentally, as he curls his toes, jerking up in the cradle of Wang Yizhou’s thighs. He takes the hand not currently pinned and cards it uselessly through Wang Yizhou’s hair, considers, for a beat, tugging it, before he backs off, huffing out, shaky.

He’s totally going to take back every nice thing he’s ever said about Wang Yizhou, too, out loud, even, and gets as far as opening his mouth to do it before he stops. Chokes a bit. “Dunno, just— just you,” is what comes out instead, broken, and, “please.” Wow, nevermind. Fuck him, he’s actually the bastard, here, betrayed by his own damn self. Truly in the top five of worst self-sabotages he’s ever perpetuated.

Wang Yizhou, the least bastard of the two of them present, as now decreed by Ji Li, as he starts getting tangled back up in throttling himself in the metaphorical sense, just laughs, soft and kind of delighted, almost. It washes over the cool embarrassment draped over Ji Li’s skin, makes it run warm and twist something in his gut that falls just short of arousal; he can’t quite be there yet, but, god. He really kind of wants to, to be there again, with the way Wang Yizhou is looking at him. He releases his wrist to take him in hand again, guiding him back down between his legs, drawing his palm up to brush against his cock, hot and heavy and huge. Ji Li gasps out as his fingers reflexively wrap around it for grounding, practically, almost, and his squeeze wrings a sharp, hungry grunt out of Wang Yizhou’s mouth.

“Oh,” Ji Li breathes out, giving him a clumsy, maybe shy stroke, and, “fuck, wow,” and, because his mouth is truly back online and running off ahead of the rest of him, “you’re so big, you’re— you’re too dressed. You’re really, too—”

That gets him shushed, in the sweet way that lights him up under his skin, and Wang Yizhou is pushing up into his hand, fucking into his fist with a groan. He leans back on his knees, kneels up closer between Ji Li’s legs, and it forces Ji Li’s thighs further up, tucks his knees closer to his chest and unseats his hand from Wang Yizhou’s nape. Ji Li’s attention snaps up to him as his arm flops to his side ungracefully, fingers flexing around nothing, and he watches, enchanted, as Wang Yizhou pulls his shirt off over his head. It is— it is. Definitely not the hottest thing Ji Li’s ever seen, probably not even top five from tonight, let alone at all, but, there’s something about it, how undeliberate and just— casual, maybe, almost, it is. Like Wang Yizhou’s undressed for him like this a hundred times before. It has Ji Li squirming, gasping out, grip going too-tight around Wang Yizhou’s cock, fingers fumbling against the flared head.

“Unfair,” Ji Li forces out, rough, when Wang Yizhou’s shirt is stripped away and he’s back bearing down on Ji Li properly, where he should be. His hips roll in long, languid strokes, shifting his cock through Ji Li’s grip, which is steadily growing slick and slippery with sweat and precome. It is unfair, it is absolutely unfair, again, it’s not as if he hasn’t seen Wang Yizhou shirtless, before, either. But it was no less unfair then than it is now. Some people have all the luck, and some people, right now, are Wang Yizhou, with all of his corded muscle shifting beneath his skin, flexing and tightening, dizzying just to watch.

Ji Li has seen enough private little gym selfies to know it’s not effortless on his part, but Wang Yizhou makes it look effortless, and it looks— way too good, right now. He looks way too good, folded up over Ji Li, all that strength just for him, held over him, moving against and into him. Ji Li doesn’t realise how hard he’s biting his lip until Wang Yizhou’s thumb pushes against his teeth, pries them off where they’re worrying at the skin, and then he’s bearing down the rest of the way to drag their mouths together, licking in past his lips with a sigh.

He’s going to have to get both his hands in on Wang Yizhou’s cock if he has any hope of making him come like this, Ji Li realises, when he feels his wrist click more than he hears it. He breaks their mouths apart to just, sort of, laugh, really, breathless and wispy, his chest clenching warmly with it. Wang Yizhou’s eyes are still dark and heated when he tilts his face back to take in Ji Li, but his smile is soft, even if it’s fringed with a jagged hunger that seems to be only just kept in check.

“You’re big,” Ji Li breathes out in a rush, and Wang Yizhou’s hips stutter as he blushes shades darker, shaking his head a little, biting down on his bottom lip, like he’s embarrassed, of all things, about being massive. “You’re so big,” Ji Li stresses the consonants, for the joy of it, really, of feeling Wang Yizhou thrust harder into his hand. “Hah, fuck, my hand’s gonna break off, you’re too much.”

