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The warm rays of sunshine shines through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, bathing the studio apartment in warm gold. The city is oddly quiet, and the only thing to be heard, for now, is the blasting of the air conditioning unity installed in the living room.

Sicheng plays with the champagne flute in his hand, watching with curious eyes how the bubbling liquid looks against the rising sun. He smiles to himself before bringing his lips to the glass, downing its content in one go.

He turns on his heels and faces away from the city and into his apartment, only to find Kunhang on his back, head hanging off the couch, legs thrown over the backrest. His own flute rests empty right next to his head, the now also empty bottle only a few feet away from him. Kunhang is just as naked as Sicheng is, inhibitions thrown out the window, and Sicheng thinks he looks beautiful bathed in this early morning glow.

There are cum streaks on the floor, to the left of Kunhang’s head and across the cushions on the couch, dried down from what little time has passed since then until now. Sicheng smiles to himself, against the glass on his lips– they might as well just throw them away and buy new ones.

Sicheng has half a mind to leave his glass on the coffee table as he walks over to Kunhang, an easy smile on his lips. The colors around him are bright and blurry, his steps as unsteady as they has been when they got back home the night before. He can make out the smile Kunhang throws his way, wide and full of energy, just like himself.

It is so easy with them. Sicheng smiles broadly down at him, and Kunhang opens up, lips pink and shiny, and Sicheng slides home. Kunhang’s mouth is warm around his dick, and the position allows Sicheng to slide further down his throat, Kunhang’s muscles relaxed and open for him.

Sicheng doesn’t know if their neighbors are awake this early in the morning, but if they are, they can definitely hear every little noise he makes as it bounces off his walls and seeps through the open balcony doors. It's a pity they can’t hear Kunhang right now– he usually makes the prettiest noises, but it's impossible when he has got a mouthful of dick.

Sicheng braces himself on the back of the couch, between Kunhang’s now spread legs, lazily thrusting into the heat of his mouth. He doesn’t need much and neither does Kunhang, it seems, his dick flushed red where it rests against his stomach.

He comes with a curse rolling off his tongue with ease, the muscles of his thighs clenching as he spills down Kunhang’s throat. Kunhang swallows every bit of it– he always does, the little shit, throat clenching around his cock as he does his best to keep it all in. When Sicheng pulls out, he is a sight to be seen – face covered in spit, eyes glassy, lips parted, chest heaving.

It only takes a couple tugs on his cock for him to come, too, body trembling as he comes for the fourth time in the hours they have been keeping this up. Sicheng knows Kunhang is tired – he is, too, muscles starting to ache as he keeps moving around. He pulls Kunhang up with a hand and pulls him into a kiss, licking into his mouth and tasting himself when he does so.

Kunhang moans into his mouth when Sicheng’s hands grab him by the ass, pulling him up, grinding their dicks together. He is so sensitive; they are so sensitive the touch nearly hurts. Sicheng slides his fingers up the crack of Kunhang’s ass and then back down, traces them over his rim and pushes past the loose muscle, swallowing Kunhang’s whines.

Kunhang’s legs grow weak, knees buckling when Sicheng goes up to the second knuckle. Sicheng laughs, airily, holding the other up with his free arm, trying to stop him from falling. He is lightheaded, the floor slipping under his feet, the room around them turning into shapes that make his head hurt.

When he pulls Kunhang into their room, the apartment feels like a foreign place to him. The sun is higher in the sky and the city is starting to come to life, and Sicheng doesn’t bother with drawing the curtains as they fall into bed, naked and covered in a sheen layer of sweat, sheets kicked down to the floor where they can’t stick to their bodies.

The sun is shining directly on Kunhang’s face, making him look almost ethereal. Sicheng takes a minute to think about when things got to this point – when they came to be. It doesn’t really matter, so long as he gets to have Kunhang like this– bright, open, happy. He kisses Kunhang once again before the other dozes off, and he doesn’t register the words that are mumbled against his lips.

It doesn’t matter. He can ask again when they wake up, or some other time when they are both intoxicated again, drunk off their fucking minds, and maybe he will remember it then.

It doesn’t matter.

They have all the time in the world.

And if not, Sicheng will find them time. Things are okay. They are okay like this, limbs tangled as sleep lays heavy behind their eyelids. Sicheng allows himself to relax, lets his mind wander as far as it will go.

Kunhang reaches for Sicheng’s hand in his sleep, tangles their fingers together and Sicheng smiles, easy, as things start to fade out. He brings their hands up to his lips, turning them around so he can place a kiss on the back of Kunhang’s. He pulls Kunhang closer until they are chest to chest, Kunhang’s steady heart beating against his chest.

Things are okay.

Sicheng can feel the impending headache creeping on his temples, loud as he falls asleep.






Sicheng’s phone is taken away from his hand when he threatens to throw the device across the room and into the wall. There is hairspray getting into his lungs with every passing second, and annoyance must show on his face with the way Kunhang holds onto his hand.

“Sicheng,” Kunhang calls out. Sicheng’s eyes snap up to him, trying not to move his head as the makeup artists do their job on his face. There is a warm smile on Kunhang’s lips– now tinted blood red. “Let’s calm down, yeah? You still need your phone.”

Sicheng sighs, closing his eyes as another mist of hairspray fogs his senses. The hairstylist lets him know she is done with him and the makeup artist follows soon after, the both of them hurrying to get out of the room and leave them alone. His shoulders slump when he heard the door click shut behind them. They still have some time until the shoot begins.

“Do you still want to do this?” Kunhang presses his thumbs on Sicheng’s palm, trying to relieve some tension. “We can go if you don’t.”

Sicheng scoffs. “Kun would likely murder me the second I walked off this set.” He groans when Kunhang bends his hand over, stretching his wrists. “Speaking of which, where the fuck is he?”

