Domestication

by capyshota

Summary:

Then, cautiously, he asks, “You want me… to be your date?”

Hua Cheng’s lips pick up. “Mm… no.” He stops fiddling with his braid and leans in closer, knuckles brushing the underside of He Xuan’s chin. He tits his head up like he’s assessing a product.

He Xuan’s breath catches, his fists clench.

“Not a date,” he murmurs, “A pet.”

Notes:

• For IceImagines.

For Ice!

Chapter 1

The street light above He Xuan’s head flickers twice, then goes out. 

He hikes his backpack higher onto his shoulder, and absently kicks a pebble down the sidewalk. When he comes upon it in another few steps, he kicks it again. 

The city smells oily at night, like car exhaust and tar, but as much as he wishes it wasn’t, it’s undeniably the scent of home. 

He passes through a cloud of cigarette smoke from a gaggle of old men and looks at them from the corner of his eye. Their gazes likewise follow him, decidedly unfriendly. At least he doesn’t have anything worth stealing, and he looks it—jeans worn in the knees and thighs from wear, scuffed up shoes, and a bleach-stained hoodie. His backpack sags at the small of his back, pulled down by his textbooks. The old men huff from the corners of their lips and lean back against the building. 

The stone, when He Xuan kicks it again, skitters sideways, into the middle of the road. He slows to a stop. 

His mind is turning over and over, has been all day—all week. He hadn’t absorbed anything from today’s lectures, cogs too jammed to let new information in. 

What can he do? What else can he do? 

After a long moment that’s only as silent as the city allows it to be, He Xuan lifts his foot and kicks a street sign, pole quivering violently. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself, then again, a little sharper, “Fuck!”  

He drags himself forward and presses his forehead to a nearby wall. It cools the angry heat in his face and brings him back to a neutral numb. He hadn’t grown up thinking the world was unkind, but with age comes cynicism, and He Xuan is a model cynic at the ripe age of nineteen. He thuds his head on the brick a few times. Two and a half more years of school before he can get a good paying job. Two and a half more years of tuition, and fees, and rent. All while his sister is… 

He sighs, then purses his lips. He didn’t think it would get this bad. They made do for a few years after their parents died, slogging through life until He Xuan could get his scholarship and start school—but the scholarship never came. He was robbed of it, he’s sure; with his grades, he should’ve received a full ride. The thought still lights a fire in the pit of his stomach. Without that, the money started melting through their fingers, soaked up by the college coffers. 

And then his sister had gotten sick. She’d had to stop working, and He Xuan had scrambled to find a job as they dove toward rock bottom. All the money he makes goes to her. But it’s still not enough. He stands up from where he’s slumped against the wall. He could get a second job, and quit school, but then he’d never find a high enough paying job to dig them out of this hole. Or he could stay in school and risk the money running out entirely before he graduates. They’re already in debt, he barely scrapes together enough for food— 

He Xuan’s stomach churns at that, growling like a cornered animal. He lets out an exasperated breath, irritated with his own appetite, but allows his attention to drift to the greasy glow of a nearby restaurant anyway. He shoulders open the door and squints under the cheap fluorescents. It’s practically empty, so he takes a seat and rests his chin in his palm, staring at the chair opposite him blankly as he waits for a server. He doesn’t bother to pick up the menu. 

“Uh huh?” An old lady approaches him from behind. 

He Xuan presses a hand to his stomach. He looks up then looks away. “…Can I get a bowl of rice?” 

She’s quiet for a moment. “Rice and…?” 

He Xuan can feel the bags under his eyes. “Just rice. Thanks.” 

The old lady stands there for another few seconds then mutters, “aiyo,” to herself and turns back toward the kitchen. 

He shrugs out of his backpack and pulls his hood back, swiping his bangs out of his face. His hair is scraped into a haphazard ponytail, and so black it’s almost blue, giving his pale skin a near sickly undertone. His eyes are similarly dark, like a curb-side puddle at midnight, stained with all the runoff of the city. 

He checks his phone for the time and finds it dead. The clock on the wall reads close to eleven; he works late most nights so his roommates don’t wait up for him, which he’s thankful for. With a quiet huff, He Xuan shuts his eyes and drops his head back, attempting to space out until his food arrives. 

However many minutes later, the clunk of dishes being placed in front of him startles him out of the pseudo-sleep he’s fallen into, and he blinks his eyes open. He refrains from gawking. The old lady has laid out five different dishes of grilled meat and vegetables with noodles, dumplings, soup… 

He Xuan’s face twists for a split-second before he turns towards her retreating form and says, “I didn’t order any of this—” 

“It’s on me.” 

He Xuan startles slightly but masks it well, swivelling back to find a man perched behind the chair on the other side of his table. He’s obnoxiously handsome, He Xuan regretfully thinks as a first impression, with a mature face and long hair braided over one shoulder. He’s much older than He Xuan, probably sauntering towards his late-thirties, but doing so very gracefully. His fingers are ringed and his ears are pierced, but he otherwise wouldn’t look out of place in the corporate world with his wine red button down. Certainly his most striking aspect is the eyepatch on his right side, under which the tail end of a scar peeks. He Xuan is magnetized to it immediately, but forces his gaze away, settling on the intact eye instead. There’s a glimmer of amusement there. 

“…I don’t take handouts,” He Xuan says coolly. 

The man hums, deliberately taking a seat. He holds himself like he owns the place, playing idly with the ring on his thumb as he begins to speak. 

“And why not? You look like you could use it.” It draws the line between blunt and insulting. 

He Xuan grabs for his backpack, intending to leave. “Why do you care?” 

“Care?” A lazy smirk spreads across the man’s face. “Mm, I guess you could say I care. Stay; eat.” 

He watches He Xuan’s indecision and curiosity get the better of him until he slowly releases his backpack and settles back into his chair. But he doesn’t reach for the chopsticks. “…What do you want from me?” 

The man laughs quietly. “Clever boy,” he murmurs. “Everything has a price, doesn’t it?” He folds his arms and reclines. 

He Xuan holds his gaze, determined not to waver under the weight of the man’s competence. His stomach is embarrassing him, grumbling and yowling like a street cat. 

“Eat,” the man says again, a little less leniency in his tone. 

He Xuan clicks his tongue and pulls out a set of chopsticks. Piece by piece, he tries a bit of every dish, occasionally glancing up at the self-satisfied look on the man’s face. 

The food is incredible, better than the restaurant’s facade had led him to believe. And he’s starving. He quickly polishes off a number of plates, and the man’s lips twitch into a smile. 

“Not so hard, was it?” 

A glower takes its place on He Xuan’s face, hackles rising at the taunt. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, then grabs his backpack and spins towards the door. 

A handsome chuckle drifts after him and he resists the urge to look back as the man hums, “Any time.” 

—

A new swelling panic is filling the spot where numbness typically sits in He Xuan’s chest. His face doesn’t give it away, but the slight tremor in his hands as he leans forward might. 

What should he do? What the fuck should he do?  

One hand presses to his chest, and the other drops to his phone, still open to the email from the hospital. He’s perched on a bench outside his lecture, which he’d stumbled from just a minute ago, head swimming. 

An operation, he’d read several times before it truly sunk in; thirty thousand yuan.  

He scrambles mentally about how he could possibly come up with that money, and shifts it down to two feasible options: theft, or selling an organ. He Xuan folds himself in half, pressing his chest to his thighs, and grips the lip of the bench, shutting his eyes. His hair falls over one shoulder and his brows furrow. 

“…Fuck!” he hisses, slamming his fist hard enough that the pain reverberates up his arm and settles in his shoulder. 

He becomes aware, suddenly, of someone taking over the spot next to him, and pauses. 

“…Can you fuck off?” he mutters, sparing a glance sideways through his hair. 

They don’t move. All he can make out are black slacks and shined shoes—not typical student wear. He Xuan grits his teeth and sucks in a breath with no intention of calming himself down. He sits up carefully, ensuring his simmering stress remains under the surface. 

“Listen,” he says, aware of how dead his eyes probably look. 

The person next to him is a man, it turns out, a few years older than him at least  and dressed for the office. Or a funeral. A black shirt and coat with gloved hands folded in his lap and short hair parted to frame his face. He’s watching He Xuan with what feels like blatant disinterest, his gaze dull and his mouth resting comfortably in an emotionless line. 

He Xuan frowns and looks him up and down once before continuing, “…I don’t know if you’re looking for company or what, but I’m not in the fucking mood.” He leans against the back of the bench and extends his legs, scuffed sneakers kicking out. “Unless you’re going to pay me for it,” he mutters under his breath. 

An off-putting feeling floods his gut then, and He Xuan tilts his head to find the man smiling at him, neither kind nor unkind, but entirely unsettling. 

“I think you’ll find an arrangement could be made to something of that extent.” 

He Xuan’s lip twitches. The man reaches into his coat then, and He Xuan follows with his gaze. 

“I represent an organization,” he explains slowly, holding out a business card between two fingers, “that caters to people with needs similar to your own. Take it,” he prompts. 

“Needs?” He Xuan spits, his sister’s operation drilling at the back of his mind. “I don’t need anything.” 

The man’s smile tightens a little, the freckle under his eye pulling as he squints. He looks as though he doesn’t believe that for a second. “We offer a variety of services; tragedy can strike anyone, at any time, and my organization offers relief to those in dire need, financial or otherwise.” He blinks and his smile slowly reverts to a thin line. “You never know when you might find yourself in need.” 

He Xuan furrows his brows, swallowing down his retort at the last second in favour of staring in scathing silence. To say his curiosity isn’t piqued would be a lie, but his fuming hasn’t diffused, and he doesn’t want to give this guy the satisfaction of telling him in. 

When he sees He Xuan still has no intention of taking the card, he places it on the bench between them. “I recommend you think it over.” He tucks his jacket tighter around himself and stands, murmuring, “Have a pleasant evening,” in the same bland tone before walking off. 

When he’s out of sight, He Xuan pinches the corner of the card and flips it the right way up. The card is deep red with the text in silver foil: Yin Yu, Private Loan Consultant, and a phone number. He flips the card over. No company name or logo. No branding whatsoever. 

He Xuan lifts his gaze in the direction the man had wandered and presses his tongue to the back of his teeth. Then he glances at his phone, still open to the email. 

—

“No, no,” He Xuan mutters with the phone to his ear, playing with the rip in his jeans. “Don’t worry, I’ll—no,” he sighs. 

He stands and continues to pace his apartment. Neither of his roommates are home yet, so the place is still and as silent as it can be with the neighbours to the left screaming at each other. 

“I know… Yeah, I know I’m already late, that’s why I’m talking to you right now. If you just give me,” He Xuan counts on one hand then curses under his breath and shuts his eyes for a moment, “…three weeks?” 

He already knows it isn’t going to fly; his landlord is the kind of man who will throw his coffee back at the server if it isn’t hot enough. He Xuan plants his feet again, in front of the fridge, as he waits for him to scream himself to the point of breathlessness. He scans what little food he has to cobble together a dinner from, mostly pickled side dishes from restaurants that he’d asked for to go, and clicks his tongue. 

“Fine,” he snaps eventually, “two weeks,” and hangs up the phone. 

Rent is lower on the priority list than usual this month, with the operation looming in the back of his mind at every hour. He’s missed four days of classes and mercilessly beats himself up over it but god, he’s in a deep fucking hole and trying to dig himself out is really starting to hurt. He’s getting skinnier, he can already tell—his pants don’t sit the same on his hips anymore. And he hasn’t had the courage to answer any of his sister’s calls, not ready to face her concern for him when she’s the one who’s— 

He hisses his restless frustration between his teeth as he pulls out the rice cooker. It’s easy to go through the motions: rinsing, draining, rinsing, draining, filling, plugging in. He shakes the water from his hand and slumps over the counter when his gaze falls on that card, again. A bright, auspicious shade of red, and one of the only spots of colour in his apartment, it keeps catching his eye. 

Stupid idea, it’s a stupid fucking idea.  

He’s reached for the card no less than ten times this week, and managed to stop himself every time, but his resolve is crumbling embarrassingly fast. What sort of shady, back room business would he be implicating himself in? He Xuan is anything but dumb, and he knows reputable loans don’t sell themselves to poor, desperate students with maxed out credit and no assets. Then again, he’s not in a place where he can afford to judge the disreputable—he’d nearly tried to swipe an old lady’s purse yesterday. 

He Xuan’s hands curl into fists. Fuck this. God, fuck everything.  

He’s dialling the number before he can stop himself again. 

“Good evening, can I ask the subject of your business?” The voice belongs to a woman, young and peppy. 

Skepticism rolling through him in waves, He Xuan licks his lips. “Uh… money,” he mutters, “A loan. I talked to a guy…” 

She seems not to need any more information than that. “Mhm, hold for a sec while I transfer you, please.” 

He drops his head, picking at the peeling linoleum countertop. 

“…Hello?” 

This, he recognizes, is the man from the bench. He Xuan lifts his hand to rub at his forehead, fighting against the nerves getting the better of him. “Yeah, uh… you told me…” He Xuan winces, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck, okay,” he murmurs. “You told me you could help me out the other day. Give me some money. Is that… still on the table?” He feels like he’s on his knees begging for spare change; it’s humiliating. His ears are heating against his will, and he’s thankful at least that they’re not face to face. 

A moment of silence passes through the line of communication—He Xuan starts tapping his foot. Then he hears murmuring on the other end, and laughing. The flush spreads down his neck. 

Suddenly, the voice returns, “Meet me at the insurance agency on the corner of Xinfeilu in half an hour to discuss the terms of our agreement. Loans begin at twenty-five thousand yuan, collateral required, and our payment plans are reasonable and open to negotiation. Understood?” 

He Xuan’s eyes widen slightly. “Uh, yeah.” 

“We’re glad we could be of service to you.” 

The line cuts out before he has the chance to ask anything, from who the fuck are you, to who the fuck are you?  

He Xuan shoves his phone back into his pocket and unplugs the rice cooker, better judgement failing him as he heads for the door. 

It’s the middle of the night. The entire street is blacked out, including the insurance agency. He Xuan isn’t loving his chances of not being stabbed by someone tonight. He lingers across the street, devoid of cars, with nowhere to go but forward. A heavy sigh that seems to carry the weight of his hesitance in it leaves his chest. 

What the hell is he doing? Besides saving his sister, feeding himself, and investing in his education, in his future. He steps on a littered cigarette butt and grinds it into the pavement with his heel. 

After a moment, he pulls his hoodie tighter around himself and crosses to the storefront, knocking on the front window. A moment of unsettling silence sits, stagnant, in the air. He Xuan bites the tip of his tongue, shoulders tensing. 

“…Fine,” he mutters after a second, turning his back and scuffing his soles on the sidewalk. 

“You’re early.” 

He pauses in place and debates for several seconds whether to turn around, whether it’s all worth it. He Xuan sucks his teeth then spits into the gutter. 

…Fuck it.  

He turns on his heel.  “…Better than being late.” 

The man—Yin Yu—offers a mirthless smile that doesn’t make it to his eyes. “I suppose.” 

He Xuan can’t shake the feeling that he’s encroaching on something he shouldn’t be, but forces himself through the muck of it to follow Yin Yu into a side door, down a hallway. If he’s killed tonight, at least he’ll be debt free in the afterlife. They pass a few offices with lights on and frosted-out windows. 

“Hey, I… don’t think I have anything for collateral,” He Xuan mutters as they walk. 

“Collateral isn’t collected upfront.” 

“Oh.” 

He leads He Xuan into a back room—it looks, for as much as his lacking experience can tell, like the back office of an insurance agency. No whips or chains or vats of acid. Although the single overhead light isn’t exactly welcoming. 

Yin Yu gestures for him to sit while he leafs through a stack of papers. 

“Loans are collectible a minimum of six months from today’s date and payable in cash, understood?” 

He Xuan places his elbows on the table and nods. 

“If no payments are made within twelve months, our loan collectors will be in touch.” 

He continues to stare as Yin Yu pulls out a stapled sheet of paper and slides it towards He Xuan with a pen. 

“Payment plans include bi-weekly and monthly options, to be dropped off at this location, is that acceptable?” 

He nods again. “…How much can I have?” 

Yin Yu remains standing opposite him. “How much would you like?” 

He waits for Yin Yu to offer an upper limit. Nothing. 

“Uh… sixty?” he tries. 

“Sixty thousand,” he agrees, like they’re agreeing on what to get for lunch. 

“Wait, fucking… seriously?” He Xuan mutters, eyes widening a fraction. 

Yin Yu looks at him like he’s a specimen on a lab slide. “Seriously.” He raps the file in front on He Xuan with a knuckle. “Sign, please.” 

“Don’t you need my, like—” 

He Xuan pauses when he realizes contact information is pointless—he’s been on their radar. His stomach goes heavy, an unfamiliar kind of fear rearing its head. He didn’t happen to run into Yin Yu, he was scouted. Fuck. It sends an involuntary shiver up his spine. Well… it’s too late to run. His fists clench and unclench and he clears his throat. 

“Yeah, uh, never mind,” he coughs. He picks up the pen and signs without reading, forfeiting whatever autonomy he has for the sake of, well, everything. He can’t afford not to sign, so what difference does it make? “There,” he sits back, sucking in a breath through his constricted throat. 

Yin Yu collects the papers and thumbs his way through them. “…Can you send half of that somewhere else?” “Changzhen hospital.” Yin Yu eyes him as he double-checks the signature lines. 

He Xuan’s cheek twitches when he purses his lips. If he had any doubts that they were keeping tabs on him before, then no longer. “…Yeah.” 

“Yes, we can wire directly.” 

A wholly unpleasant concoction of joy and nausea wells inside him. 

“Excuse me.” Yin Yu tucks the papers into a briefcase and heads back out into the hall. When he returns, it’s with a manila folder in hand. 

He Xuan almost doesn’t want to thank him. He does so as he’s being ushered from the room, abruptly, as if they’re expecting a sudden rush of clients at midnight on a Thursday. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Yin Yu murmurs, and goes to close the door. 

“Hey…” He Xuan turns before he can be shut out, putting a hand up to block the door. The question that’s been tumbling back and forth through his mind finally rises. “…Who the hell are you?” 

Yin Yu laughs, a subdued, somber sound, like he’s out of practice. “If you ever need to know, you’ll be made aware.” 

The door shuts. 

—

He Xuan prefers to study on campus than in the indisputable grunge of his apartment. So the afternoon finds him in the library, chin in hand, poring over his textbooks when his mind starts severely wandering. Finals are in the next few weeks, but the words are quite genuinely swimming in the face of his exhaustion, blurring and slurring like a swarm of eels. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and snaps his book shut. 

It’s been eight months. Time has passed… maybe too quickly. Days to weeks to months—all suspiciously easy with the funds one needs to survive in one’s pocket. 

His sister is fine, his landlord is happy, his stomach is full, his academic advisor isn’t breathing down his neck. But the well is running dry, quickly. He runs the numbers in his head, then runs them again on paper. He hasn’t been sleeping—too busy trying to make the numbers work. Even with his job, things are building up faster than he can pay them off, and this debt… He Xuan purses his lips and grinds the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, seeing stars for a second. If he doesn’t pay off this debt, he doesn’t know what the fuck will happen to him. 

He’d regretted, the morning after, not reading the stipulations on whatever the fuck he’d signed. He’d sat on the floor of his living room, tapping his nails absently against the coffee table. There’s just something about the next morning that has the tendency to snap your world into perspective like a misaligned vertebrae. A choice has been made that can’t be unmade. 

He Xuan sighs, long and slow, then snaps his book shut. At least he still has all his organs. 

Summer comes quickly, and with it, a deep, yawning dread. The envelope stashed in the back of his closet is empty, the last thousand broken at the store and used up on groceries, train fare, and other et ceteras. His bank account is dwindling, even with his generous repayment plan. 

Inevitably, he crashes. 

Back to square one, back to the fucking hole the world has dug him into where the walls break away under your fingernails, all sinking silt and grime. He’s working full time but the money loops back around to his asshole landlord. A strange anxiety begins building inside him: foreboding. He doesn’t remember the last full night of sleep he’s gotten, with two overdue payments hanging over his head like a cinderblock, and tuition due in a few weeks. 

It’s a stunning, blue summer day, but He Xuan is wan, with plum-coloured bags beneath his eyes. The insurance agency, absent of any branding or enticing decor, is just as dull in the middle of the day as it had been that first night. He Xuan shoulders open the door, bell jingling, and trudges up to the counter. 

“Is Yin Yu here?” 

The man behind the counter looks surprised for a moment before a subtle nervous flush breaks out beneath his collar. “I… he is… occupied at the moment.” Then, like he’s desperate for He Xuan to decline, asks, “…Can I take a message?” 

He Xuan stares blankly at him, dead eyed. “How long will he be?” 

The flush creeps into his swollen cheeks. “I’m… not sure. Could be a while.” 

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t have a goddamn clue what Yin Yu actually does. 

But before he can dwell on it further, Yin Yu rounds the corner, trailing a man He Xuan’s sleepless brain immediately latches onto. He’s striking, and… 

Striking is really the only word coming to He Xuan at the moment. Clearly a superior, commanding the sudden attention of everyone in the room. His face is just familiar enough that He Xuan’s fatigue-drunk brain wants to ask if he’s ever been on television. 

Through a haze, like wading into an alley of cheap smoke, he vaguely remembers, then a little clearer—the restaurant. Months ago, that strange incident. 

No sooner has he drawn that connecting line than the man’s gaze finds him briefly, then doubles back. He pauses in his stride, and Yin Yu pauses with him, looking He Xuan’s way. He leans up and murmurs something into the man’s ear, who nods minutely, eye focused the entire time on He Xuan. A smile, or something slyly resembling one, causes him to squint slightly. He leans back and says something in response to Yin Yu. 

He Xuan’s lethargic gaze flicks slowly between the two of them. The air in the room has gone considerably stiff, and he distantly notices. 

“Uh,” He Xuan says, taking a step forward. His eyes settle decisively on Yin Yu and he mutters, “I needed to talk about… my payment plan.” 

