It starts with these damned leggings.
Hua Cheng is streaming when it happens, his stylus bringing to life yet another visage of his husband. This time the drawing is stylised for whatever period the drama they watched last night was set it. Or, more accurately, Xie Lian watched it with rapt attention befitting biting his already frail nails while Hua Cheng watched him, committing to memory the line of his profile and the way his eyes shone with excitement.
That night, he fucked him long enough that Xie Lian forgot everything but Hua Cheng’s name.
Lost as he is in drawing the most beautiful man alive, he doesn’t hear Xie Lian come into the studio until a mug of tea is placed on his desk outside the camera range but still within a hand’s reach. Hua Cheng raises his head, mouth open to speak, and—
Words of gratitude die in his throat as he’s treated to the sight of his husband leaving the studio as quietly as he came in. His eyes zero on the sweater—it’s his, the colour washed so much that it’s pink, and for some reason Xie Lian has taken it for his own like spoils of war—and then fall lower, to Xie Lian’s perfectly shaped buttocks wrapped like a birthday present in the leggings he always wears for his yoga practice.
Hua Cheng is a simple man. He sees his husband’s arse, he experiences a mighty need to grab and knead and perhaps bite for a good measure.
He finishes the stream in time to witness Xie Lian’s last stretches. That split; that split is haunting his nights and waking hours alike in the best way.
So he does what any sensible person would: sits behind Xie Lian on his training mat and squeezes his buttocks.
“Gege.” He squeezes again and marvels how well this perfection made flesh fits in his hands. “You’re a tease, you know that?”
Xie Lian sighs; a soft, quiet ah that goes to Hua Cheng’s head faster than any champagne would. “I’m not sure what San Lang is referring to.” He pushes back into Hua Cheng’s hands, and Hua Cheng can’t tell if it’s intentional or simply a consequence of leaning forward to lie on the mat. Still in the split.
The sweater rides up a bit. Hua Cheng spends a few seconds staring at the revealed part of Xie Lian’s back before he leans forward too and kisses it. “I think you do,” he whispers against the soft, warm skin.
“Well,” Xie Lian says as he stretches beyond what should be humanly possible and what makes Hua Cheng a happy, happy man on a daily basis, “I think San Lang will notice if I ever tease him.”
Xie Lian doesn’t appear in Hua Cheng’s streams. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t allow himself to be caught on camera, and Hua Cheng, whose rampant misanthropy acknowledges only one exception—his husband—can only do his best to accommodate him. Which is how he has come to have a setup of two monitors, one of which he uses solely for looking at the artistic nude photography of Xie Lian he’s got as the wallpaper and chatting with him whenever Xie Lian feels like it.
His husband loves to talk to him about everything and nothing. Hua Cheng, weak at heart and clutching at every sentence that falls from Xie Lian’s mouth as if he’s still a teenager with a crush he believed would go nowhere, loves to listen. Even if it’s mundane.
Like right now.
Do you have more laundry besides what’s in the basket?
Hua Cheng planned to kill these mobs with finesse and complicated tactics. Those plans are gone: he slashes through them as fast as he can. Just the basket, he writes back, hesitates for a moment, and sends a few hearts as well because he can.
Xie Lian replies with just as many and one more. He always sends one more. Hua Cheng’s real heart always swells.
He spends a few more minutes of hacking and slashing before another message pops up.
Look what I found ^^
Hua Cheng gets exactly two seconds of blissful ignorance in which the photo is loading before heat rushes to his face, blood to his dick, and his brain joyfully empties itself of all thoughts.
On their wedding night, Xie Lian wore a red lingerie set that reduced Hua Cheng’s to a weeping mess praising Heavens for so long that his newly wedded husband started panicking. The lingerie soon found its place on the floor, and Hua Cheng between Xie Lian’s legs where he would gladly stay until the end of time.
The photo shows only Xie Lian’s lower back, his thighs, and his magnificent backside befitting the title of the eighth Wonder of the World. It’s wrapped in pants of that crimson lingerie set so tight-fitting that they reveal more than they hide. Intricate floral lace runs along the hems.