Now he’s well and truly caught up, mouth overtaking his head, sprinting off to chart its own course, he’s feeling emboldened by being one orgasm down, the lazy stirrings of a second one coalescing in the pit of his gut. Because if Wang Yizhou hasn’t bailed now, he’s really in for the long haul, of here and now if not then and later, too, and, well, that fills Ji Li to overconfidence in a way that’s too tender and raw for him to assess right now, if at all, for a while yet, so, babbling it is.

Wang Yizhou laughs, a breathy sound that catches and catches as it slides up out of his throat from deep in his chest, and the way he strokes his thumb against the corner of Ji Li’s mouth is— too much.

“Don’t do that,” he says, sincere, “don’t hurt your hand again.”

“Ah, Da-ge,” Ji Li complains, shivering, when Wang Yizhou follows it up with a soothing stroke of his fingers down his sternum, “don’t, wanna make you come.”

“You will,” Wang Yizhou murmurs back, warm, breath curling against Ji Li’s mouth, “doing so well, feels really good.”

“Okay,” Ji Li grits out, clenching his fist around Wang Yizhou’s cock, grip almost sliding free when he jerks him. “Wow, ah, oh, how— aren’t you supposed to be shy?” It’s definitely petulant, because usually he’s the one in control, between the two of them, it feels like, what with Wang Yizhou always blushing and giggling and trying to weave out from underneath all of Ji Li’s pokes and prods and teases. Since the second kiss to his hand back a lifetime ago, earlier tonight, it’s as if their whole dynamic has flipped, and now Wang Yizhou is the one calling the shots and leading Ji Li around by his neck and his cock in equal measures.

“Am I?” Wang Yizhou asks, stuttering around it, just slightly, to Ji Li’s immense petty pleasure, when he wrangles his other hand between them to wrap it around Wang Yizhou’s cock, too. His strokes are clipped and clumsy, alternating in a way that probably feels as awkward for Wang Yizhou as it does for him, but Wang Yizhou pushes right into it, hard, and gasps against Ji Li’s mouth, harder.

“Oh, wow, are you, are you kidding,” Ji Li heaves out, flushing hot all over, shaking with it. He feels his cock throb between his legs as it starts to stir and swell again, finally able to act on all the interest that’s been spurred on into him to get him ready again, get Wang Yizhou touching him again. “Two hands, two— how am I gonna get you inside me?” He cringes, at that, chokes on it a bit, because it’s too much, too far, his tongue tripping over itself in his mouth. Wang Yizhou sounds winded when he heaves in, fucking up sharply enough into Ji Li’s hands to all but unseat them, making him fumble to relace his fingers around slick velvet hot skin.

“The mouth on you,” Wang Yizhou says, awed, thumbing Ji Li’s chin before he chases after the crescent of it with his lips, chaste.

“Fuck,” Ji Li moans, high and tight, “that’s an idea.” A good idea, actually; a great one. He can feel the gratitude in his wrists from being spared already. “Use my mouth.”

Wang Yizhou swears, actually swears, just about, close enough, in a mottled hiss that makes Ji Li’s building arousal slosh about in his belly, dizzying. “Ji Li,” he pants out, and then he’s pushing at Ji Li’s wrists, hushing Ji Li’s nonsense, wordless complaints as he moves his hands out of the way, so he can start stripping his shorts and briefs down the rest of the way.

It can’t be helped that Ji Li is impatient, that, despite his complaints about his hands falling off, he really still wants to be touching Wang Yizhou’s cock, so he reaches for him again, just as he’s finished stripping off. He’s not at all expecting Wang Yizhou to just catch his wrists in one hand and pin them above his head, to the back of the couch— Ji Li’s breath barrels out of him with a sob, and he bucks up, shocked. Wang Yizhou crowds him in from between his splayed thighs, rutting their cocks together with one indolent roll of his hips that has Ji Li jerking underneath the pin of his hand, whining and desperate.

“Ah, come on,” Ji Li whines, squirming, breath whipping out of him in hitching gasps when all it manages to do is rub him up against Wang Yizhou’s cock, the glide sweet and slick and searing, scorching him from the inside out. “Please, please, Da-ge.”

Wang Yizhou takes a breath, then another, before he gets one knee over Ji Li’s thigh to bracket his hip, the hand not keeping his wrists trapped tight snaking down between the bridge of their bodies to wrap around Ji Li’s cock. His own is almost an afterthought, his fingertips holding it in place against Ji Li’s as he rubs them together, each insistent stroke a blunt pressure that Ji Li feels cut through him, stoking heat right into the base of his spine.