A distinctly cool aura surrounds the man beside him, who Yin Yu seems to defer to when He Xuan speaks. Okay, so he’s that superior. He assesses He Xuan for a moment then nods, and Yin Yu sedately approaches him. 

“Chengzhu would like to speak with you. If you’d please.” He gestures behind him and He Xuan’s attention shifts. 

A premonition creeps like fingers between his ribs, silently ominous. “…Chengzhu?” 

Yin Yu just dips his head. 

He Xuan bristles instinctively, mouth twitching. This kind of deference rubs him the wrong way—regardless of how domineering a presence may be. And looking over at this chengzhu… his presence is certainly… oppressive. 

“We can talk here,” he says, brandishing a typical obstinacy. 

Yin Yu looks ready to step in when the man finally speaks. 

“We can,” he hums, and the environment kicks up from stiff to positively rigid. 

He Xuan watches as his lips turn, clearly amused. 

“Although it might not be in your best interests.” He walks nearer, the air between them seeming to crackle like the dry snap of electricity. 

He Xuan feels the shock in the soles of his feet, some covert message to pedal backwards. But the man is within whispering distance of him now, and says, “If memory serves, the prospect of my handouts probably isn’t something you’re eager to discuss with an audience. Correct?” 

It’s hard to chase back the feeling that he’s been pinned through the wings, like a butterfly to a board. Yin Yu stands off to the side, watching indifferently with no intention of stepping in. 

His handouts. He’d known, on a basic level, that Yin Yu was not running this organization—he doesn’t have the charisma for that. He had, however, hoped that this might just be an under-the-table sort of business, and not a below-the-crust-of-the-earth one. Illegality doesn’t really phase He Xuan living in the neighborhood he does, but the man before him is not a superior, or a boss. He’s a god. 

The entire room is humming with the kind of cosmic silence that puts your existence into perspective, everyone bowed in some form or another to this Chengzhu. The fear a god strikes into you doesn’t bloom from nothing, and thus, He Xuan reasons, what he’s gotten himself into is clearly not nothing.  

He sets his jaw. Fuck.  

“…Fine,” he mutters with as much disinterest as he can muster, “Where?” 

Hua Cheng just smiles, turning towards the back hall and gesturing with a finger for him to follow. 

Yin Yu doesn’t move until he does, flanking him from behind like some kind of security escort. Oh, this is fucked. 

He follows, obedient, whether he likes it or not, down the hallway, into the office Yin Yu had initially taken him to all those months ago. 

Yin Yu heads directly for the filing cabinet in the corner, beginning to rifle through folders. 

His eyes roam across the room, to the man who has everyone daunted, settling into a high-backed chair and thumbing one of his cufflinks. His eye is likewise trained on He Xuan. 

“…Do you have a name?” He Xuan mutters. 

His response is a gesture at the seat across from him, significantly less luxurious. 

“I like you,” is the first thing he murmurs when He Xuan drops into it. 

He blinks; doesn’t reply. It just teases the man’s grin wider. He makes aging something refined and elegant, and as much as He Xuan doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction, it’s difficult to smother his admiration. 

“Oh, yes,” the man continues, holding his hand out to the side. Yin Yu places a manila folder in his waiting palm then moves to stand near the door. “You’re certainly a step up.” 

The vague compliment itches the back of He Xuan’s neck. “…No name, then?” 

He reclines a little, still amused, and says, “It’s Hua Cheng.” 

He Xuan doesn’t feel his expression change, but some distinct shift must occur because Hua Cheng hisses a laugh before dragging his tongue over the points of his teeth. 

“I knew you were clever, but street-savvy, too? What a treat.” 

Slowly, like he’s scared to offend, He Xuan takes a breath. Lets it out. 

Hua Cheng. As in handcuffed on the news, best lawyers in the country, impossible to pin for anything related to the syndicate that he’s run for the last eight years, Hua Cheng.  

A sudden stifling heat warms him, his shirt sticking to his back. He’d known some kids in school who’d gotten wrapped up in minor gang drama but this is on an entirely different level. He owes, with interest, close to forty-five thousand yuan to a gang that, if rumours are to be trusted, can and will hang him by his ankles and use him for target practice when he tells them he can’t pay. Which he can’t. He can feel his rabbiting pulse in his fingertips, swollen and tight. 

Hua Cheng seems to enjoy the show, at least, his eye flitting lazily over He Xuan’s attempt to conceal his growing panic. 

“I love watching it fall into place,” he murmurs, leaning his cheek in his hand. “Well? Ready to gamble?” 

He Xuan’s tongue curls in his mouth, then settles, and he forces his heart down with it. 

“…I can’t,” he begins cautiously, “pay off… my loan. Yet.” 

Hua Cheng glances at the papers Yin Yu had handed him. “Looks as though your signature promises you can.” 

He swallows tightly and struggles to keep the fight from draining out of him. If he died in this room he’s confident nobody would ever find his body. He Xuan pinches his leg. 

“I can. Just… not now.” 

“When, then?” Hua Cheng snaps shut the folder and places it on the table between them. “Well, Young Master He?” 

He hesitates a moment longer, his sweat rapidly cooling and bleeding through his shirt. 

“I… don’t know.” 

Hua Cheng looks down his nose at him, mouth losing its playful quirk; that gaze would rock the foundation of anyone, anywhere, he thinks. He Xuan shuts his eyes briefly, sucks in a breath, tries to no avail to calm the tremor in his legs, the waves of nausea. 

Fuck, he’s actually going to die. His sister will think he killed himself and nobody else will even notice. What the fuck has he done with his life? Was he even a good person? He lets his breath out through his teeth and opens his eyes. 

Hua Cheng makes a low sound, an ambiguous huff. “God, you’re precious,” he mumbles, then breathes out a laugh. 

He Xuan is still for a second before his eyebrows crease. 

Hua Cheng tilts forward with a lazy smile, loose hair falling over one shoulder. “If I were to tell you I’ve never killed anyone, would you believe me?” 

“No,” he bites before weighing his options. 

Hua Cheng’s lips press together, his smile growing. 

“What about,” he admires the sheen on He Xuan’s neck before his eye lifts back to his face, “I’ve never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it?” 

He Xuan takes a moment longer this time, his brows still drawn, before muttering, again, “…No.”  

Hua Cheng’s eye glints like the weighty gloss of obsidian. He sits back in his chair. “…I’m uniquely positioned to offer you every benefit our organization has to offer,” he hums. 

“I just need an extension,” He Xuan says around a tightened jaw. “I told you, I don’t take—” 

“I’m aware,” Hua Cheng says, and there’s just enough of a snap to it to shut He Xuan up. “If you’ll allow my counsel,” he reaches out to thumb He Xuan’s file, “what I’m about to offer you is better left not negotiated.” 

He Xuan gnashes his teeth but stays quiet—whatever self-preservation he still possesses is trying desperately to pad his temper. 

Hua Cheng stands and takes a handful of measured steps over to He Xuan’s side of the table. The proximity, again, manifests in the weight of the air around them. He leans against the desk and crosses his arms before continuing. 

“I’d like you to accompany me to events in return for debt forgiveness.” 

He Xuan’s mouth remains clamped firmly shut. His face is carefully neutral, eyes trained precariously on Hua Cheng’s chest, on his gore-red shirt. 

“A set percentage per appearance with me. Once a week, maybe twice.” Hua Cheng begins playing with a thin braid close to his neck. He curls it around a knuckle then brings it to his lips while he says, “I’ll provide the attire; all you have to do is look pretty, hm? Does that sound manageable?” 

Gingerly, He Xuan unclamps his jaw. His gaze flits to Yin Yu by the door, utterly unfazed, and back, up to Hua Cheng’s face this time. The tremor in his leg has dulled to an infrequent twitch, more from shock than anything else, he thinks. 

“…What sort of events?” he asks, guarded. The distinction between a business meeting and an arms deal seems an important one. 

Hua Cheng offers him half a shrug. “Whatever I feel like. Nothing too dangerous if that’s what you’re worried about. Check-ups. Dinner, maybe.” 

He Xuan’s leg stops twitching, feet flattening to the floor suddenly, heavy as lead. His whole body stiffens, stomach inexplicably settling. 

Then, cautiously, he asks, “You want me… to be your date?” 

Hua Cheng’s lips pick up. “Mm… no.” He stops fiddling with his braid and leans in closer, knuckles brushing the underside of He Xuan’s chin. He tits his head up like he’s assessing a product. 

He Xuan’s breath catches, his fists clench. 

“Not a date,” he murmurs, “A pet.”  

Something twists in He Xuan’s gut suddenly—humiliation, probably. It’s a sturdy punch to his ego, something he didn’t think could deflate much further after having lived like a street cat. But He Xuan isn’t an idiot, and he’s not a dead man either, yet, so he scans Hua Cheng’s face. 

“…For how long?” Hua Cheng releases his chin to pat his cheek. 

“That depends how well-behaved you are. You owe me forty-six thousand, eight hundred and twelve yuan; show me how quickly you can make that worth my while.” 

He Xuan’s lip turns a little, sneering, and Hua Cheng presses his thumb into the bared space of tooth and gum without hesitation. He pushes He Xuan’s lip back and strokes down to the point of his canine. It shocks He Xuan enough that his jaw goes slack. It’s just for a second, but that second is all Hua Cheng needs to reach in and pinch his tongue. His fingers are frigid and taste like bitter metal; He Xuan recoils. 

“I’d get you to shake on it, but I doubt your word is any more reliable than your signature,” Hua Cheng mutters, “So we’ll just have to trust each other, alright? I’ll send you the details tomorrow.” He releases He Xuan’s tongue and wipes his fingers off on the fraying hem of his sweater before standing and meandering towards the door. 

Yin Yu opens it wordlessly. 

Hua Cheng pauses in the doorway, fingers trilling in midair while He Xuan sits, insides knotted. He flashes He Xuan a tilted smile that’s impossible to decipher and offers his parting words. 

“Enjoy your new leash, pup.”

Notes:

Twitter: showxing_

Chapter 2

He Xuan squints at himself in the mirror, its surface stained and flecked with spots that no longer wipe away. 

He turns his head either way, inspecting the lingering shadows in his cheeks—he’s getting hungry again. He’s thought over the deal—a promise sealed in the simple medium of silver tongues—at least a dozen times, stomach instinctively dropping every time. 

It’s not the prospect of blatantly entering gang territory that unnerves He Xuan though, it’s the generosity. Forty-six thousand, eight hundred and twelve. The number is seared into his mind—he can feel it dangling above his head, snared around his neck: a price tag on a piece of meat. It’s another sticker of shame, but one that he can’t rip off without it taking some flesh with it. 

His focus shifts. 

Behind him, hooked over the arm of the shower head, is an outfit—the “attire” Hua Cheng had mentioned. It isn’t… he can’t say typical because He Xuan has no idea what’s typical for a gangster to wear, but if he were to guess, it wouldn’t be this. 

It’s… business casual, maybe? Sleek, flowing slacks and a button-up tipped with silver at the lapels. It’s finely embroidered with mythological beasts of greed—He Xuan doesn’t think too hard on the implications of their fangs and lolling tongues. Hua Cheng had been thorough, sending shoes and accessories as well. 

He pulls them on a piece at a time then wonders if there’s some sort of contextual subtlety he’s missing. He turns around in the mirror, looking for brands of gang affiliation, and instead finds a piece of paper in his back pocket with the address written in a ghoulish scrawl. His lips pinch. He surveys his outfit one more time, the heavy silver earrings and slight sheerness to the shirt, and sighs, “Okay, fuck it,” snatching his keys on the way out. 

He catches the bus across town, recognition dawning on him the closer he gets—it’s a club. He’s been here before, once, against his will; he supposes that makes this a pattern. 

Hua Cheng hadn’t made any indication as to where he’d be, so He Xuan is left to wander through a crowd that’s pulsing like the headache building behind his temples. He hadn’t struck He Xuan as the type to rave in a sweaty throng at ten PM, so he turns his gaze up to the second floor—a mezzanine bordered with booths and tables. He moves aside to let a waitress pass him on the stairs. 

Sure enough, in about the most conspicuous spot He Xuan could think of, an enormous horseshoe-shaped booth is bursting with life. Glasses and cans are spread across the table, a topography of drunkenness, and alcohol spatters like blood with each cheers; it’s a modern bacchanalian hellscape. The majority are suits—businessmen edging towards middle age, red-cheeked as they try to ingratiate themselves and end up accomplishing the opposite. It’s raucous and distasteful, even by He Xuan’s standards. 

And right in the centre, like an idol untouched by the chaos it’s kindled, sits Hua Cheng. He’s dressed not to impress, but to domineer, in a wine-deep shirt, no jacket. It’s unbuttoned nearly to the sternum, framing a prominent scar that’s chasing his collarbone. He’s perched with a blatant disinterest, chin in hand, playing idly with a glass of whiskey. 

He Xuan’s stomach gives a pronounced flip, nervous energy radiating down his limbs at the sight of him, and he silently curses out whatever primitive predator-prey instinct had nudged him into the prey category. 

A nebulous sort of nausea lingers above He Xuan’s head as he plants his feet and waits to be seen. The unknowns are too numerous to feel even a shred of confidence going into this situation, and he’s sure Hua Cheng had manufactured it to be so. 

A pet, he recalls. 

All week he’s considered the type of pet he is—one that issues a warning low in its throat before snapping. Untrained, untrainable, and with any luck, quick to be returned to the pound. But now, face to face with his self-proclaimed master, that identity trembles. 

Hua Cheng’s gaze sweeps across the room, and hooks deep into He Xuan. He tilts his chin up, beckoning, and it pulls He Xuan taut. He wills his steps to be even as he approaches the booth—a table of sycophants. He Xuan doesn’t need to know what they do, much less their names. Just the way they look at Hua Cheng tells their stories for them. 

“A-Xuan,” Hua Cheng murmurs, and the table quiets to a buzz before him. 

He Xuan’s tongue turns in his mouth at the offhanded nickname. 

Hua Cheng smirks, placing his whiskey back on the table. “I’m so glad you could make it.” 

Their heads all swivel towards him, like empty gourds blowing in the wind. The combined weight of their curiosity is nothing compared to that of Hua Cheng’s quiet amusement, still trained dead centre. 

He Xuan pinches his lips, eyes narrowing in place of a comment. Hua Cheng doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Sit.” 

He gestures to the spot next to him, precariously empty, and everyone on that side of the booth pauses, suddenly piqued by the prospect of a total unknown granted access to Hua Cheng’s side. Gazes weave across the table before, one by one, they file out of the booth to let He Xuan in. One of the suits looks him up and down, leering. 

They think he’s a prostitute, He Xuan realizes numbly. 

He slides in, shuffling spot by spot towards Hua Cheng, unhurried, like his destination is a bullet in the head. 

Hua Cheng laughs softly, waiting patiently for He Xuan to take his place by his side before taking a sip of his whiskey. He brushes He Xuan’s bangs from his face and murmurs, “You look terrified.” 

He hisses his disagreement. “I didn’t know I’d have to talk to people,” he mutters, frowning at their sudden closeness. 

“These aren’t people,” Hua Cheng coos, “they’re beasts.” 

He Xuan breathes out roughly. “Yeah? And what’s the difference between a beast and a pet?” 

A grin spreads across Hua Cheng’s face as he flags down a waitress and gestures for two more whiskies. 

“Favouritism,” he says, before downing the rest of the glass. 

He Xuan hums, unconvinced. “Not the length of the leash?” 

Hua Cheng tilts his empty glass. The longer his silence presses on, the more agitated He Xuan feels, deep in his chest. Eventually Hua Cheng looks at him. This close, He Xuan can identify each needle-thin streak of silver in his hair, can smell the earth and spice of his cologne. 

“Can you keep a secret?” 

He Xuan frowns. “Will it get me indicted?” 

Hua Cheng ignores him and murmurs, “The disparity in self-determination away from my organization, in the length of the leash, as you so sweetly put it, is an illusion.” He shifts his weight back. “I don’t allow anyone enough freedom for them to tangle their leash around my ankles. Because if I fall,” he taps He Xuan’s chin, “it’ll hurt them just as badly as it hurts me.” 

It’s almost laughable, the way he twists a playful analogy into a confession of… well, He Xuan can only guess, but his guess is grim. 

“You’re a clever boy,” Hua Cheng hums, “you understand.” 

The drinks arrive and he slides one in front of He Xuan, who eyes it. 

“Don’t drink?” Hua Cheng swirls his around and takes a sip. 

Carefully, he says, “I do…” 

“Good, because it’s on me. It’d be rude to refuse.” He says it as if he’s joking, but maintains a straight face. 

When He Xuan still hesitates to partake, Hua Cheng cocks a brow, understanding passing over his face. “If I’d drugged it,” he says, “I would’ve done it right in front of you then watched as you realized you had no choice but to drink it.” His lips turn up and his throat bobs, showing his amusement. 

A sprig of illness blooms in He Xuan’s gut at that, ruthlessly poking his insides. His tongue bobs like the peak of a wave as he struggles to swallow. 

“…Right,” he mutters, throat gone dry. 

Why waste drugs on an obedient pet?  

He Xuan had scoffed, at first, at the idea of becoming something trained, something kept, but regardless of which way he looks at his situation, kept is still better than dead. Numb, He Xuan picks up his drink and swallows enough that his eyes sting. He doesn’t like whiskey. 

“This look suits you, don’t you think?” Hua Cheng ignores someone’s attempt to steer him into a conversation on his other side in favour of leaning into He Xuan. 

“It’s fine,” he says, throat thick and booze-warmed. 

Hua Cheng’s eye is a deep-set gem of mirth. He snorts, then betrays all of He Xuan’s expectations by settling an arm around his shoulders. 

He Xuan’s breath stutters to a stop, his back going rigid. Hua Cheng’s side lacks any sort of human pliancy, built entirely from hard edges and planes that are begging to be sanded down. He’s warm, though. Very warm. He Xuan wonders how much he’s had to drink. 

The suits around the table keep stealing glances at him, hovering somewhere between jealousy and pity. 

“Just fine?” Hua Cheng turns his nose towards He Xuan’s ear to ask. His voice is dense with intent. It hits his jaw then sinks—down his neck, down his chest. 

He Xuan’s teeth clack together when his jaw goes stiff, and his feet go cold in his shoes. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, looking stubbornly ahead at his glass, still three fingers full. “Just fine.” 

Hua Cheng laughs, a quick bark, and everyone at the table stops to look, eagerly gauging whether they should laugh as well. 

“You’ve earned yourself a quick death tonight,” he says, surveying He Xuan while he drums his fingers. “Once you’ve finished your drink, we’ll leave.” 

He Xuan wets his lips, clears his throat. “…We?” 

Hua Cheng doesn’t elaborate, turning the other way and seamlessly slotting himself into a conversation. His arm is still curled around He Xuan—a short leash indeed—although his hold has loosened enough to allow some freedom of movement. 

The music downstairs is grating on his nerves and throbbing through the floor, and he tries to shut his eyes for a moment of manufactured peace. 

“A-Xuan, was it?” 

No such luck. 

The man next to him is shouting at him over the insistent treble. He’s hard to look at, with greasy greying hair and sagging cheeks. 

He Xuan’s lip curls. “Fuck off,” he says, tempering his tone to avoid drawing Hua Cheng’s attention. 

The hand around his shoulder squeezes in what He Xuan glumly parses as a warning. He clicks his tongue and wrestles back a sigh. 

“It’s… A-Xuan, yeah.” 

He realizes abruptly that Hua Cheng had been doing him a favour referring to him in intimate terms—these probably aren’t the sorts of people he wants to have his full, legal name. 

The man offers a gluttonous grin. “You look even younger than my daughter; are you still a student?” 

He resists the urge to gag. “Mm.” 

“I see, I see; clever and pretty? I have to compliment Chengzhu on his tastes.” 

He Xuan has never found himself being actively coveted, and can’t do much more than sip his whiskey bit by bit to cope. 

He’s steadily pressed upon with question after question: “How old are you?” “Did you grow up in the city?” “When Chengzhu has had his fill, is there any chance—?” 

He Xuan tosses back the rest of his drink and slams the tumbler down on the table. He chokes a little when he swallows and Hua Cheng’s palm settles on his back, rubbing circles as he coughs. 

Hua Cheng turns. “Finished?” 

He Xuan can feel his own flush quickly conquering territory across his face. 

Hua Cheng smirks and thumbs his chin. “Good boy.” 

The flush deepens, entirely independent from the alcohol all of a sudden. 

“Can I leave now?” he bites, dragging his sweaty hands across his slacks. 

“First I have a question.” Hua Cheng cocks his head and He Xuan swallows. “Which part of tonight do you think has earned you a repayment of debt?” 

That nebulous nausea from earlier finds a name with Hua Cheng’s prodding. Because the answer is none of it. He Xuan’s been an antisocial, ungrateful child nipping at Hua Cheng’s ankles for fun just to see if he’ll get kicked. He wouldn’t forgive his debt for that. But on the other hand, Hua Cheng had basically requested an escort, and an escort he’s been: preened and present. 

He Xuan maintains a calculated silence. 

“That’s what I thought,” Hua Cheng murmurs. 

Once again, the booth empties at his word, allowing them out. He Xuan follows him around the corner, too preoccupied with what this means to even consider bolting. Down a hallway, past storage, another corner. Scenarios flick through his mind, increasingly dire, as they approach a blacked out door. Hua Cheng holds a key card to the scanner until it whirs its approval and lets them in. Even with the lights out and blinds drawn, He Xuan can tell it’s an office. 

Stepping over the threshold feels like a death sentence, cold washing down his back. He pulls the door shut without needing to be asked. The music still permeates the space, a lockbox dangling over the dance floor. 

Hua Cheng thumbs the lamp on. It’s a plain room, bereft of personal touches, devoid of anything incriminating. He Xuan frowns suddenly. 

“…Do you own this club?” 

“Mm,” Hua Cheng confirms, taking a seat on the couch in the corner and gesturing for He Xuan to join. He doesn’t. 

“…This is a transaction,” Hua Cheng hums, playing with the ring on his thumb, twisting it around and around absently as He Xuan watches. 

