Nie Huaisang believes in a few things: the power of duct tape, the majesty of platform heels, and fishnet stockings, all of which are things that he would take in a deserted island or bury himself with when he dies.
He does not believe in god, especially when his days are so fucking horrible, it’s almost funny. Which coincidentally happens to be today.
There is a long creak and a loud bump that causes his car to come to an abrupt stop, thus almost hitting his head on the glove compartment box, if not for the seatbelts.
“What the fuck was that,” is hardly a question, but damn does it encapsulate his current rage. Zonghui immediately checks on him, who is sporting the beginnings of a full-blown migraine, which he definitely doesn’t need right now.
It is 2:12 in the afternoon and he has five more meetings to attend, most of which are with suppliers for his next show. He has a long day ahead of him, and something — or someone — just hit his fucking car. Great. Perfect. Magnifique.
“I’ll go check it out—”
“Stay in the car,” He tells Zonghui as he dusts off imaginary lint off his Cucculelli Shaheen top , which is gorgeously made from tulle with fan ornaments, with its high cuff, bodice and collar lined with silk and beaded to the gods.“I’d like to see the face of the man I’ll murder when I don’t finish all my meetings today.”
He opens the car door with his brow raised, preparing to blow up on some poor man who just decided to be an idiot today…
Except he sees the most beautiful man in faded 501s, and he forgets everything else.
In Jiang Wanyin’s defense, he really did tell Wei Wuxian that an order this many would never be possible, unless he kills ten people along the way. His brother insists that it’s good business, to be able to deliver this much food in one go, and all he could say is, “You’re a fucking idiot and if I die, I will haunt you and your husband while you fuck,” which is the worst thing he could say, because (1) A-Xian and his emotionally constipated husband fucks a lot, (2) he does not really wanna see them fucking, like ever, and (3) he really doesn’t wanna die in the biggest puddle of lotus soup.
His delivery seems safe, until he looks at where he hit and realizes that it’s a goddamned Bugatti. Oh, he’s definitely fucked.
He lets out a sharp breath through his teeth when he sees the damage he’s done, knowing how much it would dent on his savings. It’s not like he earns much in the family business anyway; he has to take on a few jobs here and there just to get his savings started, and now, because of Wei Wuxian’s lunacy , he might actually lose everything he ever saved for.
Much to his fear, someone steps out of the car, and his gaze turns directly to the latex pants and black ankle boots, and he thinks, fuck, of course it’s gonna be some rich bitch.
He is wrong.
It’s a rich bastard in some see through crop top blouse thing. With an intimidating red lipstick on.
And he’s staring at him in wide-eyed wonder like he’s a kid in a candy store.
“Um,” Wanyin attempts, but the guy steps forward, heels loud against the pavement. “I’m sorry about the hit, I really should have been more careful.” He grits his teeth. “I’ll pay for the damages, so I’d appreciate if we didn’t escalate this to the police—”
The guy looks behind to inspect the hit, then back at his face.
“If you have a preferred shop, I can just go over and pay for—”
The guy shushes him with a finger on his lips. “I don’t care about the car.”
This is good news, because holy shit, he won’t live a life of debt and suffering just paying off payment for a scratched Bugatti. Thank fuck. Wanyin allows himself to breathe, smiling slightly, knowing it might be inappropriate to holler and scream in joy in front of the owner of the car.
“There is something you can do for me in exchange, though,” the guy says, and Wanyin wishes it’s not as sinister as it sounds, but it does, and he steps back, a bit concerned now. The guy blinks and realizes what he seems to be proposing, and he laughs, stepping back as well. He brings up his clutch and takes out a card, posture perfectly respectful now, and hands it over. “There’s an address on the card, I’d like you to visit tomorrow, if you have the time.”
He looks down at the card, which just says HOUSE OF HUAI, then an address below it in thin letters. Wanyin immediately thinks about his schedule, and figures he could skip a day of work just to indulge this guy’s whims.
“One more thing,” the guy says. “Wear a black shirt and the same pants you’re wearing today when you come?”
