Hundred Blossoms walked out of the arena buoyed by the crowd’s cheers.
They hadn’t been favored to win—for all the glory Hundred Blossoms was accumulating, Excellent Era still held the crown—but luck and skill and long days of planning how to use their home-ground advantage had combined to give them the barest slice of victory in the end.
Zhang Jiale bounced down the hall, chattering to Sun Zheping, hands alight in the air as he described once more the way Blood and Blossoms had finally caught One Autumn Leaf in their grasp. For all the God’s might, it was impossible to win every single match; Ye Qiu himself was always the first to admit that.
It just wasn’t every day that someone managed to prove it.
Zhang Jiale didn’t catch the widening of Sun Zheping’s eyes, or the indrawn breath of the rest of his team, so he was the only one caught off-guard when Ye Qiu said, “Nice work.”
“Ye-qianbei,” Sun Zheping said, and Zhang Jiale could hear his held-back laughter at Zhang Jiale’s blush. “We weren’t certain of victory until we achieved it.”
Ye Qiu smiled. There wasn’t any sign of his team—probably they were already preparing for the post-match interview, and he’d snuck off—and he seemed completely unconcerned. “I hope we meet once more in the playoffs.”
“Of course we’ll see you there!” Zhang Jiale slung his arm across Sun Zheping’s shoulders. “We’re going to make it to the finals this year!”
“Excellent Era will meet you there.” Ye Qiu’s smile turned sharp for the briefest moment. “But don’t let me keep you; I just wanted to applaud your performance tonight.”
Zhang Jiale stared at Ye Qiu, trying to figure out if the flicker of his eyes and the tilt of his head meant what Zhang Jiale thought it did.
“Thank you,” Sun Zheping said, after a beat. He ducked out from under Zhang Jiale’s arm. “Go splash cold water on your face so you can think again, Jiale. We’ll see you in the ready room.”
As excuses went, it was pretty thin, but they didn’t need much beyond that. Zhang Jiale nodded, said something in agreement, and watched the rest of Hundred Blossoms trail away behind Sun Zheping.
The moment the last member of Hundred Blossoms was out of sight, Ye Qiu closed the distance between them. Zhang Jiale had expected this, but it didn’t keep him from losing his breath as Ye Qiu kissed him, backing him up until Zhang Jiale ran into the wall. Zhang Jiale swallowed his moans as best he could, clutching at Ye Qiu and trying to keep any thought in his head beyond desire.
They’d discussed what they’d wanted to do after the match for weeks, but none of those conversations had placed their encounter in the stadium itself.
“Lao-Ye,” Zhang Jiale gasped, when Ye Qiu finally released him to breathe. “We’re in public?”
“You were gorgeous today.” Ye Qiu pressed against him, hot and solid, and rolled his hips into Zhang Jiale’s; Zhang Jiale bit his lip to keep from groaning at the feeling of Ye Qiu’s dick through his pants. “I didn’t want to wait until after all the interviews to tell you so.”
“Fucking—” Zhang Jiale gave up on any last pretense of decency. He grabbed Ye Qiu, one hand on his ass and the other in his hair, and dragged him in for another kiss. He didn’t bother with finesse; this was just heat and tongues and teeth that didn’t get out of the way quite fast enough, with voices held back to preserve the idea that they could escape from prying eyes.
When Zhang Jiale let go, they were both panting, and Ye Qiu’s hair was even more of a mess than usual. “Your team’s going to notice you’re missing,” Ye Qiu said, as if his fingers weren’t clamped in Zhang Jiale’s shirt and tangling in his hair. “We shouldn’t—”
Zhang Jiale snorted in laughter. “You started it.”
“I can get away with it.” Ye Qiu stepped back, very deliberately. His hands slid slowly down Zhang Jiale’s chest, lingering over his nipples before his fingers twitched and then retreated to grab Zhang Jiale’s wrists instead and tug them away. “My hotel room, as planned. 10pm?”
They’d figured this out beforehand, based on how long the match would likely be and each team’s usual habits after a match. Zhang Jiale still wished it could be sooner. “Yeah, 10pm,” he said, and released Ye Qiu. “Hey, how bad’s my hair?”
Ye Qiu’s lips twitched. “A mess. You don’t want me to try and fix it; Mucheng’s told me I’m incompetent with long hair more than enough times.”
