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Xiao Zhan wakes up with a grunt to his nape and a wet ache between his legs.
His limbs are too heavy. Only his toes answer to his commands, curling in on themselves with the increasing pinch in his lower belly. He doesn’t bother fluttering his eyes open yet, just breathes in slowly, back arching under the arm around his waist.
These days, waking up alone has been the exception rather than the rule.
“Morning.” Yibo exhales behind his ear, undulating their joined hips and squeezing a whimper out of Xiao Zhan’s dry throat.
“Hm… Time’s it?” He barely manages to croak, feeling for his phone on the bedside table. His fingers find the half empty bottle of lube instead, slimy even on the outside. Yibo and his penchant for making a mess.
“Almost—” Both choke on a particularly smooth glide. “Four.”
Xiao Zhan hums, burrows closer to Yibo’s sweltering chest, a near unbearable line of heat pressed to his back even without a blanket in the air conditioned hotel room.
As much as he wishes to drift off again, lulled by the desire simmering in his veins, consciousness dawns on him in stages. Peeking through his lashes, he finds the room still shrouded in darkness. No one’s here to boss them around or tell them what to say, how to move, pushing cameras and makeup brushes and endless layers on them.
For now, the world is just him and Yibo, and their smells, and their sounds, and their fluids, on the bed that has seen more action for the past weeks than Sylvester Stallone in his entire life of playing Rocky Balboa and—what other character did he play again?
“Rambo,” Yibo snorts, plunging in again and breathing heavily into his hair.
Fuck, he said it out loud. That does happen on occasion, when Yibo fucks his brains out. Xiao Zhan can’t help chuckling along. No regrets.
“Sorry,” he mumbles nonetheless, eyes rolling back as sinful warmth surges through his chest and neck to flood his face.
Glued together as they are, Yibo takes advantage of the unraveling of his muscles to pull him even closer, teeth dragging across the curve of his shoulder. Xiao Zhan shudders, folds an arm up in the air to ruffle his hair, to which Yibo promptly reacts by caressing his exposed flank, all the way up to his now perky nipple. His fingertips leave a trail of goosebumps over Xiao Zhan’s skin; he arches his back wantonly, offering himself up, cock begging for attention. Whatever spell this boy has cast on him, he fucking hopes it’s never lifted. Emphasis on fucking.
“You’re—hm—tighter when you’re awake.” Yibo remarks, lethal like that, lips curving in a smirk against Xiao Zhan’s skin before he licks a strip on his damp neck. “I know you’re tired—”
“I said you could.” Xiao Zhan cuts him short, sensing the slight hesitation brewing in his tone. He makes his voice syrupy for the next part. “No need to wake me… I want you in my dreams too. Perhaps even more.”
Yibo’s arm tightens around his middle, like clockwork.
“Fuck, ge…”
He buries himself deep inside Xiao Zhan and stills, lingers there, turning Xiao Zhan’s muscles to goo. God, he loves this so much he could die with no embarrassment of being found impaled on his younger coworker’s dick when morning comes… As long as they come too, one last time.
“That’s right.” He squirms teasingly, clamping around Yibo’s throbbing cock. “Fuck your gege.”
(Like that’s not exactly what he’s been doing, but okay.)
For all that he likes racing and adrenaline, Yibo is a slow fucker. It’s like he rushes everything else so that he can take his time with what truly matters. The bite marks and hickeys littering Xiao Zhan’s inner thighs—the only spots deemed safe from the prying eyes surrounding them—are the product of hours spent just teasing, edging Xiao Zhan every single day, in remarkable alignment with his character, until his cock betrays him and gives Yibo what he wants, rope after rope of pearly victory, untouched. Sometimes, when his mind is overwrought by Wei Wuxian’s troubles, and he walks into the room with red-rimmed eyes and a visible headache after hours crying and screaming, Yibo wordlessly drops to his knees, that menace of a boy, tugs his shorts down and swallows him whole, making him hard in seconds and gulping down his release in embarrassing minutes.
(Whether that helps his character bleed or intensifies it, Xiao Zhan doesn’t bother thinking about it. He can’t afford accessing his feelings, not until he delivers the very last of his endless lines on the script for A-Ling.)
Yibo moves his upper leg forward, pushing Xiao Zhan’s along, and slides his famished, larger-than-life hand all the way to wrap it around Xiao Zhan’s throat.
