Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

They're filming in yet another cave set, this one in the Burial Mounds. They've solved the heating problems on this one—Yibo guesses it must help, too, that this one is a lot less damp, since it doesn't have a lake—and there's no wire work here, so it's actually a pretty easy day.

Xiao Zhan has been in what Yibo can only describe as a giddy mood all day—he's been the one who is constantly in Yibo's space, constantly trying to spar with him with his flute. He's been poking at Yibo's shoulder with it, hitting it against Bichen whenever Yibo raises it, and, memorably, pressing it under Yibo's chin, a grin on Xiao Zhan's face as he makes Yibo raise his head, the flute chilly against Yibo's skin.

"That's a break!" The call comes from across set, and everyone starts heading out for a quick lunch break before the next scene—which is right back here in the cave. Xiao Zhan is still trying to get Yibo to fight him with Bichen and Yibo advances on him, holding his sheathed sword up and forcing Xiao Zhan back until he stumbles against the wall with his hands up. "Fine, you win, I promise, you win!" he says, still grinning widely, and Yibo just knows he's going to start up again as soon as he possibly can.

"Lunch," Yibo says sternly, shaking his head as he turns. "I can't believe you're a 91-liner," he adds, as Xiao Zhan falls in beside him. "You're extremely ridiculous."

"You're extremely ridiculous," Xiao Zhan shoots back. "Hey, hang on, I want to show you something."

Yibo gives him a look and Xiao Zhan just grins wider.

"No, really, come on, trust me," he says, bumping up against Yibo with his shoulder.

The last few of the crew are heading out of the cave set. It's just him and Xiao Zhan left behind. "What?" Yibo says, glancing over at Xiao Zhan. "What did you want to—"

"This." Xiao Zhan backs away, still grinning, until his back hits a wall, which opens. The cave set is just that—a set—and the wall has a door in it, and the door reveals a storage closet, full of props and equipment. It's disguised to just look like part of the wall and if Yibo thinks about it, he has seen it propped open before, as the crew is doing the set up, but he never put it together.

Xiao Zhan strolls into the closet, looking over his shoulder at Yibo.

Yibo follows him in. "It's a closet," he says inanely, because the look Xiao Zhan is giving him has gone from giddy to heated.

"It is a closet," Xiao Zhan says agreeably. "It has a door." He shuts the door behind them. "And the door has a lock." He flips it.

"Oh," Yibo says—again, inanely—staring at Xiao Zhan in the dim lighting of the—locked—closet.

"Yeah," Xiao Zhan says, pushing up on his toes a little then back down, before he takes three steps forward and pulls Yibo into a kiss. It's hot right from the get-go—Xiao Zhan is going for it, not wasting even a second, as he kisses Yibo and presses up against him.

Yibo's right there with him—he'd known Xiao Zhan had been flirting all day, but he flirts every day, and it doesn't always end like this. They're on set and they can get away with a lot but there's only so far they can go. Yibo has learned to not get his hopes up and anyway, the flirting itself is like riding that edge and even if it doesn't go further than that, he's into it. He's so fucking into it.

But this is—he's into this too. He's into this even more than he is into the flirting and that is a fuck of a lot. He's into Xiao Zhan pressing his tongue into his mouth at the same time as he pushes his thigh between Yibo's legs. He's into the feel of Xiao Zhan's hands clenching against Yibo's robes, into the soft sounds Xiao Zhan is making in his throat. He's into how he can feel how hard Xiao Zhan is, can feel it against his thigh, and he wants—suddenly, he wants—

He backs Xiao Zhan up until he's against the wall. Xiao Zhan makes what is nearly a whimper as Yibo presses against him, hard, kissing him even as he's pushing at the robes, trying to get to his dick. "These fucking robes," he says against Xiao Zhan's mouth, and Xiao Zhan breathes out a laugh, cut off as Yibo finally, triumphantly, gets to the loose shorts Xiao Zhan is wearing underneath. It's easy, then, to push his hand inside the elastic waist, sliding into his underwear as well, until his hand is wrapped around Xiao Zhan's dick.

"Fuck." Xiao Zhan moans it, his hands tight on Yibo's shoulders. "Yeah, Yibo, please, you have to—

He's so wet already, streaking Yibo's wrist as he slides his hand over him. Fuck, it's so hot, how he's leaking so much, how he can't seem to stop jerking his hips, how he's cutting off his moans, and how he just keeps talking. Through his moans, just a litany of "Please" and "Yes" and "oh fuck, just like that." Yibo's so fucking hard himself, so into this, and he can't take it another second, he just wants—

When he drops to his knees, Xiao Zhan gasps, "Wait, your robes, they're—"

Yibo hisses out a curse and arranges it so his white robes aren't under his knees, will just end up dusty, not incriminatingly stained. He has his hands hooked in the waist of Xiao Zhan's shorts and underwear, drags them both down, just enough to get his dick out. He wraps his hand around it and doesn't lose a moment in getting it in his mouth.

God, it's so fucking good. Xiao Zhan is gasping out curses above him almost immediately and he's thrusting a little bit into his mouth, like he can't help it, like he can't stop it, and that's almost better than if he was just fucking his mouth. Something about Xiao Zhan trying to hold back and not being able to do it because Yibo's mouth on his cock is just too good—it's hitting Yibo like a kick to gut.

Xiao Zhan's dick is long, and slim, and he's leaking steadily across Yibo's tongue, and Yibo is so into the taste of it, has always been into the taste of sucking dick. He knows people talk about it like it's a task, like it's something you do just to get points with the other person, maybe, or to get turnabout. He knows other people think swallowing is gross, has heard them talk about the taste being nasty, but he's always liked it. It tastes salty and earthy and Xiao Zhan in particular leaks more than anyone else Yibo's ever been with, and he likes that most of all. It feels as though he has Xiao Zhan on the edge from the very start, that he wants this so bad his dick keeps giving this kick, spilling more precome onto Yibo's tongue.