Zhang Jiale laughed and reached up to his hair. He could feel the tangles even before he pulled the hair-tie out and tried to finger-comb it. “Guess that’s a reason to actually go to the restroom; I’m going to need a mirror.”
Ye Qiu stepped back, hands stuffed in his pockets like he’d just keep touching Zhang Jiale if they weren’t so firmly put away, and said, “I’ll see you tonight.”
Zhang Jiale grinned and blew him a kiss. “See you tonight.”
Hundred Blossoms politely did not say a word to Zhang Jiale about how long it’d taken him to catch up, or about why his hair was damp as well as his face. Sun Zheping glanced at him, waved him over to where the—probably actually unaware—team manager was reminding them how to act at the interview, and that was it.
Zhang Jiale rather suspected Sun Zheping had given everyone else a brief lecture on respecting their vice-captain’s privacy. But he didn’t pursue it; it was more important to sink back into Hundred Blossoms’ celebration and prepare for the reporters and their questions.
That night, Zhang Jiale walked into the hotel Excellent Era was staying at. He’d bundled himself up in a sweater that he just knew Fang Shiqian and the other Beijingers would immediately tease him for thinking appropriate for weather warmer than 10 degrees Celsius. But it was a brisk night for Kunming, and also Zhang Jiale wanted to at least pretend like he could disguise himself with a baggy sweater and his hair curled up beneath a beanie.
He slouched his way into the hotel and up the elevator to Ye Qiu’s room. It was late enough, thankfully, that Zhang Jiale didn’t feel like he was in danger of being stared at. It was also, he supposed, late enough that being seen visiting his rival team might be of note.
It was fine. Nobody should notice; even if they did, Zhang Jiale didn’t think he cared.
Ye Qiu opened the door at Zhang Jiale’s first knock. He was dressed in Glory-patterned lounge clothes, soft and loose over his shoulders, worn thin enough that Zhang Jiale could see his nipples through the fabric. He knew he shouldn’t be focusing on that. He should say hi, maybe tease Ye Qiu about wearing first-season merch like this, crack a joke about Ye Qiu making himself ready for Zhang Jiale.
“Come in,” Ye Qiu said, after Zhang Jiale stood there—staring at Ye Qiu’s chest way too obviously—for long seconds. The words were an order, despite the amusement in his voice, and Ye Qiu tugged at Zhang Jiale’s arm to emphasize his point.
“Ah, sorry!” Zhang Jiale stepped past Ye Qiu, who made no effort to move out of his way. The light brush of their bodies against each other sent a shiver of heat through Zhang Jiale. He breathed, trying to think about literally anything other than the tightness in his chest and the insistent throb of his pulse in his cock. Shoes. Jacket. Remove those first; everything else came after.
Zhang Jiale crouched down to untie his shoes. His fingers felt clumsy on the knotted laces, like this was taking too much time even though he knew it wasn’t.
“Take your time.” Ye Qiu pulled the beanie from Zhang Jiale’s hair, letting it cascade—loose, Zhang Jiale hadn’t bothered tying it up—down his back. Zhang Jiale yelped in surprise, almost overbalancing before Ye Qiu grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back to lean against Ye Qiu’s legs. “Honestly, Jiale, there’s no hurry.”
“You don’t need to go back to your team after this,” Zhang Jiale groused, but he did slow down. Ye Qiu’s hands in his hair were a good incentive, idly combing through the strands and gently undoing the tangles. Zhang Jiale got his shoes off, then his socks for good measure, and shrugged his jacket over his shoulders and onto the ground without standing back up.
Ye Qiu’s laugh was worth it. “As much as I’d like you on your knees”—Zhang Jiale whined and pressed his cheek into Ye Qiu’s thigh—”I’d like you on the bed more right now. Up, Jiale.”
Zhang Jiale knew he should. He wanted to, even. But at the same time, his breath was coming fast and his heart thudded against his ribs at the thought of Ye Qiu’s hands in his hair like this. If he just waited, maybe—
“Is it the hair?” Ye Qiu’s hands tightened. Not a pull, not yet. “Stand up, Jiale.”
Zhang Jiale ducked his head, half an instinctive desire to hide his blush and half intentional provocation and pointed request. His own motion sent the first threads of pain down his spine; not enough to really hurt, but enough to draw his body to full arousal.
