Chapter Text
Shen Yuan wakes up to a couple hundred missed calls and texts. Thankfully he was in the habit of putting his phone on silent, because he doesn’t know why Binghe is so incessant all of a sudden! It was just a… a normal phone call! Between friends! They keep coming throughout the day, so he decides to turn his phone off and catch up on his backlog of games.
That night, he lies in bed, and it feels too big, too empty. He ends up crawling to the spare bedroom, where Binghe keeps his things, and sleeping in there. It has nothing to do with Binghe, obviously. It’s not like Binghe has even ever slept in this bed, he thinks, a little unhappily.
The next few days pass quickly, even if he can’t use his phone for any of it. He tries to turn it back on and the amount of incoming messages makes it lag so much it crashes. Among the barrage of entirely useless information that’s popping up on his screen, he sees one message in particular. On my way. Shen Yuan resolutely ignores the thrill that goes through him at that and sets to tidying up (shoving things in a corner for Binghe to deal with later).
When Binghe walks through the door Shen Yuan is waiting for him, hands fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt.
“...Welcome home,” he stutters out.
Binghe crashes into him with the force of a thousand stampeding rhinos. His lips are everywhere, teeth following close behind, and he wastes no time in seizing two fistfuls of Shen Yuan’s shirt and literally ripping it off of him, what the fuck, that was a limited edition and now it’s in two pieces—oh, hello, that is a very large bulge pressing against his bare stomach. Shen Yuan fumbles with the belt on Binghe’s smart slacks. His whole outfit looks like he’s just stepped out of a drama, the young, arrogant CEO with his artfully windswept hair. He thinks he likes Binghe’s usual style more, the more down-to-earth, childhood friend, second male lead type, but this is nice too. He supposes the second male lead would win if Binghe was playing him, because otherwise it would be too unbelievable. Who wouldn’t choose him?
Binghe gently bats his hands away, and to be fair, Shen Yuan did get kind of distracted, and was just standing there with his hands on Binghe’s belt, but can’t he take his time? Do they have to get straight to, to—
Binghe’s cock jumps out at him. It’s massive. Truly the pinnacle of male sexuality. Shen Yuan has been staring at it too long, and Binghe pulls him up for another kiss impatiently as his hands deftly pull down Shen Yuan’s underwear. And now Shen Yuan’s—his—he’s naked now, which is weird. Binghe is looking down at him with a ravenous expression. At his—significantly… smaller……
He flushes and presses his legs together and tries to back off a bit because this is, this is—he’s very warm, and Binghe is radiating heat like nothing else, and—and he trips over a half of his ex-shirt and stumbles backwards. Binghe catches him, cradling his head, but they drop to the ground so that Binghe is straddling him, broad thighs bracketing his hips, and their—they’re touching, and it feels amazing, especially as Binghe shifts his hips slowly so that they rub together, his attention raptly kept on Shen Yuan’s face.
“Nnh, Binghe, don’t look,” he says, wishing he sounded less like someone who was getting fucked within an inch of their life just from a bit of grinding, not that that’s far off, he’s sure. Oh, god, that’s not far off, is it? Binghe must see the panic building in his eyes because he cuts it short by flipping Shen Yuan over so that his stomach is pressed into the floorboards.
“I can see plenty from back here,” he says, running a finger down the small of Shen Yuan’s back, and then he keeps it trailing until it’s—somewhere it shouldn’t be.
“Binghe—”
“Shh, A-Yuan, don’t think. It’ll feel good, I promise. Just focus on how it feels.”
Binghe takes a moment to maneuver Shen Yuan, so that his forehead is resting on his folded arms and he’s on his knees, hips lifted. He hears a click, and a second later, something cool is being drizzled over his ass. Binghe grabs a fistful of one cheek and spreads him open, pouring some more—lube? Is it lube? Where did he get lube?
Did he have that in his pocket the whole time?? Was he that sure he could bend Shen Yuan over??? He feels like he needs to put up more resistance all of a sudden, except now there’s a finger, hot and nimble, teasing at his, his—entrance, and Shen Yuan is not prepared for this, not for the impression of Binghe’s dick brushing against his thigh, the fluttering in his stomach, or the pool of heat building in his gut. Focus on how it feels? How can he do that when he’s never felt anything like this before?