Yep, this is definitely a sex thing. He’s getting roped into a sex thing. Still, it’s better than paying his life savings in one go for some stupid car.
At least the guy’s gorgeous.
Wanyin nods and watches as the guy checks his phone for the time, excusing himself immediately with a wink, and driving off into the city.
He’s sure the soup he’s delivering is near tepid now, but who cares at this point? He puts the card in his pocket and tries to get his bearings back, checking his phone again for the delivery location just in case he has retrograde amnesia from the whiplash of what just happened in the past ten minutes.
“You should have seen him,” Huaisang groans into his hand. Xiao Xingchen, one of his constant collaborators and friend, chuckles at him as they eat in Huaisang’s apartment, opting to dine in instead of going out for dinner. Xingchen is kind enough to bring wine over after Huaisang’s breakdown over their chat, saying that he “has met Jesus Incarnate” and “must suck his dick for science”.
“Mostly I’m shocked that you wish to give Jesus a blowjob, but really Huaisang, the delivery guy that hit your car?” Xingchen says as he wipes his mouth with a paper towel. “Is this just the concussion talking?”
“Believe me, he will change my collection drastically,” Huaisang says seriously. He slinks off to the fridge to grab bottled water, tossing one for Xingchen. “I saw a glimpse of this intricate tattoo he had on his arm and that jawline … God, Xingchen, he’s my type. Exactly my type. Were the gods annoyed with my indifference with their existence and were like, ‘we’ll make you a believer by giving you your wet dreams in human form’?”
“You’re overreacting,” Xingchen rolls his eyes. When he opens the bottle, it gives out a satisfying sound. “I’m almost tempted to check him out, if he does go tomorrow.”
“Believe me, the gods gave him to tease me. Fucking bastards,” Huaisang murmurs. He finishes half the bottle and sighs. “What if he doesn’t come? Holy shit, do I have to hunt him down? That’s like, in Yunmeng area. I rarely go there. Fuck.”
“Yeah, because you’re a snob,” Xingchen laughs. “Unless it’s Gusu, Lanling, or Qinghe, you’ll never go.”
“Look,” Huaisang says, raising a brow. “If he does arrive and wears those goddamned 501s that are way too perfect around his hips, I’ll snap a photo, and I’ll send it over.”
“You’re really making him attend a go-see?” Xingchen asks. “And with Mingjue present, too? Sometimes I wonder if Satan’s just warming up your seat in hell.”
Huaisang cackles. “It’s fine! If he fails, I can always get him to fuck me, instead.”
“And you aren’t Nie Huaisang for nothing,” Xingchen shrugs. “This next collection better be your best.”
“Believe me, if I get him to walk for the show, it will be.”
Wuxian laughs at him for being an idiot, which is a dick move, since birds of the same feather often flock together. Yanli on the other hand looks extremely worried, from the probable cost of the car fixing and his possible slut gig. Wanyin really hasn’t intend on telling them about his plans to opt for prostitution just to stay on the car owner’s good side, but Wuxian is an annoying pest who has managed to extract every single bit of detail that transpired, and honestly, who the hell wins against this gremlin?
“Stop laughing,” Wanyin glares at Wuxian, who somehow manages to laugh even harder. The restaurant customers are looking at them and he has to cover Wuxian’s damn mouth just to keep him quiet. “If mother kicks us out just because you can’t shut your trap, I’m dragging your soul to hell.”
“A-Cheng, is this going to be safe?” Yanli asks, completely worried now. “What if this is just some brand new modus operandi?”
“Shijie, don’t worry about A-Cheng that much,” Wuxian says, grabbing Wanyin’s face. “He is extremely ugly. No one would actually want to see him naked.”
“Okay, that’s low,” Yanli gasps. “A-Cheng’s a total catch!”
“Yeah, if you fish in a lake filled with sewage waste,” Wuxian rolls his eyes. Wanyin hits him behind his head. “I kid. I heard old aunties cooing over this kid and going, ‘oh, he’ll be a good son to have, I must wed him to my ten daughters!’ Like damn, auntie, at least pick one!”