“You want it?” Wang Yizhou asks, and it’s lewd but it’s not even a tease, it’s genuine, hemmed with reservation that makes Ji Li feel like he’s about to shatter apart. “You’re sure?”

“Uh huh,” Ji Li gasps, not without an edge of starved frustration, dry mouth wetting just at the thought of the taste, “yeah. Yeah, I really do, I really, please, wanna suck your cock—” He jerks in Wang Yizhou’s grips, above and below, his spine arching, and licks at his bottom lip until its shiny with spit and stinging. He goes to suck in a breath, but what ends up tumbling out instead is a wrecked, “Fuck my mouth, Da-gege.”

Oh, that’s a mistake. He knows that’s a mistake, the moment it leaves his mouth, but it’s such a good mistake. Best mistake he’s ever made, because if he thought calling Wang Yizhou that made him feel all wound up and twisted with want, Wang Yizhou being called that— the sound he makes is just filth, feral, and then he’s surging up, climbing over Ji Li until he’s straddling his shuddering ribs, knees sinking deep into the couch.

Ji Li is absurdly glad one of the cushions has managed to stay pinioned between his back and the couch during all his writhing and wriggling about, supporting it and him, because he really doesn’t think Wang Yizhou is in the frame of mind to do that check-in on him anymore. Not with how he’s looming over Ji Li, the tip of his cock just off brushing against his lips. Within reach if Ji Li cranes his neck—

He tries to, he does, tips his face up and parts his lips and everything, but all he can do is whine around an empty mouth when Wang Yizhou catches him by the neck. He holds him back, pinned down and in place, other hand still on his wrists, and Ji Li is. Ji Li is into this way more than he realised would be possible, actually, enough that he’s shocked still and rendered breathless. He licks nervously at his lips, a whimper latched in his throat, and waits.

Wang Yizhou flexes his fingers, slightly, around Ji Li’s wrists, head tilting a little, mouth parting as if to ask, or as if he’s about to ask, Is this okay, or— it doesn’t matter. Ji Li just starts nodding, eager. Adds in a “Please,” for good measure. Wang Yizhou closes his mouth, teeth clacking together, tightens his grip around Ji Li’s wrists again, and lets his other hand caress up, turn over, until he’s got his thumb and fingers digging into the hinges of Ji Li’s jaw. He coaxes his mouth to hang open, wide and slack, to take the first shallow thrust of his cock.

The blunt head tucks his tongue down flat, drags out a gagged whine, all clotted heat and relief, and Ji Li’s eyes flutter shut, eyelashes clumping together from unshed tears, brought right up to the brink of spilling over, down his cheeks. A cold shudder rips and ripples through him as his toes curl, thighs clamping together, knees drawing up in a snap towards his chest that he abandons midway, has to recover by planting his feet against the couch. His face crumples as he swallows, sloppy, around the breach of Wang Yizhou’s cock, steadily filling his mouth, an unrelenting drive, saliva pooling thick on his tongue.

Wang Yizhou takes it slow with him, even if he’s not as gentle as Ji Li knows he is, knows he can be, knows he won’t be, now he’s taunted this animal thing to come bounding out of him. Wang Yizhou helps him keep his jaw loose and lax as he slides in, and it honestly doesn’t take much at all, in a way that makes taut tension thread up the rungs of Ji Li’s spine, hot and nauseating, for his mouth to be so full he can’t do anything but flick his tongue against and around Wang Yizhou’s thick shaft and swallow.

Ji Li shudders, breath shaking out through his nose, and Wang Yizhou pushes in a little more; at the snub of his tip against the back of Ji Li’s throat, Ji Li splutters, choked, tears finally tumbling free to stream down his face. Wang Yizhou just pets his cheeks, strokes his fingers along the shape of his own cock stretching out Ji Li’s mouth, before he draws his hand back and pulls out. He lets Ji Li suck down breath after breath like he’s just broken through the surface of a pool of water, come up from drowning, petting his hair through it all the while.

“Doing so well,” Wang Yizhou says, in that same soft, genuine voice that makes Ji Li feel like he’s about to spill out of his own skin, overcome, “you look so good like this, did you know that?”

Ji Li did not, in fact, know that. Not specifically, anyway, not like he’s been told it outright, to his face, though he’s definitely thought it more than once. Hearing it out loud, though, and from Wang Yizhou, at that, is like being twice-struck; blows coming one another the other, winding him then tearing him down before he can get his guard back up. He whines, mouthing at the tip of Wang Yizhou’s cock, smearing precome and spit over his lips, but opening his eyes turns out to be too much, too soon. All of Wang Yizhou’s focus is narrowed down on him, digging down into him, and Ji Li has to squeeze his eyes shut tight again and pant, breath gusting out of him in a rush.