“Binghe, wait, wait—”
“A-Yuan, it’s okay, you’re doing so good,” he mumbles, preoccupied with pushing the tip of his finger inside Shen Yuan. It feels weird, and then it kind of doesn’t feel like much at all, actually, and he relaxes a bit, even as Binghe eases it in until the rest of his fingers are flat along the curve of Shen Yuan’s ass. And then Binghe draws it out and shoves two right back in at the same time until they’re both seated deep inside him.
“I really, I really think we should, should—” Binghe sighs, loudly, cutting him off, and then curls a hand around Shen Yuan’s dick, comfortable in its familiarity, and also in how badly Shen Yuan needed that because he’s already leaking all over the floor and they haven’t even—
“I am going to fuck you, Shen Yuan, and you are going to like it,” Binghe states impassively, like it’s some objective, preordained fact, and then crooks his fingers inside of him, which feels odd, until he twists them sideways slightly, and oh. Oh, oh oh.
“Good?” Binghe asks, smirk clear in his voice.
“Ngh,” Shen Yuan says, because he can't think of an insult with his usual ease as Binghe rubs little circles into that spot.
Shen Yuan bites his tongue to keep any more noises escaping, and so he can’t say anything when Binghe adds a third finger, or a fourth, or even when he starts spreading them out inside him to stretch Shen Yuan even wider. He stops every so often, when Shen Yuan tenses back up, to rub at his cock, and Shen Yuan is shamefully close to coming already.
“Binghe,” he says pleadingly.
“Does it hurt?” Binghe asks, even though he can hear the difference in Shen Yuan’s tone now, because he’s a bastard, and he proves that even more by pulling out all his fingers at once, leaving Shen Yuan clenching around nothing.
“Please.”
“Please what?” Binghe asks, even as Shen Yuan can feel him nudge the over-large head of his cock against his hole.
Shen Yuan does not have the nerve to say anything more. Luckily, he knows Binghe quite well by now, and so he knows that all he has to do is crane his head to the side until he can lock eyes with Binghe and note the wild desire there despite the evenness of his voice, and repeat himself.
“Please.”
Binghe groans loudly and snaps his hips forward with none of the finesse he’d been using with his fingers, collapsing over Shen Yuan’s back when he’s sheathed inside, panting loudly.
He gives Shen Yuan some time to relax, but it’s not long enough, and too soon he’s drawing out and pushing back in and oh, he’s so big.
Binghe fucks into him, bracing his hands on the floor on either side of Shen Yuan’s head. He belatedly realises, looking at his sleeves, that Binghe is still wearing his coat. That he’s still fully clothed in enough layers to brave the snowstorm outside, the one Shen Yuan had been nervously watching brewing all day through his windows, worried that Binghe wouldn’t make it home, that he would leave Shen Yuan waiting—oh, fuck, right there, he thinks desperately, and lets out a pitchy gasp.
“A-Yuan, A-Yuan, does it feel good?” Binghe asks tenderly, mouthing at his nape, while his hips snap forwards to drive his cock deep enough that Shen Yuan can feel it in his throat, and Binghe expects him to be able to respond?
“Ah, ungh,” he tries, and then clamps his mouth on his own wrist to shut himself up while he still can. He can hear himself moaning anyway, echoing in his own head, and Binghe speeds up, taking him faster and harder, lifting a hand to grip at the underside of Shen Yuan’s waist so that he can move Shen Yuan’s body in time with his thrusts.
“You feel so good, A-Yuan, please tell me you feel good,” Binghe cries, shifting his hips so that his next thrust is angled just right to make Shen Yuan see stars, and so he answers Binghe’s question by coming all over his own chest and blacking out for a minute.
Binghe doesn’t let up for even a second, driving his cock into that spot again and again and again, and Shen Yuan is too out of it to even register that Binghe comes until he’s pulling out and Shen Yuan can feel it dripping down his thighs. Binghe lets go of his waist, and Shen Yuan collapses to the floor, Binghe falling down beside him and wrapping him in a tight embrace.
“A-Yuan,” Binghe mumbles happily into his ear. He always says Shen Yuan’s name like it’s a gift to hold it in his mouth.