Hua Cheng wants nothing more than to bend his husband over the nearest flat surface and fuck him senseless, preferably with those pants still on. But he remains where he is, seated in front of the computer with the stream still on. Comments coming from his viewers are countless, each wilder than the next. It’s ridiculous how many of them engage in crafting theories to fill in the blanks in their knowledge about him. Who would have thought that refusing to do Q&A sessions and barely speaking would draw in so many people whose favourite pastime is trying to figure out everything there is to know about another person?
He ignores all questions, focuses on the game, and finishes the level in record time. Then he logs off and proceeds to take Xie Lian apart for so long that he screams himself hoarse.
On some days, Xie Lian watches him play from across the room with a smile softening his lips and enough affection in his eyes that Hua Cheng is almost convinced he’s worthy of it.
He’s doing it now too, leaning against the doorframe with a cup of tea in his hands. Hua Cheng glances at him from time to time and is met with that disarming smile that turns his insides into mush. He smiles back and returns to playing, and the stream of comments flows ever faster. Xie Lian moderates the chat sometimes, hidden behind a nickname no one would ever connect with him, but today he’s chosen to watch.
“Long day,” he said earlier, rubbing his reddened eyes with his equally red fingers. The skin on his hands is dry and cracked on good days, and no amount of lotion can fix the damage caused by handling dozens of dusty books for hours five days a week. “Just enjoy yourself.”
Hua Cheng’s only source of enjoyment is his husband and art, in that order. But cutting his way through throngs of mobs provides an acceptable outlet for his frustration with the only alternative being murdering He Xuan, so he indulges in it. And he’s good at it.
At some point, long into the game, Xie Lian approaches the desk. Hua Cheng flashes him a smile, ignores a fresh wave of comments that causes, and goes back to playing because damn this boss, he will beat it if it’s the last thing he does.
He might be a bit too competitive for his own good but his husband doesn’t mind, and that’s the most important thing.
Xie Lian fiddles with the front pocket of his sweater. Something falls to the floor; he disappears behind the desk to pick it up.
The next thing Hua Cheng knows are hands pushing his legs apart.
He pauses the game, looks down, and sees his husband sitting on the floor. His hands creep up Hua Cheng’s legs, reach his thighs and stay there. Xie Lian smiles sweetly, just like he does every morning before kissing Hua Cheng goodbye before he leaves for work, and then palms Hua Cheng’s dick through his sweatpants.
Hua Cheng’s leg spasms so violently that he slams his knee against the underside of his desk.
Xie Lian immediately kisses it. “Oh no, my poor San Lang,” he whispers just for Hua Cheng to hear. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
The chat has gone crazy. Hua Cheng doesn’t even attempt to read the comments, but he mutes the microphone just to be sure it catches no sound.
If this goes the way he’s hoping it will, the sounds will continue for a while. And they will be only for him to hear.
“Go on.” Xie Lian pokes Hua Cheng’s abdomen. “Keep playing. You seemed entranced, I’d hate to make you lose your progress.”
Hua Cheng swallows. “Gege…”
Xie Lian smiles and rests his cheek against his inner thigh. His fingers are dancing over the band of Hua Cheng’s trousers, dip underneath and pull them slightly down. Hua Cheng is staring at him; he can’t help it, the stream and the game be damned.
“Play, San Lang.”
A thrill runs through Hua Cheng; lights up spine and sets his blood aflame. He tears his eyes off Xie Lian in a feat of self-control much greater than stopping himself from strangling He Xuan, takes a deep breath, and unpauses the game.
His heart is racing. His hands are getting clammy. He keeps glancing down only to meet Xie Lian’s bright gaze and a warm, innocent smile. It’s what makes him fall in love every day all over again: this unabashed, genuine affection that overflows Xie Lian’s scarred heart and finds home in Hua Cheng, tying them closer together than any vow ever could. Hua Cheng needs it to survive like other people need food and water. He wants it all just for himself and craves to give back just as much in an unbreakable feedback loop bountiful enough to sustain them both for all eternity.
He has almost cleared the level when Xie Lian moves. He skims his fingers over Hua Cheng’s abdomen and trails them downwards, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Hua Cheng’s breath catches in his throat when Xie Lian pulls his dick out. He’s already half-hard which is no surprise, because how can he not be when his husband is between his legs? There’s only one Heaven in this universe, and that’s Xie Lian.
