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It’s the last class of Zhou Zishu’s day and of course it’s his three hour class. He enjoys being able to zone into his work, working at his own pace and not pressured into the rigidity of a theory-based class. He can use his time drawing the models provided, his only limitation for the day being that charcoal must be used as the medium for today’s assignment. Otherwise, he can choose how much detail he wishes to include, which areas of the subject he chooses to focus on, which of the five poses the models give him to work with he wants to turn in for his grade. He guesses that, if given the chance, he would rather end his day with this class instead of the one has before this one--Anatomy. He’s decent at it, but it requires much more brain-space than figure drawing does.
He’s finished setting up his work area, setting out his charcoals and flipped to a fresh page in his sketchpad to set on his easel. A half-finished bottle of water sits next to him to get him through the foreseeable future so he doesn’t have to leave in the middle of his work. They start the lesson with a warm-up activity studying their own hand, practicing the shading techniques they worked on last Thursday while today’s model changes in the adjacent room. He doesn’t look up from his work when the door opens and he hears the person pad across the room and settle onto the small platform in the center of the room.
The Professor calls them to finish their activity and turn to a new page to prepare for their full-figure work of the day. She introduces their model but he doesn’t listen really, focusing instead on putting his final touches on his piece. He hears the timer winding to track how long the model must hold their poses. The first few give him a rear view of the model to study. The curve of his waist, the slender fingers, a glimpse of a cheekbone.
The third pose closes with the timer and the model adjusts into a new pose, this one giving him a three-quarter profile of the model. Zhou Zishu settles his charcoal onto the page and begins sketching, focusing on the pectorals of the man in front of him. His eyes trail upward as he follows the line of his sketch and his hand freezes in place. He recognizes this man. The lighting in the classroom is a lot clearer than the last room he had seen him in, but he’d recognize that defined cupid’s bow anywhere. He’s looking up at Wen Kexing today, but he’d been looking down at him at the party he’d been at on Saturday. When his cock has been in his mouth in a stranger’s dimly-lit bathroom. The memory was fuzzy from alcohol, but it was still very much there.
Just like that, his day has been completely turned on its head. He doesn’t think the other man has noticed the familiar face looking at him behind the safety of an easel, but he knows it’s inevitable.
He tries to focus on the page in front of him, but Zhou Zishu is suddenly very aware of the hickey Wen Kexing left on the inside of his thigh when he sees the absurdly purple mark he had left on the other man’s collarbone. And he has to draw that too. He swears to himself that he’s never going to drink again.
Mortified, he does his best to hide behind his easel while stealing glances to reference for his assignment, but he can feel the throb of the bruise where Wen Kexing’s teeth had sunk into him. Can feel the phantom of his mouth on his--
The charcoal in his fingers snaps and falls to the floor.
Only one pair of eyes follow the sound to see the blush rising on Zhou Zishu’s cheeks, hand poised in front of the paper. A flicker of recognition and then of knowing colors Wen Kexing’s eyes while he holds back a smirk. He has ten minutes left to hold this pose before he can move again. Oh, but when that time is up and he moves into a new position, he angles himself to face Zhou Zishu and leans his weight back onto his hands, his legs splayed with one knee bent and the other flat against the floor, tilting his head back to close his eyes.
Zhou Zishu thinks he might die.
He blinks a few times, waiting for the synapses in his brain to start firing again before he gets to work sketching. His eyes outline the hard and soft lines of the other’s body and his charcoal follows, albeit requiring more concentration than needed previously. Long fingers on delicate hands -- he does not think about where those fingers had been just two nights ago-- the subtle jut of his hip bones, the long column of his throat exposed to the fluorescent lights. He rubs the charcoal into the shadows of limbs on paper, in the dark bruise (He had left!!) on his collarbone. His mind strays and imagines how the charcoal on his fingers might look smeared on Wen Kexing’s skin, on his jawline or his wrist.
This is the longest figure drawing class Zhou Zishu has sat for in his entire life.
Finally, thank heavens, it’s the last five minutes of class and they’re instructed to finish their last marks before being given permission to pack up their things. After the last student puts down their charcoal signalling the end of the exercise, Wen Kexing stretches his long, long limbs and lets out a breathy sigh before meeting Zhou Zishu’s gaze. They hold eye contact for possibly three full seconds, but it feels like another hour is passing in the space between them.
Wen Kexing turns away when ther professor guides him back into the side room to change and reminds him where to find the lock. The class has mostly filtered out the door by now, and Zhou Zishu reluctantly leaves the room with the professor closing the door behind him. She wastes no time heading to her next class --Introduction To Illustration-- on the other side of the Art Building.
Zhou Zishu argues with himself for a few minutes on the appropriateness of what he’s about to do before giving up on propriety and reopening the door.
The door has hardly clicked shut again behind him before he’s being pushed back into it with a firm and steady grip. The heat in the look that Wen Kexing is giving him feels like it could burn a hole through his clothes (he wishes it could, to be honest). A half-second of surprise, then a mewl of want, of need, escapes Zhou Zishu when he realizes what’s happening.
The other’s mouth finds his own instantly, remembers where it had left off the last time it had touched his lips. He feels a nip at his bottom lip and oh that’s nice. A moan pushes its way out of Zhou Zishu as if his throat had taken on a life of its own. Maybe it had. His hips have also seemingly detached from his brain as, before he can form a proper thought, he grinds against Wen Kexing’s hip bone-- the one he had been drawing not thirty minutes prior. He leans into the kiss with fervor, grasping at his (very much bare) chest.