All Shen Yuan can think is that they didn’t even make it past the entryway.
Binghe scoops him up and carries him to bed, but doesn’t lie down. Shen Yuan catches his hand and doesn’t let go until Binghe climbs into bed behind him, and they both sleep better than they have in a week, even if they’re both sticky and sweaty and Binghe is still fully dressed.
Shen Yuan is so affectionate these days. Even now, after hours of idling in each other’s company, he’s coming back after going to the bathroom (where he still won’t let Binghe follow him, despite everything), and he heads straight for Binghe’s lap, settling back into his rightful place. Binghe is very appreciative, and shows this by sliding a hand up Shen Yuan's shirt to tease at a soft, perfect nipple.
Shen Yuan reflexively elbows him in the face. Right in the nose. Binghe thinks he might be bleeding.
“Are you okay?” Shen Yuan asks, scrambling to get a better look at his face. So concerned for him.
“I could die happy right now,” he says, truthfully.
“Binghe!” Shen Yuan yelps, and he’s really fussing over him now, tilting his head this and that way as he worries his lip between his teeth.
“I mean it,” Binghe says, and leans forward to kiss Shen Yuan quiet.
Binghe eventually convinces him that they should try to shower together again and it’s a lot more successful than last time, in that he leaves it feeling filthier than when he went in. It wouldn’t be so bad if Binghe didn’t always try to—to keep it inside! Always, always! Fingering his cum back inside Shen Yuan when he was too lax and pliable to do anything but let it happen, even though Binghe always left him so wrecked that there was no way it wasn’t going to drip right back out again! And then he’d have to comfort Binghe when he pouted and sighed and grieved before he got it in his head to make any strange requests.
Binghe forgot to bring a shirt to change into, and Shen Yuan is too cosy in Binghe’s arms as he carries him to the couch, so Shen Yuan decides not to judge him for his indecent exposure.
It does draw his eye back to the scar on his chest though. He frowns as he looks at it.
“A-Yuan can touch.”
Who said he couldn’t! And who said he wanted to!! But maybe Binghe would be upset if he didn’t, like Shen Yuan was saying it was ugly, so he lays his hand flat over the scar. Shen Yuan presses into the muscle there, surprised by how squishy it feels. Binghe huffs a laugh into his hair and flexes, and it hardens under his palm. Huh. He’s never had big enough muscles to find out that’s how it worked. No matter how hard Shen Yuan flexes, he’s squishy all over, unless his bones are sticking out.
He absentmindedly slides his hand down to cup Binghe’s pec, warm and weighty in his hand. His thumb accidentally brushes against a nipple, and Binghe lets out a soft gasp.
Shen Yuan blushes and drops his hand. He doesn’t want it to seem like he’s—admiring his handiwork, or something. He really regretted those cuts! Even if Binghe didn’t seem to hold it against him. He was just too forgiving! He needed to be better at holding a grudge! So unsuspecting and so naive, what was Shen Yuan going to do with him?
Instead of rightfully judging Shen Yuan, Binghe tilts Shen Yuan’s chin up and presses a tender kiss to his lips. Shen Yuan is about to complain, but then he grabs Binghe’s hand. How had he not noticed the scar there too!? It’s smaller and faint, sure, but he's the one who put it there, so how did he miss it? The fact that he doesn’t remember most of the events of that day isn’t a good enough excuse. Ahhh, he feels awful.
“Binghe,” Shen Yuan says slowly. Binghe smiles obligingly at him.
“Yes, A-Yuan?”
Shen Yuan holds up his hand and spreads his fingers, presenting his bare palm.
“A-Yuan?”
“Here, too. Binghe can make us match,” he mumbles, mortified but determined. It’s not like the bite on his chest lasted more than a few days, but he knows it made Binghe feel better. He can’t help it if his Binghe needs so much reassurance, even if it always makes Shen Yuan feel out of his depth.
Binghe regards him cooly for a moment, and Shen Yuan almost thinks that this is finally going to be his limit for freakishness until he's lunging forward and clamping his teeth onto every inch of Shen Yuan’s hand. Even after a good ten minutes of gnawing, he still doesn’t seem satisfied, even though Shen Yuan has kind of gotten bored of it. He’s probably going to wake up and find his whole hand has turned blue at this rate.