Who now bats his ridiculously long lashes Hua Cheng has painted and drawn so many times already and still will many times more, leans in and kisses the head of Hua Cheng’s dick.
Hua Cheng makes a sound. It is, quite frankly, an embarrassing sound.
Xie Lian wraps a slick hand around Hua Cheng’s cock—where did he even get the lube?—and starts pumping it slowly while keeping his lips around the head. He alternates between licking and sucking on it, and between his mouth and his hand, Hua Cheng gets fully hard in no time.
He’s weak for his husband like that. So what?
“Your game, San Lang,” Xie Lian says while keeping a firm grip on Hua Cheng’s dick. It takes all of Hua Cheng’s self-control not to drag him up onto the desk and fuck him until he cries for mercy. Then he smiles again.
And leans in to take Hua Cheng into his mouth almost to the base.
Hua Cheng’s knee collides with the desk again.
He’s… somewhere in the game, presumably in a safe spot before the last boss, but he can’t bring himself to look at the screen. His face is on fire—fuck his ridiculous complexion on which even the slightest blush looks like he’s been hit in the face with an overripe tomato. The armrest is cracking under his hands, so is his mouse.
Why is he still holding it anyway?
He disconnects the video and does with his hands what he should have done the moment this started: he pushes them into Xie Lian’s hair. “Gege…”
Xie Lian pulls away but doesn’t stop jerking him off. “Have you finished?” he asks in a sweet voice before sucking on the head of Hua Cheng’s dick again. His tongue presses to its underside with enough strength to make Hua Cheng see starts.
“If gege keeps it up, I will soon,” he manages through gritted teeth and wow, it’s a miracle in and of itself that he’s still capable of speech.
“San Lang looked so tense—” He takes Hua Cheng into his mouth again, bobs up and down to the rhythm of his hand. “—that I couldn’t help but think—” Deeper this time; he hollows his cheeks and does something unspeakable with his tongue that wrenches a moan out of Hua Cheng’s throat. “—he needed to relax.”
“You’re, ah…” He closes his eyes and bucks his hips. Xie Lian takes it without complaint; he moans around a mouthful of cock and bobs his head faster. “Gege…!”
Xie Lian hums. His hand speeds up; he takes Hua Cheng as deep as he can and keeps him there, and before Hua Cheng can even warm him, he’s spilling into the hot, wet heaven of his husband’s mouth. Xie Lian swallows everything. He always does. If Hua Cheng wasn’t merely a mortal man, he would get hard again immediately just from this.
He tugs at Xie Lian’s hand. “Gege. Gege, come up here.”
His chair isn’t made for two. It’s barely made for one, this uncomfortable and overpriced as fuck piece of shit Hua Cheng bought in what must have been a fit of insanity. But he doesn’t care about it right, and neither does Xie Lian, because he clambers up into Hua Cheng’s lap. Hua Cheng wraps his hands around his waist and pulls him closer—close enough to feel the erection straining his boxers.
He surges up to kiss Xie Lian, tastes himself on his tongue. Xie Lian presses closer. He rubs his cock against Hua Cheng’s abdomen, then tries to move back.
Hua Cheng holds him where he is.
“Go on,” he whispers against Xie Lian’s lips. He takes his lower lip between his teeth and sucks on it, licks the sting away until Xie Lian is moaning and rutting against him. “Just like that. You’re doing so well, gege, you’re so beautiful.”
“San Lang, I’m… Ah, I’m…”
“That’s it, gege, that’s it.” Xie Lian’s eyes are scrunched shut, his brow furrowed; he’s digging his fingers into Hua Cheng’s shoulders as his grinding turns into uncoordinated jerks seeking friction and pressure. He’s the most gorgeous sight Hua Cheng has ever laid his eyes upon. “Come for me, gege. Come on. Let me hear you.”
Xie Lian comes with a whine, shatters in Hua Cheng’s arms and coalesces back into a shivering, warm, dead weight Hua Cheng will gladly hold for the rest of his life. He’s always clingy after sex, but this time he leans back and levels Hua Cheng with a burning gaze. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says, dead serious.
“San Lang should too.”
Oh. Oh. “Yes, gege.”
Next time he streams, he’ll blame the abrupt end of this one on E-Ming.