Wanyin knows these aunties. He shudders at the thought.
“Seriously though, A-Cheng,” Wuxian says, patting his head. Sometimes he forgets that Wuxian’s older than him, so the sudden affection surprises him. “If you need help, we’re here.”
With the lack of anything to say that could mask his embarrassment, he nods.
By the time 4 PM rolls around, Huaisang grows tenser.
“Huaisang, I am not wasting my time for a nobody,” Nie Mingjue says, flipping through the model photos with little interest. “I can’t believe you’re cleared my entire day just for a go-see that takes at least two hours, then delay my departure for two more hours.”
“Da-ge, please,” Huaisang pleads, frowning deeply. “He’s coming, I promise.”
As if on cue, the delivery guy stumbles in the room, wearing a black short-sleeved henley and those Levi’s, as instructed of him. He looks embarrassed at how late he arrived, but walks towards the table at the end of the room where they were situated. Huaisang tries to stifle his surprise at how well he walks — strong, confident, with a certain air of je ne sais quoi… maybe that gaze that wants to prove that he has something different to offer?
Huaisang turns to Mingjue knowingly. Mingjue smirks.
“I’m sorry I’m late; I tried to get off a shift but it was impossible to find a replacement the day before, so I had to finish that first… Also you didn’t really specify the time, but I imagine this is too late…?” The delivery guy says, a little sheepish.
“Fine,” Mingjue says, shutting the lookbook he’s holding with a snap. He stands up and sighs, turning to Huaisang. “I expect to see at least five pieces by the end of the month.” He walks around the table to shake the delivery guy’s hand, saying, “Welcome to the House of Huai.”
Huaisang grins. “Thank you, da-ge! I won’t disappoint, I promise!”
Mingjue nods and walks towards the door, waving from behind. When he closes the door behind him, Huaisang jumps from his seat and starts jumping, despite how hard it is on heels. His Versace ensemble is suddenly so warm, so he strips off the red on black houndstooth coat and unveils a short black on white houndstooth with a funnel collar and a horizontal slit just across the chest. He has paired it with leather shorts, fishnet stockings underneath it, and some classic dress boots.
“You came!” Huaisang says, stepping into his space.
“I don’t… understand…” Delivery guy says, looking extremely confused. “Aren’t we gonna…?”
Huaisang covers his mouth to stop is laughter, but all it does is muffle it down. The leather is hot on his face, so he drops his hand immediately. He pulls the glove off and throws it on the table, then stretches his hand out for a handshake. “I’m Nie Huaisang; I’m a designer.” When delivery guy shakes his hand, he takes it with both hands. “I’d like you to model for my latest collection.”
Wanyin has no idea how he ended up in the middle of Qinghe, eating noodles from the sidewalk with a rich designer, but this is life now, apparently. Still, he has no idea that Qinghe makes good noodles, so he slurps on it happily, since he has completely forgotten how to eat lately.
“So, Jiang-xiong,” the designer named Huaisang says, resting his noodles between his palms. “What else do you do in life, besides hitting rich designers’ cars and flaunting your gorgeous face?”
Wanyin blinks. “I just work, I guess. I’m in between jobs right now.”
Huaisang takes a sip of the broth. “What for? If you’re working that hard, you definitely have some goal behind it.”
He’s not sure if he should be sharing crazy intimate information with a complete stranger. He decides to not answer it. “I’m not really that interesting.”
“On the contrary,” Huaisang says, finishing the bowl and setting it aside. “Well, if you don’t want to share, you could at least tell me about your tattoo.”
Ah. He looks at it for a bit and sighs. He remembers the night he got it; Wei Wuxian is a tattoo artist that has a reputation for being the best in Yunmeng. His shop schedule is extremely erratic, and all customers are by appointments, only. It is lucky if he opens at least thrice a month, but he is known for vivid and descriptive pieces, thus the demand.