Ah. Binghe is hard again. Shen Yuan doesn’t know how he manages. He always comes last and gets hard again first, like some kind of poorly designed sex-bot. He looks up to see the hungry way Binghe is staring down at him and decides his normal, non-optimised body can’t take another beating just yet. He looks down at Binghe’s bulge, and can’t help but find it a little pitiful anyway.
But he really doesn’t have it in him to go another round.
Binghe never seemed to mind the sad handjob stage, right?
Shen Yuan scooches back so that he can nudge at the lump in Binghe’s sweats with his fingers.
“Mmf,” Binghe moans around his fingers, and reaches for Shen Yuan’s crotch. Shen Yuan bats his hand away.
“Don’t,” he scolds. He really can’t take anymore.
Binghe makes a pleading noise and tries to pull off Shen Yuan’s fingers, so Shen Yuan holds them firmly in place.
“Binghe,” he says, and nudges his fingers to the back of Binghe’s throat, “let gege take care of you.”
Binghe goes slack, a few tears leaking down his cheeks. Not that Shen Yuan really has any idea what to do! He’s never had to do anything himself before now! Binghe always takes charge! Shen Yuan has never even touched his dick before! Well, not with his hands, anyway.
Shen Yuan rubs his hand gingerly across the hard outline in Binghe’s sweats. He must not be wearing any underwear, because it’s a pretty clear image. Binghe keeps letting out desperate little noises just from that, so at least it seems like he's easy enough that there’s no real way for Shen Yuan to mess this up, but he still has his pride on the line. He braces himself and pulls down the waistline of Binghe’s pants, and his cock bounces with far more energy than you’d expect for something so heavy.
Shen Yuan drags a finger under it, pulling it up, and it droops once it’s no longer supported. He’s trying to ignore the fact that he’s touching another man’s penis but he’s going to have to start thinking about it soon, because he keeps stopping and staring at it and trying to figure out what to do next, and then Binghe starts making restless gurgling noises. It’s not like he has no ideas, but there’s a lot of pressure, okay!!
It’s also difficult with only one hand. Especially when he tries to wrap his hand around the shaft and his fingers aren’t long enough to touch. Unbelievable. Shen Yuan imagines that there’s not many people in the world who have this problem. He makes an effort, stroking up and down, but he can tell Binghe is—not unsatisfied, but clearly open to more stimulation. He can’t take his other hand away from its temporary position as Binghe’s gag-slash-pacifier, though, or he’ll have to worry for his own safety.
Shen Yuan stares down at Binghe’s cock. It stares back at him sinisterly. It’s dribbling a steady stream of precum, which makes the glide easier, but this somehow seems to frustrate Binghe. Maybe the friction is more intense, but isn’t this more comfortable? He tuts at him lightly. There might be no other option, he thinks reluctantly, and moves to kneel on the couch beside Binghe’s lap. He takes a steadying breath before bending over to lap at the weeping head with his tongue. It’s salty and bitter, but Binghe makes a desperate, strangled noise, so he goes back for more, swirling his tongue over the thin, hot skin.
He gives it a few more kittenish licks, and, well, nothing really happens. Well, things are definitely happening, the head keeps shooting out little pearls of precum for Shen Yuan to clean up, and Binghe is well on his way to sobbing, and Shen Yuan can feel drool dripping down his wrist from Binghe’s mouth as he blubbers, but nothing happens to frighten him away. Shen Yuan is emboldened enough to lean down further and drag his tongue all the way up Binghe’s generous length, from root to tip. He does this a couple more times on each side of the shaft, until it’s covered in his spit, but Binghe isn’t complaining about the slickness anymore.
Shen Yuan mouths at the underside of the head while he mulls over his options. He glances up to see how Binghe’s doing, and his face is so red, mouth hanging slack and stuffed with Shen Yuan’s fingers, tear tracks glistening brightly. When they make eye contact, Binghe’s cock lets out another little spurt that lands on Shen Yuan’s cheek, and Binghe’s whole body shudders in response.
