Chapter Text
“I’ve hired a studio at Hengdian,” Xiao Zhan says.
Yibo is too engrossed in worshipping Xiao Zhan’s cock, trying – competitive, even in this – to push his gag reflex to the limit. “Mm-hmm,” he says; all that he can say. It doesn’t matter; by the idle scratching of Xiao Zhan’s fingers through his hair, he knows he doesn’t really expect a response.
“I’ve organised costumes and props and wigs for us, and two state of the art mounted cameras.”
Yibo frowns. “Hmmm?” he asks, drawing back a little.
Xiao Zhan taps his cheek reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ve squared it with your company – they’ve given you two full days off. If we get everything organised, we can film the whole thing all at once –”
Yibo sits back on his heels. Pulls away from Xiao Zhan’s cock – lets it rest, for a moment, on his plush mouth – and blinks up at his lover. “What on earth are you talking about, ge?”
“Our sex tape,” Xiao Zhan says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve given it some thought –”
“I’ll say you have.”
“– and I’ve written a full script –” He picks up a bound bundle of papers as thick as Yibo’s wrist. It’s festooned with sticky notes. The dense type-written script is highlighted in many different colours, with hand-written annotations in the margins.
Yibo scowls. “You tore up the script I wrote for my sex tape.”
“Yes, but your script just had stage directions and a list of sex acts. I’ve got dialogue.”
“Mine had dialogue too.”
“Fuck! You’re so hot I wanna wreck you, gege. Can I come on your face? isn’t dialogue.”
There’s no denying it. Xiao Zhan’s warm, charming smile is smug.
“Did your script have a story arc? Did it tug on the heartstrings, enchant and inspire?”
“Zhan-ge. It’s a sex tape. It’s meant to inspire lust, not thoughtful discussion.”
“Tch.” Xiao Zhan rolls his eyes. “Were your characters true to life?”
“It was us in our real life!”
But Xiao Zhan is caught up in the throes of artistic creation. Yibo is on his knees before him, lips still slick with Xiao Zhan’s salty pre-come, and his eyes are glazed over not with lust, but with inspiration.
Yibo sighs and gives it up as lost. He’ll work on his gag reflex tomorrow night.
If Yibo had hoped that Xiao Zhan would lose interest in this passion project, his hopes are dashed two weeks later, when Xiao Zhan hands him a ticket to Hengdian.
“Come on, Lao Wang,” he says, eyes shining. “It will be good to film with you again.” He smiles, bright and filled with anticipation, and Yibo can’t help but give in.
He, too, misses that long-lost summer.
They fly out the next morning.
Xiao Zhan has organised everything: studio hire. Camera hire. Costumes. Props. Wigs. Even make-up.
Both of them have done enough historical dramas to manage the robes and wigs and costumes themselves – no assistants or make-up jiejies for this production – so they walk into the studio in full ancient regalia, Yibo in the dark leather armour of an imperial bodyguard, and Xiao Zhan wearing a prince’s gorgeous robes.
There are no cameramen. No assistants. No director. Only them.
“Act 1 Scene 1,” Xiao Zhan says, referring to his dog-eared script. “A sweeping bird’s-eye view of the imperial palace, the emperor holding court in the throne room, an introduction to the five warring princes –” He waves his hand. “I’ll splice in some footage from old palace dramas. Okay. Oh, here it is.” He nudges Yibo’s shoulder. “Page 10. Scene 5. The faithful bodyguard, Wang Yibo, attends on the spoiled prince Xiao Zhan.”
There’s a short delay as he sets up the camera. Then they take their positions.
“Young Prince,” Yibo says, bowing deeply and saluting. “I am at your command.”
If this were Yibo’s script, Prince Xiao Zhan would have ordered his faithful bodyguard to service him and they would have fucked right then and there – perhaps glimpsed in silhouette through drifting gauze curtains, with symbolic flowers in the background. But as this is Xiao Zhan’s script, the Prince reveals a carefully hidden vulnerability beneath his mask, and his bodyguard, who had previously thought him no more than a spoiled beauty, has a sudden revelation.
Yibo has to draw on all his acting skills.
Even so, Xiao Zhan insists on three takes. From multiple angles.
“Okay, ge,” Yibo says, two days later, after Xiao Zhan calls cut! on their last scene at Hengdian, “we’ve filmed all the internal shots. The spoiled Prince and his bodyguard have slowly come to respect and esteem each other, and are now at the stage of mutual pining – they can’t be together due to the difference in their ranks, and because the prince is to be married off. But,” he flips through the script, hundreds of pages long. “How are you going to film the enemy invasion and the burning of the palace? And our long, lonely journey through the wilderness, slowly drawing closer together with every hardship?”
They’re lying curled up together in bed, both too exhausted for anything more than holding each other close.
Xiao Zhan handwaves the difficulties away, yawning. “Don’t worry. I’ve booked a trip to New Zealand over the New Year break –”
“New Zealand??!!”
“– we’ll get a remote-controlled drone, for the soaring panoramic footage –”
Yibo sits up, takes Xiao Zhan’s hand in his. “Zhan-ge,” he says, very serious. “Zhan-ge, you know I love you. I’ll film in the Sahara desert with you, if it makes you happy. But don’t you think this is a little…” he winces, “excessive?”