A moment later, Ye Qiu said, “Alright,” and drew his hands upward. Zhang Jiale followed, half a beat behind, liquid desire spilling down his scalp and calming his racing heart.
Ye Qiu did not drag Zhang Jiale to bed, but only because Zhang Jiale was keeping perfect pace. Also because Ye Qiu let go as soon as they reached the bed and flopped down first, spreading himself out across the covers.
Zhang Jiale didn’t follow. He’d stopped moving entirely because he was too busy looking.
Ye Qiu had to have arranged himself to intentionally invite his gaze. His legs splayed out—which highlighted his bulge, which Zhang Jiale was absolutely not trying to stare at—and his shirt rode up, showing a pale slice of skin and the light dusting of hair leading down to the low-slung waist of Ye Qiu’s pants. When Zhang Jiale finally managed to drag his attention away from Ye Qiu’s body, the soft smile he found on Ye Qiu’s face simply completed the picture.
“Jiale,” Ye Qiu said, reaching a hand out to him with a beckoning gesture. “Come here and kiss me, Jiale.”
That was easy to do. The bed might be different, the positions more intimate, but Zhang Jiale knew Ye Qiu’s mouth. He crawled onto the bed, trying to ignore how every angle of his long limbs felt awkward, and settled himself in Ye Qiu’s welcoming arms.
Kissing Ye Qiu while they lay together with the promise of more to come felt different anyway. Compared to earlier, in the stadium’s halls, it was slow and sweet; Zhang Jiale could luxuriate in the press of lips, the drag of tongues, the long sighs of breath. Compared to the first time they’d kissed, there was a promise that this was just how they were getting started, and their bodies acted accordingly.
Zhang Jiale’s hands ranged down Ye Qiu’s back, starting at his shoulders before trailing down his spine to rest on his hips. There, Zhang Jiale could feel each and every twitch of Ye Qiu’s body, from the hand steadying his head to the arm that he’d worked under Zhang Jiale’s waist to stroke the small of his back. It meant Zhang Jiale was halfway on top of Ye Qiu, but Ye Qiu didn’t seem to mind at all, from the noises he was making.
Then Ye Qiu nudged his knee between Zhang Jiale’s thighs. Not hard, just enough to be a suggestion Zhang Jiale was happy to agree to. His legs fell open, Ye Qiu’s pressed in, and Zhang Jiale whined into Ye Qiu’s mouth. Having something to grind his cock against made his whole body shiver in sensation. Being able to feel Ye Qiu’s dick rubbing against his hip, insistent despite its softness, focused Zhang Jiale’s attention even more on the promise of sex to come.
Zhang Jiale slid his hands off Ye Qiu’s hips so he could search instead for the hem of Ye Qiu’s shirt. He slipped his fingers underneath to clutch at the bare skin of Ye Qiu’s waist, and was rewarded by Ye Qiu arching into his grip with a moan.
“Take it off,” Zhang Jiale said, the next time their mouths broke apart. “I— Both our shirts. I want to feel your skin.”
“Give me room,” Ye Qiu said, and Zhang Jiale rolled onto his back and pushed himself up a little to free Ye Qiu’s arm. As soon as he did, Ye Qiu grinned, sat up, and pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion.
Zhang Jiale didn’t sit up, even though it was more awkward to take his shirt off this way. He didn’t like being shirtless, usually, but with Ye Qiu—
The pink scars curving beneath Ye Qiu’s pecs meant he’d understand.
“You can touch them,” Ye Qiu said; he’d clearly noticed the direction of Zhang Jiale’s gaze. He knelt over Zhang Jiale’s lap, slowly sinking down until his weight rested on Zhang Jiale’s thighs. When Zhang Jiale didn’t move, too distracted by Ye Qiu’s ass on his crotch, Ye Qiu grinned and reached to take Zhang Jiale’s hands, drawing them up to the scars. “They won’t hurt or anything.”
The scars felt smooth, mostly, and maybe a little raised from the pale skin surrounding them. Zhang Jiale stroked them, watching Ye Qiu’s reactions: a slight shudder, a crease between his eyes as he caught his breath, and his nipples puckering. Zhang Jiale wanted to touch those too, and so—carefully, so that Ye Qiu could stop him from exploring if he wanted to—he did.
Ye Qiu leaned forward into the touch and his hands settled on Zhang Jiale’s shoulders. “Hey, Jiale,” Ye Qiu said. Zhang Jiale tugged gently on his nipple just to listen to his voice stutter. “May I touch your chest too?”