His is a half sleeve with the lotus flower as its main focus. The flower is protected by Zidian, an ancient weapon passed down to their family that gives the power to wield electricity, a striking purple around his bicep. As a wrap is the lake of Yunmeng, a pristine blue against the pretty pink of the lotus. It is a tattoo that tells a lot about him and his ties to the family, and his brother has done an excellent job telling the story.
He almost jumps out of his skin when Huaisang starts tracing Zidian, enraptured. When he realizes what he is doing, Huaisang takes back his hand immediately, as if burned. “Ah,” he says, suddenly shy. “Who did it?”
“My brother,” Wanyin says. “He rarely opens shop, but when he does, he often produces masterpieces like this.”
“It’s so intricate,” Huaisang murmurs, following the ripples of the lake. “I’d like to get one, too.”
Wanyin is suddenly so tired. “Look,” he says. “Just tell me what you want.”
Huaisang looks confused. “I told you, I want you to model for me.”
“Why?” Wanyin asks. “I’m sure you’re rich, you can literally hire anyone else in my place.”
“But they’re not you,” Huaisang says with that fake pout. It is a little insulting, how he thinks Wanyin would be fooled by his obvious emotional façade. He perches up Wanyin’s chin with a finger, inspecting his face. “You are strikingly gorgeous, much like your tattoo. I wanna see if you’ll drown in my work, or if you’ll shine above it. Either way, I win.”
“I don’t,” Wanyin says, pulling away. “I get nothing from this.”
“I’ll obviously pay you for your services, of course,” Huaisang shrugs. “I’m not a heathen.”
“Wait,” Wanyin blinks. “So this isn’t a sex thing?”
Huaisang almost says ‘it could be’, but come on. He’s Nie Huaisang; he doesn’t pay for sex! But this guy’s so adorably clueless that he’s almost tempted.
“Jiang-xiong, if you wanted me to suck your dick so bad, just ask,” He decides to just say, biting his finger to tease, for additional effect. “I’m extremely easy.”
To his surprise, Wanyin chuckles. “You are anything but easy.”
“Fine,” He adds, hugging his knees and resting his head on them, staring directly at Huaisang. “I’ll do it.”
“I’m curious,” Wanyin says slowly, mulling over each word carefully. “If I’ll manage to see beyond what you’re showing now.”
Huaisang doesn’t need to ask what he means; he’s been caught, already.
Huaisang insists on seeing him twice a week until the show, which is two months from now. Wanyin isn’t entirely sure what that would ever do to his process, but he gets paid for it handsomely that he doesn’t need the two other jobs he has, so he goes.
The designer’s work studio is never in a state of disarray; it is a calculated mess, each clutter has a reason to be there, and Huaisang glides through the space like clockwork. His command over his workplace is something Wanyin couldn’t seem to look away from; from the way he picks up a pen or feels fabric with his fingers, everything seems to be done with reason, and he wishes he could move the same.
As Huaisang gets his measurements in his studio, he imagines what life is for him, hidden away in the world, only to produce art to be gawked at by strangers.
“Not just strangers,” Huaisang says when he asks, biting on the end of the tape measure as he holds a pen and pad to write his measurements. “These are people that will make or break me. They can’t be strangers when they have that much power.”
“But why do their opinions matter when it’s your art?” Wanyin asks, genuinely confused. “Isn’t art personal?”
“When you get money out of it, it hardly is,” Huaisang mumbles.
Wanyin doesn’t get this entire world, but maybe that’s why he’s been saving up to see the rest of it: to gain some perspective. He is silent throughout his stay, deep in his own thoughts.
It gets so much worse.
It’s not like he doesn’t know himself when this happens; Huaisang gets attached to pretty faces that could break his heart as soon as they realize how much of an idiot he is. It has happened way too many times to even hurt significantly, now. He knows this routine of falling for some fucking idiot that wouldn’t understand him in a way that matters — not that he put in the effort to, because let’s be real: sweet as he may seem, Nie Huaisang is hardly the falling in love type.