His arm is starting to hurt from being held up for so long, and he just almost got cum in his eye. Only one thing for it. He closes his lips over the head of Binghe’s cock, holding just the tip inside his mouth. Binghe lets out a piercing whine and snaps his forward, his dick grazing the back of Shen Yuan’s throat. Shen Yuan gags and spits out his cock, and then glares up at Binghe.
“Don’t move.”
Binghe mumbles some kind of objection, too garbled to make out the words.
“Stay still. Be good.” Shen Yuan wraps his lips around the head again, and holds himself there, unmoving.
“Please,” Binghe manages to lisp out, and stops the stuttering movement of his hips. Shen Yuan can see the muscles in his thighs tremble from the effort when he swallows him down again, sees his abs tighten as he pulls off to lave his tongue over the head. He tries to relax his throat and take in more of Binghe, but he can only get about halfway before it gets hard to breathe and his eyes start to sting, and the last thing they need is for both of them to be crying, so he wraps his free hand around the end he can't reach and does his best to give every part of Binghe’s stupidly enormous cock some attention.
He can feel it when Binghe is about to come, his already loud whimpers intensifying, his dick jerking in Shen Yuan's mouth. He wraps his fingers around the base of Binghe's cock and squeezes, lightly, to stop him, and then goes back to working it over with his mouth. It would be a waste to stop now that he’s figured out a rhythm, now he knows to take Binghe as deep as he can go and suck hard enough that Binghe howls and then pull off to pepper light kisses to the drooling head and bring him back from the edge before starting all over again, making it just a little bit further down. Binghe tries to take Shen Yuan’s fingers out of his mouth, but Shen Yuan forces them back in until Binghe is the one choking instead.
Finally, Binghe reaches his limit and grabs a fistful of Shen Yuan’s hair so that he can’t pull off again, using his other hand to wrench away where Shen Yuan’s fingers are clamped around the base of his cock. Then he drags Shen Yuan down his cock until he’s gagging on it, jaw spasming around it, and comes straight down the back of his throat, grinding forwards impossibly more with each spurt of cum, until Shen Yuan almost has his nose to Binghe’s stomach. He thinks the way he’s heaving around Binghe’s cock is massaging it, milking more and more seed out of it until it starts dribbling out from his lips and it feels like it’s about to start coming out from his nose. Finally, after one last push, Binghe’s hand falls from its grasp on his hair, and Shen Yuan draws back, coughing.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Shen Yuan rasps, throat ruined.
“Nn,” is all Binghe says in reply, and when Shen Yuan looks up at him, his eyes are hazy and unfocused, lashes wet with tears, lips plump and swollen, a blush persisting high across his cheeks and spreading down his neck and chest.
Shen Yuan supposes he can give him a pass, just this once. He rests his forehead against Binghe’s shoulder, and Binghe is so dazed that he doesn’t even try to butt in when Shen Yuan hastily rubs himself off against his thigh.
They’re both slow to recover, and it’s late when they’ve finally cleaned up. Shen Yuan likes to think that they come to a mutual undisclosed agreement to not resent the other for whatever transgressions occurred in the heat of the moment.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Mm,” Shen Yuan hums, thinking.
“Congee?” he suggests. He could do with something soothing.
Binghe looks guilty. Why does Binghe look guilty. He only looks guilty if he’s done something especially weird.
“Binghe…”
“I’m not sure A-Yuan wants to know.”
“Hm.” He lets it slide for now, because Binghe was probably right.
Who was he kidding, Binghe was never right about this stuff. He didn’t even realise Shen Yuan liked him.
“Binghe.”
“A-Yuan, please…”
“Tell me,” he orders.
Binghe leans over to whisper in his ear.
……Ah. He was right.
“A-Yuan doesn’t mind?” Binghe asks hopefully, misreading his blank expression.
“A-Yuan minds very, very much.”
And Binghe, damn him, has the gall to act all innocent and pure, blushing like a virginal maiden. Where was all that virtue a couple hours ago?
Binghe drops to kowtow on the floor by his feet.
“Please forgive me, Yuan-ge!”
And then he sits back on his heels, fidgeting expectantly. Shen Yuan can’t tell if he’s waiting for coddling or punishment, because that nervous, eager expression could be for either one.