“Stay with me,” he demands, thumb caressing Xiao Zhan’s jugular.
Xiao Zhan hums. Admittedly, he’d almost dozed off again just now, fantasizing about Yibo fucking him while Yibo fucks him, dick still very much spearing his guts.
“I’m here,” he purrs, turning his head so Yibo can (hopefully) catch his drowsy smile. “Feels so good… Not knowing—hm—where you end and I begin.”
Yibo has barely been moving until now, slipping in and out just enough to create some semblance of friction, taking what he wants without disturbing Xiao Zhan’s rest. Exhausted as he is, Yibo might as well have wrecked him and he would have slumbered on, cock twitching of its own volition, leaking on the sheets.
All it takes is one thing—sometimes a touch here, or a kiss there, a shift in angle, a hitched breath—for Yibo to lose it. This time, Xiao Zhan knows it’s his running mouth spewing cheesy nonsense. He should have known Yibo’s puppy love would cherish those words for days on end and make him cringe at his past—fucked into oblivion—self.
And the worst part is he’s not even embarrassed this time. It does feel great, to be literally attached at the hip like that, merging into one and pretending the fusion doesn’t get harder and harder to break every day as soon as they leave that bedroom.
How could Xiao Zhan regret any of this, as the air around them sizzles in response to the feral drive rolling off of Yibo in waves, electrifying him from head to toe until it takes them both under and all that matters is—
“F-fuck…” He whimpers, pushing his ass down to meet Yibo’s frantic thrusts. “Yibo… Bo-di…”
The sounds of their ragged breaths and skin slapping on skin fill the room. Yibo is downright drilling into him, pounding with all his might, and in his pre-orgasm haze Xiao Zhan thanks himself for agreeing to this fuck buddies thing because bless this boy’s youth, really. No one has ever fucked him sideways like this, or at all, not even close.
“Told you,” Yibo mutters to the back of his sweaty neck, and once again Xiao Zhan realizes his thoughts have been fucked out through his mouth.
The hushed words Yibo whispered three weeks ago ring in his ears again; they were right here, on this same bed, side by side, but not touching, scared of creating an explosion should any part of them touch where there’d be no reason to hesitate or look over their shoulders or ever stop.
The last thing Yibo said before Xiao Zhan leaned in and swallowed him whole.
You won’t regret me, ge. Promise.
A hot, large hand wraps around his cock and pumps it once, thumb softly gliding over his slit. Xiao Zhan comes on the spot, lewd and obscene, writhing and shaking.
Oh, is Wang Yibo a man of his word. Every single time.
Coming back from his high, vision white and ears ringing, he only realizes Yibo has also finished because he’s stopped moving and is nuzzling Xiao Zhan’s neck, gasping for air like he’s been drowning. They’re still coiled together, muscles tight and locked in place, and the last thing Xiao Zhan wants is to change that. If moving was already hard before, it’s downright impossible now; he succumbs to his heavy lids for what feels like a second, and wakes up to the sound of his own snoring, followed by Yibo’s low chuckle.
At Xiao Zhan’s meek protest, he pulls out and peels himself off of his back. The condom squeaks as Yibo knots it shut and throws it in the garbage bin by the bed. Xiao Zhan’s lips protrude in a pout; such a waste, all of that getting thrown away like nothing.
“Want me to put it in a cup for you?” Yibo laughs in reply, and fucking hell, has Xiao Zhan said that out loud again?
Frustrated by his own fried brain, he grunts and rolls over to sprawl himself over Yibo, now lying on his back on the other side of the bed. Both hiss when their sensitive dicks brush against one another; Yibo’s arms wrap around his waist so he won’t tumble over to the side, pliant as he is.
“Put it in me,” he mumbles, leaning in to press lazy kisses on Yibo’s red, plump, gorgeous lips. Yibo stills under him, and when Xiao Zhan pulls back to inspect his expression, his eyes are wide. That surely wakes Xiao Zhan up, gulping and backtracking. “I mean… If you want to.”
He really needs to learn to shut up while and after Yibo fucks him. Maybe being gagged would do the trick?
“If I want to?” Yibo chortles, a boyish grin plastered on his face. “You bet I fucking want to.”