It feels like a promise of what's to come, and that what's to come is getting there fast. Xiao Zhan is panting above him and his hips are jerking forward and Yibo wraps his hand around the base of Xiao Zhan's dick and works him that way at the same time as he sinks down as far as he can. "Fuck," Xiao Zhan says above him, sounding desperate. "You're so fucking good at this, fuck, your mouth, how did you get this good, how did you learn, you're—" He whines then, tightly, like he's trembling on the edge and trying not to go over.

Yibo slows his movements—he doesn't want this to end, either. He wants to suck Xiao Zhan's dick for hours, wants to keep him right there on the edge. He wants to, suddenly, jerk him off as he sucks him until Xiao Zhan starts to come and then pull off, so Xiao Zhan spills all over his lips, his face.

He's too late, though—in the next moment, Xiao Zhan pants, "I'm going to come, you're going to make me come, Yibo, I can't—"

Yibo likes the jerk of Xiao Zhan's dick in his mouth as he comes against his tongue, likes the clutch of Xiao Zhan's hands on his shoulders, the noises Xiao Zhan makes as he loses it. He comes so much, almost too much—Yibo has to pull off to swallow it, some spilling out the corner of his mouth.

Xiao Zhan catches it with his thumb, wiping it clean before it can drip onto Yibo's robes. He's looking down at Yibo, mouth open, his breath still coming in panting gasps.

Yibo surges to his feet, kissing Xiao Zhan, wanting it—needing it, needing— They're both scrabbling at Yibo's robes, getting in each other's way, and Yibo is frantic. He needs to get his dick out, he needs to come. Xiao Zhan gets there first, pushing Yibo's hand out of the way and getting Yibo's dick out of his shorts. "Wow," he says, as he wraps his hand around it, looking down. "Yibo, you're packing."

"Shut up." Yibo shoves his dick through the circle of Xiao Zhan's fingers. Fuck, he's close, he's so fucking close. "Shut up, just touch me, you—" He wraps his own hand over Xiao Zhan's and they jerk him off together, Yibo panting against Xiao Zhan's face, the slide of Xiao Zhan's hand so good. Xiao Zhan's breath is still coming fast, and Xiao Zhan's dick still out, and he's—

Yibo curses as he comes, trembling against Xiao Zhan and spilling right there in his hand. He can't catch his breath; he can't stop coming. Xiao Zhan strokes him through it, saying soft words that Yibo can't quite make out through the ringing in his ears, but as he gives one last shudder, the words resolve themselves as, "So good, Yibo, so good."

That makes him shudder yet again, his head dropping against Xiao Zhan's shoulder as he swallows and tries to get his breathing under control.

"Fuck," Xiao Zhan says, sounding admiring, sounding giddy, again. "That was—Yibo, that was—"

Yibo cracks his eyes open, as Xiao Zhan nudges him back softly. Xiao Zhan's looking at him, his pupils blown, his cheeks red, looking like—well, like he'd just had a blowjob and had liked it very goddamn much.

Yibo wants to kiss him again. Yibo wants to suck him off again. Yibo wants—

"We have to—" Xiao Zhan's looking down between them, holding his hand out carefully where—oh, he'd caught most of Yibo's come. He's a little spattered, not bad, but still. Yibo looks around, snags a rag from one of the shelves nearby. It's clean and he hands it to Xiao Zhan, who uses it to wipe off his hand first, then dabs at his robes before starting to set himself to rights.

Oh. Right. Yibo tucks himself away, fixes his robes, all the while wishing they had more time. He could go again—he can feel it, how he could get hard again in no time. But instead they have to get back out. They need to grab something to eat, and hope no one notices them coming in late. They need to—

"Come here," Xiao Zhan says, and kisses him again. It's lingering and Yibo's dick definitely starts perking up again immediately. "Yibo, you're so—"

Yibo can't listen to this right now, can't process what Xiao Zhan might be about to say. He kisses Xiao Zhan again instead, then pulls back. "Zhan-ge," he says. He's not sure where he's going with it, but his stomach rumbles just then and Xiao Zhan laughs against his lips.

"Lunch," Xiao Zhan says. "We can still grab something. Come on, let's go." He slips his hand into Yibo's and turns to the door, listening for a moment before easing it open and peeking out. "Come on," he says again, grinning over his shoulder and tugging Yibo out behind him.

Afterwards—after they show up at craft services and grab some food, something they can just shove into their mouths, since they've left themselves no time to sit down—Yibo can't stop grinning. He tries, he really does—he's not doing it on purpose, but his lips keep tugging up into a smile without his volition. He can't help it. He giggles when Xiao Zhan scoops up a bun and has to juggle it from hand to hand, going, "Hot, hot, hot," and then he can't stop, just sort of leans against Xiao Zhan while he tries to get it under control.

"You laugh at my pain, didi?" Xiao Zhan says, widening his eyes and making a put-upon face. "Cruel. He's so cruel," he calls over to where Ji Li is standing on the other side of the table, grabbing a last bun himself.

Ji Li just shakes his head, pointing at Yibo. "Look at him, what have you done to him? He's a mess, he can't get it together."

Yibo breaks down a little more, trying so hard to swallow down his giggles, thinking about how he can still taste Xiao Zhan in his mouth. He knows what Xiao Zhan tastes like, he knows what it feels like, the slide of his cock against his tongue. It's both hot and, honestly, hysterically funny, Ji Li asking what Xiao Zhan has done to him. He has to get it together. He really does have to get it together.

"Too much travel," Xiao Zhan says, elbowing Yibo sternly. "Too much travel, not enough sleep, he's losing it."

"I'm losing it," Yibo agrees, standing up straight and shoving a bun into his mouth to staunch the giggles. He's fine. He's fine.