…It wasn’t too different from what they did earlier, was it? It’s all just… swallowing fluids……
“Ah, A-Yuan really doesn’t mind,” Binghe says reverentially.
They’re watching Shen Yuan’s favourite overdrawn romantic drama from his youth. Shen Yuan is enjoying reliving the twists and letting out a constant stream of criticism about how dumb the characters are and how senseless the miscommunication is. Binghe has a sour look on his face. What, is Shen Yuan being too harsh to the handsome love-interest actor who you kind of resemble? That’s understandable, he was definitely Shen Yuan’s favourite part of the show. So mysterious, so cool, so elegant!
“Yuan-ge likes this kind of stuff?” Binghe asks while the leading couple have a scenic dinner on a rooftop somewhere.
“Everyone likes it, don’t they?” Shen Yuan replies, because it’s not like he’s some obsessive auntie who tunes in every day at 6pm and owns all the box sets. Shen Yuan does own all the box sets, of course, but that’s just because he’s a collector by nature.
“Hm.”
“Ah, look, this is the best part,” he says, pointing to the screen, where the heroine is throwing her drink into the man's face, and then pours the bottle of vintage wine over his head for good measure.
Somehow, this leads to Binghe dressing Shen Yuan up into a strangely well-fitting suit and carting him off in a sleek black car driven by a chauffeur. Not something Shen Yuan is entirely unfamiliar with, but he doesn’t really understand why.
He’s wearing a bowtie. He hasn’t worn a bowtie since he was four and was forced to attend some distant relative’s wedding. Shen Yuan side eyes Binghe worriedly.
“Where are we going?”
“We’ll be there soon,” Binghe says with a devastating smirk. Shen Yuan sighs. Binghe’s not wearing a bow tie, choosing to show off his ample cleavage instead, so maybe it’s okay?
The car stops, and Binghe smoothly comes around to open the door and escort Shen Yuan out, holding his hand delicately as he steps out before switching to grip his arm. Shen Yuan thinks this behaviour would be more appropriate if he was some dazzling date in a ballgown, but puts up with it to save Binghe some face.
He’s guided down a winding path into a sprawling, candlelit garden with a single, white-clothed table in the centre. Ah, this kind of setting really is dangerous, isn’t it?
Dinner proceeds awkwardly. Shen Yuan is on edge, and Binghe is putting on the whole globetrotting playboy persona that Shen Yuan finds cute in small doses but grates a little when it goes on this long, and the food isn’t as good as Binghe’s cooking, even if it probably costs an eye-watering amount of money.
“Does Yuan-ge go out like this often?” Binghe asks, noticing his unimpressed reaction.
“Not really. My family normally eats in,” of course, catered by a private chef and just as swanky as any 3-star restaurant, but without the company, "sometimes Qingge asks me to go with him, though.” He hates going to sponsorship events, but he knows Liu Qingge hated them even more.
Binghe’s eyes narrow above his smile.
“I see. I think I’d quite like to meet this Liu Qingge, Yuan-ge.” Ah? Is he a fan? Maybe getting close to Shen Yuan was all a ploy to make a connection with him, he muses idly, poking at an oyster he doesn’t like the look of with his fork, but surely there were much easier ways to go about that for someone of Binghe’s enigmatic standing.
“I don’t know,” he says carefully.
Binghe’s grin grows slightly less tame.
“Why not?”
Because you’ve been looking at the waiter that you hired with a truly disturbing expression every time he comes over with another dish? Like he made some grave transgression by being this close to Shen Yuan?
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You’re acting like you think I would hurt him,” Binghe says pleasantly, stroking a finger along his knife contemplatively. Ahh…
Shen Yuan takes too long to respond. Binghe flicks the knife into his hand and cuts elegantly into his steak before offering a bite to Shen Yuan.
“Would you like me to, A-Yuan?” He asks in that same light, lilting tone. Shen Yuan grabs the hand holding the fork and spins it around to shove it into Binghe’s own mouth.
“Stop saying stupid shit,” he grouses.
The rest of the meal passes in relative silence. Shen Yuan declines dessert. He’s hoping they’ll head straight home, but once they leave the restaurant Binghe leads him down a few streets until they emerge to a river running through the city. They walk along it for a while, passing by giggling schoolgirls out too late and well-dressed families who probably enjoyed their dinners much more than he did. Binghe goes to wrap an arm around Shen Yuan’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off, wary of the attention that Binghe always seems to draw.