He’s not sure why he thought his mouth was a good idea, even though it’s a great idea: Wang Yizhou’s cock is no less huge in his mouth than it was in his hands. Instead of doing his wrists out, he just feels like his jaw’s going to break, or something as equally ridiculous. So, Ji Li gets his wits about himself as best he can, considering present circumstances and overall conditions, and manages to croak out, “Wanna make you come,” and, “need my hands, Da-ge, please—”

“You don’t,” Wang Yizhou interrupts, actually interrupts him, and Ji Li twists his wrists in his palm with a growl, feet stamping down against the couch as he ruts up, again, into thin air, his arousal feeling empty, hollow, where it clamps down in his belly and trembles through his inner thighs. “You don’t need them.”

Still, even as he says it, Ji Li feels his hold loosen, the slightest bit, almost as if to let him know that he has a choice, here, even if Wang Yizhou is saying otherwise. “Okay,” Ji Li moans out, raspy, “yeah, okay,” and the vice of Wang Yizhou’s grip cinches tight again in answer.

Wang Yizhou doesn’t need to knead at the hinge of his jaw this time to prompt him to open his mouth, just needs to stroke his cheek, feather light, and Ji Li whimpers, raw, around the tip as it shoves back in, heavy on his tongue.

“Good boy,” Wang Yizhou murmurs, voice tight, “such a good boy.”

And, yeah, yeah, Ji Li has certainly had a lot of personal revelations about his likes and preferences around Wang Yizhou, but. They’ve all previously been about things like, how he enjoys certain types of physical contact, his sleeves being tugged on or his body being manhandled about, all casual, friendly; how he enjoys having even his worst jokes laughed at, but not out of pity or bemusement; how he likes being fed way too much food, and being cared about and for and worried after, not— this. Not being held down and used and praised for it. It’s a little too much to bear, has him choked up and gagging on Wang Yizhou’s cock even before it’s slid far enough down the back of his mouth to warrant it.

Just as he feels like he’s too full, about to choke properly, the seam of his lips meets the circle of Wang Yizhou’s fingers, wrapped tight around his shaft, and Ji Li’s throat works around a desperate, starved swallow as his hips squirm again. His face burns hotter, skin pulled too tight over his bones, his blood coursing too hot and too quick through the length of him, as his cock starts to leak freely, swollen thick and heavy between his legs, untouched for what feels like hours draped over him.

It’s intoxicating, how quickly it seems like Wang Yizhou starts to break down, thrusts stutter-stalling, falling out of rhythm, his fingers bumping roughly against Ji Li’s lips and catching on his teeth when he fucks in too hard and too far, the flared head of his cock snubbing at the back of Ji Li’s throat. Ji Li can taste him, can feel his cock throbbing and pulsing on his tongue, leaking precome to pool with his gathering saliva, thick enough to feel like it scrapes all the way down when he swallows. He can hear Wang Yizhou’s breathing turn harsh and jagged, pants slipping out of his parted mouth— Ji Li tries to look again, he does, but every time, every time he does, every time he forces his eyes open and blinks through the blur of tears, it’s too much. All he sees is Wang Yizhou’s fist around the rest of his cock, what Ji Li can’t take in his mouth, but really wants to feel in his mouth; sees his muscles all clenched and rippling beneath his sweat-damp skin with each thrust of his hips, the black ink of his tattoo looking like fresh watercolours where it’s painted up his thigh to the very seam of his hip. Sees the veins in his arms, the red flush that stains his abdomen, his chest, up the column of his throat to dust over his cheekbones, and his eyes— his eyes, blown wide and black and fixed on Ji Li, on his cock disappearing into Ji Li’s mouth.

And he can’t, he can’t, he has to close his eyes again, each time. He can’t take it, can’t take that; it’s so heavy, heavier than Wang Yizhou’s hand on his wrists and heavier still than his cock on his tongue, stuffing his mouth.

“So good,” Wang Yizhou tells him, gritting it out, hoarse, “doing so well, Ji Li, you’re taking so much.”