He swallows back the memory of gunmetal fingers on his tongue and nods. 

“You’re clever, A-Xuan,” he teases, “but you’re still just a child. I’m not sure if you can handle a proper exchange between adults yet.” 

He Xuan huffs, unimpressed. “You wouldn’t have offered me the deal if you thought I couldn’t handle it.” 

“To err is human. Maybe I misjudged.” 

Hua Cheng spreads his legs and leans back. It’s a request vivid enough that it borders on tangible. 

He Xuan’s heart lurches. 

The corner of Hua Cheng’s mouth turns up, his eye openly tracking He Xuan’s face. “…Or maybe I judged a little too precisely. Right from the start.” He drums his fingers on his thigh. 

He Xuan is overly conscious, all of a sudden, that he’s in unmapped territory, left with nothing but his own glib tongue to help him navigate. His earlier queasiness is agitated again, stirred up like silt on a river bed. It begins to gush through him, rising in the back of his throat just to be swallowed down again. 

“…Come here, pet,” Hua Cheng says. 

The suggestion rattles through the room and He Xuan feels his flush go cold beneath his skin. He’s tipsy and trying to weigh his options, struggling to balance the ledger. The ripe sting of fear seizes his tongue, and as the seconds tick by, his options dwindle. 

Eventually he takes a step. Then another, eyes trained on Hua Cheng’s mercifully patient face. When he’s close enough, Hua Cheng beckons him onto his knees with an expectant brow. He Xuan whirs through what might happen if he says no, and realizes he’s grossly lacking a schematic for Hua Cheng’s anger. 

Until now, his defiance has been cooed at and coddled—what would he do if He Xuan pushed him to the point of fury? 

Hurt him? Hurt his sister? Something worse? Or…

Hua Cheng laughs, a quick exhale, and rubs his chin. “You think with your face,” he murmurs. “Either you’ll get on your knees or you won’t; you’ll have to pick a path if you want to know the outcome.” 

He Xuan scowls. The lamp light is warm on the side of Hua Cheng’s face, giving him a romantic sort of glow that He Xuan resents. 

“Well?” he mumbles, picking at his nails. 

He Xuan clenches his fists and remains standing. 

Hua Cheng whistles, long and impressed. “Well played, pup. Just for that, I’ll let you in on a secret.” He straightens up, then reaches out to grasp He Xuan’s face. “…I don’t get angry,” he says in a measured tone. “You cannot make me angry.” He squeezes He Xuan’s jaw. “Anger is exploitable, it’s a weakness. That’s a lesson I’d love to teach you, if I thought you’d listen.” He manipulates He Xuan’s head so he’s nodding. “But in the meantime, I’ll have to settle for obedience training. Because what else is a pet to do but follow orders?” 

Piss on your carpet, He Xuan contemplates saying, but his jaw is held too tight. 

Hua Cheng’s eye flicks between He Xuan’s’ for another moment, his smirk slowly leaving his face. Then he lets go. 

“Kneel, please.” He’s just as level-headed as before, just as patient. 

He Xuan sneers, “Why should I?” 

“Because,” he replies slowly, “you’re owned. Blood and bone.” He sits back again, his presence looming over He Xuan despite their disparity in height. “And if you don’t get on your knees for me, the next deal we cut will stretch your understanding of what my organization is capable of.” 

The tremor that chases up He Xuan’s leg betrays him. 

“…I thought you didn’t get angry,” he snips. 

“That’s right, A-Xuan, well done; I don’t get angry.” His eye narrows, thin and devious. “I get mean.” 

A concentrated ember of fear stirs in He Xuan’s chest, then. 

“I’ll ask…” Hua Cheng checks his watch lazily, “…twice more.” He gestures between his legs. “Kneel, please.” 

He Xuan’s legs nearly give out. He’s about to spit a slew of insults when Hua Cheng gives him a meaningful look. Fury burns, bit by bit, up the back of his neck, scalding and shameful. 

He kneels, looking resolutely at his own lap. 

A sick flutter fills his stomach and he squeezes his fists so tight his knuckles grind together. 

“Apologize.” 

His gaze snaps up to Hua Cheng. “For what?” he hisses. 

“Whatever you think you’ve done wrong,” Hua Cheng hums. “I’ll stop you when you’ve said enough.” 

He Xuan clicks his tongue and curses under his breath, but the tremor has yet to cease. “I’m… sorry,” he begins through gritted teeth, “for telling that ugly guy to fuck off.” 

Hua Cheng laughs, low and soothing. He reaches for his belt and He Xuan’s eyes fall there too. 

He swallows. “…I’m sorry for trying to make you angry. I’m sorry that it almost worked.” 

He smiles, unclasps his belt. 

“I’m sorry that I wasted that shitty whiskey by downing it like a shot.” 

His gaze is trained, stalking the deft movement of Hua Cheng’s hands. He undoes his pants, button and zipper. 

“I… um, I’m sorry for… talking back.” 

“Good,” Hua Cheng encourages. He starts palming himself through his underwear, still soft. “Anything else?” 

He Xuan’s tongue curls up in his mouth. “Um… I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.” 

“And how can you remedy that?” Hua Cheng coos. 

That flutter is fighting back against the pressure stifling it, eager to burst up into his lungs and his throat. He stares as Hua Cheng touches himself, willing himself to be disgusted and failing spectacularly. 

“I could…” His lips stay parted after speaking, held in suspension, trembling. “I… could do what you ask, I guess,” he mutters, struggling with his disinterested affectation. His nails dig into his knees. 

“Mhm, and—” Hua Cheng shifts his ass to the edge of the couch and spreads his legs wider, his shoes punctuating He Xuan’s hips, “—what am I asking for right now, do you think?” 

He Xuan’s heart is galloping, pushing at his ribs. Fear is still bitter in the back of his throat, but it’s quickly losing ground. 

“I… I don’t—” 

“Sure you do.” Hua Cheng taps He Xuan’s lower lip with a knuckle. “This isn’t your first time, is it?” 

Weakly, He Xuan shakes his head—he’s exchanged blowjobs for shit he’s needed a couple times before. He doubts they were any good, but they’d done the trick. Functionally, this is exactly the same, with the caveat that he might be stabbed if he says no. 

So why the fuck is he this turned on?  

He Xuan grits his teeth. 

Seemingly enjoying his turmoil, Hua Cheng pulls the elastic of his underwear back over his cock and starts stroking himself properly. In He Xuan’s face. Even downturned and half-hard he’s massive—the kind of massive that earns you infamy, quickly. He Xuan has no doubt his enemies curse his name and his huge dick in the same breath. 

Between He Xuan’s legs, a desperate little throb alerts him to his own interest, unnecessary and unappreciated. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

“Go on,” Hua Cheng prompts, drawing his thumb from the corner of He Xuan’s lips up to his ear. “No need to get embarrassed now.” 

Knees squeezing together on the hardwood floor, He Xuan clicks his tongue. “Who the fuck is embarrassed?” he mutters, and curls his fist weakly around Hua Cheng’s erection. Hand stuff he can do with a modicum of confidence—he jerks off after all. 

Hua Cheng releases himself and watches, leaning on the arm of the couch, as He Xuan starts to stroke him. He holds him up near the top, easing back his foreskin so he can thumb the plump edge of the head, and feels him steadily growing harder in his hand. 

Hua Cheng purrs his praise, brushing He Xuan’s bangs from his face. It borders on… overly intimate. He Xuan feels like a specimen, a kept creature pinned to a board after it failed to repay its debt. He tightens his hold, impatient for the knife to pierce his abdomen. 

His fist carefully works him over, down and up and down, squeezing until he successfully eases a bead of precum from his tip. The floor is unforgiving beneath his knees, and he hopes Hua Cheng sees that as reason enough for his constant readjustments—

squirming if he wants to be brutally honest. His cock starts to curve in his hold, precum dribbling down the side and slicking his stroking. On a whim, split decision-making aided by the glass of whiskey, He Xuan pulls back and spits in his palm. 

“That’s it; good boy.” Hua Cheng strokes his hair. 

He Xuan’s hot all over; he can feel his heartbeat between his legs. 

Firm, full strokes, from the head to the base, his other hand bundled tight in his lap. He lets out a shaky breath. Time seems to press down on him; he’s competing with how quickly he can make Hua Cheng come, and if his relaxed posture is any indication, the answer is not soon. He Xuan bites his tongue. 

“…Do you have something to say?” Hua Cheng asks, arbitrarily, and He Xuan frowns. 

“What? No, I…” It dawns on him a few moments too late. 

Hua Cheng pets his head with a smirk and says, “Then why aren’t you using your mouth?” 

His stomach flips, falls, flips again. He glances up at Hua Cheng from his place between his legs. He feels the knife’s point at his stomach now, teasing a cut that’ll bare his guts to the man who owns half the city, including him. 

Hua Cheng cocks a brow. 

Arousal pools, viscous between his thighs as he sits up and leans forward, pressing his tongue to the head of Hua Cheng’s cock. It’s just like all the other times. He closes his lips around him, bobbing shallowly so just the head slips along his tongue. He has to swallow twice to keep from drooling. 

He Xuan breathes out roughly through his nose, lungs trembling at the simple fact that he has his head in the lap of one of the most powerful men in the city. This isn’t a quickie in the public bathroom for a monthly bus pass, as much as he tries to convince himself it is. He’s this evening’s entertainment, sucking cock to scratch a couple bucks off a life-ruining debt. 

And he’s so turned on about it. 

He swallows again, taking him a little deeper. The seal of his lips isn’t tight enough, so when he sucks, an obscene slurp echoes between their bodies. 

He Xuan flushes, hot in the ears. There’s no making up for lack of experience, and he can’t help feeling like this is nestled among the worst blowjobs Hua Cheng has had. But he isn’t complaining. 

Instead, he steadily strokes He Xuan’s hair, combing his fingers back to where it gathers in a ponytail. 

“Would you like some help?” he asks with a tail of amusement. 

He doesn’t have the face to answer either way, just continuing to bob his head. 

Hua Cheng hums and murmurs almost too quietly for He Xuan to hear over the drumbeat of his pulse, “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” 

The hand in He Xuan’s hair suddenly tightens. It urges him down further, further. 

“Mm—!” 

He Xuan’s hands scrabble at Hua Cheng’s pants, flattening his palms across broad thighs when he finds no purchase. He tries to cough but just tears up instead. His breath is wedged in his throat by Hua Cheng’s cock, and his jaw is growing sore from the stretch. 

“There you go,” Hua Cheng hums, tilting his head and smoothing his hand down the back of He Xuan’s head to settle on his neck instead. He rocks his hips slowly—He Xuan hesitates to say carefully with how completely his cock presses against his throat. 

He Xuan tries to cough again and gags, tears welling immediately in his eyes. But, shamefully, the continuous thrum between his legs doesn’t dissipate. When Hua Cheng moans, it’s like stroking velvet. 

“Fuck, I knew you’d take it without complaining.” He holds He Xuan’s head in place despite the grotesque little gagging sounds he’s making. “You never complain, do you? You’re a tough little thing; it’s a good look.” 

He Xuan squeezes his eyes shut, tears sticking in his lashes, and breathes carefully through his nose. His cock is aching in his pants, pressing up against the seam. Hua Cheng holds him there for another few seconds before letting go with a hiss. 

He Xuan pulls back with a trembling cough, gasping and wiping his mouth off on Hua Cheng’s thigh. He looks up at him, scrubbing his eyes dry, and rasps, “Fuck.” There’s spit down his neck, down the front of his shirt. 

Hua Cheng allows him a minute to catch his breath, playing softly with the tufts of hair at his nape. 

“…Why would I complain?” he mutters after a moment, referring back to Hua Cheng’s offhand comment. “There are already enough people in the world who bitch about what they can’t have just for the sake of bitching. If I complained about everything I don’t like in my life I’d never fucking shut up.” 

Hua Cheng’s hand stills. He looks down at him curiously for a moment. A half-smile, something a little wicked, pulls at his lips. “…Well said.” 

He Xuan blinks up at him, then clears his throat before letting his cock breach the seam of his lips again. He shuts his eyes and pinches his lips, sinking down lower than he had at first—enough to fill his mouth and nudge at his throat. His cock slides along He Xuan’s tongue, the pronounced lip of his head dragging between his lips with each bob. 

Hua Cheng scratches the back of his neck and murmurs, “Clever boy.” 

The learning curve is a steep one, his throat continuing to clench with a gag every time Hua Cheng prods his soft palate. He squints up at him with his eyebrows drawn and meets his gaze. 

That wicked smile lingers, and he coaxes, “Keep going like that; you’re doing just fine.” 

The praise nips at He Xuan’s nape, just condescending enough that he wants to pull back and snap. But time talking is time wasted tonight. And besides, with the way the evening’s been leaning, sass will probably just earn him a fond pinch on the cheek. 

He leans in, shoulders hunched, and starts to work Hua Cheng’s cock in his fist, knuckles brushing his lips with each stroke. His brows are pinched in concentration, and he hardly notices when his bangs droop from behind his ear. Hua Cheng tucks them back with a gentle hand, thumbing the shell of his ear. The earrings he’d provided dangle from his lobes—heavy, silver teardrops—and swing up against his jaw with each bob. 

With the pulse of the music bleeding up through the floor, He Xuan barely hears Hua Cheng’s tight noise of satisfaction. He’s immediately caught off guard by the depth of it, Hua Cheng’s throat like a ribbon of cracked earth. Briefly, He Xuan thinks he wouldn’t mind falling into that chasm. 

“Faster,” Hua Cheng murmurs. 

Pressing up with his tongue, He Xuan bobs his head down quicker, and pumps his fist to match. It’s a sloppy attempt at synchronicity, with too much spit slicking the way, but Hua Cheng offers an encouraging, “Mhm,” so he must at least be breaking even. 

The seconds stretch, longer and longer. He Xuan is so pathetically hard that he eventually has to concede and steal his hand off Hua Cheng’s thigh to grind into his cock. 

“No hands,” Hua Cheng says, mild despite the grip in his hair tightening. 

He Xuan groans, a huffed, petulant sound that warps around his cock. The alcohol has him just buzzed enough that his perpetual motion—down, up, down—is beginning to make him seasick. He braces himself in Hua Cheng’s lap, sucking in sex-scented breaths, and moans something dizzy against his will. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Hua Cheng laughs, finally, finally approaching breathlessness. “Do you want to stop?” 

He Xuan nods, glancing up. His jaw is throbbing and his eyes are stinging, pushed past the point that he can take. Hua Cheng carefully replaces He Xuan’s hand with his own and presses him back by the shoulder. His cock falls from He Xuan’s lips, flushed and spit-shiny and He Xuan immediately reaches up to massage his jaw so it’ll shut again. 

“Ah ah,” Hua Cheng mutters, tapping the head of his cock against his lips. “Keep it open.” 

He Xuan’s dick throbs in his pants, approaching the point of unbearable. 

“Are you serious?” he slurs, but wrestles the hinge of his jaw back open. 

Wetting his lips, Hua Cheng begins to jerk himself off towards He Xuan’s waiting mouth. His eye roams across his face, raw and unsubtle, and He Xuan’s breath stutters. 

He wants it, suddenly. His blood is boiling and he wants to see the fruits of his labour. 

Hua Cheng sighs, jaw slackening. He grunts once, as a courtesy or something else He Xuan doesn’t know, and then he’s coming. 

He Xuan squeezes his eyes shut, brows drawing. Steady spurts, hot on his cheeks, on his tongue. The choked sound He Xuan makes is rough and nameless, but undeniably pleased. It feels like a brand, he thinks; a mark of Hua Cheng’s ownership that he’ll be able to feel long after it’s been washed away. He jerks his hips up, humiliated and hurting. 

One final hum, an indulgence in his climax, and Hua Cheng is sitting back, releasing his cock to let it soften against his thigh. 

He Xuan is breathing hard—he only notices once the slick echo of stroking stops. He’s panting, rocking his hips, mouth still agape. He looks for a place to spit and suddenly feels the cool edge of metal at his jaw. 

…Did Hua Cheng just pull a fucking knife on him? He Xuan gawks, that trill of fear lighting up his guts again. 

“Swallow,” Hua Cheng says gently. He leans in close, almost nose-to-nose and watches as He Xuan’s trembling jaw snaps shut. He swallows, face twisting a little. 

“Again.” He licks his teeth of the bitter release and swallows heavily, flashing Hua Cheng his tongue afterwards as proof. 

The knife snaps shut and He Xuan flinches. “…What the fuck was that for?” he asks, trying not to let his voice tremble. 

Hua Cheng mutters, “Trying to speed up the domestication process, little beast.” 

He Xuan huffs, almost a laugh, and shakes the tremors out of his hands. “Well is the little beast allowed to get off?” he asks. “Or is there an extra charge for that?” 

Hua Cheng smirks, shifts in his seat. “No charge, just a stipulation.” 

He Xuan bites the inside of his cheek as he watches Hua Cheng sit back. With a pointed lack of care, he slides his foot between He Xuan’s legs and presses down on his cock. He Xuan jolts and curses under his breath. 

“Think you can do this part yourself?” Hua Cheng murmurs. 

Disbelief rocks He Xuan, just for a second, before he’s screwing up his face and formulating some choice words. 

“Grind,” Hua Cheng says, merciless precision in the shape of the word. “Now.” He presses down and He Xuan yelps. 

Hesitantly, he braces his hands on the couch, either side of Hua Cheng’s thighs, and sucks in a breath through his teeth. He swallows. The first rock of his hips is infuriating in its satisfaction; He Xuan’s eyes slip shut instantly. The brutal pressure on his cock isn’t what he’s used to but it does the trick. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, humiliation creeping back up his cheeks. Slowly, steadily, he moves his hips forward in weak little ruts against the bottom of Hua Cheng’s shoe, pinned like an animal. And the worst part is that he’s already close. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip to withhold the satisfaction of hearing him moan and continues to grind. 

Up, back, up, back, up, up, up. Harder, he forces his hips up with straining thighs until he sees his climax approaching, feels it like a burst of stars. He Xuan gasps and curls over, the pathetic fanaticism of his humping pushed to the back of his mind as he reaps the reward of a long awaited and well-earned orgasm. 

Hua Cheng is chuckling, he hears it distantly, but focuses on wringing what pleasure he can out of this. 

“What a treat you are.” 

He Xuan slumps, resting his forehead on Hua Cheng’s knee, and sighs. “…How much was that worth?” 

Hua Cheng removes his foot from his cock and leans down. He Xuan freezes when he feels a kiss pressed to the top of head. A wave of indistinguishable dread radiates from that spot a moment later, dribbling, cold, down his back. 

“That depends how generous I’m feeling when I check the ledger.” 

He Xuan grunts. He watches as Hua Cheng tucks himself back into his pants and strokes a thumb through the mess on He Xuan’s cheek. 

“Understand now?” he murmurs. His hand is gentle as it slips to cup He Xuan’s jaw. He tilts his head back, too far back. “…I call, you come running.” A nail drags up the underside of his chin. “A-Xuan.”  

He Xuan wants to laugh as much as he wants to bite the thumb stroking his lip. But above all, he wants to change out of his fucking pants. 

“Can I leave now?” he asks, throat tender when he speaks. 

Hua Cheng observes him carefully. “…Of course—you’re free to go.” 

He Xuan does laugh this time, sharp and without mirth, thinking free is hardly the right word. 

—

He’s struggling. 

The exam floats before him, a nauseating back and forth. He Xuan bites his tongue and reads the same question over and over again; the words are coming to him through a soupy haze of… memories. Worthless, painfully distracting memories. 

No, it’s more like slop —lewd, unbidden slop. 

He jams the end of his pen into his temple and grinds it in circles, willing himself to think instead of devolving into a headache like he wants to. His mind is heat-addled and he’s struggling to identify any correct answers despite having studied for weeks. He sweeps his gaze across the lecture hall and notices how few people still linger. 

Fuck.  

The prison of reminiscence keeps pressing in on him, threatening to squeeze the air from his lungs. 

Hua Cheng; cupping his jaw, stroking his hair, looming over him. 

He grits his teeth and starts the sentence again. 

The taste of him, heat of him, weight of him. 

He starts again. 

The body-warm tip of a knife at his throat, the unyielding pressure of a foot between his legs, the ache to touch himself when he’d returned home that night— 

Again. 

He Xuan shifts in his seat. On top of everything, he’s barely slept these past few days, paranoid about when Hua Cheng will call on him again. He’d said once or twice a week, but the whims of a syndicate boss are hard to pin down. He starts circling answers that jump out to him through the haze, willing his thundering heart back down into his chest until he’s finished the exam with a pinkish hue chasing up the plane of his throat. 

He shoves open the door to the building with a grumble, stepping into undeniably gorgeous weather that he doesn’t feel a shred of gratitude for. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he flinches. He hasn’t given Hua Cheng his number but he’s sure he has it anyway. He ignores the call in favour of stalking up the pathway to the bus loop, waiting for it to go to voicemail. 

“In a hurry?” 

He freezes. 

Dread grips him by the neck first, then the ankles, stopping him in place. He turns, stiff-spined, towards the voice with an expression he hopes tends more towards annoyance. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hua Cheng laughs, ankle over his knee on one of the benches that line the concourse. 

He’s spread out like the bench belongs to him, with an arm along the back and his face tilted into the sun. It’s a little off-putting—He Xuan had suspected Hua Cheng might burst into flames in direct sunlight. 

“…Like what?” he grunts, trudging closer. 

Hua Cheng is wielding that smirk, the one that makes He Xuan’s stomach drop out. With Hua Cheng suddenly in front of him, He Xuan’s reel of distraction grows infinitely more vivid, and he has to resist the urge to knock himself in the head. 

He tilts his head to the side, and beckons He Xuan close before murmuring, “Like this is an inconvenience.” 

He Xuan’s jaw twitches tighter. It is. 

“This is just my face,” he mutters. He shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting less-than-patiently for the ball to drop. “Are you saying I’d look prettier if I smiled?” 

Hua Cheng drums his fingers on the back of the bench. Students are walking by, laden down with textbooks from last-minute cramming sessions in the library. 