They pass by a group of musicians playing along the water’s edge, and Binghe asks if he wants to stop and watch with the other people gathered around. Shen Yuan shakes his head. He can feel Binghe’s eyes on him as they continue, and it doesn’t help settle Shen Yuan’s nerves. It really has been a while since he’s been in a crowd like this, too used to the quiet streets around his apartment.
Binghe yanks him by the back of his fancy suit jacket into the next alleyway they pass, dragging them down to its dimly-lit end.
Binghe stares down at him for a while, a crease between his brows. Shen Yuan shifts on his feet uneasily.
“Yuan-ge said he liked this kind of stuff,” he says, quiet and intense. Had he?
“It makes me wonder what else he’s been lying about,” Binghe adds bitterly.
Shen Yuan frowns up at him.
“What’s wrong with you today?”
“I’m not the one who’s—” Binghe starts to say, until he cuts himself off.
“Go on,” Shen Yuan says, “who’s what?”
Binghe lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Let’s just go home,” he says, like he can't bear to deal with another minute of Shen Yuan's (admittedly poor) behaviour.
“Sorry I can’t offer you more excitement.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What, this isn’t you getting tired of me? I’m sure you could find some girl to fool around with who would appreciate this more.”
Binghe crowds Shen Yuan against the wall. Distantly, he can feel the brick digging into his back, but it’s hard to think of anything but Binghe when he’s so close, clogging Shen Yuan’s nose with warm spice. Binghe’s eyelashes flutter as he looks down at Shen Yuan’s lips, and his breath hitches in response.
“How many times have I told you I love you, A-Yuan?”
Shen Yuan grimaces. They’re in public.
“Not enough, clearly.”
“Just because you say it, it doesn’t mean—”
Binghe shuts him up by dragging a thumb across his bottom lip before scraping back the opposite way with his nail. He leans even closer and grabs his lip between his thumb and index finger. Shen Yuan reflexively opens his mouth, and Binghe takes the opportunity to slip his thumb into the hot, wet heat of it, against Shen Yuan’s tongue. He can taste the salt on Binghe’s skin.
“A-Yuan, you don’t believe me? After everything?”
He presses a kiss to Shen Yuan’s lip, over his thumb.
“I’ll prove you wrong, A-Yuan. I’ll spend every second of every day telling you how much I love you, and if you still aren’t convinced, I’ll show you with more than just my words,” he says, and kisses each one of Shen Yuan’s cheeks softly.
“I promise you, A-Yuan, I love you. I love you more than I ever thought was possible. I love you so much it hurts.”
He chuckles, briefly.
“All this time, I’ve been worried that A-Yuan doesn’t love me. How funny to find you think the same.”
Binghe smiles down at him, softly, adoringly.
“Do you trust me, A-Yuan?”
Shen Yuan thinks about it seriously. After what they’ve been through, after everything Binghe has done?
He really shouldn’t.
He nods.
“I’m glad. Do you think I would lie to you, A-Yuan?”
He shakes his head, Binghe’s thumb stroking over his tongue as he does.
“Then when I say I love you, know that I mean it. Know that it's the truth.”
He gives Shen Yuan one last lingering kiss.
“Can you do that for me, A-Yuan?”
He looks into Binghe’s eyes, black and bright and devout.
He nods, and brings his hands up to fist in Binghe’s shirt, feeling unsteady.
At the entrance of the alleyway, a group of party-goers pass by, hooting and hollering. Shen Yuan is brought back to the reality of the situation, that they’re currently in! public! He starts, accidentally biting down. Shen Yuan tries to apologise, but Binghe hasn’t taken his thumb out of his mouth, so it comes out as a whimper. Binghe doesn’t look too upset. He looks quite pleased with himself, actually.
He wonders how long Binghe is going to stay like this. Not that he—not that he minds, if this is how Binghe wants to use Shen Yuan to make up for how he’d acted. It’s not too bad, having Binghe’s thumb lazily pressing circles into his tongue, even if his jaw twinges a bit at him as he tries to keep his teeth away.