There is a knock on the door before a staff pops their head in.

“Models on set in two minutes.”

Sicheng’s head pounds, skull threatening to split in half the longer he keeps his eyes open. He doesn’t know how Kunhang does it– how he manages to stand on his feet and act like he is fine when Sicheng knows well enough he feels like death just as much as Sicheng does. Sicheng wonders if downing the entire bottle of aspirin he has in his bag will ease the pain.

“He literally left a voice note saying he had some errands to run today,” Kunhang laces their fingers together. “I played it before we left the house, did you not hear it at all?”

“Sorry that I was too busy puking my guts out from the fucking migraine I have.”

“We can leave,” Kunhang says despite the knocking on the door, the staff screaming one minute before they walk away.

Sicheng sighs, defeated, trying not to wince when his head throbs the second he stands on his feet. “As much as I would love to, we can’t bail on Dior of all brands.” He holds Kunhang’s hand firmly, trying to smile, to show that he is at least mildly okay. “Let’s go.”

Things are familiar the second they step out of the dressing room. The rush around the set and the loud music booming through speakers, the bright lights at their faces and cable wires at their feet. This is where he belongs, Sicheng thinks as he greets the photographer, hand still linked to Kunhang’s. This is what he was born to do– what they were born to do.

Dong Sicheng and Wong Kunhang belong behind the cameras and on the runway.

Things go as smoothly as they can be, despite every flash of the camera feeling like a knife Sicheng’s head in half. They work in perfect chemistry, and the photographer loves them– they always do, compliments and praises dripping like honey. It is a good massage to his ego, if anything; to hear how good they look and how well the camera captures them.

The shoot ends three hours and too many outfit changes later, the crew thanking them for their effort as they leave them be in the dressing room.

Kunhang is on his knees the second they are left alone, the chatter of staff crew muffled in the distance. Sicheng sits back on the couch, throbbing head resting on his shoulder as Kunhang works his fingers on his zipper. Sicheng knows better than to be noisy in public, but he can’t help the sounds that leave his mouth when Kunhang wraps his fingers around his dick and pulls him out of his underwear.

They should have locked the door, at the very least. Sicheng knows that. He can’t bring himself to care when Kunhang licks over his cockhead, when he dips his thumb at the slip, when he smiles wickedly at Sicheng, mischief behind his eyes.

Kunhang is eager when he wraps his lips around his cock and slides down, not giving Sicheng even a second to breathe. The moan that leaves Sicheng’s mouth when he hits the back of Kunhang's throat is unexpectedly loud, and he can feel his skin burn under the collar of his shirt. He is sure the staff knows better than to walk into this room– at least he hopes.

The way Kunhang hollows his cheeks and swirls his tongue, both hands stroking what his mouth can’t reach has Sicheng dangerously close to coming terribly fast. Kunhang had told Sicheng he would help him relax, and Sicheng didn’t expect any less from him than this.

Sicheng holds Kunhang by the hair, fingers locked on stiff hair from hairspray and fucks into his mouth with lazy thrusts, not enough to make him gag. There are tears prickling the corners of Kunhang's eyes, smudging his eyeliner and staining his skin. Sicheng reaches for his jaw with his free hand, thumbing at the skin, smiling down at him.

Sicheng can feel himself getting close already, exhaustion getting the best of him, toes tingling in his shoes. Kunhang moans around him, slipping his eyes shut, focusing on Sicheng’s dick instead. And it is so good, Kunhang feels so good around him, he just needs a little more so he can come–

“I can’t believe this,” comes a familiar voice when the door flies open, clearly sounding annoyed. “I can’t leave you kids to your own devices for one afternoon that you start acting up.”

Kunhang pulls Sicheng’s dick out of his mouth, panting, chin covered in spit. From this angle, Sicheng can see Kunhang smiling up at him, hands still wrapped around his cock, stroking him lazily, and Sicheng can’t help but smile back.

“Fancy seeing you here, Kun.”

“Do you want to get fucking fired?” Kun hisses, closing the door behind him.

“You owe me one,” Sicheng hums, tapping Kunhang's cheeks lightly to get him back up, tucking himself back in his underwear. His legs feel like jelly, head still pounding terribly, heart racing. He stares at Kun, who stares at him and then at Kunhang, then back at him.

Kunhang huffs, pouting. Sicheng notices he doesn’t bother cleaning himself up for now. “Did you not learn how to knock?”

“And have you two demons stain Dior’s studio with cum?” Kun scoffs. “It will be a cold day in hell when that happens. Get off this couch and let’s get going.”

The van feels nicer than the studio did, if only for the blinds being drawn, stopping sunlight from getting in. Sicheng seats on the far back and Kunhang lets him be, instead going on the front seat with Kun. Sicheng is grateful to be left alone for the time being.

Sicheng tunes most of their conversation out in favor of closing his eyes and letting his aching head rest. He can deal with hearing about brand deals and fashion shows any other time he doesn’t feel like absolute death. He makes a mental note to punch Kun in the face later for giving him blue balls.

“Sicheng,” Kun calls out for him, louder so he can hear. Sicheng hums, letting Kun know he is being acknowledged. “Louis Vuitton wants to book you guys for fall again. Is it in your best interest to take the job?”

“Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to know what’s best for us?”

“Well, yeah,” the van comes to a stop, and Sicheng opens his eyes just in time to see Kun turn on his seat to look directly at him. “I just want to make sure you won’t act like a spoiled child.”

Sicheng snorts a laugh. “When have I ever?”

“Seriously?” Kun raises a brow. “I literally just caught Kunhang sucking you off at the Dior studio? Literally twenty minutes ago?”