Thank fuck. He should have known. Wang Yibo’s middle name is horny.
“Then do it,” he challenges, angling his chin up and squinting. His whole body jostles with Yibo’s laughter.
“I will.”
Xiao Zhan juts out his bottom lip and frowns. “Now.”
“Now?” Yibo blurts out, eyes as big as saucers. “Zhan-ge, we just—”
“Hmph. I see how it is.” He grumbles, downright scowling. “Lan Wangji would never say that.”
Xiao Zhan moves to roll back to his previous spot on the bed, but Yibo manhandles him back before he accomplishes much.
“Aiya… That’s low, Xiao-laoshi.”
His lips are on Xiao Zhan’s ear the next second, sucking the lobe into his mouth and worrying it with teeth. The addictive thrill runs down his spine and he can’t hold back the shit-eating grin spreading on his face at getting Yibo riled up, nails digging into the skin of his hips.
“Wanna know what’s really low?” He practically moans out, squeezing Yibo’s biceps. “You, teasing me all day on set with your dumbfuck face and dumbfuck smile and dumbfuck existence, driving me crazy like this… Since when am I so fucking horny that I’m the one asking to go bare? This isn’t me, Wang-laoshi.”
Yibo’s dick twitches between their bodies and Xiao Zhan’s eyes roll shut, tearing up, a sob catching in his throat. Yes, please, take me again, and again, and again—
(He makes a conscious effort not to say that out loud.)
“You think getting so damn hard I need to fuck you while you sleep is me?” Yibo pants back, trailing sloppy kisses over his jawline until their breaths mingle and their lips touch while he speaks. “Because it’s not. It’s all you, and your perfect eyes, your mouth—ge, your fucking mouth, I swear—” He doesn’t manage to finish without kissing Xiao Zhan senseless, and Xiao Zhan doesn’t know which one of them is trembling, or if it’s both, swallowing the rest of Yibo’s retaliation. “Your body… Your ass… I can’t get enough of you.”
He grabs fistfuls of Yibo’s faded green hair, tacky with sweat after hours under the wig just like his, whereas Yibo reaches further down and grabs his ass with both hands, kneading the flesh and pressing Xiao Zhan’s pelvis down against his. They sigh into each other’s mouths, eyes dazed and unfocused, filthy smiles curling their slick lips.
“Gouzaizai…” Xiao Zhan’s breath hitches as Yibo parts his cheeks and exposes his still lubed hole to the cold air. “You’re hard again.”
“Yeah…” Yibo drags out, smiling his side smile, the perfect picture of sexual prowess. “Bless my youth.”
Xiao Zhan wants to rip his head off with how fucking debauched Yibo looks and how possessive he feels that he’s the one who can turn him on this fast, that Yibo is exactly on the same sinking boat as he is, that this lust will either make them or break them—either option past the point of no return.
“Hm…” He’s delirious with it, with the power Yibo makes sure he knows he holds. Yibo squeezes his hips and Xiao Zhan pushes his knees against the mattress, pulling himself up on the bed and curling his back. “Inside now, plea—”
His voice breaks when Yibo guides him towards his cock, the blunt head teasing at his rim, already leaking. Xiao Zhan sinks down on him in one go, the glide unbelievable, his body swallowing Yibo whole in one swift motion. His own cock springs to life at the sheer sensation of having no layers between them this time.
“Ah, fuck—this is—” Yibo stutters, head thrown back against the pillow, veins rising on his exposed neck.
Xiao Zhan can’t think, can’t wait, turned into a bundle of nerves, an itch that never gets scratched. He lifts himself off of Yibo’s torso and throws his head back, letting the rest of his upper body follow the motion and supporting himself with both hands on Yibo’s knees. He loves taking Yibo like this, in control of the speed and angle, undulating and rolling his hips shamelessly, letting out strained gasps as Yibo’s dick makes a home for itself inside him.
He’s painfully hard again in a heartbeat, bouncing on Yibo’s lap and chanting his name, chancing a glance down to admire the beads of sweat gathering above Yibo’s brows and upper lip, the redness smudged all over his chest, the vice-like grip on his jiggling thighs, the thumb grazing his groin, waiting for Xiao Zhan to use his words—
“Touch me,” he whimpers, gripping Yibo’s wrist and dragging his hand to his bobbing cock. Yibo wraps his fingers around it at once, smearing precum all over the length and synchronizing his rhythm with Xiao Zhan’s rocking hips. “Yibo…”
“So beautiful… You’re—Zhan-ge, you’re so fucking hot,” Yibo blabbers, eyes glazed, flushed up to his hairline, cheeks slightly trembling along with his jerking hips. “Fuck, I’m gonna die.”