Cast and crew head back to the cave set, and Yibo doesn't look at the now-closed door to the supply room, barely visible where it's set into the stone of the wall. He doesn't look at it and he tries to not look at Xiao Zhan.

He fails.

It is taking the crew forever to set up the rest of the new scene, but the lighting crew has everything in place and the way the set is lit makes Xiao Zhan look like he's glowing, in the best possible way. His eyes are huge and his cheekbones are sharp and his mouth is—

Yibo's not going to think about his mouth. He's not.

"You're just too good looking," he says without meaning to. "It's too much." He's nailed the teasing tone, and the way Xiao Zhan rolls his eyes gets a laugh from Fan Xing. Still, a smile is tugging at the corner of Xiao Zhan's mouth and Yibo likes that. He wants to see more of that.

"Stop," Xiao Zhan says, not looking at him, shaking the long hair of his wig out of his face, but he's smiling wider, and Yibo can't help but lean his arm on his shoulder, resting his weight there.

Xiao Zhan allows it. Xiao Zhan is smiling easily and he's chatting with Zhoucheng. From this close up, Yibo can see how flawless his skin is, and how his lips look like he's been kissed very thoroughly—though maybe that's only Yibo's opinion.

He should stop thinking about Xiao Zhan's lips. He should stop thinking about what it's like to kiss him. He should stop thinking about what it felt like as Xiao Zhan pressed his hard dick up against Yibo.

Xiao Zhan says something to Zhoucheng that gets another laugh, and Yibo laughs, too, even though he hasn't heard a single word. He's still leaning on Xiao Zhan's shoulder and Xiao Zhan is still letting him and Yibo knows what he tastes like when he comes. Yibo knows the kick of his cock just before, knows the sharp and salty flavor of him, knows just how much he comes, and the sounds he makes when he's doing it.

Yibo's pretty sure he's grinning too wide, is pretty sure he's leaning too close, but he can't stop it. Fuck, he's so relaxed and happy and loose, he can't even control his face. He can't. He's just—

Xiao Zhan is humming something under his breath, some song that Yibo thinks he knows the cadence of. Xiao Zhan looks happy, too, even as he lifts Yibo's arm off his shoulder, presses Yibo back with a stern look that goes right through Yibo in the best possible way. "Hi," Yibo says, stupidly—grinning, still grinning, is he ever going to be able to stop grinning? His face hurts from it. He wants to suck Xiao Zhan off again.

"We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it," Xiao Zhan sings lightly in response. His voice is clear and sweet, the acoustics of the cave actually perfect for the lilt in his voice, even with the silly lyrics.

"All of the memories, so close to me, just fade away," Yibo sings Avril back at him, and he doesn't think he's imagining the way Xiao Zhan smiles at him even as he keeps singing, a different sort of smile, maybe, than he gives anyone else.

Yibo leans on his shoulder again. Xiao Zhan gives an exaggerated sigh, but settles himself under Yibo's weight and doesn't push him off.

"Places!" a crew member calls.

Everyone shifts into position and Yibo reluctantly moves his arm off of Xiao Zhan, but stays close, because this is his place. Fuck. He needs to get off more often if it makes him this goofy. He needs to do that again. With Xiao Zhan. Soon.

Xiao Zhan glances at him out of the corner of his eye, like he knows what he's thinking. He hums a little, again, and the melody is a different song, one that Yibo almost knows, can't quite place.

"Ready," Director Chen calls and Yibo straightens up, slips into Lan Wangji. It's almost a relief. His cheeks are tingly from grinning. He needs to focus, and he can, and will, but afterwards—

"Action!"

Yibo tightens his grip around Bichen's sheath and makes his gaze a stony near-glare and gets lost in the scene.

"The walls," Xiao Zhan pants, "are paper-thin." He's got one hand wrapped around the back of Yibo's neck as Yibo sucks lightly at the skin just under his jaw, where his pulse jumps, where he's been wanting to put his mouth all day. "We've got to—fuck, Yibo, I—" His hips press forward against Yibo's and Yibo presses his tongue against the same spot before moving up to bite at Xiao Zhan's ear, trying not to get carried away with his neck. He wants to leave a mark there, wants to suck at it and bruise Xiao Zhan, where everyone will see it, where no make-up could hide it. He wants—

"Shh." Xiao Zhan's voice is shaky, his hand sliding up into Yibo's hair, dragging his mouth back to Xiao Zhan's. "We can't make noise, we can't—"

"It's so fucked up," Yibo says against Xiao Zhan's mouth, "that we have even less privacy in your hotel room than we do on set."

He'd managed to stay in his own room for all of twenty minutes—enough time to shower, to shove on a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt—before texting Xiao Zhan. All he'd sent him was a single question. Are you tired?

Come over had been Xiao Zhan's immediate response.

Yibo had failed at his endeavor to not think about Xiao Zhan's mouth. He had spent the last three days thinking about nothing but Xiao Zhan's mouth, through the late-night shoots that had them getting about three hours of sleep a night, through long hours of wire work that has left Yibo with bruises in the craziest of places, through all the time on set when he was not kissing Xiao Zhan, was not sucking Xiao Zhan's dick, was not pressing Xiao Zhan up against a wall and just going for it.

This is the first night they've gotten back to the hotel at a reasonable hour. Everyone is haggard, too worn out to even party about it. Yibo's exhausted but he's not tired—it's hitting him through ramped-up need. It seems as though Xiao Zhan is on the exact same page, from the way he'd reeled Yibo in the second he'd walked through the door.

"There's a bed," Yibo points out now. "Right there."