“We’ll do it,” he says, closing his eyes again. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll try to behave.”

Kun sighs, turning back around. Lower, he says, “please try to keep him under control.”

Kunhang laughs. “I’ll try.”






They are stood by the gates of Kun’s estate, waiting to be let in. Music can be heard across the entire property– and that is saying something, considering the size of it. Kunhang rests his head on Sicheng’s shoulder, tired from the long day of work they have had but relaxed from the bottle of wine they drank back home.

Kun isn’t one to throw parties, so when he called them to tell their presence was required tonight they were very surprised. It is to celebrate a new brand deal, or a fashion show, or something along those lines Sicheng can’t really recall. The party is more for them than it is for Kun himself, and Sicheng can only hope the mansion won’t be filled with people.

Sicheng laces his fingers with Kunhang's and pulls him across the property, grounding himself as they make it past the front door. The house doesn’t seem to be filled to the brim as he expected, and one of Kun’s helpers let them know he is waiting them by the pool.

He waltz his way through the estate with easy familiarity and Sicheng can’t help but wonder, once again, why Kun needs such a big place for himself. He wonders if it ever gets lonely, to walk through this big house all alone.

He figures it is none of his business.

Kun greets them with enthusiasm, clearly on the verge of getting tipsy, if the empty bottles of champagne are anything to go by. He animatedly greets them, chatting them up before they even get the chance to say anything, words coming out in such rapid succession it is hard to make out what he is trying to say.

Sicheng lets his mind wander while Kunhang does the job of picking up the attempted conversation, eyes roaming their surroundings. The pool is brightly lit, water as still as it can be and Sicheng can’t help but wonder how it would feel under his feet.

His eyes then fall on a boy, who looks around their age, lounging on a couch to their left, jeans tight around lean legs, sheer shirt covering his torso. Sicheng notes how well his bleach blond hair goes with his soft features.

The boy seems to notice him staring and waves a hand at him. Sicheng, out of politeness, waves back.

It seems to be enough to catch Kun’s attention.

“Oh!” he sounds excited, and Sicheng frowns at that. Kun points to the boy. “This is Jungwoo. He doesn’t really speak Chinese.”

“Is he a model, too?” Kunhang asks.

“Is he your boytoy for the night?” Sicheng adds.

Kun giggles softly, hitting him lightly on the arm. Sicheng fake gags. “Don’t say it like that. We are just having fun.”

Kunhang gets them two flutes of champagne, handing one to Sicheng. Sicheng downs half of it in one go. “Are you managing him?” he asks, eyes flitting from Jungwoo back to Kun.

“Yeah,” Kun takes a sip from his glass, eyes lingering on Jungwoo. Jungwoo smiles at him, raising his glass for a toast from afar. Kun mirrors his movements.

“And he’s paying you by sucking your dick?” Sicheng inquires jokingly.

“We used to have a thing, you know,” Kun turns to Sicheng, looking more sober than Sicheng expected. “Before I started managing him. Or you guys. It was when I spent a season in Seoul, and we met during one of his brand castings.”

“So he ditched his agent recently,” Kunhang adds, sipping on his alcohol, “and contacted you for help.”

Kun nods, a small smile on his lips. Sicheng doesn’t know how it is possible that his only clients went to him under the same circumstances. He and Kunhang came as a package deal, years ago, when they decided the agency they were under was no longer enough for them.

“Good for him,” Sicheng mutters, drinking the last of his drink.

The first glass turns into two, then three, and soon enough Sicheng can’t feel the tips of his tongue or his fingertips, him and Kunhang having emptied two bottles on their own. Kunhang's jacket is discarded somewhere, long forgotten, and Sicheng can’t take his eyes off his exposed arms.

He loves to watch Kunhang dance to whatever beat is playing, loves to watch him get lost in himself and the moment, no restraints. It feels kind of silly, to be enamored with the way someone moves and carries themselves, but he figures it is okay. It is what brought the two of them together in the first place.

He likes that, together, they can be themselves.

Kunhang approaches Sicheng, hands on his jacket, prying it off his body and letting it pool around his ankles. Sicheng smiles, puts down his glass and brings his hands up to Kunhang's face, cupping his cheeks, bringing him into a kiss.

Sicheng has lost count how many times they have kissed, how many times they found themselves in this exact same situation, slowly grinding against each other to the beat of whatever music is playing. His hands drop from Kunhang's face to the button and zipper of his jeans, undoing them easily, giving Sicheng enough space to slip his hands into Kunhang's pants.

Kunhang mewls into his mouth, deft fingers doing the same to Sicheng’s pants but bracing himself on Sicheng’s hips when Sicheng digs his nails into the flesh of his ass. The rough friction against his dick feels nice and Sicheng doesn’t hold back his soft moan, hands massaging Kunhang's ass to draw the prettiest noises out of him.

“Hey,” Kunhang calls out, trying hard to focus. “You’re beautiful.”

Sicheng smiles, trying to swallow down the butterflies in his stomach. He thinks it is kind of ridiculous, how he will still get butterflies when Kunhang gets kind of sappy, when he decides to speak his mind and heart out. It’s not like he can help it, really, or that he minds it.

“As you are.”

Everything spins around them and Sicheng spins along with it, pulse loud in his ears as Kunhang licks into his mouth and pushes his jeans down, down until it catches around his ankles and Sicheng struggles to step out of his shoes to get it off. Kunhang does a good job of undressing himself as Sicheng works on his own shirt, throwing it somewhere he hopes he will remember to look at later.

The wind is chilly on his skin but his body is running hot, impossibly so when added the effects of alcohol to his arousal. Kunhang is grabbing at the hem of his boxers, and Sicheng is fairly sure Kun is talking to them, but he can’t focus hard enough to know what he is saying. All he can focus on is Kunhang's warm hands on his skin, on his ass when he slips them into his underwear, on his legs as he pushes the fabric down.