Ji Li doesn’t feel like he’s taking much at all, but there’s a lot of Wang Yizhou to take, so he’ll take the compliment alongside what he’s managed to fit of his cock into his mouth, his own greed kept in check by Wang Yizhou’s hands. His jaw is starting to ache, deep-set, but it’s still on the right side of pleasant, just a numbing throb from being stretched and held open for so long, like a caught yawn. Ji Li hollows his cheeks as best he can as he sucks and swallows, the sound of it slick and wet and obscene, and Wang Yizhou grunts, bitten off. His fingers clamp down on Ji Li’s wrists hard enough to finally, hopefully, grace him with a bit of a bruise that he can take home with him, after, as a souvenier.

“I’m close,” Wang Yizhou warns, wrecked through, after what feels like hours, seconds, no time at all. “Do you want to swallow? Would you like that?”

Fuck, yeah, he would: Ji Li keens around Wang Yizhou’s cock, muffled, bobbing his head in a frantic nod, again and again, his pleading unsaid but not unheard. Wang Yizhou groans, shifting his thumb up to stroke it over Ji Li’s lips when he next thrusts in to the hilt of his fist.

“Good boy,” Wang Yizhou pants, “that’s it, open up for me.”

Ji Li has his jaw as wide as it’ll go, but he tries to open it just that bit more for Wang Yizhou, because he asked, and he asked so nicely, rubbing his tongue down the underside of his shaft, massaging over the thick vein ribbing it as Wang Yizhou thrusts in, shaky, and stills. His cock pulses heavy and heady and hot on Ji Li’s tongue as he starts to come straight down his throat.

He manages the first swallow just fine, but the second’s more than a mouthful, and he’s quickly overwhelmed. Fuck, he comes so much, he can’t help but think, panicked, in the back of his head, as he starts to gag, come spilling out past his lips to dribble down his chin. Wang Yizhou starts to pull out, still coming, and Ji Li makes an indignant, incredulous, insensate sound of offence and hunger and too much in-between, because he can— he can still do it. Wang Yizhou releases his cock to furl his hand over Ji Li’s jaw instead, when he struggles up, blind, in chase, fingers fanning his face. Ji Li swallows a breath and then chokes around it and all the emptiness washing into his mouth as Wang Yizhou turns his face over and finishes coming on it, come streaking his cheek in thick ropes.

“Look at you,” Wang Yizhou is saying, rushed, sounding as ripped raw as Ji Li imagines he does, if not worse, given he’s just had Wang Yizhou’s cock seated deep in his mouth, prodding up against the back of his throat. “Oh, Ji Li, look at you.”

Ji Li wants to, and also wants to say I can’t, or Take a picture, and, fuck, he doesn’t so much trip on the latter scattering thought as he falls face first into it; his cock jumps against his thighs neglected and needy, and he whines, scratchy, squeezing his eyes shut all the tighter. Wang Yizhou’s hand on his wrists loosens, but doesn’t unlatch, and Ji Li whines again, louder, higher, the sound snapping in the middle as Wang Yizhou runs his fingers through his come, gathers up a streak of it before he feeds it in past Ji Li’s teeth, fingers hooking down on his tongue, prompting him to lap and suck them clean.

“Don’t even need to be told, do you?” Wang Yizhou murmurs, when he’s scraped up the last smears of his come and slipped his fingers back into Ji Li’s mouth, sliding them deeper than he needs to, rapt. Ji Li groans around them, hot and wet, heels kicking out against the couch. Fuck— Wang Yizhou isn’t trying to show him a good time at all, he’s trying to kill Ji Li on purpose, opening him up bare and hollowing him out to put all his little desires on display. He’s doing a stellar job of it, at that.

The seconds stretch out to minutes that feel dangerously close to hours; Ji Li’s head cools, but his blood still simmers with need, his cock so hard and so full again, the hungry, wriggling clamp of his thighs doing nothing to abate or even slacken the knot of pressure low-hung in his gut. The need to come again strums down his hips, and Ji Li opens his eyes, at last, blinking blindly, blankly, when Wang Yizhou takes his hands of his wrists, guides Ji Li’s hands down his sides, gentle. He gives each of them a knead, from the shoulder to the basin of the palm, as if to encourage the blood to flow back through them, and Ji Li’s grateful for the care a breath later, when his head swims with the sensation of his arms starting to prickle, all over, underneath the skin.

He retrieves Ji Li’s shirt from its fold beside them, and starts dabbing Ji Li’s face clean, the last scraps of mess his fingers missed. When Ji Li whines, Wang Yizhou makes an apologetic sound, touch softening as it swipes over Ji Li’s lips. “I know,” Wang Yizhou comforts, soft, soothing, “I’ll wash it.”

Ji Li makes another sound, because that’s not it, and tries to catch Wang Yizhou around the hips, numb fingers flexing uselessly.

