It's well-after midnight and Xiao Zhan's half-dozing in front of the TV, trying to find the energy to move to his bed, when he hears someone knocking on his door.
He's confused and half-asleep when he checks through the peep-hole and fumbles with the lock. There aren't many people who have the door code for his building, even fewer he'd expect to show up at his door at this time of night. Wang Yibo is on the first list, but he's most certainly not on the second. And yet, here he is -- leather jacket, helmet-mussed hair, gremlin grin.
He looks gorgeous.
He looks dangerous.
He looks like everything Xiao Zhan wants, and everything he can never allow himself to have.
Xiao Zhan has been careful. He laughs and teases and flirts with Yibo, basks in the mutual regard, the shared jokes, the little touches, but he never lets it go further, always takes a step back when he most wants to step forward.
But here, now, brain still fuzzy from exhaustion, Xiao Zhan ignores all the reasons this is a terrible idea; he opens the door.
He steps back to let Yibo past him, but Yibo only comes in far enough to close the door himself and pushes Xiao Zhan against it. He cages Xiao Zhan in with his hands, holds him down with the press of his body, and ghosts a kiss against his neck.
Xiao Zhan forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think. His hands are on Yibo's hips, but he's not sure if that's so he can pull him closer or push him away. He should push him away, but he doesn't.
Yibo's singing something quietly, but it takes Xiao Zhan's tired, lust-addled brain a moment to recognize the familiar tune, the less-familiar English lyrics: gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight….
Suddenly Xiao Zhan is laughing, high-pitched and breathless, burying his face in Yibo's hair. He is disarmed, all his defenses have crumbled. He loves this beautiful, ridiculous boy.
He is in love with this gorgeous, impossible, impossibly brave man.
And suddenly he's not laughing at all. He moves his hands to Yibo's shoulders and pushes him back so he can see his face. He doesn't let go.
"Yibo," he breathes. "What—? Why—?"
Yibo's lips are turned down in an exaggerated pout, but his eyes are laughing and there's a flush high on his cheekbones. "You practically invited me, Zhan-ge. How could I say no?"
It's such a nonsensical answer that there's nothing Xiao Zhan can do but kiss him. For once, he steps forward instead of back. He slides one hand up to the back of Yibo's neck, tangles his fingers in his hair, and kisses him.
Xiao Zhan was tired when he opened the door, but he's wide awake now. How could he not be, with Yibo boxing him in, pressing him back, all hard angles and wiry strength? He tugs on Yibo's hair—he means it as a gentle encouragement for Yibo to tilt his head back, to change the angle just a bit—but his hands are clumsy, his body not yet as awake as his brain, and Yibo moves at just the wrong time, so instead of a gentle tug, he ends up yanking hard. And Yibo--Yibo makes the most amazing sound, high-pitched and broken, and it goes straight to Xiao Zhan's cock.
"Fuck Zhan-ge—fuck—do that again."
Xiao Zhan does. He twists his fingers in Yibo's hair and pulls, and Yibo leans into it, arching his back and baring his throat, following where Xiao Zhan leads. It's the hottest thing Xiao Zhan has ever seen: all that strength gone pliant in his hands.
Xiao Zhan has wanted this for so long, and he knows Yibo has too. Yibo has been asking, and asking, and asking, in every possible way. And Xiao Zhan has been refusing, pushing Yibo away again and again.
Past Xiao Zhan was an idiot.
Present Xiao Zhan is pushing Yibo away too, but only for a moment, so he can shove the motorcycle jacket off of Yibo's shoulders and get his hands under his thin t-shirt. Only so he can turn them so that it's Yibo against the wall, Yibo caged in by Xiao Zhan.
Yibo wraps his big hands around Xiao Zhan's waist and yanks him even closer. Yibo might be the one against the wall now, but Xiao Zhan is still the one who's caught, trapped by Yibo's bruising grip on his hips, by Yibo’s desperate gasps as Xiao Zhan presses their bodies together. He puts his hands back in Yibo's hair and yanks his neck to the side, just to hear that broken sound again. He thinks it might be his favourite sound in the world.
Yibo's t-shirt is loose and stretched out at the neck, revealing the sharp edge of his collar bone. He wants to mark Yibo up, leave tangible signs of his presence all over his body, but he doesn't know what Yibo's schedule is tomorrow, so he licks a line along the ridge of his collar bone instead. He stretches the t-shirt further, until he can bite down as hard as he wants, suck bruise after bruise into the perfect skin of Yibo's chest until Yibo is shaking and writhing beneath him.
"Zhan-ge—Zhan-ge—wait—fuck—" Yibo whines, and Xiao Zhan forces himself to stop, to untangle his hands from Yibo's silky hair and pull back enough for them both to catch their breath.
Yibo lets go of Xiao Zhan's hips and puts one foot against the wall, forcing the space of a bent knee between them. Xiao Zhan's hands itch with the desire to push that foot down, to shove himself back into Yibo's space.
He puts his hands behind his back.
Yibo has his eyes shut, head tipped back against the wall. He’s thrown one arm over his face, which only serves to highlight the angles of his body, his kiss-bitten lips, the flush of red that starts high in his cheekbones and disappears under the stretched-out neckline of his t-shirt. The mark left by Xiao Zhan’s teeth, dark against his flushed skin.
Yibo takes one breath. Two. Three. Each steadier than the last. Then he drops his face into his hands and starts to giggle.
That—that was not the response Xiao Zhan was expecting. He suddenly can’t breathe. Did he misunderstand—? Did Yibo not want—? A moment ago, Xiao Zhan didn’t want to stop touching Yibo, and now he’s starting to calculate how far away he can get in his own damn apartment. He stumbles backwards until he smacks into the back of the sofa. That far, apparently.