And Kunhang is in front of him, on his knees, looking up at him like Sicheng hung the moon and the stars, and Sicheng wonders when he got so lucky. As he threads his fingers through Kunhang's ink black hair and Kunhang mouths at his pelvis, heart thrumming in his chest, he wonders how is it possible for someone to feel so much for another person.

He brings Kunhang back up, to kiss his again, press his body against him and Sicheng melts into Kunhang's arms, into his warmth and his hold. Kunhang holds him; he always does, and always will, kisses Sicheng like it is the first and last time they will ever get to do it. Kunhang makes him feel like he is a teenager again, falling for the first time, over and over again.

“I adore your body,” Kunhang murmurs, words slurred, hands resting on the small of his back, almost on the curve of his ass. “As I adore everything about you.”

Sicheng laughs, airily, heart skipping a beat. “Don’t say things like that when you’ve got your dick sliding against mine.”

“But that’s when I feel it the most,” Kunhang pouts, rocking his hips just a bit harder, making Sicheng’s knees buckle. “Wanna go for a swim?”

“Right now?” Kunhang nods, a smile on his lips. “Kun’s gonna kill us.”

They both turn to look at Kun’s direction, and they can see he is red on the face, and that he is saying something, but they can’t really make out the words. Sicheng looks back at Kunhang, who is still smiling. “Then let him.”

“You’re a menace,” Sicheng tells him, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him towards the pool.

The wind feels cold against his naked body the faster they walk– and then they’re running, giggles bubbling up his chest as he feels adrenaline course through his veins. Kunhang's palm is warm and kind of sweaty against his, and they can’t contain the screams of joy that come out right before they jump into the water.

The pool is warm and it is momentarily sobering, to suddenly be surrounded by such a large body of water. When they resurface, hands no longer linked, Sicheng turns around in time to see Jungwoo leave two flutes of champagne by the pool for them, a kind smile on his lips, and Sicheng silently thanks him with a thumbs up.

They drink the alcohol too fast, urgent hands grabbing at each other, and Sicheng is floating with how light he feels, how numb he feels. Kunhang wraps his legs around his waist, and it is so easy like this, to lift and carry him, to press their bodies together and do however he pleases.

Kunhang latches his mouth to Sicheng’s neck, muffling his moans with every thrust of Sicheng’s hips, every slide of Sicheng’s cock against his. It feels like his nerve-endings are on fire, buzzing, dick so hard already it kind of hurts.  And Sicheng loves it, how easily turned on they are by one another, how Kunhang presses all the right buttons on him and Sicheng does the same for him.

Sicheng teases a finger to Kunhang's rim, makes him whine and squirm in his hold and Sicheng chuckles. It feels nice like this, with Kunhang's cock sliding against his, getting him harder and harder, Kunhang's tongue working on his neck and collarbones, under his jaw until they are kissing again.

Kunhang unwraps his legs from around his middle, and then he is fisting Sicheng, relentless, thumbing at his slit and rubbing over the head until Sicheng is an incoherent, moaning mess. It is rare for him to get like this, to let go to the point of no return, and Sicheng figures there must be something in the water.

Kunhang swallows all of his moans as he jerks Sicheng to completion. Sicheng could be embarrassed with how fast his orgasm hits him but he isn’t; it’s not the first time it happens, and he knows Kunhang doesn’t mind.

He hauls Kunhang out of the pool, lays him flat on the floor, legs still dipping into the water. Sicheng is between his legs, hands on his hips when he wraps his lips around his dick, taking him all the way in. Kunhang's dick throbs against his tongue, hips bucking up when Sicheng swirls his tongue once, twice, thumbs pressing into his hipbones and he knows Kunhang is far gone.

Kunhang comes with desperate cries, chest heaving with his broken moans, fingers grasping at the floor for support. His legs close around Sicheng’s head as he comes down Sicheng’s throat, thighs shaking with how hard his orgasm hits him.

Sicheng pulls him back into the water, kisses him full on the lips, full of intent, rolling his tongue against Kunhang's, swallowing his soft cries of pleasure. Kunhang threads his fingers through Sicheng’s hair, grounding himself, familiarity in his every move.

Sicheng allows his eyes to flutter open again and Kunhang is staring at him,

Like he hung the moon and the stars.






Sicheng doesn’t think the expression fuck like rabbits fits them perfectly like Kun once said, but he knows it comes very close to.

The sun is filtering through the curtains of their room, casting a nice glow over the furniture and their bodies, and the day is so perfectly sunny outside he can’t exactly help it. He is on his back, hair disheveled on the pillow, thighs straining as he tries to stay still.

His fingers dig into Kunhang's hipbones, bruising, and Kunhang doesn’t hold back on his moans as he sinks down on him. It is quite ridiculous just how fucking tight Kunhang feels around him every single time without fail. Kunhang's thighs shake with the sting of the stretch, with the effort to keep on going down at a steady pace until he is fully seated on Sicheng.

Kunhang is beautiful like this, hands splayed on Sicheng’s chest for support, chest heaving as he pants. He looks beautiful against sunlight, with his lips bitten red and shiny with spit, and it takes Sicheng all his might not to come on the spot when Kunhang clenches around him.

Sicheng fucking him slowly, patiently, drawing the longest moans out of Kunhang with the slow drags of his dick against his walls. It should be illegal how much Kunhang turns him on, how easily he gets Sicheng on edge with so little. Kunhang drags his nails over Sicheng’s chest, leaves red streaks on his wake and Sicheng hisses, holding tighter onto his waist.