Xiao Zhan has him against the wall, holding him in place. Yibo is hard. Yibo had been hard since before he'd even come over. Yibo wants to walk Xiao Zhan backwards and push him until they're both on the bed. He wants Xiao Zhan to roll him over and just—

"We can't." Xiao Zhan's hands move down, over Yibo's arms, even as he kisses him again, hard and intent. "I can't, they'll hear, everyone will hear, I won't be able to—"

Yibo groans. He wants that. He wants Xiao Zhan too caught up in it to shut his mouth. He can picture it, and his dick gets even harder—Xiao Zhan too close to getting off to be quiet about it, Xiao Zhan's face looking flushed and desperate, the sounds he'd make, what he'd say, what he'd do.

"We can be quiet," Yibo lies. He presses his dick up against Xiao Zhan. "I can be quiet, I can—"

"I can't," Xiao Zhan says regretfully, and pushes his hand into Yibo's sweatpants. Yibo gasps as Xiao Zhan wraps his hand around him. Xiao Zhan's eyebrow goes up, even as he strokes his thumb over the head of Yibo's dick. "No underwear," he says. "Bold."

"It's how I roll," Yibo manages, breathlessly.

"So I've noticed." Xiao Zhan nudges Yibo's sweats down with his free hand, and Yibo helps, pushing them down with him so his dick is free.

Xiao Zhan strokes him, slowly, watching Yibo's face. Yibo licks the corner of his own mouth, swallows the moan that wants to come out. He can be quiet.

"Good," Xiao Zhan says softly, like he's in control, which is a little hilarious, given how hard he's breathing, how his dick is tenting out his shorts. "Good, we can just—we have to just—"

Yibo pushes his hips forward, fucking his dick through the hot, damp circle of Xiao Zhan's hand. He groans softly, deep in his throat, and Xiao Zhan leans in to kiss him again, like he can swallow the noises.

"You have to be quiet," he says, his hand moving on Yibo's dick. "Anyone could hear. If I had you on the bed—" Xiao Zhan swallows, his eyes on Yibo's face. "If I had you on the bed, I wouldn't be able to stop. I want—would you let me fuck you?"

Yibo's whole body gives a jerk and he very nearly comes just from that. "Yes," he says, too loudly, pushing his hips forward. He whines when Xiao Zhan pins his shoulder back against the wall with his free hand. "I'd—yes."

Xiao Zhan's eyes are hot and he's working Yibo's dick harder now, faster. "I keep thinking about it," Xiao Zhan says tightly. "I keep thinking about how hot your mouth was when you sucked me off."

Xiao Zhan saying sucked me off is something Yibo is going to wrap up like a present and tuck away in his spank bank.

"How hot would you be inside if I could fuck you?" Xiao Zhan says then. "I don't think I'd be able to be slow, or quiet." He gives a small, shaky laugh. "I know I wouldn't. I'd want to fuck you though the mattress."

"Do it," Yibo pants, his voice coming out strangled. "Do it, I don't care who can hear, I want—"

"Can't," Xiao Zhan says. "We can't, but I—"

He takes his hand off of Yibo's dick and Yibo whines again, he can't help it, he needs—

"Shh," Xiao Zhan says. He uses both hands to push his own shorts down, and Yibo immediately zones in on where his dick is pressed up against his underwear, which is a light enough blue that Yibo can see where Xiao Zhan has leaked a wet spot right where the head of his dick is. His breath catches in his throat. It's so fucking hot, and he's about three seconds away from dropping to his knees and licking the head of Xiao Zhan's dick through his underwear, wanting to taste him, wanting—

"Fucking hell, Yibo," Xiao Zhan rasps and pushes his underwear down, getting his dick fully out. He strokes it twice.

Yibo whines—again, he can't stop—and says, "Fuck, please, I want—"

"Quiet," Xiao Zhan says desperately. "You have to— Here—"

Yibo thinks he's going to stroke them both off together, get his hands around them both and just get them off right there with his hand, and that would be great, fine, perfect. Yibo doesn't care, he just wants to come.

Instead, Xiao Zhan hauls Yibo off the wall, flipping him around and pushing him forward so his cheek is pressed up against it. Yibo's heart is beating wildly at how easily Xiao Zhan had done it, at how into that Yibo is: that feel of Xiao Zhan putting him right where he wants him.

"We have to be quiet." Xiao Zhan is pressing himself up behind Yibo, his dick—oh fuck, oh fuck—sliding between the cheeks of Yibo's ass. Not going in, just sliding up and over his hole, the head of his dick slick with the precome Xiao Zhan is leaking absolutely everywhere. It's not the smoothest slide, but Yibo doesn't need it to be, sort of doesn't want it to be. He wants to feel it, wants to feel the stutter of Xiao Zhan's hips as he thrusts against him, wants to feel how hot his dick is as he slides it up against Yibo again, and again.

"Quiet," Xiao Zhan is panting again, sounding strangled, like he's desperately tamping down his own sounds. Yibo's cheek is pressed up against the wall and he knows he's making too much noise, he knows he's groaning with every thrust Xiao Zhan makes but he can't stop. It's taking everything in his power to not be making so much more noise right now, to not be demanding more from Xiao Zhan, to not cry out every time Xiao Zhan fucks forward between the cheeks of his ass. "Fuck, Yibo, we have to—you have to—"

Xiao Zhan's hand, hot, sweaty, reaches around and presses over Yibo's mouth. Not hard, not smothering, just a reminder, almost, to shut the fuck up. That's what it feels like. Yibo groans again against Xiao Zhan's skin, and then, when Xiao Zhan thrusts forward again, Yibo sinks his teeth into the meat of Xiao Zhan's palm, just holding on, keeping himself from crying out.

"Fuck," Xiao Zhan pants desperately. "Fuck, Yibo, yeah, that's—good, you're—good, it's—"

Yibo reaches down and wraps his hand around his own dick, jerking himself off to the rhythm of Xiao Zhan's thrusts behind him. Xiao Zhan is making soft, cut-off moans against the back of Yibo's neck as his dick slides up again, and again. Yibo can feel him trembling and his thrusts go uneven. He presses forward hard and stays there, shaking as he comes against Yibo, between his cheeks, hot and wet. His breath is still coming fast against the back of Yibo's neck and the way he's trembling is just too much. It's everything, it's—

Yibo thrusts into the circle of his own fist and comes apart, his teeth still against Xiao Zhan's hand, his throat hurting with how hard he's biting back all the sounds he wants to be making.