“A smile might smudge a few of the numbers on your ledger, sure.” He Xuan grunts. “…But you know I didn’t come here for a smile.” 

His stomach flips, a familiar trill in his guts when Hua Cheng levels him with a look. 

“Let’s go.”  

He Xuan rucks his backpack further up on his shoulders and trails a step behind Hua Cheng when he rises. His shoes click confidently with each step up the brick pathway; his earrings glint in the sun like fat beads of blood in either lobe. The campus is busier than usual, with everyone fussing to and from finals, but Hua Cheng walks casually, comfortably. 

“I have a meeting,” he says after a minute. 

“…Okay.” 

“You can change in the car.” 

He Xuan looks down at his outfit: t-shirt, jeans, same scuffed shoes as always. He wonders if anyone from the other night at the club will be at this meeting, wonders about its nature. Is it financial, logistical, disciplinary? He Xuan isn’t sure disciplinary meetings exist within the syndicate—that might just be called getting shot. 

He must look, to anyone passing by, like a kicked dog with a knot around its neck trudging after its owner; it’s certainly not far off from how he feels. He Xuan’s family had a dog, once: a fat, happy thing that ate the scraps off his parent’s restaurant floor. He remembers thinking how easy a life it must be to roll around in the grass every day, kept and cared for. 

He glances from Hua Cheng’s shoes up the back of his legs, then up to his face. His hair is braided down his back. His shirt, a shade more vibrant than usual, is cuffed to the elbows and He Xuan takes the chance to openly roam his tattoos. It’s frustrating, more than anything else, how handsome he is. The careless maturity with which he moves, speaks, breathes. He Xuan looks back at the ground. 

“…What am I supposed to do at the meeting?” he asks as they approach the parking lot. 

Hua Cheng smiles without looking back. “Are you nervous I’ll make them watch?” 

Jesus, He Xuan hadn’t even considered that.  

He huffs a quiet laugh then murmurs, “Don’t worry, all you need to do is look pretty.“ 

They arrive at the car—Yin Yu is already in the driver’s seat—and Hua Cheng opens the back door for him, second-hand chivalry tossed to him like a spare chicken bone. He slides in. From a hook on the ceiling hangs a garment bag, zipped halfway up around an outfit that He Xuan thinks is better suited for an intern at a law firm. It’s prim and proper, albeit a little on the macabre side as far as colour goes. He doesn’t look over when Hua Cheng enters opposite him. 

“Does it reflect poorly on you when I’m dressed like a normal person?” he mutters, reaching out and thumbing the collar. 

Hua Cheng glances at him sideways. “What a generous description of your outfit.” 

He Xuan sneers. 

The car pulls out and exits the lot before He Xuan leans back and reaches for his seatbelt. 

“Mm.” Hua Cheng holds up a vague hand to stop him. “I believe I told you to change in the car.” 

He Xuan hesitates, tired eyes flicking between Hua Cheng and the clothes. “…Now?” 

“Now,” he replies lightly, reclining. 

Teeth sink into his tongue. He Xuan purses his lips and breathes in the recirculated air: new leather and Hua Cheng’s cologne. The undefinable spice of it is something that’s been besieging He Xuan’s vulnerable thoughts. He looks away from Hua Cheng and reaches behind his head—a little puff of resignation leaves his nose before he tugs his shirt up and over his head. 

His body is a sullen affair, pale and easily-bruised. Ribs jut out, just a little, at his front and sides and a wash of self-consciousness paints itself across his skin. He Xuan hesitates, peeks at Hua Cheng from the corner of his eye. 

“Are you waiting for something?” Hua Cheng murmurs, smiling lazily. “Need a hand?” 

A ruddy heat that he can’t help works up the back of He Xuan’s neck. “Sorry if I’m not used to old creeps watching me change,” he spits quietly, grabbing at his belt. 

He chases the burn from Hua Cheng’s sedated chuckle out with an impatient tug at his zipper. He thumbs open his button and purses his lips before leaning back into the seat to prop his hips up, and tugging his pants down mid-thigh. The warmth persists. It spreads, even, from his cheeks to his ears. 

He Xuan curls over to untie his shoes, toeing them off and shuffling all the way out of his pants; the seat leather is sun-warm against his bare thighs. Then he turns a look that could peel paint on Hua Cheng. 

“Happy?” he asks, “Or do you want me to recite a fucking poem about—” 

Before he can even flinch, Hua Cheng has a hand wrapped around his jaw, tight enough that it aches. 

He Xuan’s breath ticks up slightly, an alarm blaring in his head. His eyes widen, flitting across a frighteningly placid face that pulls in close to him. 

“I can’t quite emphasize,” Hua Cheng says slowly, “how lucky you are that your lip is endearing to me.” 

The sudden change in demeanour brings a quiet tremble to He Xuan’s hands. He swallows and does his best to nod. 

Hua Cheng looks between his eyes. “You’re clever enough to know what could happen to you around the wrong people, right? Start acting like it.” 

He releases He Xuan’s jaw with one final squeeze and reclines, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The click and hiss of the lighter draws He Xuan’s lethargic gaze over to the smouldering tip, to Hua Cheng’s clever fingers. He takes a few patient drags, cracking the window to ash it before he glances back at He Xuan again. “…Get me off before we get there or I’ll put this out on you.” He wields the cigarette daintily, moving it a little closer to He Xuan’s face and smiling when he winces. “Understand?” 

He Xuan hesitates before humming a brief, monotonous note. He swallows around a stiff tongue and shuffles closer to Hua Cheng. 

The wisps of smoke are already coalescing in the air, an acrid fog beginning to linger around him. 

Numb fingers get to work on Hua Cheng’s belt, flicking and tugging until it slides open and He Xuan can get into his pants. Hua Cheng reclines, sucks on his cigarette, lets the smoke out through his nose. He’s completely soft—He Xuan sets his jaw. He starts stroking with a hesitance that he instantly knows won’t get him anywhere when the corner of Hua Cheng’s lips quirk upwards. 

Pursing his lips, he withdraws and spits into his palm before trying again. He fights against the instinct to avoid eye contact and glances up at Hua Cheng—or rather, back at Hua Cheng. His eye is half shut, lazy with the pleasant kick of nicotine, but no less critical. He Xuan’s cheek twitches towards a sneer and his gaze drops momentarily to Hua Cheng’s mouth. The distance between them isn’t discreet by any means but might as well be a ravine for how safe He Xuan feels to cross it. He breaks the tenuous line between them to glance back down at Hua Cheng’s cock, cautiously beginning to stiffen under the slick back and forth of his fist. 

“Do you even want to get off?” He Xuan mutters skeptically, mostly to fill the air. 

Hua Cheng ashes his cigarette again and replies, “It’s your job to make me want it, pup.” He tilts his head. “So far, it seems like you’re not doing a very good job.” 

It lands like a whip crack, He Xuan’s back going rigid as he grinds his teeth. His stroking turns impatient, swivelling at the wrist to taunt Hua Cheng to full hardness. He swallows a mouthful of spite and curls over to lick flat across the tip of his cock, grinding it up against his tongue in little circles until Hua Cheng exhales, all mellow satisfaction. That simple sound stokes the mounting ache between He Xuan’s legs, and he squeezes his thighs with a flash of self-pity. 

Hua Cheng’s hand comes to rest on He Xuan’s bare back. 

“You suck cock like you’re eating pussy,” he murmurs, thumbing the ridges of his spine. 

He Xuan can’t decipher what that means enough to ascertain whether he should take offence to it. 

“…Probably because I actually give a shit about eating pussy,” he mumbles, drawing his tongue in a sloppy line up the side of his erection. 

He’s eaten pussy a grand total of two times, both with the same girl and both within a period of a week. His one and only high school relationship was there and gone like the smudged darkness of a blink. 

Hua Cheng hums, and He Xuan bristles at the tone of it. “Mm, I’m sure.” 

…Fuck, whatever.  

He opens his mouth and holds the flat of his tongue to Hua Cheng’s head, quickly jerking him off against it. He has every intention of continuing on numbly until he comes, but the hand creeping up his back to cup his nape is an omen of other plans. 

Hua Cheng’s hand is so big, curling around the back of his neck and sending an unrequested thrill of submission down to He Xuan’s cock; it’s treachery of the highest degree. But he doesn’t shove He Xuan down—he just holds him there. He doesn’t seem thrilled with the half-assed blowjob, but neither does he take matters into his own hands. 

He Xuan realizes then that he has no idea how long he has until they arrive. Five minutes? Ten? The threat of being made an ashtray, an object to burn and scab and scar, looms, quite literally, above his head. He Xuan swallows, grip going weak for a second. Imagining the sting—the brand—trickles the kind of cold that leads to numbness down his back. 

The car carries on, weaving through traffic, bouncing over uneven spots in the pavement. 

He Xuan is next to naked, cock straining against the fabric of his underwear, and hand braced on Hua Cheng’s thigh. Tentatively, he wraps his lips around him, tilts his head, bobs. He lets the head of Hua Cheng’s cock bulge out his cheek, an obscene little gift he hopes stokes his interest. His tongue is shy at first, prodding from its home far back in his mouth until Hua Cheng strokes his thumb over the base of his skull and pushes in a little. It makes He Xuan feel vulnerable, like an infant without the protection of bone or wit. 

He huffs into Hua Cheng’s lap and grinds his tongue against his shaft, resentful at his own malleability. He slides up and down his cock, lingering where he won’t choke, until he’s drooling, slurping, swallowing. 

“Mm—” 

It’s a messy affair that slicks the palm of He Xuan’s hand as he carefully jerks him off. Hua Cheng hisses out the next lungful of smoke and it clouds around He Xuan, sharp and stifling. 

“Better,” he lauds quietly. 

His voice snares He Xuan’s interest, thickened by the pull of nicotine. It’s a point he can lock onto, the dot at the centre of an optical illusion. He lowers one foot to the floor of the car for balance when they bank into a turn, and Hua Cheng’s hand tightens around the back of his neck. He Xuan shuts his eyes, furrows his brows. 

His hand starts to work a little quicker, coming up to bump his lips as he continues to suck. By no means is it a comfortable position, hunched over and one pothole away from gagging on cock. But he keeps on with the sounds of the city outside the window pushing him on, pushing him down.  

He squeezes Hua Cheng’s thigh and just barely whimpers, so hard now that he’s having to resist curling into himself and canting his hips. 

“That’s a good boy,” Hua Cheng purrs, “you’re almost there.” 

He Xuan swallows, tongue bitter with precum, and pushes himself a little further to get the win. 

Hua Cheng comes with a hum, solidly stroking the tensed muscle at his nape. It’s without warning, and He Xuan jolts with a cough when it hits the back of his throat. He swallows on instinct then jerks back—or attempts to. Resistance comes in the form of that hand on his neck, effortlessly holding him in place. 

He hasn’t considered how strong Hua Cheng may actually be before, and only now comes to the realization that even without knives or guns or lackeys, he’d lose pitifully in a struggle. 

He Xuan’s eyes tear up and he swallows as steadily as he can, afraid of the consequences of letting cum stain Hua Cheng’s pants. His tongue flexes and curls up against his cock, streaked with release. 

After a long moment, Hua Cheng releases him and He Xuan rears back and wipes the spit off his chin, furiously clearing his throat. He freezes when Hua Cheng reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Much better.” His eye trails down He Xuan’s panting chest to the desperate curve of his cock. “What’s the point of showing you off if you’re not a bit of a mess?” he murmurs. 

He Xuan shakes the effect of their closeness off and scoffs. “What, you want me to sit on your lap too? Call you gege?” 

A glimmer lights up Hua Cheng’s eye and he laughs. Then he leans in and kisses He Xuan on the cheek. It’s soft and warm and so far from sweet, landing with the same deadly precision as that knife to his throat. 

Before He Xuan can react, can tense or shudder, Hua Cheng is pulling back and holding his cigarette up to He Xuan’s lips. He winces in distaste but Hua Cheng just waits. The car already reeks of smoke, the burnt scent soaking into the leather. 

Hesitantly, He Xuan parts his lips, and the filter is slid between them. 

Hua Cheng sits back, tucking himself back into his pants as he says, “Touch yourself.” 

He Xuan reaches up to take the cigarette out of his mouth and hiss something along the lines of, “Don’t flatter yourself,” but Hua Cheng catches his wrist. It hurts, the sudden squeeze, the creak of bone. 

“One hand on your cock. Other one behind your back.” It leaves no room for interpretation or refusal. 

He Xuan sucks in a quick breath and pinches down on the cigarette to keep from coughing it out when the smoke floods his lungs. He musters an expression of disdain and pointedly curls one arm behind his back. The other reaches carelessly into his underwear. He swallows tightly at the first touch of his thumb to the head; he’s determined to keep up his indifference even as his cheeks grow hot and his cock begins to drool. He’s breathing hard through his nose to preserve the dignity of his palate, but it’s only half successful. 

Hua Cheng is lounging in the corner, arm thrown over the back of the seats, looking altogether like a hand-fed predator. He has an enviable air to him—maturity and the competence inherent therein—that He Xuan knows he himself lacks. He reaches out and He Xuan thinks for a second he’s going to take the cigarette back. 

He pinches his nose shut, instead. 

He Xuan panics for a second, holding his breath until he can’t anymore. Smoke seeps down his throat and heats his chest from the inside, burning like the glare he sets on Hua Cheng. 

“Just until you come,” Hua Cheng hums, like he’s withholding dessert rather than clean air. 

He growls and squeezes around his cock, pumping himself with the intent to finish quickly and brutally. His face pinches up, helplessly sucking on the end of the cigarette as he rocks up into his palm. The smoke licks at the roof of his mouth and he swallows back the singed taste, too focused on finding a quick release to bother gagging. It hurts, it burns as he takes drag after nauseating drag. His head is spinning from lack of oxygen but he’s steps from the edge. 

He Xuan bites down on the filter and grinds his thumb into the tip of his cock, easing back his foreskin as he comes across the backseat of the car. 

Hua Cheng plucks the cigarette from his lips, un-ashed and burnt down to the filter, and flicks it out the window, entertained as he watches He Xuan hack and cough. 

His orgasm is short and unsatisfying; the real ecstasy comes when he scrambles towards his own window, frantically thumbing the switch and gasping for air. It’s tainted with city-smog and car exhaust, but it’s the freshest thing he knows, and it clears the haze out from behind his sagging eyelids. 

“…Fuck,” he eventually spits, turning to Hua Cheng. “You’re sick.” 

“And you’re too fun to play with,” he replies, patting his cheek. “Get dressed; we’re here.” 

Notes:

Twitter: showxing_

Chapter 3

Once or twice a week. 

To be fair, that is about as frequently as Hua Cheng calls on him. 

He Xuan’s head slumps in exhaustion, his palm dragging up the side of his cheek. 

It’s been six weeks now. His exams, all passed by the grace of God, have come and gone, and he finds himself spending a truly detestable amount of time thinking. Thinking about himself, about his place in the world and his place out of it. He thinks about his sister, about his parents—he wonders if they’re in the afterlife watching him suck dick for money. 

But those most vivid and taunting thoughts are, of course, red all over. Hua Cheng dominates his mind the way he dominates his body—with very little effort. By now, one corner of his room is dedicated to outfits Hua Cheng has both sent and soiled, heaped in an untouched pile because he knows the shitty washing machine in the basement will chew them up and spit them out in tatters, and he can’t afford to get them dry cleaned. The dry cleaners probably wouldn’t accept them anyway on account of all the… bodily fluids. 

Hua Cheng hasn’t made any mention of how much longer He Xuan is expected to maintain this unconventional accord, but to be fair, He Xuan hasn’t asked. He didn’t ask after ruining his pants grinding both knees into the dirt, or after gasping through an orgasm with both thighs wrapped around Hua Cheng’s shin. 

Part of him, he guesses, doesn’t want to know. It’s like being anesthetized—he’ll wake up eventually to find it’s all over, left with nothing but the puckering incision and maybe a missing organ. 

He stares at the wall, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. It’s only nine in the morning but he’s ready to call it a day. 

The latest outfit in Hua Cheng’s personalized line is hooked on the back of his door like a hanged ghost. He Xuan tilts his head. It’s… significantly more formal than previous outfits, although clings to the same macabre colour scheme. A pristinely pressed black shirt and suit jacket stare him down, with an ornate silver necklace slotted under the collar in place of a tie. 

He’s expected at noon. And judging by the online reviews of the restaurant Hua Cheng had named, acting out will probably add heavily to his debt, as well as ensure a knife is held to his balls. 

Not that he’d mind it—he’s developed a psychosexual fascination with Hua Cheng’s weapons over the weeks. Maybe it’s because he’s never seen him use them for anything other than keeping He Xuan in line during sex and now he’s conditioned like a damn slobbering dog. 

Sex is to be used loosely, of course—they still haven’t fucked properly. At this point, he’s not even sure Hua Cheng wants that from him. And He Xuan can’t delineate exactly how he feels about that. Every time he tries, he’s blown off course by the memories of what they have done, and where. 

He Xuan sighs in frustration and bites the tip of his tongue, then drops his gaze between his legs. His hand twitches towards the stirrings of arousal before dropping back onto the bed. 

Fuck; he shouldn’t… 

He makes it quick. 

A hand down the front of his pajama pants and his gaze upturned to the ceiling. He thinks of the brutal edge to Hua Cheng’s voice when he’s been acting like a brat. He thinks of the ruddy heat in his own cheeks every single time he’s forced to swallow, and the weight of Hua Cheng’s softening cock on his tongue. 

He Xuan hisses and tugs weakly at his soon-to-be erection. The bed creaks beneath him as he shifts. He stares at the outfit opposite him until his vision blurs then squeezes his eyes shut. 

He feels the touch of lips to his head, his cheek, his forehead, wherever Hua Cheng has decided to mark him with a kiss. Anywhere but his mouth. 

He Xuan pumps his cock as he considers it. They’ve come close, but Hua Cheng always maintains a composure that frustrates the hell out of him. It makes sense that it’s off limits, but He Xuan allows himself, here and now, to indulge in a daydream. 

His lips, rough against Hua Cheng’s—overbearing. He’d kiss him with a fury, with a point to prove. He’d open up and press his tongue against his lips until it could slip through, slip against his own. That part of Hua Cheng would be hot, he thinks. Unlike his hands, gunmetal cool and inhuman, his tongue would be soft and warm and vulnerable, stroking slowly up against He Xuan’s. He’d foster submission through that kiss, He Xuan has no doubt, whipping him into a well-behaved pet who doesn’t nip or growl, who opens up and takes Hua Cheng’s tongue like a good boy. 

A trembling sound escapes He Xuan as he strokes himself off, faster, faster. 

Hua Cheng could bite, could pull on his lip as He Xuan is left in a stupor with fat, drunken pupils and a slack jaw. He’d hum into He Xuan’s mouth, maybe laugh a little, then draw back and spit between his lips. 

He Xuan is breathing hard, working his cock with a desperate fist. 

“Fuck—” he breathes, slouching a little further into bed before snapping halfway up and grunting when his climax strikes him. 

He fists the sheets and bites his lip through the feeling of cum dripping down his knuckles and over the back of his hand. The tension holds him captive for another long second before releasing his muscles all at once. 

Falling back into bed, He Xuan lies panting and allows himself a private moment to admit what he’d never be able to say out loud. 

—

The restaurant is encased within a local phenomenon of a hotel, all granite brickwork and brass accents made to look rustic. It’s the sort of place where He Xuan’s back instinctively stiffens upon entering. 

A lingering feeling of fraudulence in his gut keeps him out like a physical barrier for longer than he’d like to admit. He eventually stands from his squat, picking at his nails, and spits into a planter. His necklace clinks and jingles, heavy at his nape. 

He wanders cautiously through a side door, hoping to avoid as many eyes as possible, and starts through the lobby. 

These days, He Xuan swears he can feel Hua Cheng’s presence before he ever sees him, like a fiery red blip on a sonar map. It sweeps up behind him, curls an arm around his waist, and tugs him close enough to whisper, “Remind me to buy you a watch.” 

His hair is loose and his cuffs are sterling. The motifs on his earrings match He Xuan’s necklace, proclaiming the two of them an aesthetic pair. 

“I had shit to do,” He Xuan mutters, breezily aware that he’s fifteen minutes late. 

Hua Cheng hums, guiding him around the corner. “Of course you did.” 

Their steps are muted by carpet, Hua Cheng keeping them at a steady pace despite the tardiness. 

He presses his nose into He Xuan’s temple, a spot he’s kissed half a dozen times by now, and murmurs, “I’ll let you choose your own punishment.” 

He Xuan swallows, throat tight. 

“I…” he starts, voice pitched low as they enter the restaurant. Stupidly high ceilings and pillars and glass everything. “…I won’t eat.” 

“And?” 

He curses internally—Hua Cheng is in a worse mood than he’s letting on. 

He Xuan can’t say whether it’s just him that’s exacerbated it, though. 

“I’ll… get you off in the bathroom.” 

“You certainly will.” Hua Cheng looks ahead, nods politely at a pair of well put-together men a few tables away and squeezes He Xuan’s waist. “…And?” 

He Xuan looks sideways at him, mouth downturned. 

“It was fifteen minutes,” he mutters. 

“Dealer’s choice, then,” Hua Cheng says, and they pull to a stop in front of the table. 

He Xuan blinks, apathetic. There’s an unctuous coating over the two men: one sly and sketchy with a pinched face and bony hands, the other portly and seemingly struggling to maintain his twitching smile. They gesture in tandem to the seats opposite. 

“Chengzhu,” one greets. Neither stand. 

Hua Cheng laughs quietly, pressing into the small of He Xuan’s back to get him to sit. 

He leaves the menu, a petite, leather-bound page, alone, opting instead to look between the two men opposite them as Hua Cheng settles into his chair. One of them seems curious about He Xuan and the other couldn’t care less. He Xuan doesn’t mask his sneer of disgust. 

“An associate?” the one man asks, tilting his round head at him. 

Hua Cheng folds his hands in his lap and reclines, setting a tone at the table. 

“Hardly.“ 

He doesn’t expand further, but they seem to accept the non-answer. 