He picks up the pace of his thrusting, heels digging into the mattress as he snaps his hips against Kunhang's ass, the wet sound of his dick drilling into him absolutely filthy. Kunhang collapses on top of him, body trembling as his mouth looks for Sicheng, bringing him into a kiss.

It is messy, just like the two of them, tongues licking into each other, chasing the taste, how good they feel. It leaves Sicheng lightheaded, breathless, and he starts to black out when Kunhang regains strength on his length and starts bouncing on his dick.

“Fuck,” Sicheng doesn’t try to stop himself from cursing, back arching and eyes rolling to the back of his head. There is pressure building on the pits of his stomach, his pulse loud in his ears. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Please,” Kunhang breathes, whiny, fingers trembling against Sicheng’s chest. “Touch me.”

It is when he has his hand on Kunhang's dick that his phone starts ringing. He groans, flicking his wrist faster, snapping his hips harder the longer his phone rings. Kunhang whines, tapping on his chest to get him to stop, pointing at the phone with an annoyed look on his face.

Sicheng reaches for his phone with his free hand, frowning when he doesn’t recognize the caller id. He shows the screen to Kunhang, asking if he knows, and Kunhang only shrugs as a response. Slowing down his movements, he answers the call.


“Hello,” comes a female voice from the other end of the line, one Sicheng doesn’t recognize. Sicheng puts his phone on speaker, places it on his stomach. “Am I talking to Dong Sicheng?”

Sicheng’s hands find purchase on Kunhang's hips again. “Yes, that is him.”

The woman laughs, sounding delighted. “Perfect! Sicheng, this is Grace Gui, director at Burberry China. I would like to know if you have a minute to talk?”

Sicheng closes his eyes, breathes hard through his nose, slowly drilling his dick into Kunhang's ass. He can hear Kunhang struggling to keep his noises in, hopes this Grace woman can’t. “A minute is all I have.”

“Great!” the woman almost squeals. Sicheng’s hands travel from Kunhang's hips to his ass, lifting Kunhang on his knees. When Sicheng opens his eyes, there are tears threatening to spill over Kunhang's. “Us, at Burberry, would like to know if you and Kunhang would be interested in closing with us for the season and working on a magazine spread for the upcoming month.”

Sicheng forces Kunhang down on his dick and Kunhang breathes out a moan that is too audible, his own dying in his throat. There is silence for a minute, one that has Kunhang looking horrified with himself and Sicheng’s back arching with pleasure. When he speaks, his voice nearly breaks.


Kunhang gasps, and the woman seems to stumble on her words, caught off guard.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs nervously, “I think I heard you wrong? The connection is quite bad.”

Sicheng knows it isn’t. He lifts Kunhang again, brings him down, meets him halfway with a thrust of his own.

“I said no,” he tries not to moan, Kunhang's walls clenching around him. “Are we done here?”

“Uh,” Kunhang reaches for the phone, in clear distress. “Yes, yes of course. It was a pleasure talking to y–”

Kunhang ends the call, the moan he had been trying to hold in coming out so loud Sicheng knows his neighbors have heard him. Kunhang bounces on Sicheng’s dick again and again, fucks himself with so much renewed energy it drives Sicheng insane. Sicheng can’t breathe, can’t speak, can hardly fucking see anything in front of him, vision spotting white with every slam of Kunhang's ass on his lap.

And then his phone is fucking ringing again, and Sicheng rejects the call without even looking at the caller id, toes going numb as they curl into the mattress, fingers digging hard into Kunhang's flesh. It rings again, and again and again, and Kunhang lets him know it’s Kun calling, and Sicheng picks it up out of spite.

“What the fuck, Kun is yelling, and Sicheng only stills for a second, giving himself time to breathe. “What the fuck does Grace fucking Gui mean with ‘it appears that both your models do not wish to work with us,’ Sicheng?”

Kunhang moans softly, rolling his hips when Sicheng doesn’t resume his movements. “Uh, hold on–” Sicheng’s jaw goes slack, the pressure around his dick too much for him to handle. It’s so fucking hard to breathe. “Fuck, that’s–” his words get choked around a moan. “We’re busy, so we’re not interested.”

Kun pauses. “Oh my god,” Sicheng wants to laugh when realization downs on him, but he ends up softly moaning instead, Kunhang putting on a fucking show in front of him, grabbing his dick by the base and jerking himself off. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking right now.”

“Kunhang says hi.”

“Fucking hell,” Kun sounds exasperated. “God, fuck them kids. I’m gonna call Grace back and I’m gonna fix this fucking mess. I want your head on a silver platter, you punk.”

“Kun,” Kunhang says, breathless, cheeks rosy from arousal. “If you keep talking you’re gonna hear both of us cum. Is that what you want?”

The call disconnects before Kun can say anything and Sicheng’s body feels like a time bomb. He can feel pleasure zipping down his spine, his skin buzzing with every bounce on Kunhang on his cock, with every flick of Kunhang's wrist as he jerks himself off, lips parted and spit slick.

His orgasm hits him without telling, and he comes so hard all his muscles tense up, vision blacking out for a good minute or two. He doesn’t stop fucking into Kunhang, not even when Kunhang's ass is filled with cum and it dribbles down his cock, making a mess of him.

He doesn’t stop fucking Kunhang until Kunhang is coming, too, body stilling as he spills white on Sicheng’s stomach, thick and warm and Sicheng moans through all of it. Kunhang collapses on top of him, spent, and Sicheng smiles as he cradles his fingers through his hair.

“Oh my god,” Kunhang pants, clearly more grounded than Sicheng feels. “That was so good.”

“You’re great.”

“You’re insane,” Kunhang adds with a laugh, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “Can’t believe you said no to Burberry.”