Zhang Jiale hesitated. On his back like this, he was flat. Standing, it was easy enough to hide himself with a second layer—he liked wearing vests for that reason. But flat to the eye and flat to the touch were different.
“If you’d rather I not—”
Zhang Jiale shook his head. Then, before Ye Qiu could get the wrong idea, he said, “It’ll feel good.” Zhang Jiale took a breath, let it out; he was convincing himself as much as Ye Qiu, and they both knew it. “Yeah, Ye Qiu, go ahead.”
Unexpectedly, Ye Qiu made a face. “Please just call me lao-Ye when we’re in bed. Ye-shen would be fine too. Gege, even.”
“What about laoye?” Zhang Jiale asked, laughing because turning this into a joke was easier than wondering why Ye Qiu didn’t like his name. There were plenty of reasons why that might be true. “Would that be just as good?”
“I wouldn’t stop you.” Ye Qiu drew his hands onto Zhang Jiale’s chest, following the curves of his body and slowly spiralling towards his already-attentive nipples. Zhang Jiale shuddered at the contact; his skin buzzed with arousal and uncertainty as Ye Qiu braced his hands on Zhang Jiale’s ribs and bent down to kiss him.
There was no space to think of anything but Ye Qiu. His body covered Zhang Jiale’s. His kisses filled Zhang Jiale’s mouth. His hands touched, pressed, caressed. His legs interlaced with Zhang Jiale’s too, hips rocking into Zhang Jiale’s gently enough that Zhang Jiale almost wondered if Ye Qiu realised what he was doing.
But then, Zhang Jiale couldn’t claim to be fully in control of his body either; he was burning with desire and every touch of Ye Qiu’s skin to his was a billow of wind feeding that fire.
Ye Qiu’s trailed kisses across Zhang Jiale’s jaw, nibbled his way down Zhang Jiale’s neck, and sucked on Zhang Jiale’s collarbone. Zhang Jiale groaned, full-throated, and clutched at Ye Qiu’s ass. He wasn’t sure when his hands had ended up there; he knew they’d started higher up on Ye Qiu’s body. Maybe it was related to the roll of Ye Qiu’s hips. Maybe it was just to keep Ye Qiu’s mouth from moving any further down his body just yet. Maybe it was just because it felt nice to be allowed.
Mostly Zhang Jiale just cared because grabbing Ye Qiu’s ass made him very aware of how thin and intentionally provocative Ye Qiu’s clothes managed to be, despite being Glory-printed pajamas. It was quite the contrast from Zhang Jiale’s own jeans. Though they hadn’t seemed too thick or confining when he’d put them on earlier, now Zhang Jiale couldn’t think of anything but how much cloth was between his body and Ye Qiu’s, and how much more of it was surrounding Zhang Jiale’s own body.
“Hey, lao-Ye,” Zhang Jiale gasped, and Ye Qiu raised his head up to look at him. “How do you feel about pants?”
“In general? Great.” Ye Qiu laughed at Zhang Jiale’s look of disbelief. “I’d love to take them off you, if you’re interested.”
Zhang Jiale ran his fingers along the waistband of Ye Qiu’s pants. “And yours?”
Ye Qiu shrugged. “Depends on what we’re doing.”
“Pretty sure the goal was sex.” Zhang Jiale’s heart beat fast beneath Ye Qiu’s hands. Before he could think too hard about how different this reality was from the texts they’d exchanged while planning this, he said, “I’d like that. With you. Your hands or”—he was definitely blushing now—”your dick.”
A smile spread across Ye Qiu’s face. His cheeks were flushed too, which made Zhang Jiale feel better, especially since Ye Qiu asked, “Where do you want my dick?”
Zhang Jiale pulled his hands back to cover his face. “In me.” His voice was muffled. He’d told this to Ye Qiu over text and it had flustered him but it hadn’t felt like so much. But then, Zhang Jiale hadn’t been under Ye Qiu, cock hard and every inch of him aware of what Ye Qiu had promised him. “In my—” there was no good word for this “—my cunt.”
Ye Qiu kissed his knuckles, slowly moving across both hands until his mouth rested against Zhang Jiale’s ear. “Yeah,” he said, warm on the sensitive skin there. “That sounds good.”