“Well, Chengzhu,” the weasel-faced one begins without preamble, “I know you’re already familiar with our proposal so I’ll get straight to the point.” 

He Xuan clocks out immediately. His gaze drops to his lap, to his hands fiddling idly with the edge of the tablecloth. Beside him, Hua Cheng carries the lingering smell of cigarettes, cutting through the summer florals in the restaurant like a butcher’s knife. It should make He Xuan uneasy, but it turns him on instead. He scuffs his shoe against the floor, unimpressed by the physiological response he seems to have developed. 

He glances sideways, to the strong, unmoving shape of Hua Cheng, mature in both age and temperament. He looks like he’s too busy for this, too important. If He Xuan didn’t know him, he’d think that was the case, but he happens to be privy to Hua Cheng’s seemingly endless free time and unimpeded sex drive. 

At first glance, he’s a creature of few emotions: contempt, arrogance, boredom. He Xuan wonders whether he should feel privileged or cursed to have come to know more than that. Amusement, perplexity, satiation—all of which He Xuan has been caught in the crosshairs of. 

In fact, ever since they’d first met, he might as well have had the barrel of a rifle nudging at his temple. A conceited rifle with upturned lips and canines that come to a point, alluring and deadly. Although it’s the alluring part that He Xuan has come to worry about recently. 

Sucking someone off a few times a week while they treat you as subhuman is a chore, a punishment. So then maybe he’s sick in the head, because that gut-churning suspense of being called upon is starting to feel a hell of a lot more thrilling. He Xuan has never been a thrill-seeker, but now he thinks he understands the impetus of those who are. It’s just that his impetus is six foot three and armed. 

His gaze winds upwards, over his chest and shirt—an oily maroon—to his neck. Two thin silver chains rest at his throat, lacking any pendants, and He Xuan wonders if he’d always worn those. 

Then up to his face; the scar peeking from beneath his eyepatch is dark pink and blatant in this light. 

The dialogue passing across the table moves at a snail’s pace—if it can be called a dialogue at all, when Hua Cheng is refusing to respond with anything more complex than “Mm.” 

One of them babbles and stutters while the other does a spot on impression of senility. 

He Xuan gathers after a few minutes of ambient listening that the men own a casino and think themselves unconquerable because of it. They want Hua Cheng to invest, and the tension is mounting on their side of the table, spiking like an erratic heart monitor every time he ignores them. And he’s ignoring them a lot. 

A waiter comes and goes, listing off seasonal menu items and the best wines to pair before skittering back to the kitchen with a healthy amount of self-preservation. 

“…If you’ll excuse me,” Hua Cheng eventually says, cutting them off mid-sentence and standing. “My associate and I need some time alone to consider your suggestion. A-Xuan,” he snaps, gesturing with a finger like he expects He Xuan to heel. 

He Xuan looks between the three of them and opens his mouth before deciding against it. He scoffs, and shakes his head, then gets up and follows Hua Cheng as he weaves through the restaurant toward the men’s washroom. He Xuan’s knees are aching already. 

Hua Cheng holds the door open for him, his face meticulously tempered. 

“What colourful colleagues you have,” He Xuan mutters, beginning to pull his hair back into a ponytail with the elastic around his wrist as he takes in the off-white and sandy beige of the bathroom walls. “Their leashes must be pretty long.” 

Hua Cheng smirks, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Those two are feral; I need to have them taken out back one of these days.” 

He Xuan pauses for a second and swallows, unable to parse whether that’s a joke or not. 

“…Why bother agreeing to meet, then?” 

Hua Cheng’s shoes click on the tile, wandering up behind He Xuan and encircling his wrists as he finishes tying up his hair. “Why indeed.” He pulls He Xuan’s arms gently out to wrap behind his neck and sidles closer, chest to back. Hua Cheng’s hands settle much lower, one on his waist and the other cupping his crotch. 

He Xuan’s gaze flicks to the mirror hanging over the sink and he watches as Hua Cheng begins to gently rub his cock through his pants. 

Hesitation blooms. The only reason Hua Cheng ever centres his pleasure is to embarrass him or make him a spectacle for his own entertainment. The stalls, at least, sound empty. 

He Xuan’s breath comes out a little harder through no fault of his own, and he can feel the blood rushing between his legs and pulsing there as his cock starts to fill out. The careful grind of Hua Cheng’s palm up and down creates friction that has his limbs buzzing subtly. It warms his cheeks and kicks that latent thrill into gear, knowing they could be walked in on at any moment. 

“Are we going into a stall or do I have to suck you off in the middle of the room?” He Xuan mutters. 

Hua Cheng tilts his head forward to bump He Xuan’s and replies, “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he laughs. “A couple strangers watching you gag on me? Maybe even cry because you’re rushing it?” 

He Xuan’s cock responds with an enthusiastic kick. 

“Think they’d laugh at you?” 

He huffs and glances down at where Hua Cheng is petting him, going hot in the ears. 

“Whatever,” he spits with a click of the tongue. 

Hua Cheng hums and begins to thumb He Xuan’s belt buckle. The pressure on his cock is perfect, firm but not too rough, and he has to resist rolling his hips into it. 

After a second of indulging, he mutters, “Just let me… get it over with.” 

“What, sucking me off?” Hua Cheng asks quietly, voice dropping a few degrees. “When did I say anything about that?” He pecks the junction of He Xuan’s shoulder and steps away from him. 

When He Xuan follows him into one of the middle stalls, high-walled and more private than he’d anticipated, Hua Cheng shuts and locks the door behind him, then shifts both hands to He Xuan’s belt, unclasping it. He tugs his pants down mid-thigh but they drop all the way to his ankles. 

He Xuan grew up sheltered, not the type to be liberally naked around others, in the showers or otherwise. Under the sweltering spotlight of Hua Cheng’s gaze he feels stripped down to muscle and bone; truly naked. His cock is curved up and wet at the tip, far less timid than the rest of him. 

“Turn,” Hua Cheng says simply, and He Xuan clenches at the implication. 

He shuffles with stuttering steps to face away from Hua Cheng. A delicate whistle of a laugh sounds behind him before a pair of cool hands settle on his hips and pull. It throws him off kilter and he presses his palms into the wall of the stall to catch himself. 

He Xuan grumbles, “What the fuck was—” 

A choked sound interrupts his accusation when Hua Cheng cups the rounds of his cheeks and spreads them apart. He Xuan pants a single, shocked breath, and whips his head around to find Hua Cheng looking down at his bared hole. He bites his tongue while words evade him, draining through the sieve of his mind. The telltale flush of humiliation washes up his spine with a hitherto unfathomable speed. He turns back to the wall, face reddening by the second and grits his teeth. 

“Don’t get shy now,” Hua Cheng coos, pinching his ass. “I’m expecting a show.” 

He Xuan swallows hard, trying to steady himself. “Oh yeah?” he hisses. 

“Mm. Dealer’s choice, remember?” 

He Xuan scoffs. 

Then he feels Hua Cheng lean down and he tenses again. The sound of it is unambiguous—wet and sharp. Then the feeling, warm on his hole and lower, sliding over his balls. Hua Cheng had spat on him. He Xuan trembles for a moment, shuts his eyes, appreciates the pointed throb of his cock, then arches back just a little. 

“This what you want?” he sneers. 

“Mhm,” Hua Cheng confirms softly. “Now finger yourself nice and slow for me,” he murmurs, “Make me want to fuck you.” 

Jesus. He Xuan presses his lips together then clears his throat. 

Hua Cheng releases his hips and takes a step back, waiting. 

A fresh wave of humiliation soaks him as he reaches back and presses the pad of his middle finger to his hole. It’s wet with spit and nothing else but it doesn’t take much effort to squeeze in, clamped down on involuntarily. He Xuan bites his tongue and drops his forehead to the wall. 

He’s fingered himself a handful of times before, all since meeting Hua Cheng, and only ever alone in bed. It was mortifying enough to perch on all fours without anybody watching—this situation is outrageous. He cocks his finger and breathes out slowly, groping around until he swipes his prostate and tenses. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, and a bit of the stiffness drains out of him. 

Hua Cheng coos, “Is that good, A-Xuan?” 

That stupid nickname makes He Xuan’s teeth ache, so he grunts ambiguously in answer. 

“Use your words with me.” Hua Cheng’s voice weaves in that thread of warning suddenly, the one that makes He Xuan’s spine go straight. 

Fuck, he thought he was over this.  

“…It’s good,” he breathes. 

“Good boy.” Hua Cheng reaches forward and tucks He Xuan’s bangs behind his ear. “Was that so hard?” 

He Xuan is about to hiss his retaliation when the bathroom door clicks open. His hand stills, paranoia suddenly billowing inside him like acrid smoke. 

Hua Cheng exhales and He Xuan can read the amusement in it. Then, from behind him comes the sound of a belt flipping open, pulling free. Then a zipper, and the shuffle of fabric. 

He Xuan’s brows furrow. He doesn’t turn around to check, but the signs all point to Hua Cheng taking his cock—maybe half-hard—in hand. 

The urinal flushes. He Xuan counts his heartbeats until the door opens and closes again then lets out his anxiety between clenched teeth. 

“Add another finger,” Hua Cheng murmurs. “And don’t stop next time.” 

“What if someone hears—?” He Xuan hisses. 

“Then they hear,” Hua Cheng says in a measured tone, the kind that challenges He Xuan to disobey and makes the consequences clear if he does. 

He Xuan rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck, whatever.” 

He angles his hips back a little and rubs a second finger past where the first is stretching him open. 

“…You didn’t bring lube?” 

“I brought lube,” Hua Cheng murmurs. “You’ll use spit.” 

He Xuan’s hackles rise. He withdraws his finger and spits in his palm, carelessly slicking two fingers and wincing as they slide in side by side, to the first knuckle. 

Hua Cheng hums, “Stop clenching like that.” 

“Bite me,” He Xuan mutters. 

Hua Cheng hums, amused, then settles back into silence. 

He Xuan focuses on himself, on relaxing around his fingers like he’d done at two in the morning just last week. It’s an acquired pleasure, but once he reacquaints himself with his prostate, a moan loosens his lips. 

Hua Cheng assesses him silently at first, waiting until he’s squirming on his own fingers to speak. 

“…So what are you studying at school?” 

“What do you care?” He Xuan grunts, not playing into his attempt at a distraction. 

Hua Cheng laughs. “I’d argue I care more than most, don’t you think?” 

It’s a fair claim—he can count on one hand the number of people who’ve asked after his future. 

He Xuan huffs, working two spit-slick fingers in and out of himself with a twisting motion. 

“…Double major in philosophy and literature.” 

Hua Cheng whistles, seemingly impressed. “I knew you were clever.” 

He Xuan foolishly lets that inflate his pride. 

“What do you plan to do with that?” 

He Xuan clicks his tongue and glances back with snark ready. But before he can mutter something along the lines of, “Is it my academic prowess that’s turning you on, or my virgin asshole?” he notices that Hua Cheng is still stroking himself, gaze already hooked on He Xuan’s. 

The corner of his lips lift, shame a foreign concept to him. He cocks a brow, urging He Xuan on with an unspoken prompt. 

“…Teach,” he sighs. “I want to teach, okay? Happy? Not that it makes any difference to you, but that’s the shit you’re funding.” 

He expects a chuckle, or a coo, or something else carefully condescending. But for an unnerving moment, Hua Cheng is just quiet. His gaze doesn’t waver, flitting between He Xuan’s eyes. Then he smiles, cocksure and loose, and He Xuan can breathe again. 

He turns back around only for a smack to land on the underside of his cheek. 

“Spread yourself; let me see it.” 

A long, ruffled breath leaves He Xuan as he hinges at the hips a little more and pulls himself open. Cool air greets his fingers, sinking in and out to the second knuckle. 

Hua Cheng hums, appreciative. 

Then, “Add another one.” 

The angle is taxing on his wrist but he soldiers on. A third finger squeezes in and he tenses down around it like he had with the first two. 

“Look at that hole stretch,” Hua Cheng says, and He Xuan isn’t sure whether it’s some kind of self-deception, but he’s starting to sound a little weighted with lust. 

It gives him the kick of confidence he needs. He Xuan sinks his fingers in and out slowly, riding back on his own hand and hissing. 

“Well?” he pants. “Is this good enough for you?” He assumes Hua Cheng is going to jerk himself off onto He Xuan’s back or something—send him home with cum in his hair. “Does it make you—” 

The bathroom door opens again before he has a chance to wring out the rest of that sentence. 

Hua Cheng reaches out to stroke his stretched hole with a thumb, snared by the sight. 

Then, all of a sudden, he’s pressed close to He Xuan’s back and whispering, “…Want to fuck you?” His voice is several hues darker, teetering with the effort of keeping under control. “You could say that.” 

He peels back and He Xuan feels his heartbeat in his ears, hears his blood rushing. A knot forms in his throat. Across the room, a stranger is sidled up to a urinal—behind him, Hua Cheng is tearing open a condom. He swallows around the shock of dryness in his mouth and looks back at Hua Cheng stroking a palmful of lube across his cock. 

Fuck— here, really? He Xuan had thought if they were ever going to fuck it would at least be on a couch or something. He supposes that was wishful thinking. 

His wrist is circled and his fingers are pulled free, only to be replaced with the slicked tip of Hua Cheng’s cock. He rubs himself over his hole, pressing down on the head with a thumb to guide it, and every pass makes He Xuan’s toes twitch in anticipation. 

He frowns sidelong at Hua Cheng, breath noticeably catching, and receives a lifted brow in response. His smile is wolfish and spreads like a grease fire across his face. Hua Cheng begins to squeeze in. 

Wait—shit, wait—  

He Xuan’s breath leaves him all at once, lungs shocked to stillness. Like a candle, the tough wax of him gives under the flame of Hua Cheng’s touch. He presses his cheek up against the wall and shuts his eyes, mouth falling open to pull in a quivering breath. 

Fuck; he shapes the word but thankfully there’s no sound to it. 

His chest is plastered to the wall of the bathroom stall and as his breath returns to him, he feels with each expansion how cornered he is. 

Hua Cheng curls his fingers around He Xuan’s hip and presses into the hollow just that side of his hipbone. His pelvis is flush to He Xuan’s ass, and he grinds in little circles while he waits for He Xuan to reach a human level of functioning again. 

The sink turns on, runs for a second, turns off. The door opens and closes and Hua Cheng pinches his waist. 

“Still so tight?” 

He Xuan grunts and splays his hands out on the wall, fully surrendering his weight to it. 

“Shut up, I’ve—” 

—never done this before, he almost spits; what do you expect? But he catches his lip between his teeth instead and shakes his head. Hua Cheng doesn’t push for him to finish the thought. 

“Hurry up already,” He Xuan hisses, ducking his face into his shoulder to avoid Hua Cheng commenting on his flush. Hua Cheng laughs then presses a hand flat to He Xuan’s back and rocks his hips. 

It’s smooth and easy, lacking the jagged eagerness he imagines is a tell of immaturity. It pummels the breath out of He Xuan all over again. 

He doesn’t speed up for an agonizing stretch of minutes, content to watch his cock squeeze into He Xuan’s hole then drag back out again. The mental image is enough to make He Xuan physically hot with arousal; he doesn’t know if he could handle actually seeing it. The stretch is tempered over those few minutes from a sharp sting into destructive pleasure, and every press inside of him causes a hairline fracture to his sanity. 

It only holds out so long before it shatters, and he finally grits out, “Fuck, please.”  

A sharp laugh tinted with disbelief sounds behind him. “Did you just say ‘please’?” 

Hua Cheng slows to a stop then reaches forward to tuck He Xuan’s bangs behind his ear, hand lingering at his nape. 

“…Say it again.” 

“Please,” He Xuan growls, divorcing himself from his embarrassment. 

“If I’d have known this was the key,” Hua Cheng draws his hips back and He Xuan’s breath hitches, “I would’ve fucked some manners into you weeks ago.” He snaps forward, one brutal thrust suddenly chased by another. 

He Xuan exhales through a slit in his lips, afraid to let the muscles in his jaw go lax like they’re aching to do. He bites his tongue and looks down at his own cock bobbing between his legs, slapping his stomach and drooling precum down his length. 

Oh, fuck.  

The next indeterminable slot of time passes like the return of lucidity after one too many shots. He Xuan feels every inch of him, every spot his shirt clings to his body with effort. And Hua Cheng carries him through it all. That’s how their first time goes—rattling a bathroom stall with an intensity that He Xuan struggles to weather. 

Hua Cheng widens his stance and starts to tug him backwards onto his cock. 

He hums, “You’re just a hole, aren’t you?” 

He Xuan’s cock twitches treacherously and he has to reach up over the lip of the stall to keep his balance. 

Hua Cheng leans over him, his cheek exertion-warmed and pressed next to He Xuan’s ear. 

“Doesn’t matter if it’s your mouth or your ass,” he says, “you’re made for taking cock, and that pisses you off.” 

He Xuan shuts his eyes when Hua Cheng smiles and presses a jolting kiss to his jaw. 

“It’s very cute,” he adds, voice slanting down. 

The spit pooling in He Xuan’s mouth nearly chokes him when he tries to swallow, caught off guard by the compliment, deeply condescending as it may be. 

“Shut u-up,” he snaps, although the intensity is lacking. 

Hua Cheng continues. “If not me, then someone. Anyone.”  

He shudders and it makes Hua Cheng laugh. 

He nips his ear and says, “Hunched over and sweating while you’re fucked face-down, on all fours like an animal. That’s what you’re made for.” 

He’s too tired to argue, to put up a fight. He Xuan is boneless and acquiescent, the victim of incredibly efficient and undoing sex. He groans weakly, ignorant to the clatter of the stall he’s clinging to, and everything else that isn’t Hua Cheng’s cock squeezing into his fucked-open hole. 

The precision grind, again and again, across his prostate while Hua Cheng’s hips slap his ass is bringing He Xuan to a point he would struggle to name at the best of times, let alone right now. 

His toes curl, his stomach tenses, his fists clench, his jaw tightens, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good—  

He grunts and starts to rut his hips back, tossing out his shame and following a primal urge. He Xuan is panting and it’s loud— everything is loud—and he needs it faster, he needs Hua Cheng’s hand between his legs, he needs this to last forever. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers, hips stuttering as he fails to keep up with the pace. “Yeah, yes, oh my god.” 

“Listen to you,” Hua Cheng laughs, albeit out of breath. “My ever-quiet little pet won’t shut up now that he's had his cunt filled?” 

His orgasm slams into him before he can even contemplate a response. He Xuan comes hard, legs nearly giving out as his cock jumps and spurts stripe after messy stripe across the stall wall. A vague sound of pleasure dribbles from his lips when Hua Cheng continues to fuck him through it, until the feeling eventually turns raw, and the proof of the most devastating orgasm of his life is painted across the wall in front of him. 

He shuts his eyes and presses his forehead to the wall, waiting out another minute or two of Hua Cheng pumping inside of him, all the fight having been fucked out of him for today. 

“How docile,” Hua Cheng murmurs, reaching up to press a finger into He Xuan’s mouth. He rubs it across his gums, over a molar, not so much testing his boundaries as appreciating them. 

When Hua Cheng comes, it’s with a handsome snarl right in He Xuan’s ear and a precarious hand at his jaw. 

He ties off the condom and He Xuan takes that second to try and still his pounding heart. By the time he comes to the conclusion that it won’t be stilled so easily, Hua Cheng is opening the door. 

“I’m— hey,” He Xuan mutters, hastily yanking up his pants and cleaning his cum off the wall with a wad of toilet paper. 

He trails after Hua Cheng, stopping only briefly to take in his flushed face and neck in the mirror. He takes a right on leaving the bathroom and He Xuan frowns. 

“We’re not going back to the table?” he asks, rubbing the lingering red from his cheek with the heel of his hand. 

“Be my guest,” Hua Cheng waves over his shoulder. “I already got what I came here for.” 

Notes:

Twitter: showxing_

Chapter 4

He Xuan stares at the ceiling until it starts to tilt, then he closes his eyes. 

Their beat up old couch is maybe even less comfortable than the floor, but it’s the kind of familiar He Xuan seeks out when he’s so exhausted his bones need a rest. The lamp in the corner offers some half-hearted ambience to the otherwise still darkness eating up the apartment. Behind him, the kitchen window is open, letting in sticky summer air and the occasional sounds of traffic. 

It’s been another month—a month of bending at the waist, brushing his hair out of the way, and biting his tongue. A month of Hua Cheng’s whims cramping and curling him over. 

He Xuan shifts and winces. He drops a hand to rub at his hip and throws the other over his face. His ass is still aching from the other day, pain-steeped memories rising to the front of his mind. He Xuan wets his lips. 

Brick grit beneath his palms and the pulse of nightlife in his ears: Hua Cheng has him panting into a back alley wall, just around the corner from where the club-goers take their smoke breaks, still close enough to hear the peaks of their conversations. 

His nose presses into He Xuan’s neck first, then his mouth—not to kiss, just to breathe. It’s rough and vulgar and He Xuan would probably be flooded with contempt if he were to walk by two people fucking in a gutter, but every bite of pain and discomfort just turns him on more now. He doesn’t want to look too deeply into whether the deciding factor is the objectively good sex or Hua Cheng himself, despite the answer hovering somewhere close. 

He Xuan hisses, defeated by the thrusts that work so seamlessly to make space inside of him. His pants are tucked beneath his ass, low enough to fuck but not enough to avoid the impending mess. 

Hua Cheng’s breath turns sharp when he laughs into his nape. 

“Is my brat enjoying the feel of the whip crack?” 

He makes a mindless noise and squeezes his eyes shut. 

Each thrust is an indulgence out of place in what should be a hasty back alley fuck—Hua Cheng doesn’t seem to be in any sort of rush. His palm slides beneath He Xuan’s shirt and presses firmly beneath his bellybutton before he laughs again, quieter. 

“You feel that?” he asks, nuzzling behind He Xuan’s ear. 

“No,” He Xuan mutters, flat palms curling into fists on the brick. 

The subtle nudge of Hua Cheng’s cock against the palm of his hand, through He Xuan’s belly, is impossible to miss. He sets his jaw, a warm wash of arousal soaking him through as he feels it prodding softly, again and again. 