Sicheng shrugs, holding Kunhang closer, not pulling out just yet. “Bad timing. I had more important matters to tend to.”

Kunhang's eyes spark. “You think I’m more important than Burberry?

Sicheng maneuvers them around until they are in a comfortable laying position, his now softening dick still snug in Kunhang's ass. Kunhang hums, back pressed to Sicheng’s chest, snuggling closer. Sicheng can feel himself drifting off to sleep.

“Of course,” he mutters. “Of course you are.”




JING’AN, 10:12AM


Sicheng sees glitter in everything he touches.

He sees glitter in pretty much everything, actually.

There is something calming in letting someone work a brush over your body, hands steady as they meticulously paint art on your skin. Sicheng can feel himself dozing off as he waits, the artist’s gentle hands soothing on his skin, moving his limbs, drawing on him.

Kunhang stands in front of him, all smiles and bright eyes, and Sicheng swears he has never seen someone more beautiful than him. There is a galaxy painted on his skin, different shades of purple from his neck all the way down to his toes. There is glitter on his face and on his hair, on his lips and Sicheng wishes he could kiss him right now.

“What’re you thinking about?” Kunhang asks.

“You,” Sicheng says simply. The artist blushes in front of him. “You look beautiful.”

Kunhang's smile broadens. “As you do. You’re always beautiful, though.”

“Wish I could spread you out on this very floor and fuck you senseless.”

The artist goes into a coughing fit, excusing herself briefly. Kunhang chuckles. “Please behave, you’re gonna give the poor girl a heart attack.”

“I’m just saying,” Sicheng shrugs. “I would do it if I could.”

“Good to know you still have a good head on your shoulders somehow,” Kun says from his seat on the far corner of the room. When Sicheng looks at him, Kun isn’t looking at either of them, but instead going through his phone. He looks annoyed, to say the least. “I can’t believe,” he mutters under his breath, “I can’t fucking believe you ditched Burberry for this photoshoot.”

“Don’t be a stuck-up bitch,” Sicheng says with a roll of his eyes. “Support your local businesses, Qian.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Not everything is about money.”

Kun scoffs, looking directly at Sicheng then, glaring. “That is very rich coming from you of all people.”

“Models on set,” comes a staff’s voice as soon as the artist is done working on Sicheng’s body paint, and Sicheng is satisfied that it is enough to shut Kun up, even if only momentarily.

Kunhang reaches out for his hand, always does, always will, and Sicheng slips into his hold with far too much ease. Sicheng tries to hold his gaze up, no further down than Kunhang's ribs; they are both stripped down to nothing, and he highly doubts anyone in the set actually wants to photograph him being fully hard.

There isn’t much to the set, but they know how to make it work. The photographer sets herself behind the camera, all smiles and praises, cooing when they so much look at each other. Kunhang is warm against his body when he leans in on him, when he puts his head on Sicheng’s shoulder and Sicheng can smell his own lemongrass shampoo– he figures it is theirs now, seeing as Kunhang refuses to buy one of his own.

Sicheng brings a hand up to Kunhang's face and cups his cheek, holds him like he is fragile and will break at any second. Kunhang looks up at him, lashes fanning against his cheeks when he blinks, and he looks so dazed Sicheng gets choked up with his own thoughts. Kunhang smiles, soft and almost demure, his breathing steady when Sicheng bends down and slots their lips together.

Sicheng can see the flash going off repeatedly behind his closed lids, almost laughs with the way the photographer coos at them. There is silk over their laps, covering them up and Sicheng figures it doesn’t hurt to bring Kunhang closer, so close Kunhang is nearly sitting on his lap.

Kunhang gasps against his lips and Sicheng takes it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into Kunhang's mouth. Kunhang tastes like artificial strawberry and Sicheng can’t get enough of it as he deepens the kiss, licks over every bump and crevice of Kunhang's mouth. Kunhang's low moans are muffled by the kiss, but they still send shivers down Sicheng’s spine.

Sicheng adores watching the way Kunhang poses for the camera when they part, the way he is so natural at this, how they both are naturals at this. They love the camera and the camera loves them, and the cheering of the staff all around makes Sicheng’s heart thrum harder and faster in his ribcage.

He lets his eyes roam around the studio until they land on Kun. Even from afar, Sicheng can see Kun smiling at them, snapping a few pictures of his own with his phone, and Sicheng knows that, despite everything, Kun is proud of them.

There is no reason for him not to be, he thinks.

Things are over faster than he expected, though it always comes to an end all too fast. The photographer dismisses them with a deep bow and well wishes, telling them to stop by again whenever they are free, and they thank her with smiles of their own.

The ride back home would have been as uneventful as ever, but Kunhang slips into the backseat with Sicheng and Sicheng can’t stop the grin that forms on his mouth, mischief hidden behind layers and layers of glittery paint. They don’t talk and Kun doesn’t either– Kun, instead of saying something like he usually does, only turns up the music so it drowns out every noise that is to come.

And Sicheng is glad, he really is, because Kunhang slips his hand into his pants and Sicheng doesn’t even have time to think before his hand is on his dick and stroking him to full hardness. He doesn’t hold back on moaning, though he still try to keep it low, when Kunhang thumbs at the slit, licks into his mouth and makes it hard to breathe.

Sicheng is elated when he comes, spilling hot into Kunhang's fingers and his pants, and when he tries to retribute the favor Kunhang pushes his hand away with a gentle smile and a blush on his cheeks– when he looks down, there is a dark patch on the front of Kunhang's jeans, and Sicheng can’t help but laugh.

They drive each other mad.