“I’ll get you water,” Wang Yizhou adds, softer, and Ji Li shakes his head as hard as he can, which isn’t hard at all.

“No, don’t go,” he manages to get out, huffing, eyes fluttering shut as his face burns up with it. “Wanna come, wanna come so bad.”

“Oh,” Wang Yizhou breathes, and then Ji Li feels his weight settle back, crawling in, until Wang Yizhou’s hands are on his thighs, spreading them wide, ginger but firm, powering through the residual resistance Ji Li pushes into them. “It’s okay,” Wang Yizhou adds, assuring him as he kneels back between his thighs, holding them open around his hips, hands rubbing circles along his flanks. “I’ve got you, I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Ji Li croaks stupidly, face crumpling, teeth digging down into his trembling bottom lip to still it as much as to stifle the moan that wants to slip out.

“I can do that,” Wang Yizhou says, as his hands start to climb up Ji Li’s sides, stroking over his ribs. “I can,” he cuts himself off, breathes in, out, in again, as his thumbs scrape over Ji Li’s nipples. Ji Li bucks up into him with a broken sound that’s going to haunt his every waking hour and a good few of his sleeping ones for the rest of his damn life, it’s so unmanning and unmaking. “Let me get a look at you,” Wang Yizhou finishes. “Can you open your eyes for me? Show me how good you’re feeling?”

It’s funny, how he’s just had Wang Yizhou’s cock in his mouth, and it’s being asked to open his eyes to hold the man’s gaze, of all things, that feels like two steps too far, but Ji Li’s not laughing. He hasn’t got room for it in his mouth between the breathy whimper that tears out as he struggles and surges to obey, eyes slipping open with a shudder.

“There you are.” Wang Yizhou’s mouth curves into a crooked smile. It’s sickly sweet and stupid, and Ji Li is totally opening his mouth to snap at him for it, it’s not his fault that all that comes out is just a hoarse, scraping little whimper as Wang Yizhou starts rolling his nipples between his callous-coarse fingertips, hips canting up to give Ji Li something more solid to rut his cock up against.

“Touch me,” Ji Li begs, cringing, nose crinkling, hot shame churning with his arousal as he flings his hands up, fumbles around until he can get as good a grip as he’s going to be able to get on Wang Yizhou’s shoulders.

Wang Yizhou just chuckles, breath hot, against his neck, mouthing at it, a hint of teeth and tongue but only the tease of suction, nothing more, nothing enough to leave anything but a red mark that will have faded by the time Ji Li pulls a shirt back on. He bows his head lower, lower, after, until he finds Ji Li’s collarbone and latches on, sucking hard, wringing a jagged sob out of Ji Li as he pinches his nipples, tugs them, a swift little jerk that leaves a lingering sting that sings through the whole of his chest, throws it open wide.

“You’re so sensitive here,” Wang Yizhou murmurs, mouth to skin, and Ji Li squirms.

“Yeah,” he manages, “yeah, like a girl.” It’s kind of a joke, but kind of not. It might be unwise, overall, but it’s not like he can do much about it, when it just spills on out, like everything else that he’s lost to Wang Yizhou’s perusal since this night’s turn really got itself underway.

He feels Wang Yizhou’s breath stutter, hot, before he chases it with his teeth, scraping them over the hollow of his clavicle, tonguing at it, before his mouth drifts over, down, finding the pinch of his fingers to lave at Ji Li’s nipple between them.

“Fuck,” Ji Li groans, “fuck, Da-ge, please, touch me, please.”

Wang Yizhou would be well within his rights to say that he is, or otherwise tease him, but he doesn’t, just takes his nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth and his tongue with a wet suck as his freed hand smoothes lower, over Ji Li’s trembling belly. It delves down between his legs to snatch around his straining cock, slamming a whine straight out of his mouth from deep in his chest.

“You’re so wet here, too,” Wang Yizhou remarks, raspy, against his chest, that same awed tone back, like it’s something truly amazing, like Ji Li is something truly amazing for it, then, “like a girl?”

Oh. “Oh—” Ji Li chokes, fucking up into Wang Yizhou’s fist, chest judder-jerking sharply under his fingers and mouth.

“Too much?” Wang Yizhou asks, soft, laced with the serration of concern. “Was that not okay?”

“No, oh,” Ji Li stammers out, head swimming, “it was, oh, wow,” fuck, fuck, the revelations really just keep coming when he thinks Wang Yizhou is done taking him apart and putting him on display for the both of them, don’t they, “Da-ge, please, please, I need to come, want you inside me—”

Wang Yizhou groans, muffles it against his chest, into the drag of the flat of his tongue against his nipple, fingers twisting, off-beat, around the other. “I know,” he replies, rough, “I know, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you.”