Fuck, he’s going to come. 

“You lie like you fuck,” Hua Cheng coos, amused. “Poorly.” 

A constricted sound squeezes from He Xuan’s throat in response to that and he drops his head forward, neck going slack. His cheeks and ears are hot and his toes are curling in his shoes hard enough that his feet cramp. Fuck, fuck. 

Humiliated ecstasy sucks him under and he comes into his boxers with a curse. 

Hua Cheng hums, serene and almost soothing, if not for the amused edge. “I hope you’re comfortable like that, because I’m nowhere near done with you.”  

He Xuan shifts on the couch, readjusting his legs as he reminisces. 

And it wasn’t just the once. There was the time in that empty storage room, and up against the windows, and the time they’d pulled the car over behind a gas station— 

The ceiling looms and He Xuan bares his teeth at it; he wouldn’t hesitate to call himself well-fucked by now. Not that he ever does any of the work. 

It’s a well-worn pattern—Hua Cheng gets them into high-risk sexual situations and He Xuan takes what he’s given. He still puts up a fight and wrangles together some snark, but even he can see that he’s well and truly broken in by now. 

Which makes him wonder how much longer Hua Cheng will want to keep this up for. He’s devolved into someone who’s all bark; he’s growing threadbare and predictable despite his best efforts. Because beneath the surface, he likes it. He really likes it. The rough touch, the dirty talk, the risky locations. And it’s not deep beneath the surface, either—it’s swelling right under his skin, one paper-thin slice from gushing out. 

And then what? After he admits to himself that this agreement has grown wings and taken flight… Then what? 

He Xuan squirms. 

A knock pulls his gaze from the ceiling to the door, then to his phone. It’s almost one in the morning. 

“What the fuck?” he breathes, rolling carefully onto his feet. 

He opens the door just a crack and struggles with the reality of Hua Cheng in the hall, arms crossed, dressed down. Well, as dressed down as Hua Cheng gets. 

“…What?” He Xuan hisses through the slit. 

“A-Xuan,” he tuts, “Is that how you greet all your guests?” 

“All the ones who show up after midnight, yeah.” 

Hua Cheng laughs. “What difference does it make when you’re still awake?” 

And He Xuan can’t exactly argue with that. He grumbles and lets the door creak open. Hua Cheng rolls his cuffs up to his elbows as he steps inside, taking in the apartment. It’s dreary and stale and probably not up to code, but it’s home and He Xuan is thankful to have that much at least. 

“Why are you here?” he asks after a stretch of silence, scratching the back of his head. 

“Time to kill,” Hua Cheng murmurs, still scanning the room. 

Reaching a point of satisfaction, his eye flicks to He Xuan instead and scrapes down his body like a set of claws. 

He Xuan scoffs. “Don’t you ever just jerk off? You know, alone?” 

Hua Cheng brushes past him and settles on the couch, picking his nails as he speaks. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“So it’s fun to torment me now?” He Xuan huffs. 

A curious look crosses Hua Cheng’s face at that, and he lowers his hands to his sides. 

“Is that what you are? Tormented?” A smirk splits his face. “Oh, pup. If this is you tormented, I’d kill to see you in ecstasy.” 

A snap of heat warms his cheeks and He Xuan averts his eyes. It’s as good as a slap in the face. 

“So you can fuck,” he mutters, staring into the cigarette burns on the carpet. “That doesn’t mean I want to be your sex toy. School starts up again next week, I have shit to focus on.” 

“All the more reason to be here tonight, then,” he says, smooth and unbothered. “Who am I to impede the pursuit of knowledge?” 

The man I owe a life-changing debt to, He Xuan thinks, and lets loose a huff that probably reads as childish. 

“Strip,” Hua Cheng murmurs, tilting his chin towards He Xuan. 

The urge to lock horns rears up and he grumbles at a careful volume, “Here? My roommates are home.” 

“Strip quietly.”  

Annoyance surges—at Hua Cheng’s arrogance, and at his own undeniable interest. He smears a hand down his face. 

Alright; they’ll fuck, front to back, like they always do—it keeps the intimacy to a level that’s easy to swallow. They’ll sweat, groan, come. Hua Cheng will leave before He Xuan’s even caught his breath. Fine. Whatever. He glances down the darkened hall where his roommates’ bedrooms are. If someone walks in on them, he’ll just bash his head in and end it all, no big deal. 

He tucks his thumbs beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers and slides them down over his ass. His cock is soft and apathetic. 

“Couch?” he asks. 

Hua Cheng tilts his head, assessing. Then he pats his lap and spreads his arms out along the back of the couch. 

He Xuan pauses. It must last a moment too long because Hua Cheng laughs and runs his tongue over his teeth. 

“Just take your pants off. One step at a time, pup.” 

He Xuan mindlessly kicks his sweats and boxers down and off then wanders closer. Hua Cheng waits. 

Cautiously, convinced he’ll misstep, he kneels beside him then lifts a leg to straddle his lap. He aims a look at him to clarify, like this?  

“What’s wrong?” Hua Cheng teases, “Afraid I’ll bite?” 

He Xuan sneers. “As if.” 

If anything, he’s afraid he won’t.  

His cock’s already starting to fill out from proximity alone and it makes him all the more anxious to get his hands on Hua Cheng and pull him along. He sits back, settling his ass on Hua Cheng’s thighs, and works his belt open. 

An unfettered air of authority surrounds Hua Cheng at all times, and now is no different, chin bowed to watch as He Xuan begins to stroke him. He presses his thumb to the slit and circles there, impatience beginning to itch under his skin. His fist, slicked periodically with spit, works Hua Cheng up to hardness quick enough. But before He Xuan can so much as ask about a condom, Hua Cheng grabs him by the hips and tugs him forward. 

He Xuan bites down around a yelp at the last second, hands coming up to Hua Cheng’s shoulders, and musters a dirty look. 

It slots both their cocks into the hug of their torsos and when they grind up against one another, He Xuan sucks in a quick breath. He looks down his body, at the pink, swollen heads of their erections nudging together, and bites his tongue. 

His shirt is two sizes too big and  obscures the view so he strips it and throws it behind him. The adrenaline is keeping him from thinking too deeply about the fact that he’s fully naked in the middle of his apartment, in another man’s lap. 

It’s humid even with the old fan running, and their skin is sticky where it presses together; He Xuan won’t admit he likes it. 

He clears his throat and asks, “Lube?” 

Hua Cheng passes a packet to him and watches as he rips at the corner and squeezes a bit onto their cocks, seeming to find it funny how enthused he is all of a sudden. 

He Xuan glances up for just a split-second—long enough to ascertain that Hua Cheng couldn’t give less of a fuck what he does. 

Funnily enough, He Xuan feels more like a pet here, with the freedom to wrap a fist around both of their cocks, than he ever did before. A loosened leash makes for a newfound appreciation of the owner, or something. Surely psychology has something to say about that. 

He starts stroking them off together, trying and failing to keep his hips from bucking up. With a hand to keep them steady, he switches to a messier approach. Careful thrusts force them together, force them into grinding. 

Hua Cheng’s other hand comes to He Xuan’s head and pets his hair back. 

“Look who’s taking charge for once. How cute.” 

Cute is not a word He Xuan has ever heard from anyone else to describe him and he’s still struggling to acclimate to it. He curls his lip back in distaste but continues nudging his hips forward, unwilling to give up his pleasure. 

His attentiveness starts dwindling—more and more the longer he watches the wet tip of his cock peek out of his fist alongside Hua Cheng’s. Fuck.  

When Hua Cheng leans in to brush cheeks and whisper, “Go ahead and finger yourself too,” all He Xuan can do is nod. 

One-handed, he squeezes another bit of lube out and clumsily slicks his fingers. Two press hard into his hole, sinking in bit by bit while he continues fucking forward. 

The hand on his head is lingering and He Xuan is tense waiting for it to pull his hair. But it just keeps petting. 

He tightens his fist around their cocks, drives his fingers in deeper, sighs. His breathing is rough and he knows it, too determined on rocking between his fingers and the friction on his cock to bother trying to wrangle it under control. 

“Tormented,” Hua Cheng murmurs and He Xuan prickles. 

“Can you just shut up?” he mutters, hips slowing. 

His fingers squelch quietly as they pump inside of him and he steals a half-hearted worry for the future wellbeing of the couch. 

Impatience manifests as restlessness and he begins squirming in Hua Cheng’s lap before deciding to just withdraw his fingers and wipe them off on his thigh. 

Silently, Hua Cheng offers him a condom between two fingers. He glances between the foil and Hua Cheng’s face, then swipes it out of his hand and tears into it. 

Of all things, sliding a condom onto Hua Cheng is what brings colour to He Xuan’s cheeks. It’s a far gentler touch than he’s used to, and intimate in a way he can’t quite name. For a split-second, they feel like lovers instead of debtor and creditor. 

But the moment passes. 

Hua Cheng sinks into the couch, adjusting their angle until his cock brushes past He Xuan’s balls. He reaches behind himself and the self-satisfied look on Hua Cheng’s face as he does is almost unbearable. 

He drops one hand to He Xuan’s thigh and squeezes. 

“You’re going to have to work for it this time.” 

He Xuan blows his hair out of his eyes and ignores him. He thumbs the rest of the lube out into his palm and pulls on Hua Cheng’s cock a few times before biting his tongue and pressing the tip to his hole. 

He is going to have to work for it—moreso than bend over and relax, anyway. 

God, it feels different like this, being an active participant. 

As he sinks down he can feel it up his spine, all the way to the base of his skull. 

He avoids Hua Cheng’s face, pointedly shutting his eyes because he knows he’s prone to greedy eye contact and he thinks he might combust if he has to face that. 

He Xuan isn’t a romantic. He’s never subscribed to chocolate and roses and teddy bears. It’s probably one of the reasons his old girlfriend had made herself scarce so quickly. It makes him itch, all that gooey, heartfelt bullshit. 

By the time he finally settles himself in Hua Cheng’s lap, his thighs are trembling and he’s breathing through his teeth. Sex face to face, as it turns out, triggers that very same itch. 

His grip is tight on Hua Cheng’s shoulders, probably uncomfortably so, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Tired already?” 

He Xuan blinks open his eyes with a frown and immediately regrets it. The gaze trained on him is lazy and drunk, Hua Cheng’s eye bobbing around his face and chest like he’s the only thing worth his time. It very nearly makes him sick with how badly he wants to turn away, to take the privilege of perception away from such a smug, reckless, pretentious piece of— 

He Xuan gasps and digs his nails in when Hua Cheng curls his hips. It’s a prod to get moving, he knows—to stop taking his precious time and start riding him. 

He sits a little taller than Hua Cheng like this, propped up on his thighs, but tucks his head down so their foreheads are nearly brushing when he draws up and sinks down again. 

Fuck. He melts a little inside, the depth sitting differently than before. 

“Good boy.” Hua Cheng strokes his thigh. 

He does it again, and drops a little harder back into his lap; a short moan cuts loose before He Xuan can dampen it. 

“Shh; your roommates are home,” Hua Cheng teases, flashing his teeth. 

“…Fuck off,” He Xuan breathes. 

Their noses brush as he slides carefully up and down in Hua Cheng’s lap, dangerously close. It hurts to swallow with how tight his throat is. 

Hua Cheng readjusts the hold on his hips and hums, “If you can’t shut yourself up, I’ll have to—” 

The air stills around them as their lips connect with all the grace of a train wreck. In no universe did He Xuan think he would have the nerve to kiss Hua Cheng; his beaten down self-worth wouldn’t allow it. Yet here he is, disproving the odds. 

To Hua Cheng’s credit, his shock is there and gone too quickly for He Xuan to really appreciate it. With a slackened jaw and parted lips, he allows He Xuan to peck at his mouth, to craft his own kisses out of nothing. 

He Xuan’s brows furrow, wringing out another few seconds before he pulls back and huffs, “…You’ll have to what?” 

Nothing in recent memory feels quite as good as Hua Cheng ignoring him in favour of surging into another kiss. A thrill fills He Xuan’s stomach as he’s held tight and kissed with the kind of power he’ll gladly submit to. He melts a little, thighs losing their momentum, and he sinks with a swallowed up moan down onto Hua Cheng’s cock. 

Hands migrate over his chest, up to his face, and grip his cheeks like they’re shaping him from clay. Their tongues tease through the gaps of one another’s lips and start to bicker, grinding and licking behind teeth. 

He Xuan rocks his hips back and forth mindlessly, rubbing his cock up against Hua Cheng’s stomach while he fights for and slowly loses the upper hand. 

Hua Cheng kisses like he speaks—with intentionality. As soft as this part of him may be, it’s wielded to cut, and He Xuan can feel himself yielding against his will. He tilts his head, thumbs the corner of He Xuan’s lips, and kisses him hard, kisses him with a snarl; He Xuan’s cock responds generously. 

“You little brat,” Hua Cheng exhales against his lips, sinking back into another kiss immediately—this one shaped like a smirk. 

He Xuan squeezes his shoulders and slowly lifts himself halfway up on his knees. He begins to ride him cautiously to keep their kisses from fracturing. He has no idea if this unfathomable streak of intimacy will last past tonight so He Xuan wants to reap what he can. 

“Mm—” 

His brows furrow, downturned in pleasure as he fucks himself in slow, indulgent circles. 

Hua Cheng slides a palm down his bare back and grabs his ass cheek, squeezing and groping and pulling He Xuan into every lift and drop. His tongue flicks up into He Xuan’s mouth, precise in a way He Xuan is very quickly losing the ability to manage. He forces his thighs to keep up when he begins bouncing, when his ass begins hitting Hua Cheng’s thighs with a quiet slap, slap, slap. By the time his legs are burning with effort, their kisses are little more than lolling mouths and lazy tongues. 

Hua Cheng, ever perceptive, reads his exhaustion and effortlessly takes the reins. 

“Mm—!” 

With a single thrust, He Xuan has to bite down on Hua Cheng’s lip to keep his moan in, and he feels him grin as he exerts all his restrained force to fuck He Xuan properly. 

“Was that good for you?” Hua Cheng murmurs against his mouth. “Should I let you play boss more often?” 

He Xuan exhales hard and sits back, a string of spit snapping between their mouths. He’s jolted down again and again and meets Hua Cheng’s thrusts halfway. 

“Fu-uck,” he pants. 

Both hands grasp desperately at Hua Cheng’s shoulders, neck, biceps. Shuddering through the rough handling, he shuts his eyes and just feels. His hair is stuck to his temples with sweat and his cock is throbbing, twitching, thrumming. His heart is in his throat. They’re still close enough to share breath, to feel the radiant heat from one another’s skin. He lets Hua Cheng take some more of his weight, focusing on the climax beginning to boil in his belly. 

“Fuck, you love this, don’t you?” Hua Cheng mutters, “Whose little slut are you?” 

He Xuan groans and curls into Hua Cheng’s neck. 

“Answer me,” he breathes, gripping his hair and pulling him back so they’re face to face again. “I said who are you a slut for, A-Xuan?” 

He Xuan squeezes his eyes shut, red with humiliation as he hisses, “Hua-gege.” 

“That’s right.” He releases He Xuan’s hair and lets him nuzzle back into his shoulder. 

He’s slack-jawed and panting into Hua Cheng’s shirt, drool catching at the corner of his mouth. 

“Shit, ah, feels good,” he slurs. “So close.” 

A strong arm wraps around his back and fuck, the couch is creaking like it’s about to fall apart, but He Xuan is so close. His cock is squeezed between their bodies and he fucks weakly up into that tightness until his toes twitch and curl, until his breath stills for just a split second. 

And then he comes. Across both their chests, nearly to his own chin. 

And this time, Hua Cheng follows him. 

He always sounds so rough when he comes, like he’s been deprived of those little moments of ecstasy for too long. 

He Xuan tries his luck one final time, dragging his nose across Hua Cheng’s cheek to slide into a breathy kiss. He tastes like ash and spice and immediately starts to bite, pulling He Xuan’s lip between his teeth. 

Their kisses outlast their twinned climax, tension starting to drain while they breathe heavily into one another’s mouths. It’s the longest Hua Cheng has ever spent acknowledging him after fucking: until he’s almost entirely soft again. 

After a second, he drops his head against the back of the couch and gives He Xuan’s ass a gentle smack. 

“Getting up any time soon?” 

He Xuan grunts and climbs off his lap, chest already aching as he mourns the excessive nearness. He ducks into the bathroom and tosses Hua Cheng a roll of toilet paper to clean up with. 

He wants to say something—something significant, something that will change everything—but then he remembers the bite of Hua Cheng’s knife against his body and decides to just get dressed. 

Boxers, sweatpants, shirt. Numbness seeps up from his feet as he collects and slips on his clothes. 

Hua Cheng is watching him. 

“…You can go,” He Xuan murmurs without glancing over. 

Should go. Have to go. 

Clearly Hua Cheng doesn’t have a problem with that, because he gets up and lets himself out without another word. Like usual. 

He Xuan swallows and it tastes like ash and spice. 

—

Classes start with all the usual ado. Orientation leaders guide pockets of new students around campus, gumming up He Xuan’s usual study spots and walking routes. 

He rubs his eyes as he slips through back alleys towards town, towards his apartment. He has tonight off work but probably still won’t go to bed until late, having taken to musing in his room like a fucking pathetic, tortured artist. 

He’s run through about half a million potential dialogues he could have with Hua Cheng the next time he sees him and still none of them sit right. Everything from, “If I ever have to see you again I’m going to drown myself,” to, “This relationship is the only thing keeping me going and if you ever decide you’re tired of me I’m going to drown myself.” 

Whichever direction he takes, he’s set himself up for a bleak ending. 

He kicks a stone along the sidewalk for a few steps before it skitters out into the street and he comes to an abrupt stop. 

“…You look like shit,” He Xuan mutters, defying all predictions when he notices Hua Cheng slumped against the building behind his apartment, smoking. 

His hair is loose and a little messy, and his eye is cushioned with a crease that speaks to his lack of sleep. He looks his age, fine lines and silver hairs louder in his features. When he smiles, he does that tiredly too. 

“Always the charmer.” 

He stubs out his cigarette on the wall and flicks the butt away before turning towards He Xuan and crossing his arms. 

“You’re done for the day? With school?” 

He Xuan looks him up and down. “Like you’d care if I wasn’t?” 

Hua Cheng leans to the side and spits and He Xuan is ashamed of the way it makes his neck burn. 

“…Come with me,” he murmurs, his expression hovering between several identifiable emotions but refusing to settle on any of them. 

Without looking He Xuan in the eye he passes him, crosses the road, climbs into his car. It’s not the chunky thing Yin Yu chauffeurs for him, but a glossy sports car that probably hasn’t even hit the market yet. 

He Xuan spends a generous moment deciding. In the end he comes to the conclusion that it’s worth it, if only to get his fingerprints all over Hua Cheng’s meticulous detailing. He jogs over and climbs into the passenger seat. 

Owning this type of car and living the lifestyle he does don’t typically boast ‘cautious driver’, but that’s what Hua Cheng is. 

He Xuan doesn’t consider breaking the silence between them, and clearly neither does Hua Cheng. He doesn’t really care where they’re going and he already knows what they’ll be doing, so what is there to ask? Except they pass boundary after boundary until the city is behind them and they’re on a winding road through a patch of greenery. 

“Am I being kidnapped?” he asks flatly. 

Hua Cheng lets out a low-energy laugh. “You could say that. Problem?” 

He Xuan looks out the window. “No.” 

They pull off eventually onto a gravel side road, to the right of which sprawls a solitary lagoon and the ache to swim in it rises abruptly in He Xuan. As they drive closer, a building comes into view: slanted roofs and pillars wrapped in wisteria, wide windows, double doors. 

“…You live here?” 

“Rarely,” Hua Cheng replies, like that’s a normal answer. 

Private getaway to fuck his toy of the month, then. 

He parks beside a garden that must require daily maintenance and beckons He Xuan out into the courtyard. If He Xuan had a deeper interest in architecture than just what pleases the eye, he’s sure he’d have a lot to ask. But as it is, he just follows Hua Cheng through to the front doors, into the foyer, around the corner. Maybe he should strip as he walks to save on time. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t note whether Hua Cheng’s house is decorated with personal touches, pictures of family, works of art. 

Not until Hua Cheng stops and He Xuan plants his feet in the middle of the…kitchen? 

“Have you eaten?” 

Hua Cheng walks behind an obscenely large island, flicking on an element as he passes the stove. 

He Xuan’s forehead wrinkles, struck suddenly with the realization that nobody has asked him that since his parents passed. 

“…Not since lunch.” 

Hua Cheng’s eye flicks towards him as he drifts around the kitchen, grabbing out a wok and checking the fridge. 

“And what was lunch?” It’s on the teasing end of considerate. 

“A… pork bun. Can you stop?” 

Hua Cheng pulls out a covered bowl of rice and another of veggies and sets them by the stove. Soy sauce, salt, oil, eggs. He Xuan shakes his head; is he seriously about to fry him some rice? 

“Stop cooking?” Hua Cheng asks, smirking as he washes his hands. 

Gripping the edge of the island, He Xuan scoffs. Smart ass.  

“Is this, like, elaborate foreplay? You want to see me naked in an apron or something?” 

Hua Cheng heats the oil and starts frying the eggs. 

“Mm, an apron wouldn’t be my first choice.” 

He can feel frustration brewing inside his chest like a storm cloud. 

“…Fine,” he mutters, and takes a seat at the island. 

Hua Cheng cooks with a practiced ease, something else He Xuan is taken aback by. He breaks up the rice before sloughing it into the pan, eyes the soy sauce as he pours straight from the bottle. It’s sort of hypnotic, like he’s trying to assuage He Xuan’s uneasiness with the rhythmic clunk of the wok on the stove. 

He sets his chin in his hand and purses his lips. Given the opportunity, He Xuan glances around the room; it’s cut and pasted from an interior design lookbook. Every detail seems deliberate, with the intention to look expensive. Pieces of pottery and decorative wall hangings and houseplants line the shelves and walls. He Xuan believes what he’d said about ‘rarely’ living here. 