He slumps forward against the wall after he's done, his knees weak, feeling like he's absolutely soaked in sweat and come. Which he is—Xiao Zhan's come is dripping down the back of his thighs.

When Xiao Zhan pulls his hand away from Yibo's mouth, Yibo can't stop the low whine that comes from deep in his throat.

Xiao Zhan doesn't shush him this time, just pulls away enough to—oh, snag his discarded t-shirt off the floor and use it to clean Yibo up. When he's done, he turns Yibo back around, holding him gently against the wall and looking at him. His eyes catch the glow of the bedside lamp and they are dark, and beautiful, and he looks stunned.

Yibo likes this look on Xiao Zhan. He likes having been part of putting this look on Xiao Zhan's face. He'd kiss him if he could pull himself together enough to lean forward.

Instead, Xiao Zhan moves closer and rests his forehead against Yibo's shoulder. He has his hands on Yibo's hips, and is gently stroking the skin there with his thumbs. Yibo feels a shudder go down his spine at the sensation, but he never wants Xiao Zhan to stop doing that.

"Good?" Yibo asks, and oh, his own voice comes out completely shot, like he's been sucking dick for an hour instead of just trying so hard to bite back all the sounds he'd wanted to be making.

"Yibo." Xiao Zhan is rocking his head back and forth against Yibo's shoulder. Yibo can hear the grin in his voice. "Yeah," he says, finally, lifting his head up and looking at Yibo. "Yeah, Yibo, that was what you could call good." He is grinning and Yibo likes that. Yibo likes him. He likes him so much.

Xiao Zhan looks down between them and his grin gets wider. They must look ridiculous, Yibo thinks: his sweatpants are down around his knees, Xiao Zhan's shorts caught right under his ass, both of their dicks hanging out, and they are more than a little messy.

Yibo grins, still slumped back against the wall. "There's a possibility that we need a shower," he says, tilting his head towards the bathroom door beside them.

Xiao Zhan shakes his head. "You're not wrong, but you're also not showering with me," he says.

Yibo frowns. "Why not?"

Xiao Zhan shakes his head again, his eyes dancing with amusement. "You were not quiet," he says.

"I was," Yibo protests. He definitely had been. "You have no idea how loud I wanted to be."

"Oh, yeah?" Xiao Zhan bites his lip a little, like he's thinking about it, about how loud Yibo could have been.

"Yeah," Yibo says, helplessly, because he can't stop thinking about the slide of Xiao Zhan's dick over his hole, can't stop thinking of how loud he would absolutely have been if Xiao Zhan had actually fucked him.

"I can hear you singing from across the hall, clear as day, when I'm brushing my teeth in there," Xiao Zhan says. "There is, approximately, a zero percent chance we're going to be able to be quiet if we're in the shower together."

"Right," Yibo says finally, disappointed. "I guess—give me a second to clean up and I'll get out of your hair."

Xiao Zhan's face softens. "It's probably for the best."

That's the main problem here, or one of them, at least. What are they doing here? What are they doing and is it just an on-set thing, is it just Xiao Zhan getting caught up in the filming, or what?

Yibo's not caught up in it. Yibo doesn't get caught up in filming enough to want to fuck his co-stars. Yibo may be only twenty but he's been in the business a lot longer than Xiao Zhan and he knows what he wants. He's not fucking around here.

Xiao Zhan—Yibo watches him on set. Watches him on breaks. Watches him as he's acting, and watches him when he's relaxed. Watches him when Xiao Zhan knows he's being watched—by Yibo, by the camera, by everyone around them—and watches Xiao Zhan when he's not paying any attention, when he's quiet and distracted and just himself.

Xiao Zhan flirts. Xiao Zhan flirts a little bit with everyone, but he flirts outrageously with Yibo. He flirts with him still, even though Yibo's made it very clear that he's a sure thing. He pushes him away, calls him obnoxious, unkind, reminds him of how much younger he is than Xiao Zhan, does it over and over again, but—

Xiao Zhan wants him. Xiao Zhan watches him, too. Xiao Zhan gets up in Yibo's space, unhesitating, and Xiao Zhan draws Yibo close whenever he can. Yibo knows this. He knows this.

Xiao Zhan lets Yibo suck his dick again, when it's nowhere near safe and nowhere near smart to do so. He lets Yibo drag him into a dressing room, and sure, they're alone right now, but anyone could come back at any point. Still, he lets Yibo push him down on the couch, lets Yibo get his dick out and when Yibo drops to his knees, Xiao Zhan's eyes go dark and hot and he curls his hand against Yibo's hair and holds on tight as Yibo takes him in deep. He murmurs soft words throughout, panting out "yes" and "good" and "more" and "Yibo." When Yibo wraps his fingers around the base of Xiao Zhan's dick and strokes him as he uses his lips on the head of Xiao Zhan's dick, where the taste is the strongest, Xiao Zhan groans softly and holds Yibo's head tighter.

Yibo goes down deep again, sucking hard and maintaining the rhythm. He pulls up when he feels the telltale kick of Xiao Zhan's dick, so Xiao Zhan spills all over Yibo's lips and chin, gasping, "Fuck, fuck, Yibo."

Xiao Zhan wipes it off with his thumb, afterward, his hand a little shaky. Yibo's still hard but he stays kneeling there, looking up at Xiao Zhan. He likes the way his dick feels, hard, thrumming with need. He wishes they had time to stay like this, wishes he could rest his head on Xiao Zhan's thigh and wait for Xiao Zhan to get his breath back enough that he could haul Yibo onto his lap.