Ji Li knows he’s not going to last, which is— which is frustrating, humiliating, so good— he sobs, and sobs, mouth falling slack around it, tongue lolling against the backs of his teeth, head tipping, and there’s little else he can do but hang on tight to Wang Yizhou and arch into his mouth on his chest and his hand on his cock as he strokes him, slow and sure and all-subsuming.

“Wait,” Ji Li gasps, kicking out at the couch, useless, writhing in Wang Yizhou’s unbreaking and unmoving hold, “I’m gonna come, wait— wait!”

“Shh,” Wang Yizhou hushes, lifting off his nipple just to drag his mouth over it whole, the scrape hot and wet and electrifying, the cool air feeling like a pinch on his bared spit-damp skin in itself, “I know, want you to come. I want you to come for me, okay?”

Ji Li grits his teeth and scowls, hissing, trying to gather up his agitation and desperation and desire, all plaited together, to colour his voice. He loses it all to a shuddering whine when Wang Yizhou licks and kisses up his sternum, all sharp teeth open-mouthed suction.

“Want you inside,” Ji Li manages to complain, thready, broken up, “please, Da-ge, don’t—”

“I know,” Wang Yizhou says, again, and Ji Li wants to scream, gets as far as another sob, high-pitched, because if he knows, why isn’t he stopping, why isn’t he helping Ji Li hold on— “later, I promise. Gonna take care of you.” He punctuates every word with his mouth, sucking sloppy slick bruises over the span of Ji Li’s ribs, up the soft swells of his pectorals, out of sight, where his shirt will rub over them again and again later and sting so good, a dull throb Ji Li’s already anticipating with a hunger he didn’t know he could reach, here, when he’s already so well fed. “I’ll fuck you soon, but you have to come for me now, first. Can you do that, Ji Li?”

Wang Yizhou shifts his hand, brings the cup of his palm up to close over the head of Ji Li’s cock, rolling it, and it’s unfair, unfair how he sounds so composed, for the most part, already, and utterly decimating that Ji Li feels his whole body seize up with the command, a shout tearing out past the leash of his grit teeth as he comes, messing back up his belly and over Wang Yizhou’s fist in filthy repeat. Wang Yizhou coaxes him through it, crooning praise after praise, until he’s wrung dry and panting his discomfort, trying to wriggle away, wrung out and wrecked and spent.

“Good boy,” Wang Yizhou says, “my good boy, there you go, now.”

Ji Li feels like his head is flipping over itself; it takes him a moment or several to realise he’s actually moving, being moved, that Wang Yizhou has got his hands under his armpits and is laying him out on the couch, flat on his back, propping his head up on a cushion. Ji Li’s now well-stained and past-ruined shirt makes a comeback as Wang Yizhou gathers it up to wipe them down and off, then he’s rising to his feet, shying out from Ji Li’s blind, lunging grab. He leans over to pat Ji Li’s heated cheek, smoothes back his hair from his sweaty forehead, and presses down on his shoulder, once, just heavily enough to let Ji Li know what he wants from him before he steps away.

He’s starting to feel a bit chilled out, and a lot scandalised at himself, by the time Wang Yizhou returns, a few minutes later, water bottle in hand. When he looks down at Ji Li and sees whatever it is that Ji Li’s face is doing, caught up in his own thoughts as he is, he smiles, which is— Ji Li makes a huffed, hoarse sound, which he means to be a laugh, but still strays too far into sob territory.

“Hey,” Wang Yizhou greets, voice thick with something fond, and Ji Li shivers as he stoops down and comes to sit beside him, one hand tucking underneath his back to stroke between his shoulderblades, helping heft him up onto his elbows. “Here.”

Ji Li didn’t think he could get any more naked, but, well, here he is, and he flushes even redder as he takes a sip when the bottle is held up to his lips, then another, before he flops down, loose-limbed, pinning Wang Yizhou’s hand beneath him.

“You okay?” Wang Yizhou asks, and Ji Li wriggles, trembling, shoulders bunching up towards his ears as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Yeah,” he mumbles out, the word coming easier for the water having eased the worst of the grate of his throat, “m’cold.”