XUHUI, 11:55PM


The music is loud and it booms through the confined space, lights flashing and concrete walls vibrating with every soundwave that hits them. The ground shakes under his boots and his heart in his chest, skin tingling with an all too familiar feeling. Someone hands him a drink and Sicheng downs it without thinking– Kunhang, standing not two feet away, stares at him, horrified.

He can see Kunhang's lips move, form words, but he can’t hear any of them. Kunhang rolls his eyes, steps a bit closer and curls his fingers around the leather of his jacket, pulling him closer. His lips brush against Sicheng’s ear– a shiver runs down his spine, electrifying.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Kunhang yells, though it doesn’t sound like it.

His heart beats to the rhythm of whatever trap music is playing and his lips curl into a smile. “Yeah,” Kunhang punches him on the shoulder, and Sicheng’s head tips back when he laughs. “Yeah, I’m out of my fucking mind. Why aren’t you?”

“I’m just not trying to drink spiked drinks, you stupid fuck,” there is fire in Kunhang's eyes and his words. Sicheng laughs a bit harder, shoulders shaking as Kunhang punches him again. It doesn’t even hurt. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m mad,” he yells, grin wide on his lips. Kunhang frowns, and Sicheng’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m fucking mad, head over heels for you. Is that not enough?”

Kunhang's eyes widen. “What?”

“Yeah,” his hands fall on Kunhang's waist, slides down to his hips and snakes up under his shirt. He can feel Kunhang shiver under his fingers, and Sicheng’s heart skips a beat. “I’m mad over you, Wong Kunhang, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You’re insane,” Kunhang yells, laughing, and Sicheng nods.

Maybe he is. Maybe they are. It doesn’t really matter, so long as Kunhang is by his side.

Kunhang drags him away from the bar and towards the dance floor, LED lighting from the ground up, over the walls and the fucking ceiling, and when Sicheng looks up, feeling a little dazed himself, he can’t contain the joyful laughter that bubbles up his stomach and claws up his throat.

There is a fucking disco ball hanging over the dance floor, lights reflecting off its mirrored surface and over the crowd, and the light freckles that shine of Kunhang's face are fucking beautiful.

Sicheng kisses him, kisses like he means it, to steal his breath away and get him weak on the knees. Kunhang's body is putty in his hands, as they slot their hips together and dance to the thumping beat of the songs playing. He is hot is in jacket and Kunhang in his tee, sweat sticking to their skin almost uncomfortably.

Sicheng can feel eyes on them when his fingers find their way back into Kunhang's shirt, the pads of his fingers running over every ridge of his ribcage, making him shiver. Sicheng digs his fingers into his skin, hold bruising as he holds Kunhang close, closer, swallowing each and every noise Kunhang makes.

He knows there are eyes on them when he grinds against Kunhang, when his hands drop from his waist to his hips and his fingers run around the waistband of Kunhang's jeans. They part the kiss for a moment and Kunhang blinks up at him, flush visible on his cheeks despite the lack of lighting in the warehouse-turned-club.

Sicheng leans in, lips to Kunhang's ear, asks, “are we good?” loud enough for Kunhang to hear.

Kunhang nods, lips forming words Sicheng can’t hear. Kunhang brings his own hands to Sicheng’s chest, bare under the leader jacket, traces the muscles that flex under each and every touch. His skin feels like it is being set on fire the more Kunhang touches him, as he runs his fingers over Sicheng’s nipples and Sicheng can’t help but moan.

There are sweaty bodies pressed up against them, cramped, moving to the same beat at the same time and Sicheng brushes off the number of eyes on them. His hands dip into Kunhang's jeans and his underwear, fingers groping the flesh of his ass and pushing him forward, harder against his dick.

He can feel himself strain against the zipper of his own jeans, can feel Kunhang grow in his own pants and the world spins around them– with them. Kunhang drops his hands from his chest and works his fly open, just enough to get his hand into his pants without popping the button open. Kunhang's fingers are cold on his dick, unlike his tongue in his mouth when they kiss, which feels much like molten lava.

Sicheng runs his middle finger down the cleft of Kunhang's ass, presses the tip hard against the rim and Kunhang's body jerks forward, thighs shaking when he hooks a leg around Sicheng to press him even closer. Sicheng presses the dry tip in and Kunhang breaks the kiss, panting, chest heaving hard. He drops his head to Sicheng’s shoulder, hand trembling as he tries to keep steadily stroking Sicheng’s dick.

Sicheng can feel himself leak, precum beading at the tip of his cock the more Kunhang strokes him. It’s hot– the place, Kunhang, Kunhang's lips on his neck, his hand on his dick. It’s so fucking hot and he feels dizzy, knees going weak when he starts to pant, the familiar coiling in his stomach getting tighter by the second.

But then there is a hand on his arm, fingers closing tight around him and Sicheng doesn’t have time to process before he is being jostled and dragged away, Kunhang's hand finding purchase on the sleeve of his jacket as he trails along.

“You’re not doing this here,” Kun yells once they get to the exit. Sicheng stumbles on his feet in his haste to keep up, Kunhang crashing right into him. The bouncer gives them a look, eyes lingering on Sicheng’s open fly. “We’re not getting sued because you decided to fuck in this club.”

Kunhang whines, draping himself over Sicheng. “You don’t have to always be so annoying, Kun.”

Kun scoffs, flagging a taxi for them. “Go home and fuck until sunrise for all I care, just don’t fucking do it here.”






The apartment in unsettlingly quiet when he is on his own and Sicheng particularly hates it. It’s not very often that they happen to have separate, solo schedules nowadays, and Sicheng hates every second of it.

He lies on their bed, limbs outstretched, listening closely to the thrumming of his heart and the whirring of the air conditioning unit. He glances at the clock on the bedside table, watches the seconds tick away as he waits in the otherwise silent room.

Kunhang should have been home by now.