Jiang Wanyin is different, he thinks, and it’s so much worse because artists should never ever fall in love with their muses. He is building the whole collection out of Wanyin’s vibe and that’s a no-no too; fashion has always been an extension of himself, and collections have always been based out of themes and movies and some obscure reference that critics would ooh and ahh to.
They would never understand what it is that linked Huaisang to Wanyin, not unless he bares himself completely to the world, and he’s always been afraid of being too open for the world to scrutinize.
He knows the story about lotus flowers, what it means. Wanyin is as clear as day on that.
“We need a concept for your collection shoot,” Mingjue tells him over the phone one night, while he is painstakingly assembling a sequined piece, colors ranging from gold to silver. “I said five pieces by the end of the month, Huaisang. That’s tomorrow.”
Huaisang only affirms by making a small noise. “I’m almost done.”
“The concept then, for your collection shoot?”
“Get me ungodly amounts of organza or chiffon, white. We’re shooting in Yunmeng.”
“Organza?” Mingjue repeats, appalled. “What for?”
“We’re draping it over a lake full of lotus plants,” Huaisang murmurs, still too focused on the task at hand.
“That’s on mud, Huaisang,” Mingjue says slowly. “How the hell do you keep the organza clean?”
“You don’t,” Huaisang answers. “Look, do you want a collection preview or not?”
Wanyin doesn’t know a lot about modelling, after all.
The photographer is frustrated with him thirty minutes in, saying that he literally has no usable shots until now. He feels stupid, standing on the shallow end of the lake where most of the lotus plants rest, with some sheer fabric covering most of it. He is wearing black slacks and nothing else, his hair thrown in disarray under the guise of a well-planned hairstyle.
Huaisang is just behind the photographer, looking a little miffed, too. Great, he’s gonna lose this job when he already quit the two others.
“Let me do something,” Huaisang then says, joining him in the pond. Wanyin helps him settle in, leading him in by the hand, and it’s awkward, the way they’re standing too close. Huaisang suddenly drops to his knees, hands on the mud. Wanyin steps back, suddenly too wary of how close the designer is to his crotch. He stands up again, his hands and legs dirty with mud now, and he cups Wanyin’s cheeks, sliding his hands down his chest. “There you go!”
Wanyin is mostly a confused mess. “What’s this for?”
“Silly,” Huaisang giggles to him. “It’s an excuse to shower with you later.”
There it goes, the constant teasing. Sometimes, Wanyin’s not sure anymore if that’s what it is, or just some not-so-subtle flirting. Worst part is that it works and it gets him so fucking heated, and he knows that Huaisang knows.
“It’s befitting, don’t you think?” Huaisang asks, grabbing one of the lotus flowers they unplucked earlier. He watches as he twirls the stem around his fingers, smiling at the bud. “‘The lotus flower blooms most beautifully from the deepest and thickest mud.’ What is it you’re not showing the world yet, Jiang Wanyin?”
“Jiang Cheng,” He offers.
“A-Cheng,” Huaisang tests, and it annoys Wanyin how much he likes his name on his mouth. He leans closer, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear, and he whispers, “Show me?”
He lets himself look at the final layout they’re using for the collection preview for one last time: Wanyin gasping on the stem of a lotus flower, still a mere bud, covering half of his face with his muddy arm, eyes directly on the camera, the gaze reminiscent to a bruising kiss. His tattoo sleeve pops against the graying skies and white field of organza, muting the greenery behind it.
Statuesque, his posture is, exuding so much sensuality and lust that it drives Huaisang crazy. Does he know how much Huaisang wants him, how much Huaisang craves for him? He’s been gone for him the very moment he first saw him, a sweaty mess in the middle of Yunmeng, sporting the same gaze in the layout.
Is he willing to admit that until the moment he met Wanyin, he is a shell of what he is, afraid to create a new collection because of the fear of failure? That that awful day is to be his last; saying goodbye to suppliers and telling his brother that he has failed on the very thing he vowed to see through, until the end?
That maybe, more than anything, Wanyin is a muse that rekindled the passion he once lost, and now fears to lose again?