Instead, he pushes himself to his feet and reaches down a hand, pulling Xiao Zhan up after him. Xiao Zhan gets himself sorted away, then reaches for Yibo, but Yibo shakes his head. "It's okay," he says. "Later, maybe. We have to—"

There's sound coming from outside the room now and they really did cut it close, Yibo thinks, as Xiao Zhan eases the door open and heads out first. Yibo hangs back, looking at himself in the dressing room mirror. He looks like himself. They'd not yet been put into the robes, no wigs, no make-up yet, which is good. He'd have fucked that up when he had Xiao Zhan come all over his mouth.

He touches his mouth now—it looks fine, looks normal, and a part of him wishes it didn't, wishes it looked like he's been sucking Xiao Zhan's dick. He knows, though. He knows, and Xiao Zhan knows. Yibo adjusts his dick a little in his shorts—he's still hard and that's something he's hoping will resolve itself soon.

Later. He'd said later. Maybe later, there could be some privacy. What would actual privacy look like? What could they do with that?

He runs his hand over his lips again and heads out.

Xiao Zhan has a commercial shoot the same weekend that Yibo is doing a short film for a video game company. Yibo knows it makes sense for their teams to have scheduled them at the same time—it helps with the filming schedule right now, since all of the scheduled scenes after this have them together—but the fact that they'll also be in the same city, at the same time, feels like an auspicious sign.

He hadn't realized, at first. Yibo's team wedges in a lot of appearances and filming where they can around the show's schedule; he's used to being shuttled around to one place or another. It's not until two days before he's leaving that Xiao Zhan, looking down at his phone, says, "I have to roll out to Shanghai so early on Saturday."

Yibo looks over at him. They're in the break room on set, slumped into chairs, waiting to be called for filming. Xiao Zhan has his fan pointed at his face with one hand while he scrolls on his phone with the other. Yibo is almost certain he'd just said— "Did you say Shanghai?"

Xiao Zhan glances up at him. "Yeah, it's where I..." He trails off, staring at Yibo, who feels like he's vibrating with excited tension. "...where that commercial shoot is taking place." He's looking at Yibo. "Where is your shoot happening?"

"Shanghai," Yibo says steadily.

"Oh." Xiao Zhan holds his gaze for a minute before looking down at his phone. "That's funny. Can't get away from each other, I guess." He says it lightly, but Yibo can see his pulse jumping in that spot just below his jawline.

"Guess not," Yibo says. He fidgets with his own phone, his brain pinging all over the place as it processes what this means. Privacy, and You don't have to be quiet and some fucking PRIVACY.

He reaches out with one foot, nudging at the script Xiao Zhan has resting on his lap until it tumbles onto the floor.

Xiao Zhan turns to him with wide, injured eyes. "Why are you like this, Wang Yibo?"

Yibo grins and then the grin turns into a cackle as Xiao Zhan scoops up the script and whacks Yibo's arm with it. "You're injuring me," he says, not even trying to avoid the hits with the script. He can't stop grinning, even though he knows it has to be wide, and obnoxious. "Stop injuring me. You're so mean."

"You're a menace," Xiao Zhan says, breathlessly. He's grinning, too, leaning so far forward to smack at Yibo that he nearly falls out of his chair.

Yibo laughs and gets up, dancing away so he doesn't give in to the impulse to grab at Xiao Zhan until he topples on top of him.

Shanghai. Privacy. Soon.

Xiao Zhan is gone by the time Yibo comes out of his room on Saturday morning. Yibo's flight is pretty early but Xiao Zhan's was at the crack of dawn. Yibo keeps thinking about what it would have been like if they had been on the same flight; about if he could have tamped this down, this need vibrating under his skin. If he would have made it through the flight without losing his mind and putting his hand on Xiao Zhan's dick.

It's good they're traveling separately.

Yibo doesn't even get to go to his hotel first. His car takes him directly to the studio for the filming and it's fine; it's actually pretty quick. Maybe that's just compared to the detail and care with which Director Chen approaches filming; this feels like nothing. It's easy, it's quick, there seems to be a plot to it that Yibo doesn't quite understand, but he doesn't have to. Ethereal is the direction he's given. Intangible, is another, and divine, not of this earth.

He rolls with it.

They love what he does with it and maybe that has something to do with the fact that his head is in the clouds throughout the filming. He nails his cues, the few lines, the blocking, but maybe the fact that a good portion of his brain is thinking about getting fucked by Xiao Zhan gives him that intangible quality that they're looking for.

He'd sent Xiao Zhan a message this morning. What hotel are you in? He knows his team booked him at the same hotel he stays at whenever he's filming in Shanghai; it's fancy as fuck, it's got good room service, and it's got good security.

He hadn't heard back right away but when he's done filming, he grabs his phone and Xiao Zhan has sent back, I'm going to guess yours is nicer.

He flips over to the message his assistant has sent to copy the address and the room number to send to Xiao Zhan, then hesitates. How to do this subtly. How to—

I'll come to yours, he sends. Tell me what hotel. What room? What time?

Xiao Zhan sends him the information, ending with When you're done with filming. Are you done? Come here when you're done.

Yibo is done. He is so very done with filming. He strips out of the (ethereal) costume and takes off the make-up. He looks at himself in the mirror for a minute—he'd slipped on tight black jeans with the holes in the knees, a loose black t-shirt, and his hair had survived the wig he'd been wearing for the shoot okay—he runs his fingers through it, shakes it into place. He looks pretty good. He...doesn't know why he's nervous, suddenly. Xiao Zhan has seen him day in and day out, in every possible manner of being, and keeps coming back for more. Why should he be nervous?