He considers reaching for his phone and giving him a call, sending him a message just to check in on him, but ends up deciding against it. It is only a minute past seven, he knows Kunhang will be home soon.

The front door’s lock beeps, announcing someone is home, and Sicheng allows himself to relax and sink into the mattress. It takes almost a minute until the doorknob to their room turns, and when Kunhang walks in, shock freezes him on the spot.

“What is going on?” he asks, eyes roaming the room and landing on Sicheng, lying naked in the middle of their bed.

“I was waiting for you.”

“That much I can see,” he shrugs off his jacket, hesitant. “But what is… all this?”

“As you can see,” Sicheng presses a button on the remote in his hand and Kunhang gasps, “it’s a disco ball.”

The light being reflected on the globe paints the room all kinds of different shades. “That’s definitely not permitted in the terms of our lease.”

Sicheng chuckles, sitting up. “Yes, and?”

Kunhang looks at him, a little stunned. “We’re gonna get kicked out.”

“And I’ll take the disco ball with us,” Sicheng replies with a smile.

Kunhang looks at all the beam lights scattered on the floor, screwed to the ceiling, then at the disco ball and back at Sicheng. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find his words. He pauses, takes a deep breath, “and I’m guessing we’re taking those, too?”

Sicheng pats the bed in front of him, almost bouncing when Kunhang finally takes a sit. Cradling his face in his hands, Sicheng places a peck on his lips. “Anything the disco ball needs we will keep.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kunhang mutters, kissing him back, holding Sicheng in place by the wrists. “You’re so fucking ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Sicheng agrees, climbing into Kunhang's lap, straddling him. “Yeah, maybe I am. You looked so pretty under those lights, I just have to fuck you under them, even if just once.”

Kunhang strips down to nothing with so much ease, so much familiarity Sicheng can’t help but watch him with stars in his eyes. Sicheng adores how comfortable Kunhang is in his own skin, how he doesn’t shy away from Sicheng’s stares, from his wandering hands– the hands that press him down on the mattress and works him open.

Sicheng loves how easily Kunhang relaxes, how he opens up around his fingers, blush spreading from his cheeks, down his neck and his chest, fingers twisting the sheets he has fisted in his hands, whines spilling from his lips. Kunhang is beautiful.

Sicheng kisses down Kunhang's body– starts from his lips, to under his jaw and down his neck, down his chest– he kisses over his chest mole and Kunhang moans. When Sicheng kisses over his nipples Kunhang cries out, clenches around him when his tongue toys with a bud and Sicheng doesn’t linger. Kissing Kunhang's stomach is his favorite– he loves how sensitive he his, loves to feel his tummy tremble under his lips as he suppresses a laugh, one that gets choked around his moans.

“Please, Sicheng,” Kunhang breathes, tenderly threading his fingers through Sicheng’s hair. “Please, babe, I’m ready.”

Sicheng groans, pulls his fingers out, wipes them clean before squirting lube over his dick. He is far too generous, coats himself deliberately before bending down and placing kisses on Kunhang's inner thighs.

“Want you to ride me,” he says against Kunhang's skin and Kunhang keens, eager. “Think you can do that, love? Think you can ride me today?”

He can, and he does, and Sicheng can barely hold himself back from fucking into him as Kunhang sits on his dick. It takes him a while to adjust and Kunhang breathes hard through his nose, nails digging into Sicheng’s chest, walls clenching around his dick.

Sicheng feels breathless, like he is going to fucking die, but the lights freckle on Kunhang's skin and he looks ridiculously ethereal, out of this fucking world. Sicheng brushes the hair out of his face, fingers delicate and Kunhang leans into his touch, brows furrowing as he tries to concentrate.

“You’re beautiful,” Sicheng whispers, loud enough for him to hear and Kunhang's lips tug into a smile, a little shy, a little pained. Sicheng hums, caresses his cheek, pours all his affection on him. “You’re so beautiful, Kunhang, and I’m so lucky.” He pauses, smiles to himself. “How did I get so lucky?”

Kunhang fucks himself on Sicheng’s dick, slow and steady, thighs trembling from exertion. Sicheng helps him, guides him with his hands on his hips, hold firm and strong, but not hard enough to bruise.

“I should be the one to ask,” Kunhang licks his lips, sounding breathless. “How did I get so lucky to find you?” His body jerks when he bounces back down, eyes welling up and Sicheng knows he’s hit his prostate. “Sometimes I wonder,” he cries out, struggling to move any faster, “if any of this is real.”

Sicheng holds Kunhang in place, digs his heels into the mattress and fucks into him, hips snapping hard and fast. He can’t even hear his own thoughts over the sound of his hips snapping against Kunhang's ass, can’t hear much other than Kunhang's moans and cries for more, more, more.

Kunhang is desperate at best, cock red and leaking with the buildup of his orgasm. He can barely keep his eyes open, jaw slack as his moans come out in hiccups every time Sicheng slams against his ass. He cries when he comes and Sicheng’s heart tightens, hand wrapped around his cock as he milks Kunhang of every last bits of his orgasm.

Kunhang's cum is thick and hot on Sicheng’s stomach and between his fingers, and Kunhang shakes as he comes down from his high, tears wetting his lashes and running down his cheeks. That is pretty much all that takes for Sicheng to come, too– the sight of Kunhang absolutely ruined.

Kunhang shakes as Sicheng fills him up, as he collapses on top of Sicheng and Sicheng wraps his arms tight around him.

“You’re so good,” Sicheng whispers, threading his clean fingers through Kunhang's hair, comforting. “This is real because I love you.”

Kunhang noses Sicheng’s cheek, shy. “You do?”

“I do,” Sicheng smiles, a kiss to the crown of Kunhang's head, “I love you so much.”