Binghe pushes his thumb down, forcing Shen Yuan to open his mouth wider. Shen Yuan makes a questioning noise, but it’s cut off as Binghe yanks his thumb out and, before Shen Yuan has a chance to close his mouth, replaces it with two fingers. He’s rough with it, filling his throat, and Shen Yuan chokes around the digits but Binghe doesn’t relent, simply pressing in further.
Shen Yuan hiccups weakly as he tries to breathe through his nose, saliva pooling in his mouth. A minute passes, and Shen Yuan is starting to feel light-headed. Binghe finally withdraws his fingers, along with a thick trail of spit, and as Shen Yuan gasps for air Binghe holds his hand up to the light, spreading the wet fingers apart and watching drool web between them. Then he brings them to his own mouth, and sucks.
Shen Yuan has recovered enough by now to feel an odd jolt in his stomach at the sight. Binghe smirks around his fingers as he draws them out slowly, locking eyes with Shen Yuan. He brushes them down and sticks them under the collar of Shen Yuan's dress shirt. It’s high-necked, just in case anyone decided to ask questions about what wild animal had mauled him.
Binghe tips forward, biting a kiss onto Shen Yuan’s tingling lips and untucking his shirt to grope at Shen Yuan's waist. Shen Yuan lets out a loud moan—of surprise—and spares a moment to worry if someone on the street heard before Binghe bites down hard on his neck and he’s sufficiently distracted.
Binghe pulls back to pant all over Shen Yuan’s face, peppering kisses across his cheeks, down his jaw, on the tip of his nose, and even against his eyelids. It would be sweet if only Shen Yuan couldn’t feel his fingers wriggling down the hem of his pants to dig into his ass.
“Binghe,” he says, intending for reproachful but perhaps coming across as desperate if the way Binghe’s eyes darken in response is any indicator.
“Yuan-ge,” Binghe croons, nuzzling his hair. Shen Yuan tries to ignore the heady strain of Binghe’s erection digging into his hip.
“Binghe, let’s go home.”
Binghe looks down at Shen Yuan so heatedly that Shen Yuan almost thinks he’s just going to—that he might just—right there, against the brick—
“Please, Binghe, I—” he bites his lip, steels himself, this is all for the sake of public decency, “let’s go to bed.”
Ah, that wasn’t quite as suggestive as he thought it would be. He grabs Binghe’s hand, and, face burning in embarrassment, nibbles at the tip of his index finger.
Shen Yuan finds himself scooped up into a bridal carry as Binghe almost breaks into a run to get back to the road and hail a taxi, so his amateur play at seduction seems successful. To Shen Yuan’s great shame, Binghe keeps him in his lap for the ride back. Shen Yuan has to spend so much energy keeping himself still so he doesn’t provoke Binghe into traumatising the poor driver that when they finally get back to the apartment, he really is too tired to do anything but roll into bed. Binghe doesn’t let that stop him, whispering sweet nothings into Shen Yuan’s ear and working him until he screams.
The next morning, Binghe takes great joy in carrying Shen Yuan around in his arms after he complains about being too sore to walk. He’s worried about the future of his health.
Watching Binghe stand in front of the stove, wearing a frilly apron Shen Yuan had bought on a whim online as a joke, he thinks that he might also be the happiest he’s ever been. That he doesn’t want to lose this, no matter the cost.
Binghe hovers over Shen Yuan’s unconscious body, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his eyelashes as he dreams.
A-Yuan, he thinks. A-Yuan A-Yuan A-Yuan A-Yuan—
“Binghe?” Shen Yuan murmurs drowsily. Binghe holds his breath. He knew he wasn't supposed to do this, why do you always do this, what if Shen Yuan finally gets sick of you, realises how much better he deserves—
Shen Yuan props himself up on an elbow and presses a kiss to the tip of Binghe’s nose.
“Go to sleep,” he says, tugging Binghe down until he’s cradling Binghe’s head against his chest.
“Yuan-ge…”
“Shh. Yuan-ge loves you,” he mumbles, petting Binghe's hair languidly.
Binghe shuts his eyes but stays awake, even as Shen Yuan's hand stills and he starts to snore.
What more could his dreams offer him? He has everything he’s ever wanted right here.