Before long, a plate is slid before him—oil-glistened rice with peas and carrots, eggs, scallions. 

Hua Cheng wipes his hands clean then gestures with his chin. “Eat.” 

He Xuan stares at the dish, fingers twitching. 

Somewhere in the distance is the measured tick of a clock, barely audible but enough to tell him time is in fact still passing. 

Hua Cheng begins to clean the dishes, gaze downturned. 

Eventually, He Xuan picks up the chopsticks, clicking them against the side of the bowl a few times before pinching a mouthful of rice and egg. It tastes like Hua Cheng knows what he’s doing, as competent in the kitchen as he is everywhere else. But he doesn’t ask for He Xuan’s opinion and He Xuan doesn’t freely offer it. 

When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth with the heel of his hand. 

“What next?” he mutters, “A sponge bath? Rose petals?” 

Hua Cheng leans back against the cupboards and crosses his arms. His tiredness manifests in the forward slump of his shoulders. 

“…You’re a good kid.” 

He’ll be twenty next month, but imagines voicing that would only make Hua Cheng laugh. 

“…So?” 

Hua Cheng scratches his jaw. “So don’t get stuck in with me. You’re smarter than that.” 

He Xuan’s stomach flips and he hides it with a scoff. 

“…As if I have a choice—” 

“Don’t act stupid,” Hua Cheng murmurs, sedate. “It doesn’t suit you.” 

Shame wafts from his body, tacky in his mouth and on his skin. He thinks unwillingly of that kiss, the first one that he’d dived into without a second of forethought, and knows Hua Cheng is right. 

“Tell me,” Hua Cheng starts, walking around the island towards him, “that you want to leave, right now, and I’ll take you home.” His steps are measured, not at all predatory, and yet… 

He Xuan swallows, tilts his head towards him. 

“I…” he says. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.  

Tongue curling, his mouth pinches shut. 

“Say it,” Hua Cheng urges, moving closer, closer. He stops before him. “Tell me you want this to be over and it’s over.” 

His voice is an unfamiliar kind of soft and it makes He Xuan’s teeth ache. 

“I…” he tries again. 

“Do the right thing, He Xuan. Get out of here.” He’s staring, fixed on He Xuan’s face. “It’s easy. Say it.” 

He Xuan looks into his lap, tongue twisting in his mouth. The weight of the last few months accumulates, suddenly, around his neck, choking off his ability to speak. Hua Cheng’s hands on his waist, in his hair, at his throat. A collage of pleasured sound bytes—from the first touch to the climax. 

His voice breaks when he eventually says, “…Why the fuck would I want that?” 

He lacks the confidence to watch Hua Cheng’s reaction, but feels the air turn still between them. 

Then Hua Cheng cups his cheek and lifts his face; he’s close enough to share breath with, to whisper secrets that would never make it out of this moment. 

“…Wrong answer,” he murmurs. 

He Xuan grunts into the rough pressure of the kiss; he grabs at Hua Cheng’s lapels immediately, holding him close. It’s like the second hit of a new drug—like he’s already hooked and couldn’t possibly resist another try. 

The first kiss opens up into a second, lips taunting one another apart. They all begin to blur when their tongues slide against each other and devolve into a heated back and forth. 

He Xuan’s brows tug together as he’s urged up out of the barstool. 

“You’re weak, A-Xuan,” Hua Cheng says between kisses. 

He feels weak. 

He Xuan hums against his lips and curls his hand around the back of his neck. 

“Mm—so are you,” he pants. 

Hua Cheng laughs softly. “More than you know.” 

They trip backwards, Hua Cheng pressing him against the wall and kissing across his face, down his neck. 

He Xuan huffs, glancing up at the ceiling and trying to discern if this is real. 

Hua Cheng mouths across his throat, nipping at his pulse point before lifting him wholly into his arms. The jolt shocks a sound from him and both arms fly around Hua Cheng’s neck. Still uncertain with how dreamlike it all is, He Xuan lets himself be carried up a half set of stairs and down a hall. He’s lowered to the bed with Hua Cheng still holding him tight, face pressed into the junction of his shoulder. He uses his leverage above him to grind their hips together and He Xuan stutters out a pleasured sound. 

“You’re an insidious little thing,” Hua Cheng murmurs against his skin. “I can’t get you out of my head.” 

“…What the fuck?” He Xuan breathes, letting go of Hua Cheng to grip the bedsheets above him. 

‘Surreal’ isn’t a strong enough word to describe the environment he’s being held down in right now. 

Seriously, what the fuck?  

Hua Cheng presses his forehead to He Xuan’s collarbone and laughs weakly. “It’s pathetic.” 

No shit, He Xuan wants to say, but he’s no better. If anything, he’s worse by a mile, having thought almost exclusively about Hua Cheng all summer. But he’s not about to shed his skin to bare that truth. 

“Are you pleased with yourself for kissing me last week? Have you been craving it?” 

He Xuan shuts his eyes in ignorance and curls his hips up to meet the shape of Hua Cheng, half-hard in his pants. He pinches He Xuan’s thigh then props himself up on his knees, out of reach above him. 

“We’re the same, A-Xuan. You know it.” He kisses his neck softly and murmurs, “Lonely, mad, desperate… The only difference is you’re good and I’m not.“ 

Despite hesitating to call Hua Cheng good, it still doesn’t sit quite right with him. 

He Xuan sighs, grip on the sheets loosening. 

“If you’re trying to get me to compliment you, it’s not going to work.” 

Hua Cheng offers a lopsided smirk. “As tight with your affection as you are with your money.” 

The word affection sits heavily in his stomach, fizzing away like it’s chemically incompatible. 

Hua Cheng noses up his throat to kiss his chin and He Xuan nearly winces. 

Can’t we just fuck? he wants to ask, overwhelmed with this sudden wave of feeling—of reciprocated feeling. But he can’t shape the words. 

Instead he murmurs, “…So what happens now?” 

Hua Cheng hovers over him, eye flicking between He Xuan’s’. “You tell me.” 

He sinks to kiss him, hands braced on either side of his head. But He Xuan frowns and bites down on his lip. 

“Fuck that,” he spits when Hua Cheng pulls back by just a breath. “You fucking… sequester me in this private sex villa, cook me the same dinner my mother used to make, and call us kindred spirits then expect me to… what? Label our relationship? Should I let all my nonexistent friends know I’m dating the local crime boss who’s twice my age? That he’s my boyfriend now rather than my slave driver?” 

Hua Cheng’s eye squints in amusement as his tirade presses on. 

“The man who held a knife to my throat lost a couple nights of sleep and now I have to decide whether I should move in with him or struggle to pay rent for the eighth month in a row? If I should drop out of school and become a mob wife because he decided he likes to kiss me? What a bunch of shit.” 

Hua Cheng waits a moment before murmuring, “Are you finished?” 

He Xuan sighs and looks up, out of the spotlight Hua Cheng has him centred in, and says, “…I guess.” 

“Good.” 

He starts to back off the bed and a sudden fear lances through He Xuan that he’s about to leave. But he pulls He Xuan along with him, to the edge of the bed, and begins to undo his pants. 

He nearly recoils, a fundamental feeling of wrongness rising up in him. 

“Wait, you’re—” 

His thoughts are cut off when Hua Cheng’s thumbs slip beneath the waistband of his underwear. 

“Yeah,” Hua Cheng hums, “I am.” 

He pats He Xuan’s hip to get him off the bed for the second it takes to pull his pants and boxers over his ass. Hua Cheng tugs them all the way down to his ankles and off his feet, baring him the way he hates to be bared. 

His hand scrubs down his face, flushed faintly at the exposure of his cock. He’s half-hard with pale, skinny thighs and blushing knees that Hua Cheng is pushing apart. 

“Precious,” Hua Cheng laughs, and it’s similar enough to his usual teasing that He Xuan settles a little. He sits back on his heels to collect his hair and tie it into a low ponytail, a precursor of things to come. 

The palm that cups his cock is predictably cool, a balm to his overheated skin. He Xuan starts chewing on his lip and watching Hua Cheng touch him, a disconnect in his mind. Aside from the few lacklustre handjobs his girlfriend had given him in high school, he’s the only one who’s ever touched himself like this. And now, with Hua Cheng’s fist moving steadily up and down his cock, urging him to full hardness, he’s struggling to believe what he’s seeing. 

Part of him wants to immortalize this strange truth with a photo, but he’s sure Hua Cheng would throw his phone into the lagoon if he did. 

He sighs, letting just a bit of his guard crumble, and leans back onto his hands. 

Hua Cheng looks wrong on his knees; he looks abstract and odd, compacted into a smaller shape than he ought to take up. 

When he bows his head and presses his tongue to He Xuan’s cock, he has to look away. He exhales through a slit in his lips and drops his head onto one shoulder. Hua Cheng’s mouth is decidedly not cool, lips wrapped around just his head and sucking while his tongue flicks across the tip. 

A deeply rooted little seed of anger starts to flourish, in disbelief that Hua Cheng is quite simply a superior sexual being. 

He Xuan’s hands ball into fists, the pleasure steeping him all the way up to his ears and forcing his breath out quick and ragged. His eyebrows draw in tight and his lips part, loosing a sound that barely qualifies as a moan with how restrained it is. 

Hua Cheng sinks lower, bobbing his head and parting He Xuan’s thighs wider with firm hands. 

“Fuck,” He Xuan croaks, dropping his head back. 

One hand curls around the back of Hua Cheng’s head, clutching at his hair. His hips jerk off the bed once, chasing the depth that Hua Cheng is teasing him with. 

Only once before, for about twenty seconds, has Hua Cheng genuinely fucked He Xuan’s mouth. His hands hugged his cheeks and his balls slapped his chin, the head of his cock pressing deep into the suction of his throat before pulling back, again and again. The sounds had been obscene: gags and slurps and snapped in half moans. He remembers choking when Hua Cheng had come, fucking just shallow enough that the head of his cock was grinding against his soft palate. It’s embarrassing to think about now that Hua Cheng is dipping deep enough that his nose prods his pelvis and his throat welcomes the head of He Xuan’s cock with utter ease. 

He swallows, blinks up coolly at He Xuan. There’s a bit of spit on his chin, or precum, maybe. Even with only one eye, he’s frustratingly expressive, seeming to say, “Do what you want, pet; I can take it.” 

He Xuan bites his tongue and settles his feet flat on the floor. Cautiously, his hips rock up and back, and he hisses his pleasure, cock squeezing into the tight ring of Hua Cheng’s throat. Hua Cheng’s hands smooth up and down his thighs a few times before gripping his ass and pulling him forward, encouraging him to keep going. 

He Xuan moans through gritted teeth, already feeling his climax building in his stomach. Again, he thrusts forward, then again, setting a pace as he carefully fucks Hua Cheng’s mouth. His hand tightens in his hair, holding him in place as if he’s at risk of pulling away. Hua Cheng’s lips are still tight around the base of his cock, an invitation to keep grinding, messier, rougher.  

The tension melts from his shoulders first, then his back, loosening up his hips to fuck a little quicker. His other hand cups Hua Cheng’s cheek, stroking beneath his eye. He’s breathing so hard now, rocking in ceaseless circles that grind up against the roof of Hua Cheng’s mouth and back into his throat. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” He Xuan grunts. 

Hua Cheng tilts his head, his eyelid dipping with some concoction of exhaustion and lust, and swallows. Twice, three times, around the head of He Xuan’s cock until he’s curling over, hugging Hua Cheng’s head, coming down his throat with little ruts. 

“Shit,” he hisses, holding Hua Cheng close until his climax eventually drains out of him. 

Panting, He Xuan releases his stifling hold on Hua Cheng’s head and lets him ease off his cock. 

They make eye contact and Hua Cheng wipes his chin clean with the back of his hand, smirking. 

He Xuan huffs, “…So did you suck your way to the top, or is it just something you picked up as you went?” 

Hua Cheng lounges backwards. “Giving good head couldn’t get you to where I am in a million years.” 

“Hm.” His cock is softening against his thigh and he’s not sure which direction he expects Hua Cheng to take this next. 

“Although,” Hua Cheng murmurs, “you’ve certainly come the closest.” 

He Xuan rolls his eyes. “Like I had a choice.” 

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t make the most of it.” Slowly, Hua Cheng rises onto his knees, then his feet, looming above He Xuan with a predatory glint. “You hooked a big fish, kid.” 

That nervous nausea, the tremor in his arms and legs and jaw from the first time he’d met Hua Cheng are all gone now, replaced with a nebulous network of emotion that he knows will take months to sift through fully. He Xuan looks up at him and sets his jaw. 

“I can swim with the best of them.” 

“Mm, is that right?” He dips until his face is level with He Xuan’s, then murmurs, “…Prove it.” 

He Xuan bares his teeth before surging forward into a kiss. They sink together, stirring up the grit on the sea floor with their thrashing. Hua Cheng presses him down into the bed, hands around his wrists, and straddles his waist so He Xuan can feel his erection through his pants. He cranes his neck to maintain that feral edge to the kiss, like a wild animal snapping at the bars of its cage. One leg curls around Hua Cheng’s hips, hugging him close and encouraging him to grind against He Xuan’s stomach. Hot breath brushes his cheek when their kiss breaks apart, like a wisp of cigarette smoke. 

Distantly, he notes that the bed sheets don’t share that spiced scent with Hua Cheng, and he wonders how often—if ever—he sleeps in them. Hua Cheng mouths across to his ear and tugs his lobe between his teeth, then soothes it with his tongue. 

“…You’ve never fucked anyone else, have you?” Hua Cheng asks, nuzzled into his cheek. 

He Xuan feels his smirk, like he’s weighing the worth of that secret in his hands. His face drops with his stomach and the secret’s value rises exponentially. 

“…My girlfriend—” he starts, then stops, unsure where to go. 

“Mm? She’d what?” Hua Cheng kisses beneath his ear. “Let you use to the tip?” 

He Xuan turns his face away when it starts to heat up. 

“That’s sweet, A-Xuan. But I wasn’t asking to embarrass you.” He chases him, pressing solid kisses along his jaw. 

He Xuan swallows and looks to the side, out the window; the sun is well into its journey under the horizon and the sky is the same pink as his cheeks. 

“Then what?” he hisses. 

One hand snakes down He Xuan’s side to grab his ass and squeeze. 

“I just wanted to know if you were clean.” 

His mind blanks out for a second and takes its time booting back up. 

“…What, did you run out of condoms?” 

“Mm, something like that.” Hua Cheng’s fingers press to the cleft of his ass and slide down slowly until they’re teasing his hole. 

He Xuan feels like there’s a rock in his throat the next time he swallows. How the fuck is he supposed to respond to that? ‘Sure, raw sex sounds great, thanks!’ ? He isn’t used to Hua Cheng asking permission—or forgiveness, for that matter—so this is uncharted territory. 

“…Yeah,” he eventually breathes. “Fine.” 

“Oh, A-Xuan,” Hua Cheng laughs, “Just fine?” 

He bristles, brows knitting together. “What do you want me to say?” 

Hua Cheng pushes back just enough that they can see eye to eye. “I want you to tell me how you really feel. Tell me what I already know when I see your ears going red like this.” 

He Xuan pinches his lips together in embarrassment. 

“I feel,” he grits out, “like you’re a sex-crazed freak with a sentimental streak who wants to feel validated in coming inside me.” 

Hua Cheng dips his head with a laugh. “Close enough, I guess.” 

He rolls his hips down against He Xuan’s, rubbing against his renewed erection like it’s a statement. He Xuan grunts and bites his tongue. 

“If you’re gonna fuck me, just fuck me already.” 

The fingers teasing his hole retreat a little, threatening to withdraw. 

“Ah, but I don’t feel validated yet,” Hua Cheng murmurs. “Would you do the honours?” 

A frustrated little sound claws its way out of He Xuan’s throat. 

“Fine,” he hisses, “It’s hot that you don’t want to use a fucking condom, okay? I’m into it. Happy?” 

Hua Cheng pats his cheek, a cocky smile floating across his face. “As a clam.” 

His hands drift to meet at He Xuan’s navel, sitting back to pull his shirt over his head so that he’s fully naked. Impatient to even the playing field, He Xuan reaches for Hua Cheng’s belt and tugs it from its loops. His slacks pop open with a bit of pressure and He Xuan is regrettably drawn to the shape of his cock, hard in his underwear. They fall back into a distracted kiss as Hua Cheng works his own shirt open and off, and He Xuan stills, letting his lips be nipped and tugged as he realizes this is the first time he’s seen Hua Cheng shirtless. 

The tattoos that paint his forearms and biceps flow all the way to his chest, and when he turns to grab lube—He Xuan notices—his back, too. Beasts and beauties are tied together with cascading florals and deep red accents, hours upon hours of artistry inked across skin. A handful of wicked scars slice through the designs, leaving the lines mismatched or discoloured. He Xuan struggles to look away. 

Distracted, he shuffles backwards up the bed when Hua Cheng presses forward and splays a hand on his chest to settle him into the pillows. 

“Comfortable?” he teases, lifting He Xuan’s legs over his shoulders one at a time. 

Funnily enough, the closer they get to fucking, the more He Xuan’s tension drains, like his stopper’s been nudged loose. He pulls in a deep breath, shifting against the sheets as Hua Cheng rubs his still-clothed erection back and forth over his hole in an unhurried mimicry of fucking. 

Leaning down to brush noses bends He Xuan nearly in half, compressing him into his allotted space. The breath they’re sharing smells ashy, city air tainting this little quarter of paradise. 

“…You should quit smoking,” He Xuan mutters when Hua Cheng teases a kiss. 

Always one to take things in stride, he replies, “Mhm? And why’s that?” 

He Xuan curls his hips back, enjoying the pressure of Hua Cheng between his legs. 

“…Bad for you.” 

“Mm, but I love things that are bad for me,” Hua Cheng coos, luring a proper kiss out of him. “Don’t you?” 

He Xuan is partially cross-eyed trying to look up at him. His tongue betrays him, sitting still in his mouth until he’s kissed again, firmer. 

“…No comment,” he eventually replies and Hua Cheng looses that laugh that’s reserved for He Xuan’s purportedly charming -isms. 

He sits back on his knees. The lube snaps open then shut and He Xuan watches with climbing anticipation as two fingers dip between his legs, tenses when they press against his hole. They squeeze in together—it’s tight and slow-going—but He Xuan chokes on a moan. His eyes drift shut, losing himself to the feeling of someone else fingering him for the first time, and that someone else being Hua Cheng.  

He crooks his fingers and the immediate bloom of pleasure in his gut knocks the air out of him. He Xuan gasps, toes curling and expression contorting with the solid rub against his prostate. 

“Fuck —that’s so—” he pants. 

Hua Cheng is looking down at him like he’s a beast exposing his belly. He continues to grind merciless circles into his prostate, smirk slowly spreading from one corner of his mouth to the other. 

He Xuan grunts, squirming in the sheets as a sweat breaks out across his back. Shit, he’s gonna come if this goes on. 

“Hua Cheng—” he pleads, breathless, and earns a thumb to his lips. 

“Call me properly.” 

He Xuan groans, back arching off the bed with one particularly spot-on rub. 

“Fuck— gege,” he wheezes, grasping at Hua Cheng’s forearm in an attempt to stop him. “Gege, please. Enough, enough.” 

Like He Xuan is a simple machine, taking his fingers off the button cuts the flow of stimulation. He Xuan’s chin trembles as he settles back into his skin, reddened eyes turned towards Hua Cheng, who’s kissing up his calf. 

Wordlessly, a third finger presses in, assessing, then pulls back out. 

“Good boy,” he hums. 

He Xuan is still breathing too heavily to clarify, or curse him out, whichever. 

“Stay still for me, yeah?” 

Hua Cheng begins to strip his bottoms, pants and underwear pushed together to his knees. His cock is heavy between his legs, curved and beading precum at the tip; he takes it in his hand and slaps it a few times against He Xuan’s hole, then slicks himself up with lube. 

He Xuan watches, tongue twisting in his mouth, as Hua Cheng strokes himself against his hole, and his cock pulses with a thick throb of arousal. 

Fuck. 

“You ready, pup?” Hua Cheng purrs. “Ready for me to come in your ass? Get you all messy?” 

He Xuan bites down hard on his lip when his cock twitches again. Barely audible, He Xuan whispers, “Yeah.”  

Hua Cheng smiles. “That’s my boy.” 

Then he’s pressing in, the first two, three inches stretching He Xuan’s hole. Further—five, six inches. 

He Xuan croaks a little moan, reaching above his head to grab at the slats of the headboard. 

Their bodies are flush in no time, hips to ass, but Hua Cheng doesn’t seem intent on staying that way. 

He Xuan braces himself for the draw back, for the emptiness that had felt so normal before Hua Cheng staked a claim on him. He hisses through his teeth as his cock pulls out then lets the rest of his breath out in a sigh as it slides back in. It’s a serene pace that He Xuan can feel in his toes, that he simultaneously wants to stretch on forever and give way to something rougher. 

Hua Cheng’s face is downturned, watching the seamless plunge in and out of He Xuan’s hole. He takes He Xuan under the knees and presses his legs up against his body, baring his ass and restricting his breath in one move. 

“You stretch so nicely for me; how’s that feel?” 

He Xuan groans, tossing his head back in place of an answer. He’s taking the brunt of Hua Cheng’s weight as he readjusts himself, kicking his pants off and spreading his knees. The power behind his thrusts ticks up with the new position and He Xuan’s cock starts to bounce in time, slapping his stomach weakly. Playing the part of the pet, shackled by Hua Cheng’s strength with his knees next to his head, is infinitely more palatable now that there’s some kind of mutual… emotion between them, however convoluted it may be. 

“Fuck, you feel great, A-Xuan,” Hua Cheng grunts, teeth bared, and all of a sudden that nickname feels like it holds more meaning. His eye flicks across He Xuan’s body and up to his face. “Make some noise for me.” 

“You— nn —you wish,” He Xuan pants. 

The corner of Hua Cheng’s lips tick up, entertained. 