Zhang Jiale whined as Ye Qiu got up, even though he knew that’s what Ye Qiu would need to do. He shoved his own pants off and stared up at the ceiling. The way Ye Qiu had spoken, he didn’t want to press his luck with looking, no matter how much he wanted to watch every movement Ye Qiu made. He could hear Ye Qiu moving around, the soft sound of cloth falling to the ground, the louder sound of straps being tightened.
“Jiale, you can look,” Ye Qiu said, a moment later. He must’ve turned around. “I’m having sex with you; I’m not hiding my body.”
“Yeah, but—” Zhang Jiale sighed. He curled onto his side, pushed himself up and over until he was lying on his stomach facing Ye Qiu. “I didn’t mind waiting?”
Ye Qiu shrugged. For the gentleness of his words, Zhang Jiale could still see nervousness in the quickness of that motion, the way his shoulders were canted protectively inwards, the twitching of his fingers. “I don’t— Jiale, if we’re fucking then neither of us should pretend my body is anything other than it is.”
Zhang Jiale raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? So you want me to look at your hot bod?” He managed to finish the sentence, but only just barely, before breaking out in cackling laughter.
“Xiao-Le…”
More quietly—more seriously—Zhang Jiale asked, “Can I?”
“Yeah,” Ye Qiu said, the syllable a sigh. “You can. You should.”
Zhang Jiale raised his head from where it’d gotten buried in his hands. Ye Qiu stood across the room from him, completely naked, a black harness holding his dick in place. Ye Qiu met his gaze steadily as Zhang Jiale drank in the sight of him, of the arousal he wanted to show and the body he’d worked to give himself. “Handsome,” Zhang Jiale said, and he’d meant to make it part of the joke but it came out far too earnest. “The Alliance has no idea what it’s missing out on.”
Ye Qiu snickered, but he also blushed. “Okay, okay.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What about you, Jiale?”
“What about me?” Zhang Jiale was probably meant to know what that meant, but Ye Qiu was approaching him and Zhang Jiale’s attention was fixed—despite his best attempts to avoid it—on Ye Qiu’s dick and how it bobbed between his legs. It’d be between Zhang Jiale’s legs soon, and that thrilled him, caught in his lungs and sparked in his cock.
“May I see you, Jiale?”
Maybe the question would’ve been easier to answer if Ye Qiu hadn’t stopped a step away from the bed. His dick hung almost level with Zhang Jiale’s face, and Zhang Jiale licked his lips. They hadn’t talked— He hadn’t even thought about it much before, but as he raised his eyes up to Ye Qiu’s, Zhang Jiale remembered the way Ye Qiu had said I’d like you on your knees and the thrill it had sent down his spine. So instead of responding to the question, Zhang Jiale asked, “What’d it be like if I sucked your dick?”
And yeah, maybe he was avoiding the answer a little, but—
Ye Qiu closed the last distance between them. One hand closed around his dick; the other grabbed Zhang Jiale’s hair. “Do you want to find out?”
Zhang Jiale made a strangled noise—want, desire, something to try and express the arousal flooding him—and moved himself forward until he could close his lips around Ye Qiu’s dick.
The groan Ye Qiu made couldn’t be about sensation. Zhang Jiale knew that, in what little bit of his brain still followed logical thought. The rest of him licked at Ye Qiu’s dick because he wanted to hear that sound again, to know that he gave Ye Qiu that much pleasure.
He wasn’t practiced at this. He didn’t need to be, especially when Ye Qiu was rocking into his mouth, guiding his head with his hands, and saying, “Fuck, Jiale, you’re gorgeous like this.”
Zhang Jiale whimpered, caught his breath, sucked at Ye Qiu’s dick because it was Ye Qiu’s and in his mouth and it didn’t matter how it made Ye Qiu feel good; it mattered that it did. That knowledge rippled through him, sliding down his spine with the movement of Ye Qiu’s hips, landing in his cock. Zhang Jiale ground himself against the blankets, trying to find an outlet, hands restlessly moving between Ye Qiu’s thighs and Zhang Jiale’s own chest.
“You want something?” Ye Qiu asked, which had to be a rhetorical question, because Zhang Jiale couldn’t speak through the dick on his tongue. Zhang Jiale nodded anyway, as best he could. Ye Qiu pulled his dick out fully, wet suction making a filthy pop as it cleared Zhang Jiale’s lips. “Turn over,” Ye Qiu said, pushing at Zhang Jiale’s shoulders. “I want— You wanted me inside you, yeah? Turn over.”