Wen Kexing pulls his mouth off of his and trails wet kisses down his neck, biting on the skin where it meets his shoulder. He startles out a yelp and bucks into him again. A sultry voice speaks in his ear and it takes all of Zhou Zishu’s attention to listen. “I’ve wanted to suck you off for the past hour,” he says.
Zhou Zishu has lost all comprehension of language except for the words “fuck”, “oh my god”, and “please”. The warmth of breath tickles his ear when he huffs a laugh.
Wen Kexing palms Zhou Zishu’s erection through his jeans, begging to kiss and suck on the spot his teeth were just moments ago. Another moan rips through him and his whole body shudders. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this vocal during sex but apparently that’s changing today.
The alarming realization hits him that the door they are currently pressed against is the one into the classroom….which doesn’t have a lock. He barely manages to breathe out half of a coherent sentence. “Not here. Side room. Lock.”
Wen Kexing releases his skin from his mouth, admiring the bruise purpling there. With a smirk that has Zhou Zishu’s knees going weak, he holds him firmly by his wrist and drags him into the side room he had been in not ten minutes ago. A light brightens the small room and he has a moment or two to take in his surroundings: a medium-sized stool, a small table, and a full-length mirror. Zhou Zishu desperately sheds his shirt and tosses it onto the stool where another lies--so that’s where the missing shirt went--before he’s once again crowded against the door and the lock is flipped closed.
Wen Kexing immediately attaches his mouth to one of his nipples and the electric feeling goes straight to Zhou Zishu’s groin. He gasps and bites his lip when he feels the other’s wet tongue dart out to lick eagerly at the sensitive bud. The sensation is intoxicating but it’s still not enough.
“Please,” he begs, his own hand moving toward where his cock is straining in his pants, desperate for some sort of friction.
Wen Kexing bats his hand away and pulls off of his nipple, smirking again in a way that reveals a lone dimple in his cheek. “Since you asked so nicely,” he purrs. He drags his tongue down his torso and teases at the waistline of his pants. His eyes flit upwards to look at Zhou Zishou, who already looks utterly destroyed, his chest heaving with every breath. He purposely takes his time with the button, then the zipper, conveniently ignoring the whimpers above him.
All at once, he takes the waistband of both his jeans and underwear in hand, pulling them down to reveal Zhou Zishu’s swollen, blushing cock leaking precome from the tip. Wen kexing salivates and licks his lips and Zhou Zishu would laugh at the absurdity of the action if he wasn’t centimeters from having that gorgeous mouth around him.
Making eye contact with him, Wen Kexing drags his tongue up the underside of his cock and Zhou Zishu lets out a hiss before his mouth closes around the head. Without the buzz of alcohol that he felt the past weekend, his senses are fully aware and the hot-wet-holy-shit around him feels so fucking good. That distinct cupid’s bow stretches obscenely around him as his cock disappears further into his mouth and the sight drives Zhou Zishu insane. He nests his fingers into Wen Kexing’s hair and pulls. The resulting moan vibrates around him and his own moan joins in chorus.
His head falls back against the door and he allows himself to just feel. He feels as the other bobs his head down and then back up to swirl his tongue around the head. Feels him sucking on his way back down. Feels delicate hands gripping his thighs for support. Wen Kexing moans again around his cock and Zhou Zishu bucks into his mouth, down into the back of his throat.
Wen Kexing gags and Zhou Zishu pulls himself back ready to apologize, but before he can, those delicate hands move to his ass and push him forward so his cock once again hits the tight-wet-so-good at the back of his throat. Heated brown eyes with pupils blown wide look up meaningfully at him, encouraging him to fuck his mouth, which he eagerly obliges.
He knows he’s not going to last long. He feels the thick saliva of Wen Kexing’s throat collecting around his length. Wen Kexing’s eyes water from the strain and his throat vibrates around him and he just doesn’t stop moaning.
Zhou Zishu struggles to take a moment to breathe and looks up, eyes half-lidded, momentarily forgetting the mirror at the back of the room. He makes eye contact with himself, face red and lips bitten raw. He then looks downward to see the full sight of Wen Kexing, hair knotted around his fingers and gagging on his cock and that’s what sends him over the edge without warning.
Wen Kexing’s eyes flutter shut and his throat tightens around him as he swallows him down. He feels the tv static under his skin, his belly swooping with the waves of his orgasm. He swallows until he’s milked every last drop from him, luxuriating in the feel of Zhou Zishu heavy on his tongue. He sweeps his tongue twice over the sensitive head before the overstimulation creeps over Zhou Zishu and he’s pulled off unceremoniously. A string of saliva connects Wen Kexing’s mouth to his cock before it breaks, hanging off of his lip. He thumbs it away and they both struggle to catch their breath, two rhythms competing for the same hot air filling the room.
When his breath finally evens out, Wen Kexing stands, knees cracking on the way up, and kisses him. It’s not as fevered as it was when they were wrapped up in each other. It’s languid, soft. When they part, Zhou Zishu raises his eyes to meet the other’s and gives him a shy smile. “That was--”
“Yeah,” Wen Kexing responds, not needing any elucidation.
Their bodies press together and Zhou Zishu feels the other’s erection hard against his thigh. “What about you?” he starts. “Do you want me to…”
Wen Kexing shakes his head with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Not here. Meet me,” he writes what Zhou Zishu assumes to be his dorm number on a scrap piece of paper he finds in the room. “Twenty minutes.”
Zhou Zishu nods enthusiastically. “Yeah I--yes.”
The tenor of Wen Kexing’s laugh melts into his bones. He hands him his shirt while pulling on his own. “I’ll leave now, then you leave in five minutes to avoid suspicion,” he says conspiratorially with a wink. “See you soon.”
The door clicks shut behind him and Zhou Zishu lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. As planned, he leaves the room five minutes later.