Xiao Zhan chortles, head toppling forward. Yibo chokes out a laugh as well, barely realizing what he’s just said. Aching to get closer, to watch his pretty face contort with the pleasure he’s providing, Xiao Zhan brings his hands to Yibo’s chest for support, pushing himself down on Yibo’s dick and making them both see stars at the change of angle.
“Please, breathe… Need you alive.” Xiao Zhan stills for a moment, with Yibo buried to the hilt inside him, walls quaking around him against his will. Yibo draws a sharp breath, then another, still pumping him slowly; Xiao Zhan presses a kiss to the left side of his chest, where his heart’s been thundering under his palm, then levels their faces to kiss the corner of Yibo’s parted lips before rocking his hips again, just once. “You okay?”
“I love you,” Yibo mumbles into his mouth, eyes closed, jaw slack, completely vulnerable and surrendered. “I love you so much… Fuck, I can’t…”
Xiao Zhan freezes again, heart lurching, splintering between his lungs to the point breathing hurts. He cups Yibo’s face with both hands, thumbs sliding gently over his burning cheeks.
“Yibo…”
“Don’t ask me not to say it,” he begs, a lone tear rolling down the outer corner of his eye and mixing with his sweat. “Please, ge. I’ll never say it again, just… Let me have this.”
A rush of warmth washes over him, inescapable, final. The boat has capsized. The point of no return is behind them now.
“Shh…” He half laughs, half sobs, eyes moist without his consent. Nothing breaks his heart more than Yibo crying, and knowing he’s the reason, knowing his feelings for Xiao Zhan—he wouldn’t dare call it love, not yet—are so strong to overwhelm him like this makes him bite back his own emotions and focus on giving Yibo what he needs. “I’m right here. Right here with you.”
Yibo nods, eyes still shut, chin pointing up, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps down and grounds himself. Xiao Zhan watches him closely, hangs on every minute twitch of his brow, every shaky breath he takes, until his lids flutter open slightly. He seeks Xiao Zhan’s gaze at once, never afraid, never shy, always pouring into Xiao Zhan’s overflowing cup even though Xiao Zhan can’t keep up with him. Their eyes meet, well accustomed to the dark still prevailing in the room, and Xiao Zhan caves first, tense expression crumbling into a dizzy smile.
“Hi,” Yibo huffs, smiling back.
“Hey.” Xiao Zhan makes the extreme effort of toning down his grin back to a smirk, booping Yibo’s reddened nose with his index. “Are you okay?”
He nods. “Sorry, I—”
Xiao Zhan doesn’t let him finish the sentence, pressing their lips together and grumbling into the kiss. Yibo’s chest rumbles with laughter, and he peppers kisses all over Yibo’s face just to feel it further, mentally repeating the same words after each one.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Why is it that he’ll spill whatever’s on his mind around Yibo, except for the most important confession?
Why can’t he say it back? Even if it’s not true after filming ends, when they go their separate ways and their minds are no longer clouded by their characters, would that make this feeling burning in his chest right now any less real? Any less worthy of being acknowledged, and nurtured, and lived thoroughly, even if it’s not meant to last?
“You should sleep.” Xiao Zhan cuts his own thoughts short, pecking Yibo’s lips once again. “You’re filming in the morning.”
“No way.” He grins, pushing his hips up slightly, and Xiao Zhan gasps, supporting himself on his shoulders. “Still wanna come inside you.”
Xiao Zhan’s face burns up under his dirty stare. “Wang Yibo, are you human?”
Another thrust up, deeper this time, and Xiao Zhan hides his face in the crook of Yibo’s neck, blood rushing down as the hand on his softening cock pumps him, faster than before.