For a moment Zhang Jiale just stared at Ye Qiu, processing the lack of dick in his mouth and what Ye Qiu meant. Then it clicked and he said, “Oh. Yeah, yeah, okay,” as he scrambled backwards, swung his legs around, and rolled onto his back.
From this angle, Ye Qiu could see him, spread out with nothing to hide behind. Zhang Jiale swallowed; his mouth was dry but he could still taste Ye Qiu’s dick. That, and the eagerness in Ye Qiu’s face, turned the surge of adrenaline racing through Zhang Jiale into excitement. He spread his legs, giving Ye Qiu a better view, and asked, “What do you think?” He figured Ye Qiu would be able to see through his bravado anyway. “You like what you see?”
“Of course.” Ye Qiu’s weight made the bed bounce. His dick, shiny with Zhang Jiale’s spit, hung between them. Ye Qiu’s gaze was soft, half-hidden by his long bangs, and his voice was even gentler. “If I didn’t, why would we be here?”
Zhang Jiale let out a shaky laugh. He gathered his hair from under his back, let it fall above his head where it wouldn’t be trapped. “Yeah. That’s true.” Zhang Jiale looked up at Ye Qiu, who was fully over him now, knees pushing against the inside of Zhang Jiale’s thighs and hands braced on either side of his shoulders. Zhang Jiale took a long slow breath; it didn’t calm anything, but it did let his words line up into a sentence. “I want—” He lifted his legs and looped them around Ye Qiu’s ass. “I want you inside me.”
Ye Qiu bent down to kiss him. The head of his dick brushed against Zhang Jiale’s cock, and Zhang Jiale whined in need. Then Ye Qiu reached back and changed the angle of his dick a little, and Zhang Jiale raised his hips, and—
Zhang Jiale gasped, then groaned, as Ye Qiu’s dick sank into him. It’s thick was his first thought, followed by, He’s moving so slowly, and then—as Ye Qiu’s laughter against his cheek told Zhang Jiale that he was saying this aloud—“Fuck you feel so good.”
His body felt like it was made of liquid lightning caught beneath petal-thin skin. Zhang Jiale couldn’t even keep track of the sounds he was making as Ye Qiu slowly began to fuck him with far more control than Zhang Jiale could begin to imaging having. Ye Qiu’s mouth kept moving on him, too: sloppy kisses on Zhang Jiale’s open lips, nibbles down his throat, teeth catching at his ear, wide strokes of his tongue on Zhang Jiale’s nipples that mimicked the slide of his dick.
Zhang Jiale grabbed at Ye Qiu, pulling him close, pleasure flowing from his mouth in a babble of words—yes, please, do that, more, god, good, fuck—turned incoherent by tangled repetition. It wasn’t just the feeling of Ye Qiu in him, it was Ye Qiu’s pelvis sliding against his cock, Ye Qiu’s hands on his waist, Ye Qiu’s mouth on his chest, Ye Qiu turning himself into Zhang Jiale’s whole world so that everything Zhang Jiale could touch or taste or see was Ye Qiu.
As Ye Qiu moved faster, even words became too much; Zhang Jiale just moaned, each thrust sending air out of his lungs in time with the slap of their bodies. Ye Qiu groaned too, slick and sweaty as he slid into Zhang Jiale again and again, using the increasing volume of Zhang Jiale’s guttural cries to find the best angle to fuck him.
Hazily, Zhang Jiale heard Ye Qiu say, “Wanna jerk you off.” Zhang Jiale whined at the thought, then heard Ye Qiu say it again, more desperately.
“Yeah,” Zhang Jiale managed to say, because Ye Qiu needed the words. “God, fuck, yeah do that.”
Ye Qiu nodded against him, then his hand—which had been on Zhang Jiale’s ass—reached between them.
Zhang Jiale gasped at the first direct touch to his cock. Ye Qiu’s fingers were delicate, graceful, and gentle. Right now, they were probably still all those things but they changed his cock from a throbbing knot of arousal to a burning flame coursing through Zhang Jiale’s core. Ye Qiu’s fingers slid around his cock, and Zhang Jiale shuddered; even with the solid presence of Ye Qiu’s dick having set his body alight, this was almost too much.