He thanks the gods he refuses to believe in for his brilliant idea to sleep in a hotel in Yunmeng, and hops off the bed to visit a certain model a few doors down.
Not before slipping into something a little more comfortable, of course; any excuse to dress up is good enough for him.
It’s stupid to sleep in a hotel when his house is just a few blocks away, but since Huaisang has insisted with those puppy eyes of his, Wanyin is now showering all the mud and filth off in his way too large hotel bathroom.
He waits until the water flowing down his body runs clear, then starts lathering up a rich layer of soap, gently massaging the back of his neck as he goes. The day hasn’t exactly been great; apart from being berated for being mediocre at something he isn’t even good at in general, the rest of it is just flat-out… unclear.
Wanyin sighs. It is better if he doesn’t think about Huaisang while he’s taking a bath; if he washes his dick and it somehow gets erect at the thought of Huaisang on his knees, he might actually just run home in a bath towel just out of shock.
His room doorbell starts ringing.
“Great, now I’m gonna get mugged,” Wanyin groans. He wonders if it’s okay to ignore the door, but with the chance that Huaisang is waiting by the door, he opts not to.
He towels off briskly, looping it around his towel and checking it twice for good measure, and opens the door.
Huaisang hates his life. (Just kidding, he loves his life. Thank you, gods, for the fucking meal.)
Wanyin opens the door in nothing but just a towel around his waist, and he hates that the guy has goddamned sex lines that could cut through glass at this point. He realizes he’s been staring at his general crotch area for way too long and looks up, just to see Wanyin waiting for him to say something — anything, really.
“Ah,” Huaisang says, and fuck. He has forgotten the point of his visit, and now, he looks like an idiot. He pulls at his oversized shirt, suddenly conscious. “Um. I was wondering if you were settling in okay!”
Great, now he’s a liar, too.
Wanyin smiles slightly. “Yeah, it took me a while to get rid of the mud, but I think I got most of it off…” Wanyin looks conflicted, but asks, “Do you wanna come in?”
He finds hope in this, and nods. Wanyin steps out of the way and lets him pass through, and like an idiot, he manages to trip and land on his face, his ass upwards like an offering to the heavens, and he remembers: fuck, I’m wearing lace panties!
He therefore concludes that there are no gods; all of them are dead or sleeping on him. Bastards.
A few things he learns about Huaisang that night:
- The whole clumsy bit he generally has is not a bit; he’s really clumsy.
- He usually sleeps with nothing but a shirt on, the more oversized, the better.
- He also wears black lace panties to bed, as seen below.
Huaisang sits up slowly, and Wanyin watches his legs the entire time, silky smooth and fair. He’s almost tempted to reach out and touch it, just to see if it’s as smooth as it looks.
“You saw,” Huaisang mumbles, sounding embarrassed.
“Yeah,” Wanyin gulps.
Huaisang stands up slowly, careful to not get his shirt to ride up on him, and heads towards the door. A blushing Huaisang is a force to be reckoned with; this is the first real expression he manages to get from him, and Wanyin is too enraptured to even let him go.
Before Huaisang could open the door, Wanyin stands behind him, chest on his back, hand on his, pushing the door close and locking it.
“You liked what you saw,” Huaisang mumbles.
“Yeah,” Wanyin admits. He grabs every ounce of courage he has in his system, which is virtually non-existent, and rakes his fingers through Huaisang’s waist, stopping just below Huaisang’s ass and cupping the cheeks. He lets his thumbs slip under the lace, loving how smooth it is on his fingers. He exhales shakily. “Goddamn.”
Huaisang skids closer, letting his crotch fit perfectly in between his ass, and squirms around it.
“Huaisang,” Wanyin gasps. “Don’t start.”
“Really?” The way Huaisang looks back at him with a sly smile is something he never forgets. “Should I?”
He unwraps Wanyin like a present, letting him sit on the bed as he strips the towel off of him.