“Come on, let me hear you.” He leans down to kiss the arch of He Xuan’s foot. “You always get so loud and slutty when we fuck.” 

He Xuan is red all over with nowhere to hide and Hua Cheng front and centre. 

“No I don’t,” he hisses, but it’s punched out and wispy. And a fucking lie. 

“Is that right?” Hua Cheng reels his hips back then kicks forward with a thrust that curls He Xuan’s toes. 

“Ah! You—”  

But Hua Cheng forges on at that new pace and He Xuan has no choice but to set his jaw to hold back the small symphony of sound he’s hiding. 

He feels himself letting go, slowly, melting back into the mattress as time ticks on. It’s so good, the conscious part of his mind is busy focusing on how to breathe. 

Hua Cheng’s hands find their way beneath He Xuan’s hips and hoist him up. He leans over him and fucks in sharp bursts before exhaling a sound of satisfaction. 

“There we go,” he murmurs. 

With some effort, He Xuan lifts his head and glances down his body. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, legs wrapping tightly around Hua Cheng’s waist to keep him right where he is. 

Just beneath his bellybutton is a barely noticeable bump, disappearing and reappearing with each of Hua Cheng’s thrusts. He lays a hand palm-down over that spot and shuts his eyes. 

“Hit the angle right and you turn into my little fuck toy, hm? God, look how much you love being used.” 

He Xuan is trembling. 

“That’s where I’m gonna come soon, right where you’re pressing.” 

“Fuck, gege,” He Xuan croaks, unprompted. “H-Hua-gege.”  

Hua Cheng readjusts his grip to keep the pace going. “Mhm, what do you want?” 

He shakes his head, face scrunching up. 

“Touch me,” he gasps, “touch me, please, I’m gonna come.” 

And Hua Cheng, stuck into this new streak of caring, acquiesces. He drapes himself over He Xuan, hair coming loose from its haphazard ponytail and sticking to his cheeks with sweat. His hand snakes down He Xuan’s chest to grab his cock, beginning to jerk him off to the tempo of his thrusts and tugging a few breathless moans free. 

“Oh my god,” he groans, “Yes, yes, like— that.” 

The sticky sound of Hua Cheng fucking him, the hurried slap of skin on skin, the searing breath on his cheek—He Xuan couldn’t possibly climb any higher. 

So he lets go. 

His orgasm pulls him down like a firm pair of hands at his waist, lower, until he’s caught in strong arms, a safe place to feel his ecstasy. He Xuan chokes, gasps, cries into Hua Cheng’s neck, curling into his smallest self as pleasure thoroughly wrings him out. 

Hua Cheng lets go of his cock and cups his cheek, kissing every sound back into his mouth. 

“I’m coming, A-Xuan,” he pants, “Inside?” 

He Xuan nods mindlessly, emotions bubbling up at being asked at all. 

A snarl buzzes past Hua Cheng’s lips straight into He Xuan as he comes, hips rocking at a furious rhythm. 

He Xuan tries and fails to count the seconds, too consumed by the reality that Hua Cheng is coming inside of him. He kisses Hua Cheng through his orgasm with a flurry of little pecks, migrating from his lips to his cheek and eventually to his ear as he slowly lays himself out over He Xuan’s body, chest heaving. 

The room slowly descends into silence, and only then does He Xuan realize the sun has well and truly sunken. 

Eventually, He Xuan manages to say, “…That one must’ve cleared my debt.” 

A quiet chuckle, muffled by He Xuan’s shoulder, builds slowly until Hua Cheng is laughing openly. He rolls off of him and onto his back, hair splaying across the sheets. 

He Xuan watches him tiredly, tracking his grin until it smooths back out into a smirk before shutting his eyes. He’s boneless and aching pleasantly between his legs, which are stretched out to loosen tight muscles. 

Hua Cheng sighs, a delicate sound from between his teeth. “…Yeah, you’re right.” 

He Xuan grunts his intention to sleep, then pauses. He shifts onto his side suddenly and aims an intent look at Hua Cheng. He’s smiling lazily, cheek propped in his hand. 

“…Your debt’s squared. You’re off the hook, pet.” 

He studies his face; it’s softer than he’s seen it, lacking edges. He imagines this Hua Cheng holding a knife to his throat and wants to laugh. The room is almost too dark to make out Hua Cheng’s features anymore, having to rely on the filtered light of the moon. It’s almost full, or maybe just was. 

He Xuan settles back into his pillow with a huff. 

He opens his mouth, closes it, before finally asking, “So… Can I take out another loan?” 

Hua Cheng swoops in to kiss him with a last little exhale of laughter. “Any time.”

Notes:

Twitter: showxing_

Chapter 5

When He Xuan lets himself into Hua Cheng’s office, he expects a welcome back kiss, maybe, or a welcome back something-more. 

They’d slept in this morning, enjoying the sun soaked cityscape from Hua Cheng’s penthouse apartment, and his class had finished early, so they’ve only been apart for a handful of hours. 

But instead, he finds Hua Cheng perched in his chair with a dour look and a thumb between his teeth. 

He Xuan pauses when his presence is acknowledged. 

“…You look—” 

“Irritated?” Hua Cheng offers flatly before He Xuan can start rattling off synonyms for fucking pissed.  

“How perceptive.” He sits up straight and folds his arms in front of his chest, spinning to glance out the window. 

This room is as good as a blow to the head for He Xuan, bringing back memories he couldn’t expunge if he tried. They’ve turned fond now, of course, but are pervasive nonetheless. Lowering to his knees for the first time in front of Hua Cheng, coming to comprehend the actual stipulations of their deal. 

“Who’s got you all pissy?” He Xuan asks, dropping his bag and settling on the couch in the corner of the room. 

“Nobody,” Hua Cheng mutters, “yet. I have a meeting in five with the board from Jiuding.” 

He Xuan doesn’t bother committing the names of Hua Cheng’s… competitors, nemeses, whatever he calls them—to memory, so he just hums in acknowledgment. 

Respect is hard-earned from Hua Cheng; he was grown in acidic soil and taught not to trust early on. A sharp tongue and bulletproof skin got him where he is today, and for him to regard another with anything approaching admiration is nearly unheard of. But some have earned more vitriol than others, and He Xuan assumes the board from Jiuding is one such entity. 

“They’ve been a pulse point of insubordination for the last few months,” he murmurs, drumming his fingers on the back of his chair, “that I’d really like to nick. Bad blood; you understand.” 

Regardless of how close they’ve grown, certain instances still trigger a shiver down He Xuan’s back and a tremor through his limbs, and this is one such instance. A non-zero portion of the thrill manifests as sexual arousal now, but that’s neither here nor there.

 He Xuan clears his throat. “…Well I have three chapters to read for tomorrow, so I’d appreciate it if you could contemplate murder quietly.” 

As soon as he says so, a sudden stillness settles over the room that He Xuan can’t help feeling bodes ill. 

“…A-Xuan,” Hua Cheng starts, turning with the stirrings of mischief on his face. He makes a move towards He Xuan. “How would you feel about accompanying me, hm? For old times sake.” 

He Xuan frowns. “To a meeting?” His face shapes into distaste. “And do what?” 

Hua Cheng’s lips flatten out then curve up. “Keep me cool.” He gestures with his chin at his backpack. “Bring your books, you can study while we talk.” 

He Xuan rubs his eyes and sighs. “…Is this some kind of fucked up power play where the person with the youngest, hottest fuck of the week wins?” 

Hua Cheng snickers and ducks to kiss the top of He Xuan’s head. “I hope so; I could use another win.” 

He Xuan grumbles and tries half-heartedly to shake him off; he clings on tighter. Both arms wrap around He Xuan’s shoulders and he kneels on the couch in order to kiss him properly. It’s a slow kiss, a hot kiss, right off the bat, and He Xuan’s muscle memory has him kissing back with a heat he didn’t think he could muster on a Tuesday afternoon. 

Hua Cheng pulls back after a minute and murmurs, “Are you still loose from last night?” 

He Xuan instantly heats up. “…Didn’t you say you had a meeting in five minutes?” 

Hua Cheng hums and pulls back his sleeve to check his watch over He Xuan’s shoulder. “Two minutes, now. Let’s go.” 

He stands and saunters towards the door like he hadn’t just startled He Xuan into an inconvenient physiological reaction. 

“Fucking… okay, I guess,” he breathes, and slings his bag over his shoulder. 

He gets the distinct impression, upon walking into the room, that when Hua Cheng had said the meeting started in five minutes, he’d really meant it started twenty minutes ago and he was just killing time to rile his guests up. 

Awesome. 

He Xuan pauses in the doorway, then follows at the flick of Hua Cheng’s wrist. 

“Sit,” Hua Cheng says while surveying everyone else in the room. 

He perches quickly and quietly in the chair to Hua Cheng’s right and lets out a stealthy breath. 

Some deeply-rooted interest—genuine, mind-and-body interest —has had time to flourish over the months he’s spent with Hua Cheng as partners of a nameless variety, and that interest rears up every time Hua Cheng… to put it bluntly, doesn’t give a fuck about him. When he gestures at He Xuan like he’s an animal, or an idiot; when he cocks a brow instead of wasting words on him; when he touches him in front of other people as a statement of possession, like he’s just an object. He’d blame it on prehistoric instinct baked into the human genome but he doubts it’s anything deeper than a fucked up little kink. 

Everyone else in the room is silent except for two men near the back of the table, who are murmuring back and forth. 

One’s wearing sunglasses inside in the middle of October and He Xuan promptly labels him a douche. The other is quite handsome, lingering in his late-twenties and effusing the same competent-cocky air Hua Cheng does. 

Ah. He understands immediately why Hua Cheng was riled up by the thought of interacting with that one. Carefully, like he’s diffusing a bomb, He Xuan extracts one of his textbooks and props it on the corner of the board room table while Hua Cheng addresses the room. 

“I’m unimpressed,” he starts, scratching his jaw, “with the lack of dedication. So are you here to prove me wrong or make excuses?” 

He Xuan runs his tongue over his teeth and chances a look up at the crowd. 

Mr. Handsome is halfway to a sneer and suddenly he’s not confident his presence alone is enough to keep Hua Cheng cool. 

“Hua Chengzhu,” Sunglasses says, sitting up straighter, “It’s not out of disrespect, the earnings just haven’t been as high as we’d hoped in… several avenues.” 

“Excuses, then.” Hua Cheng smiles tightly. 

He Xuan tries his best to immerse himself in his reading but Schopenhauer is tough to plunge into at the best of times. He’s also not convinced Hua Cheng actually expected him to get any studying done in the first place. So he observes. Of the dozen or so men in the room, very few seem to be intimidated by Hua Cheng, and it’s off-putting to watch. 

“No, Chengzhu, we wouldn’t dream of it,” another man murmurs. “It’s just that security has been extremely tight since the election a few months ago, so everyone is struggling just to get by, let alone make a profit.” 

“And buying out security is… whose responsibility?” Hua Cheng lays his hands on the table. 

“…Ours, Chengzhu. It’s just that—” 

Mr. Handsome pipes up with his chin in his palm. “Because of the election, security is under new management which means we’re starting from scratch. Surely the great Hua Chengzhu can understand how that might take an extra few months of planning.” 

Hua Cheng’s face is neutral—bored, even—but drops a few degrees at that parting jab. After a careful moment of silence, he smiles, slow and sly. 

“Then you’re here with a progress report, I assume? Some proof of forward motion?” 

“Naturally.” 

He Xuan slowly reclines in his chair, the overwhelming tension in the air suffocating him. He listens as they volley back and forth—the world’s most high-stakes dick measuring contest disguised as a board meeting. 

It’s when Hua Cheng bunches his sleeves up to his elbows that He Xuan gets a little concerned. It’s a tell of stress, he’s managed to work out, when he bunches rather than rolls them. And Hua Cheng under stress usually goes one of two ways. The first is He Xuan being asked to leave the room by a cool yet steady voice. The second is He Xuan being fucked within an inch of his life against the nearest surface. When He Xuan isn’t around, he has to assume Hua Cheng goes and finds somebody to torture or something. 

“A-Xuan.” The gentle request breaks him out of his thoughts. 

Hua Cheng is gesturing him over so he leaves his textbook where it is and stands, hesitant. 

“In my lap, darling,” Hua Cheng murmurs and his stomach plummets. 

He Xuan looks around the room again and this time all the eyes are on him. For fuck’s sake. He steps up to Hua Cheng’s side and ducks to whisper, “What the hell are you doing?” 

Hua Cheng cups the back of his head and kisses him on the cheek, then the lips. 

“…Keeping cool.” He nods to his lap, all traces of his tenderness now visibly evaporating. “Sit.” 

He Xuan pinches his tongue between his teeth and settles lightly atop Hua Cheng’s thighs. Without waiting for him to get comfortable, Hua Cheng continues to talk. 

“What I’m hearing is that our investments are also suffering because of inadequate decision-making.” 

He pulls He Xuan back by the hips so they’re back to front. 

“Our investment plan,” someone says, “is only a few weeks out; our men are predicting it’ll run smoothly.” 

Hua Cheng hums. “Before the invitations are set to go out for the charity gala?” The room goes silent. “Mm, I didn’t think so.” 

Hua Cheng’s right hand starts to stroke up He Xuan’s chest, across his t-shirt, brushing a nipple; he tucks his head into his own shoulder when he feels heat pricking his cheeks. 

“How are you going to make that up to me, then?” 

The hand slips beneath his shirt, a cool palm petting across warm skin. A complex tangle of emotions writhes inside He Xuan, with humiliation and arousal battling it out at the forefront. 

Far from concerned about his image, Hua Cheng loves to touch He Xuan in front of others. But those touches typically stay in the realm of socially acceptable PDA: petting his hair, squeezing his waist, maybe kissing his neck. This is… not that. And He Xuan is mortified to realize he doesn’t mind. 

…Has he been whipped? 

An awkward silence blankets the room for several seconds before someone says, 

“We could… reach out to Mr. Liu and explain our situation. He’s usually amenable to our wants.” 

Hua Cheng nods. “Do it.” 

“Consider it done, Chengzhu.” 

His hand drifts up from He Xuan’s stomach to his chest, thumbing gently over his nipples. 

He Xuan exhales shakily, put on edge by all the heads turned his way—heads attached to necks attached to bodies with guns strapped to them. His hands tighten into fists, hovering in his lap for lack of anywhere to grab. 

“And the loan operations?” 

He Xuan lets out a delicate yelp when Hua Cheng pinches his nipple, and his ears begin to redden. 

“…Typical slowdown over summer, but they’re gradually building back up.” 

“Numbers,” Hua Cheng mutters, unimpressed. “Give me the numbers.” 

“Of… of course, Chengzhu.” 

The sound of shaky hands flipping through paperwork fades into nothing as He Xuan feels his cock begin to stir in interest. Hua Cheng hooks his chin over He Xuan’s shoulder and nuzzles into his neck. Someone at the table starts listing off statistics and Hua Cheng’s hand snakes out from under his shirt to press between his legs. 

“Open,” he murmurs, and He Xuan parts his thighs as best as he can. 

The flat of his palm presses firmly against his cock and rubs in circles, stealing away He Xuan’s tension and posture both. He slumps more heavily against Hua Cheng’s chest. 

Just loud enough to distract from the reciting of numbers, Hua Cheng coos, “Are you enjoying yourself, A-Xuan?” 

He Xuan swallows and nods, head still ducked in embarrassment. 

“Then what do you say?” 

“…Thank you, gege,” he breathes. 

“Good boy.” 

The room once again falls into silence until the designated file-keeper stutters to life again. “Two—two hundred and… and eighty thousand yuan…” 

He Xuan is glowing with heat but the pressure on his cock is all he needs for distraction. Distraction from a dozen pairs of eyes trained on his lover getting him hard. He wonders if any of them are turned on by it, if they’re trying to hide their interest by folding their hands in their laps. 

“Hm?” Hua Cheng urges the man on. 

“Um… was leant out from the fifth to the twelfth, and we’re making good returns so far.” 

He Xuan whimpers, hands groping around for something to hold on to. He settles for the arms of the chair, clinging to the metal in a daze. Hua Cheng’s hand is a solid weight on his cock, switching to rub up and down in a stroking motion as he grows harder. His knees jerk, toes curl—the added thrill of an audience is making He Xuan shamefully high. 

“And…the next week the loans reached—” 

“You want me to touch you, baby?” 

He Xuan huffs and squeezes his eyes shut before muttering, “Yeah.”  

With frighteningly little effort, Hua Cheng pops open his button and tugs down his zipper, then reaches into his boxers. His cock reacts with a heavy twitch, pleased to be in a familiar hold. He Xuan sighs into the quiet of the room—this time, nobody breaks it. 

It’s dry but it’s soothing, stroking back his foreskin to brush his tip, nice and slow. 

After a minute of that, Hua Cheng mutters, “And what are the predictions for next month?” 

“Th-they…” 

“Steady,” Mr. Handsome says. “Similar to last year.” 

He Xuan glances up just to meet his gaze, shedding a bit of his self-consciousness for the sake of showing off. As dangerous and ill-advised as it may be, He Xuan enjoys blatantly aligning himself with Hua Cheng during these spats. So now, with lust-drunk eyes and a flushed face, He Xuan stares down the man at the end of the table. He feels powerful in Hua Cheng’s lap, unbeatable. 

“Play nice with Mr. Xu,” Hua Cheng whispers, laughing. “His father is the second most powerful man in the city.” 

“…Mm.” 

Then, louder, “Sounds like targeted advertising is lacking if numbers are stagnant.” 

Mr. Xu’s gaze slips from He Xuan’s to Hua Cheng’s. “I don’t think Chengzhu needs to worry himself with petty matters like that. You clearly have more important things to be attending to.” 

Hua Cheng smirks. “You have no idea.” 

He Xuan’s eyes drift shut, his toes just barely brushing the ground while Hua Cheng strokes him off with a practiced hand. The pleasure is building quicker than usual, and he starts to squirm in Hua Cheng’s lap, squeezing the arms of the chair. 

“You gonna come so soon?” Hua Cheng murmurs, turning inward to kiss He Xuan’s neck. 

He nods and breathes, “Can I?” 

“…Why don’t I get you there on my fingers instead?” 

He Xuan shudders and pitches forward without having to be asked. He folds his arms on the edge of the table to pillow his head, the closest of the board members just an arm’s length away now. Hua Cheng tugs his pants down just beneath his ass with one hand then spits onto his fingers. 

“You want one or two, baby?” 

“Two,” He Xuan murmurs, muffled by his arm. 

There’s a note of disbelief playing over and over in his mind that he’s allowing this to happen, that he wants this to happen. 

A stunned silence, heavier than before blankets the room and He Xuan is luxuriating in it. It must be the heartbeat of arousal threaded through him, but the more people who see him like this—being treated like a toy, a convenience—the better. 

The tips of two fingers rub circles around his hole, upping the pressure until one slips right in, followed by the other. He Xuan moans into his bicep, eyebrows drawing tight. Slow pumps in and out urge him to rock his hips with the rhythm, grinding back towards Hua Cheng. 

“That’s right, show everyone what a little whore you can be. Should I give them all a turn once I’m done?” 

He Xuan hisses, shoulders pulling tight at the suggestion. He shakes his head softly. 

“No? A-Xuan, you need to learn how to share.” 

Hua Cheng withdraws his hands and lays a firm smack on one cheek. He Xuan chokes as he jolts, head lifting to receive the glances of everyone at the table. Some are a furious red, some are pale, and some have a glint in their eye that makes He Xuan’s chest swell a little. He swallows and tucks his head back down. 

Hua Cheng squeezes both fingers back in and wastes no time hooking them to grope his prostate. A whimper, tight and tense and not at all something He Xuan usually produces, squeezes out of his lungs. 

“Fuck, that’s so—” he sniffs. 

“Tell me how it feels, A-Xuan. Tell them.”  

He jerks, knees beginning to tremble as the water inside him hits its boiling point. 

“So fucking good,” he pants, and rounds out his back. “Nobody else even comes close— gege, please.”  

He doesn’t look too deeply into what’s so hot about being physically used as an intimidation technique against a dozen hardened criminals, but wherever it is is getting He Xuan there embarrassingly fast. 

Hua Cheng has given up conversing about business matters in favour of massaging He Xuan’s prostate and he couldn’t be more thrilled. The pleasure is unpredictable, a live wire sparking throughout his body. His gut, his feet, his tongue—the pleasure manifests everywhere. 

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps, body tensed in preparation. 

At the very last moment, Hua Cheng wrestles him upright with a hand around his throat, squeezing. He Xuan croaks his appreciation, enamoured with the monopoly Hua Cheng has over his body; one hand around his neck, the other spreading him on his fingers. 

He pumps his fingers two, three more times up against He Xuan’s prostate and he comes, ears going fuzzy with the strength of it. His cock is curved to the side in his boxers and he feels them steadily being soaked through. He stands on shaky legs, held up in majority by the hand around his throat. 

“That’s my boy,” Hua Cheng coos. He releases his grip and pulls him back down into his lap to pet his hair. 

His tone changes just for a moment, to address the table. “You’re dismissed. If any new issues arise, don’t bother telling me—I couldn’t give less of a fuck about you all. I have—how did you say it?—ah yes, better things to be attending to.” 

He Xuan, still catching his breath, gives a self-satisfied smirk and tilts his head against Hua Cheng’s. 

“It’s true. I hear Chengzhu has been tangled up caring for a disobedient pet lately.” 

Hua Cheng noses his temple. “Mm. Sometimes I’ll let him off his leash to see who he’ll bite.” 

“But he always comes running back,” He Xuan says softly. 

Hua Cheng squeezes his waist. “Against his better judgement.” 

“Fuck off, my judgement is fine.” 

The room empties astonishingly quickly after that, and He Xuan can’t help hissing with laughter. 

“That’s what you call keeping cool?”  

“No,” Hua Cheng hums, “that’s what I call flaunting my stuff.” He brushes He Xuan’s hair back behind his ear. “And you’re a natural at being flaunted.” 

“Credit where credit is due,” He Xuan mutters, shrugging, “I had good training.” 

Notes:

Twitter: showxing_

Notes:

Twitter: showxing_