Then Ye Qiu grabbed his cock firmly and tugged, matching the pull of his hand to the draw of his dick, and Zhang Jiale did his best to muffle his cry in Ye Qiu’s shoulder as he shook himself apart, clenching around Ye Qiu’s dick and body in a blaze of sweet-bright-electric heat.
A cooling wave followed, no less intensely pleasurable, and Zhang Jiale gasped. He couldn’t do anything else. Ye Qiu didn’t pull away from him, just slowed down, and Zhang Jiale whimpered as each movement sent another ripple of light through him. It was good, it was good, it was almost too much but he never wanted it to end.
“Fuck,” Zhang Jiale said, the first possibly-intelligible word he could make. “Lao-Ye.”
“Got you.” Ye Qiu was panting almost as much as Zhang Jiale was. “You good?”
“Yeah.” Zhang Jiale nuzzled into Ye Qiu, even though the brush of his nipples against Ye Qiu’s chest sparked nearly painfully. “You’re great.”
Ye Qiu laughed. “So are you.” He slowly pulled out of Zhang Jiale, who groaned at the absence inside him even though he could feel the way it’d be uncomfortable to leave Ye Qiu’s dick in there too long. Ye Qiu didn’t move very far, though; he just flopped onto his side, dick still hanging between them, and wrapped his arms around Zhang Jiale. Despite the stickiness of one of Ye Qiu’s hands and the hard press of his dick, Zhang Jiale snuggled into his hold, keeping their legs interlocked.
“Gotta do this again.” Zhang Jiale kissed Ye Qiu, not aiming for anywhere in particular but pleased that Ye Qiu’s lips met his. Zhang Jiale wanted to swallow Ye Qiu’s breath, bring him even closer, taste the last buzz of orgasm on Ye Qiu too. Zhang Jiale pulled back, smiling at Ye Qiu in a way that he suspected looked drunk. “Next time we’re in the same place, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ye Qiu shifted his hips; his dick moved, a reminder of what they’d just done that made Zhang Jiale hum in satisfaction. Ye Qiu still asked, “Is this comfortable for you?”
Zhang Jiale reached down to pat Ye Qiu’s dick. “I like it. It’s nice.” It wasn’t uncomfortable, anyway, any more than the awkward way his arm was curled between their chests.
“You’re ridiculous.” Ye Qiu kissed him again, though, which made Zhang Jiale pretty sure that ridiculous was a great thing to be.
They traded kisses, soft and warm, hands wandering just as gently across their bodies. Zhang Jiale wasn’t sure how long that lasted—long enough that Ye Qiu had finally taken his harness off; not long enough for Zhang Jiale’s midnight alarm to ring—before he yawned. He hadn’t realised he was tired, but it wasn’t a surprise; between the match and the sex, it was getting late. He sighed, looked at Ye Qiu, said, “I shouldn’t fall asleep here.”
Ye Qiu’s rueful smile was unsurprising. “Do you need to go now?”
He should, probably. He didn’t want to. Zhang Jiale closed his eyes and said, “Don’t let me stay too long.” He rested against Ye Qiu, who shifted to let Zhang Jiale drape across his chest. “I shouldn’t get used to this.”
Ye Qiu didn’t say anything for some time. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the calm strokes of his hand through Zhang Jiale’s hair, the press of his arm around Zhang Jiale’s shoulders—they all created a pocket of warmth. Then, after long enough that Zhang Jiale almost had begun to drowse, Ye Qiu murmured, “I like it when you’re this relaxed in your body.”
Zhang Jiale swallowed and pressed his face into the warm dark curve of Ye Qiu’s neck. “Yeah,” he said, very quietly. “You too.”
They didn’t say anything else until the alarm on Zhang Jiale’s phone rang and they had to part. Zhang Jiale dressed himself again, ignoring the tacky feeling between his legs and the ache in his ribs, and didn’t look back at where Ye Qiu sat naked on the bed.
“See you on the stage,” Zhang Jiale said, turning at last at the door. It felt like not enough. He couldn’t think of anything more.
Ye Qiu smiled back at him, luminescent. “See you on the stage.”
Before any more feelings could tangle in his chest, Zhang Jiale opened the door and fled into the midnight safety of the city and his own empty bed.
There would be another time, he promised himself, staring up at the stars twinkling in the midnight sky. That would need to be enough.