Sex is easy for Huaisang. It’s simply about finding what it is that makes the other scream in pleasure, and he is extremely good at finding other people’s weaknesses, and sex is just another game for him. He likes this — likes kneeling in between Wanyin’s legs as he stares at his hardening cock, admiring the length and girth. It’ll be a challenge to suck him whole, but he misses that aching feeling in his jaw after a good blowjob, so he figures it’s worth it.
“For me?” Huaisang asks, nuzzling at it. He wants to be filthy; wants to show Wanyin how good he could be. He licks his lips and kisses the tip, looking up at him just to see how he’d react to it. “I know you, A-Cheng,” He mumbles against the head, nipping and licking slightly. “You like your boys pretty and filthy, and don’t I fit the description well?”
To his surprise, Wanyin starts slapping his mouth with his dick, smirking slightly. “I like my boys quiet and obedient, too.”
“Ah,” Huaisang fake frowns. “What a deal breaker.” He rests his cheek on the inside of Wanyin’s thigh, kissing it slightly.
That proves to be a little too soft for Wanyin and his eyes darken with intent; he guides Huaisang back to his cock and he opens up so perfectly for him, testing the waters as he takes as much as he could, salivating around him. He closes his eyes as tears threaten to form around his lids as he tests his gag reflex further and further, and when he manages to devour him whole, he slides his lips off slowly with a pop, loving the string of saliva he leaves. He kisses the tip again and starts licking at it, tasting the precum forming there.
“God,” Wanyin groans, all choked up, and Huaisang thinks, he doesn’t exist. “Huaisang, your mouth…”
He hums, licking him down to the balls. “Not yet,” He mumbles against the vein, wrapping a hand around the base of his dick. “Wouldn’t you want to come all over my face?”
It’s not like he’s a complete virgin; he has had flings here and there, but they’re not as good as Huaisang, nor are they as pretty. It helps, of course, that the designer is the most gorgeous thing he has ever laid eyes upon, eyes bright and wide and lips so supple and shiny against his cock.
“I might not last long,” Wanyin grits out, panting slowly to keep himself from coming. “I haven’t—”
“I don’t mind,” Huaisang smiles, and his lips are so pink, now. “I’ll clean you up to the last drop, I promise.”
His fucking mouth is dangerous in itself, Wanyin thinks, and I might just come like this.
Huaisang does one final bob and lets go with a pop, positioning himself properly and opening his mouth. Wanyin rests the head of his cock on Huaisang’s tongue and comes, thick and heady, and Huaisang moans, sucking on it so he can keep the cum in his mouth. It proves to be too much when it starts dribbling down the sides of his mouth and Huaisang catches the rest with his hands, not wanting to get it on the carpet.
Wanyin can only watch as Huaisang swallows, then goes back at it, licking him clean. He starts sucking on the ones left on his fingers and smiles sweetly at him, as if it is a promise of a next time.
It ends there, for now.
The fatigue of the long day creeps up on them, and not wanting to keep Wanyin from resting, he turns to the door, until Wanyin grabs his wrist and says, “You don’t have to leave.”
“I don’t mind if you just want this,” Huaisang lies, and it sounds almost too real, but Wanyin doesn’t let go, nor does he want him to.
Huaisang looks at him, and he knows that he’s lost, under all that sudden courage. He decides to sit beside him and rest his chin on his shoulder, looking straight at him. “Did I make it weird?”
“No, I think I wanted this…” Wanyin mumbles. “... wanted you.”
He kisses his tattoo, landing on the lotus flower itself, and says, "I don't mind if you leave now. You've done much for me already."
"You're lying to me now?"
Huaisang hides his smile by kissing Wanyin’s jaw, considerate enough not to kiss him after a blowjob, but he guides him to his mouth instead, and maybe that’s what tips the entire thing over; he’s suddenly straddling his waist and pushing him down the bed, kissing him once, twice, then losing count, wondering if this is what feeling addicted is like, and he tries his best not to be by pulling away, but Wanyin draws him back to his lips, and fuck does he feel like heaven.
“Stay,” Wanyin whispers, fearing that his wish wouldn’t come true if he says it out loud, and Huaisang grants it by nodding and diving in for more.