Wang Yizhou gets back up, and Ji Li tries to follow him with his gaze, vision blurring a little, as he takes a few puttering steps, then comes back, the rest of their clothes in hand. Ji Li is already not looking forward to the movement that is going to be asked of him in order to get dressed, but before he can get up and bite the bullet, Wang Yizhou is catching him around the ankle, falling into a half-kneel as he parts Ji Li’s thighs around himself, gentle, and starts easing his feet through the legs of his briefs and shorts, one after the other.

“Oh,” Ji Li rasps, because, oh. Wow. That’s.

“Up,” Wang Yizhou encourages, gentle, helping him lift his hips to pull the waistband up the rest of the way, and if Ji Li could only get hard right now— yeah, he’d die. He’d be dead. He pats down his thighs, feels the shape of his phone, still in his pocket, and snorts through his nose at the confirmation. A shirt is next— Wang Yizhou’s shirt, way too big on him, swimming around his arms and chest as Wang Yizhou pulls it over his head and feeds his arms through the sleeves. A laugh slips out of him when Ji Li noodles in his hold.

“Better?” Wang Yizhou asks, as he’s turning, stepping into his own briefs, and, oh, Ji Li makes a little sound of complaint, obnoxious, that inspires and earns another laugh.

“Yeah,” he manages, when it’s clear Wang Yizhou wants an actual answer, for how he finishes dressing and comes to settle right back in at Ji Li’s side, propped up on his elbow, hand fanning Ji Li’s throat. His fingers dip down into the wide neck of his pilfered shirt, tracing over a hickey, but not pressing down, the skin blooming dark and angry, a satisfying sting panging all the way through.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wang Yizhou asks, all soft sweetness and agitating self-consciousness, and Ji Li actually kicks his feet out against the couch, grumbling exaggeratedly, lips pursing into a pout as he jostles his shoulders in protest.

“Oh, my god,” he starts. Stops. Clears his throat, and then wants to die, a lot, when Wang Yizhou uncaps the water bottle and brings it back to his mouth. Ji Li takes a sip, though, of course, and swallows, before he continues. “Please stop asking if I’m okay.” His voice holds steady, so he keeps on with it, picking up the pace until his tongue trips over the rest. “I can really only get hard so many times in any one night, and I’m, I’m totally done. I’m broken. Start me up again tomorrow.”

It’s mostly true, okay, and mostly a legitimate, serious complaint: Wang Yizhou’s concern is, like, a direct line to his dick, and he’s feeling chafed and used up in an entirely good way that also screams through the core of him that he’s not going to be able to scrounge up an encore for a while, let alone survive it.

And there it is: Wang Yizhou starts giggling, sinking down onto his side properly so he can cover his face with both of his hands, bottle set aside, closed up and discarded somewhere between the cushions, somewhere Ji Li doesn’t particularly care about, because it’s secondary to watching Wang Yizhou turn red between his spread fingers. The dynamic has righted itself. Ji Li is totally back in the driver’s seat, here, and Wang Yizhou is back along for the ride on his whims.

Not that Ji Li has many complaints about having the reins snatched clean out of his hands, surprise turn or not, if this is what happens when Wang Yizhou takes the lead, though, really. The complaints he does have are just— all about feasibility and stamina regarding getting so fucked out at any given time.

“Don’t laugh,” Ji Li complains, all hot air, “don’t laugh at me, Da-ge. You’re cruel. You’re really cruel, I’m getting a complex—”

“Sorry,” Wang Yizhou laughs, “sorry,” sounding anything but sorry, and Ji Li throws his head back, groaning, absolutely not grinning, not a bit, not at all.

“Stop that,” Ji Li continues, whiny, eyes flicking to the ceiling before he pulls his gaze down, turns his face, and meets Wang Yizhou head on, brow furrowing, the air of drama settling in over him. “Am I a joke, to you? Is my, my— emotional torment, does it amuse you?”

“It doesn’t,” Wang Yizhou promises, peeking out at him through his fingers, his shoulders shaking, the whole bit utterly unconvincing.

“I can’t believe this,” Ji Li says. “I can’t believe you. Shut up.”

Wang Yizhou does shut up. Almost immediately, in fact, as if on command. He even gets Ji Li to shut up, too, in tandem, and Ji Li has to acknowledge that it’s pretty neat, how Wang Yizhou accomplishes it: by getting Ji Li’s chin in his hand and drawing their mouths together, soft. It muffles Ji Li’s little sighing breath of warm surprise, tempted out by Wang Yizhou’s fingers stroking up the blade of his cheekbone, his other hand brought forward from its tuck close to the sprawl of his too-tall frame to slot in between the couch and Ji Li’s neck, cradling it.

Not a bad little trick, not at all. Ji Li will have to turn it back on him, sometime.