But when Yibo looks up—when he finally looks at Xiao Zhan for the first time since they stopped kissing—he’s smiling, wide and happy.
“Sorry!—Sorry!” Yibo says, still laughing around the words. “I’m just—I can’t believe that worked! How did that work? If I’d known all it would take was one cheesy pickup line—”
And then Xiao Zhan’s laughing again too, overwhelmed by relief and joy and the sheer ridiculousness of the whole situation. It's almost one am on a weeknight, and Xiao Zhan is making out with Wang Yibo in his living room. Because Wang Yibo showed up on his doorstep at two am with a cheesy pickup line and hope in his eyes.
Yibo turns serious again, another quicksilver shift in mood catching Xiao Zhan off-balance. He asks the question again: “Why is this what worked, Zhan-ge?” He’s not laughing now.
Xiao Zhan isn’t laughing either. “It’s late. You caught me off-guard. I don’t know why—” But suddenly he does know, the disparate pieces of it clicking together in his head. He takes two steps forward. Two more. Closes the distance between them--gives in again to the gravitational pull, the need that's been itching under his skin since they met They're close enough to touch now.
So he does. He takes Yibo's face in his hands, looks him straight in the eyes, and kisses him, just once, firm and sure. Xiao Zhan is sure of this. He can't imagine why he was ever unsure.
“It’s just—You’re so brave, Yibo." Another kiss. "You're always so brave." Another. With every kiss he can feel the tension bleeding out of Yibo's muscles. "And suddenly all I could think—" Another. He's never going to stop kissing Yibo now that he's started. "All I could think was that you shouldn’t have to always be so brave alone.”
Xiao Zhan keeps his eyes locked with Yibo’s as he sinks to his knees. “Yibo—sweetheart—you should never have had to be brave alone.”
Yibo's head hits the wall with a thunk. His eyes are closed, his throat bared.
They're both still dressed. Xiao Zhan has absolutely seen Yibo in less clothing, but he has never seen Yibo so naked. He's so open and pliant, baring himself so willingly. He's given himself entirely over to Xiao Zhan, and again Yibo's bravery takes his breath away.
It's no effort at all to reach for the button of Yibo's pants. To ease down the zipper. To push pants and underwear down together, until they're tangled around Yibo's feet. No effort at all to press his face to Yibo's groin, to take in the scent of him and the feel of soft skin and wiry hair against his cheek.
It's barely even an effort to take Yibo's cock—already half-hard—in his hand and stroke it to full hardness as Yibo gasps above him. Or to feel Yibo's large hand cradling the back of his neck, not trying to push or control him, just holding him, grounding them both.
After everything that's come before, taking Yibo into his mouth is the easiest thing in the world.
Xiao Zhan tastes him first, runs his tongue up the length of him, before gently suckling at the head. Remembering how Yibo had responded to Xiao Zhan's hand in his hair, he uses just the slightest hint of teeth and Yibo convulses over him, gasping and bucking into his mouth. Yibo's hand tightens on Xiao Zhan's neck, but he doesn't push him away, he pulls him closer instead.
Xiao Zhan has thought about this—touched himself late at night imagining what it would be like—but the reality of it is so much better, so much more than his most fervent fantasies.
Yibo’s cock is long and thick, almost more than Xiao Zhan can take. The weight and stretch of it are overwhelming. It’s good that he has a few days off from filming, because Xiao Zhan’s voice is going to be wrecked tomorrow. From the sounds Yibo is making—the desperation in his voice and the way it breaks as he gasps out Xiao Zhan's name—Xiao Zhan is not the only one who's going to be hoarse.
He can tell that Yibo is getting close. He can taste it on his tongue and feel it in the heavy press of Yibo's hand on his neck and hear it in his voice. "Please, Zhan-ge—please, don't stop—please—" As if Xiao Zhan could ever stop, as if Xiao Zhan will ever get enough.
Yibo's hand is heavy on his neck. The long fingers tangling in the fine hairs at the nape of Xiao Zhan's neck provide a sharp contrast to the stretch of his jaw as Yibo's cock swells on his tongue.
Xiao Zhan surrenders to the feeling of Yibo in him and around him. He takes Yibo into his mouth again and again—deep and wet and sloppy—and he doesn't stop until Yibo spills over his tongue, gasping out Xiao Zhan's name as he swallows around him.
It should be overwhelming. It should be too much. But Yibo has always been overwhelming, and he will never be too much.
They're both quiet for a moment afterwards. Xiao Zhan's own arousal feels distant, a pleasant thrum at the back of his mind as he rests his forehead against Yibo's hip and just breathes, holding on to the feeling. Yibo recovers first, pulling Xiao Zhan to his feet with clumsy hands and kissing him hungrily, chasing the taste of himself from Xiao Zhan's mouth.
The desperation in Yibo's kisses, brings Xiao Zhan's arousal rushing back. He wraps his arms around Yibo's neck and ruts against his thigh. He's suddenly shaking with desperation, too far gone to ask for more. He could come just from this, just from the feel of Yibo holding him and the memory of how he'd sounded as he fell apart. He's getting close, so close he can almost taste it, and then Yibo pushes Xiao Zhan's sweatpants down, wraps one big hand around Xiao Zhan's cock, and that's it, he's done. He's gone.
When he comes back to himself a moment—an eternity—later, Yibo is still holding him, stroking his hair and humming that familiar tune into his neck. Xiao Zhan sings the Mandarin lyrics back to him: "Why did this annoying breeze sweep you, sweep my feelings—" and the humming breaks off, replaced by a startled laugh that's sweeter than any music.
Yibo lifts his head from Xiao Zhan’s shoulder and tangles their fingers together. "Come on, my annoying breeze. Take me to bed."
And so Xiao Zhan does.