He's glad he'd made the call on going to Xiao Zhan's hotel. His hotel has good security, which means there'd be no way to get Xiao Zhan to his room without it being noted, probably in writing; probably in a security briefing with his team. This way, he's...spending the evening with a friend. This way, he can just have his team drop him off and make his way up to Xiao Zhan's room with nothing getting in his way. No one intercepts him; no one takes his name down.

Xiao Zhan really needs to work on getting a better team.

He knocks on the door and Xiao Zhan opens it right away, his eyes bright and sharp, letting Yibo slip in quickly. "Hi," Xiao Zhan says as Yibo takes off his shoes in the doorway. He looks—good. He looks like Yibo feels: excited. Anticipatory. Turned on, maybe. He's dressed a little nicer, too. Nights in the hotel after filming means he's usually in basketball shorts, ratty t-shirts. Right now, he's wearing crisp black slacks with a sharp crease, a loose white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Maybe he'd done the shoot in this outfit? Maybe he'd put it on for Yibo.

Yibo had traveled light—they're here for about thirty hours only—and he tosses his bag onto the floor and advances on Xiao Zhan. Thirty hours and they've killed too many of them with their respective shoots.

"This is a nice hotel," he says, moving closer.

"Yours is nicer," Xiao Zhan says. "I'd bet money on it."

"It is," Yibo agrees. "Nicer. More secure. Everyone keeping an eye on me."

"I'll keep an eye on you," Xiao Zhan says, such a line that Yibo knows he's supposed to laugh at it.

He doesn't.

"Still," he says. "This is a nice hotel. Good one. Solid walls." It's true—when the door had shut, it felt like it sealed them in, all sounds shut out with the closing of it.

"Nicer than the one back on set," Xiao Zhan says. He looks nervous, now, a little, or maybe that's Yibo projecting. He feels, for a second, like he doesn't know Xiao Zhan, like he hasn't seen him in every iteration of exhausted, worked up, serious. Like he hasn't spent nearly every minute of every day for the last two months in his space. Like he hasn't had Xiao Zhan's dick in his mouth.

His eyes keep getting caught on the crease of his trousers, how crisp his shirt is, how almost unrecognizable this Xiao Zhan is.

"You look..." Xiao Zhan trails off, looking, it seems, at Yibo's knees through the holes in his jeans. His mouth is open just a little, and he's sweating lightly—Yibo can see it gathering in the base of his neck as he swallows.

It hits Yibo in a rush. He's Xiao Zhan, the Xiao Zhan he knows. Yibo takes three swift steps forward and licks the sweat out of the hollow of Xiao Zhan's neck. It's what he thinks about doing every time Xiao Zhan gets sweaty like this. It tastes as good as he'd been thinking, but somehow he hasn't imagined the sound that Xiao Zhan would make as he does it, a sharp catch in his throat that Yibo can feel against his tongue.

It goes straight to his dick.

"How do I look, Zhan-ge?" he asks, lifting his head. His heart is pounding and he makes himself wait, makes himself hold right here, his mouth an inch from Xiao Zhan's. It's a move he didn't know he had in him. He doesn't know if he can last, if he can hold this, he wants his tongue in Xiao Zhan's mouth, but he waits.

It's worth it for the way Xiao Zhan's breath catches—again—and for how Xiao Zhan's hands on his hips tighten. "Yibo," is all he says, before his eyes flash and he crushes his mouth against Yibo's.

It's exactly what Yibo wants, exactly what he needs—it's frantic and messy and perfect until it's nowhere near enough. Yibo whines against Xiao Zhan's mouth and Xiao Zhan makes him move back, moving with him until he pulls back from the kiss and shoves Yibo—shoves him—onto the bed.

Yibo's never been harder in his life.

Xiao Zhan crawls on top of him, in his stupid pants with the crease, his shirt crisp underneath Yibo's hands as he pulls him as close as he possibly can. Xiao Zhan's thigh is in between Yibo's legs, pressing up against him where he's so fucking hard. He whines again, pulling back from the kiss with a gasp. "Fuck," he manages, scrabbling at Xiao Zhan's shirt. "Get this off, get this—off, fuck." He wants Xiao Zhan naked, he wants to see all of him, he wants him to rail him though this fucking mattress. "I'm going to be so loud," he says, as Xiao Zhan pushes up onto his knees, one still—dangerously—up close between Yibo's legs, as he unbuttons his shirt. "I'm going to make so much noise when you fuck me, Zhan-ge."

Xiao Zhan's shirt is wrinkled already, damp with sweat in places, and his mouth is tense as he wrenches the shirt off and lets it fall behind him. "Yibo," he says again. "I—"

Yibo knows he should be listening, wants to hear what Xiao Zhan has to say, but now he's shirtless and the pants have this high waistline that just hugs him perfectly, snug around his pale waist, so much more pale that all of the skin that's been exposed to the hot Hengdian sun all summer, and maybe Yibo doesn't hate the stupid pants with the sharp crease after all.

"Yibo," Xiao Zhan says again, intently, like they're going to have a conversation, like they're going to talk this out, and Yibo can't, he can't—

He moves his hips up, pressing forward against Xiao Zhan's knee. Xiao Zhan is still kneeling over him, looming, so fucking tall. "I'm so hard," he says. "I'm so—Zhan-ge, please—"

It works—Xiao Zhan is looking at nowhere but his dick now, where it's pressed up against the zipper of his too-tight jeans. He's so fucking hard he could die from it and he needs—

"These jeans, Yibo." Xiao Zhan is leaning forward now, one hand pressing against the bed next to Yibo's head as he traces his fingers over the line of Yibo's cock through the denim.

Yibo whines again, embarrassingly loud.

"They're so tight." Xiao Zhan tilts his head a little as he presses the heel of his hand against Yibo and Yibo sees stars. His hips go up and he thinks, for one dizzy moment, that he'd be fine with coming right here, pulsing against Xiao Zhan's hand.