Xiao Zhan huffs. “Yibo. This is art.”
(At some point, Yibo feels he has to raise a very pressing problem. “Ge. Slow burn is all very well. But are the spoiled prince and his bodyguard ever going to fuck?”)
Six months – and a trip to New Zealand – later, Xiao Zhan finally declares their sex tape – though by this time it’s more of a cinematic masterpiece – ready for private consumption.
It’s close to three hours long.
They sit down to watch it, side by side on the couch, cuddled into each other.
The film opens on a sweeping bird’s eye view of the imperial palace, the emperor holding court in the throne room. (Yibo, who has never had much time for palace in-fighting dramas, doesn’t recognise the source footage.) He stifles a yawn as the emperor drones on, as the five warring princes exchange meaningful glances. It’s all very nice, of course, but –
“What do you think so far, Yibo?” Xiao Zhan asks.
“Amazing!” Yibo says. “Really engrossing.”
Finally, they come to their first scenes: faithful bodyguard Yibo, severe and cold, and the languid beauty, the spoiled Prince.
It’s all very beautiful. The dialogue is very well written, the production values high. The two handsome leads draw closer and closer together, even as the world conspires to keep them apart, and the pining looks they throw each other are filled with powerful longing.
The bodyguard casts his umbrella aside and sheds tears in the pouring rain.
And the invaders come, and the palace is burned down, the spoiled prince’s world destroyed in an instant. But the faithful bodyguard takes his hand and leads him into the wilderness, where they have only each other to rely on.
Finally, finally they have sex. Huddling in a cave while a blizzard rages outside, the tension between them finally snaps, and the faithful bodyguard lays the spoiled prince down on a silver fur robe – oil conveniently close at hand – and they make slow, sensual love, the firelight throwing flickering shadows on the walls of the cave.
The spoiled prince cries as the bodyguard deflowers him. Not from overstimulation and the bodyguard’s big cock, but from love and joy and sadness – one single tear, sparkling and crystalline.
“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Xiao Zhan sighs, leaning his head on Yibo’s shoulder. “It only makes what’s coming all the more tragic.”
They spend a few stolen days lost in each other. They walk hand in hand through gorgeous forests and exchange laughing kisses beneath white and pink cherry trees. They make love in flower-strewn meadows.
And then the Prince’s enemies catch up with them. The bodyguard urges the Prince to run while he fights them off. “No,” the Prince cries, anguished, “no, you’ll die –”
“If my death can keep you safe,” the bodyguard says, holding him close, “I will die with no regrets.”
They kiss, salt tears staining their lips. “We will see each other again,” the Prince vows. “In this life, or the next.”
Finally the bodyguard wrenches himself away, crying out “Go!”
And the Prince flees on stumbling legs, looking back over his shoulder with wild dark eyes, trembling with liquid tears. When the encircling enemies finally overwhelm the faithful bodyguard, he falls to his knees and cries out “Noooo!!”
Yibo is crying.
Like. Really crying.
“Zhan-ge,” he says, his voice choked up. “This is so beautiful. Do they ever find each other again?”
Xiao Zhan’s eyes are blurred with tears as well. He holds Yibo close. “Of course. Didn’t you film this with me, side by side?”
“Yes, but –”
It’s different, seeing it on screen.
The Prince goes on, the skies pouring rain to match his grief. He sweeps back at the head of an army to drive out the invaders and regain his kingdom. He spends the rest of his life as a wise and benevolent ruler, marrying well and raising his sons to be strong rulers after him.
And if he ever looks back on the days of his exile, remembering the faithful bodyguard who had loved him, who had died for him, well – those days are long gone, no more than cherry blossoms drifting on the wind, beautiful and ephemeral.
Fade to black, just for a moment.
Then the sounds of the modern world: traffic and construction, pop music and the voices of news anchors, and the black slowly dissolves, revealing a young man with the Prince’s face. A montage of his daily life: working in an office, eating with co-workers, walking through the streets. In all these shots, he looks lonely, distant and remote, as though not truly part of the world all around him.
And then one day he’s sitting in a coffee shop, dressed in a long coat and scarf, staring idly out the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of – something, or someone – and his eyes light up. He scrambles out of his chair, leaving his coffee on the table, and rushes out the door, looking wildly around –
(Cue a flashing glimpse of the bodyguard, in ancient dress.)
A young man is staring at him, eyes wide, a look of recognition in his face.
“Young Prince?” he breathes.
They stare at each other, laughing and crying, drawing close enough to take each other’s hand –
And the screen goes black.
“So?” Xiao Zhan asks. “What did you think?”
“Oh,” Yibo sighs. “That was so beautiful, ge.” He leans his head on Xiao Zhan’s shoulder. “I’m so glad they found each other in the end.”
“I told you,” Xiao Zhan says smugly. “Art.”
Yibo sits up slowly. He narrows his eyes.
“There’s only one thing,” he says, with a gremlin grin.
“Ah!?” Xiao Zhan looks offended. “What? What was wrong with it? That took me six months to make. It was perfect!”
“It’s a sex tape, ge. It needed more sex.”
Xiao Zhan stares at him, outraged.
“Wang Yibo!!!”