He plants both hands on Yibo’s chest again and lifts himself up, renewed defiance burning in his eyes. Yibo lets go of his dick and Xiao Zhan gasps in protest, but before he can get a word out, two fingers that taste like himself invade his mouth and Xiao Zhan realizes what he’s doing. Nails dragging over the skin of Yibo’s pectorals, Xiao Zhan sucks around him for dear life, eyes briefly rolling shut, moaning through his nose. Yibo sighs in approval, then parts his digits around his tongue and dips them under until they’re as slick as can be, pulling them out with a wet pop and smearing the saliva over Xiao Zhan’s dick to resume his movements.
That’s all they need to pick up their former pace, soon filling the room with their ragged breaths and low moans. Xiao Zhan dares not look away, barely blinking even as his face scrunches up with desire, hooked on the feeling of having Yibo’s undivided attention. Yibo doesn’t avert his gaze either, except to glance down at Xiao Zhan’s cock leaking on his stomach, biting his lip the messier it gets.
“Xiao Zhan,” Yibo pants, bringing his heels closer and sinking them into the mattress for leverage, which rips a loud moan out of Xiao Zhan as he reaches even deeper like this. “Zhan-ge, didi ai ni.”
Yibo’s free hand slides up his stomach and Xiao Zhan meets it with his own, fingers intertwining over his quivering muscles. Say it. Say it, say it, say it.
“Wo ai ni,” Yibo chants, over and over, and Xiao Zhan grits his teeth after speaking unfiltered again. Say. It.
“I… I love you,” Xiao Zhan chokes out at last, brain fizzling out, head lolling back, legs giving in to the aching fire pooling between them. “Fuck, Yibo, I love you so much… I love you, I love you, I lo—”
Yibo’s orgasm takes him by surprise, filling him up with his hot spend, searing him from the inside out and pushing him over the edge as well. He arches his back taut like a bow, spilling all over Yibo, clenching around him and milking him dry, before his bones melt and he’s reduced to a panting mess on top of him. For a moment, nothing exists, not even himself; the world becomes a hot stuffy blur and he can’t breathe, until Yibo’s hand starts rubbing circles on his back, slowly grounding him and making him aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks and raining on Yibo’s neck.
“Ge?” He whispers, as Xiao Zhan’s body shakes with sobs. “What’s wrong?”
It takes him a while to find his voice again, and even then it sounds foreign, weak and defeated.
“I said it,” he sniffles, nestling closer and pushing his face against Yibo’s skin. “I said it.”
Yibo gulps close to his ear. “You didn’t want to?”
“I wanted to,” he hiccups right away, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling his wet lashes tangling up, just like the words in his throat. “But how… How do I stop saying it now?”
Xiao Zhan feels Yibo’s heart ricocheting against his chest at the same time his arms wrap around his waist.
“Don’t,” is his soothing reply. “Let’s keep saying it.”
His fondness only makes Xiao Zhan weaker, stifling a sob, still unable to face him. That would be the only scenario in which this doesn’t hurt. Let’s keep saying it, he tells himself… Until we don’t.
Yibo takes a deep breath, humming like he’s considering something.
“While we can,” he offers instead, and Xiao Zhan wants to seriously bite his own tongue. “How does that sound?”
“While we can,” he tries it out, mouthing the words a few more times, until Yibo chuckles and rolls them around, pinning his arms down on the mattress and leaving Xiao Zhan no choice but to face him.
He keeps his swollen eyes lowered, blushing furiously under Yibo’s gaze, but as soon as Yibo’s lips are on his, kissing him so diligently, so carefully, like he’ll break otherwise, his shame melts away. Xiao Zhan wraps his arms around Yibo’s neck and kisses him back with all the love brimming in his heart, scaring even himself with how deep and strong it runs, yet feeling only the same devotion flowing back from Yibo’s heart, dauntless, free falling.
“While we can,” Yibo whispers one last time, caressing the mole under Xiao Zhan’s bottom lip with his thumb before wiping away the stray tears still rolling down his temples. “While you end where I begin.”
Xiao Zhan can’t help smiling at that, so big he can hardly keep his eyes open, not to lose sight of Yibo’s mirroring grin. He knocks his heel into Yibo’s calf playfully.
“I knew you’d never let that go,” he chuckles, baring his teeth even though he knows he’s the opposite of menacing right now, disgusting and pathetic as he must look. Yibo still kisses him one more time for good measure, hair sticking every which way, smiling from ear to ear, more beautiful than anyone Xiao Zhan could ever dream of.
“Never.”