Xiao Zhan thumbing open the button brings him back to himself and he gasps as Xiao Zhan eases the zipper down. "You're so hard," Xiao Zhan says tightly, like he's the one in danger of coming in his pants.

"I've been telling you," Yibo pants out, and that's the line that makes Xiao Zhan giggle, long and loud and perfect and all Yibo can do is haul him down for a kiss.

Xiao Zhan rocks up against him as he kisses him, his hand caught in the waist of Yibo's jeans, trying to shove them down even as he presses him against the bed, which is never going to work, but Yibo can't bring himself to pull away.

Finally, frantically, Xiao Zhan pulls off with a gasp, pointing determinedly at Yibo. "Get them off," he says, and he sounds—stern? Which is both hilarious, and hot, and Yibo doesn't know quite what to do with that, as he wriggles out of the stupid tight jeans, kicking them off the side of the bed in triumph. He lifts his hips, discarding his boxer briefs as well, as Xiao Zhan pushes his shirt up and off over his head, and now that Yibo's naked, he genuinely feels like he might die if Xiao Zhan doesn't get his dick in him right away. Immediately. Now.

"Now you," he pants out, trying for the same sort of stern gaze Xiao Zhan had given him. He thinks he fails; he hears himself and he sounds really fucking desperate instead. He is; he doesn't care. He wants Xiao Zhan's dick. He wants—

Xiao Zhan is fumbling his pants open, lying on his back next to Yibo. He's struggling with them, because his eyes are fixed on Yibo's dick. He's not even trying to pretend he's not staring and that's good, that's fine by Yibo, he wants it. He wraps one hand around himself and he can't quite stop the groan that he makes when he strokes himself.

"Fuck." Xiao Zhan finally gets his pants undone, shoves them and his underwear off with one swift movement and then—

"Fuck," Yibo breathes in agreement. Yibo has seen Xiao Zhan's dick. Yibo has sucked Xiao Zhan's dick. Yibo has licked Xiao Zhan's come off of his lips and he's had his hand on him and he knows his dick, but the way he wants it right now is something that is surging through him like it's going to burn him up from the inside out.

Xiao Zhan rolls back on top of him. It's quiet, just for a moment—the hum of the air conditioner fills the room. No hallway sounds, no shouts of laughter outside a too-thin door. Just them. Only them. Xiao Zhan kisses him again, and Yibo half-expects long hair to fall in his face, and the realization that it doesn't, that this is just them, just them, and he doesn't have to be careful of his wardrobe, careful of the wigs, careful to be quiet—he shoves both hands into Xiao Zhan's hair and makes the kiss wild.

Xiao Zhan is gasping against his mouth by the time he lets him go, grinding his dick against Yibo's hip. "Wait," he says, but Yibo doesn't want to. He spreads his legs instead, Xiao Zhan in between them.

"I want—" Yibo can't catch his breath. His heart is beating so hard and everything feels centered on his dick, in the feel of Xiao Zhan caught between his thighs. He rolls his hips up just to hear Xiao Zhan gasp. "Fuck me," he says then. "Fuck me, Zhan-ge, I want it, I've been wanting it, you have to—" He chokes out a moan as Xiao Zhan shifts and his dick slides between Yibo's thighs. He's wet. He's so fucking wet, as he slides along the skin there. Fuck. Fuck.

"Okay," Xiao Zhan says tightly. "I have to—let me just grab— Fuck, Yibo." He's half groaning, half laughing as Yibo tightens his thighs around his dick, like he's not going to let him go. Yibo's grinning too, but part of him means it, part of him doesn't want Xiao Zhan moving away even for a second.

When Yibo reluctantly releases him from between his thighs, Xiao Zhan scoots back, reaching for the bedside table.

Yibo doesn't want to waste any time. He rolls over onto his stomach and when Xiao Zhan comes back, his voice is tight as he says, "You don't make it easy for me to..." He cuts himself off.

Yibo looks back over his shoulder, and rolls his hips. "Come on," he says. He's thrumming with need. "Come on," he says again.

Xiao Zhan knees his way up behind him. "Move, lift your knees, get the covers back, good."

Yibo whines as he unsteadily lifts one knee at a time, letting Xiao Zhan push the covers back, but when he's managed it, the sheets are cool against his skin. Xiao Zhan's fingers are already slick and skating over the skin of Yibo's ass, tracing down between his cheeks. All Yibo can think of is the feeling of Xiao Zhan pressing him against the wall, his cheek against the terrible floral hotel wallpaper as Xiao Zhan slid up against him, over and over again. He'd wanted more. He'd wanted more.

The feeling of Xiao Zhan's finger sinking in is a different world that when Yibo fingers himself. The angle, maybe. Or maybe it's the fact that Xiao Zhan's other hand is curled tightly against his hip, holding him there. Maybe it's the sound of Xiao Zhan cursing softly behind him, in between mutters of, "So good, so hot inside, fuck, Yibo, I—"

Maybe it's all of it curled up together. It's so much. Yibo pushes back and says the only thing that's caught in his chest, which is, "More."

Xiao Zhan complies. He opens him up with two fingers, then three, until YIbo is so wet he feels like he's dripping with it, so hard that he's definitely dripping with it. He can only pant and move his hips back again and again, asking for it, begging for it.

When Xiao Zhan slides his dick in, Yibo's hands clench against the sheets so tight it hurts and the sound he makes against the pillow rings in his ears. It feels weird for a handful of seconds before it becomes so fucking right that Yibo could die from it. He feels the same frantic desperation that he had when Xiao Zhan had his dick between his thighs, like he wants to just hold Xiao Zhan there and never let him go.

When Xiao Zhan thrusts, an easy rock of his hips, Yibo shakes hard and bites his lip and still makes so much noise that his throat hurts from it. "Please," he says, his hands scrambling for a better hold against the sheets. His head is bowed against the pillow and he's drenched with sweat and he wants—

"Okay?" Xiao Zhan is asking, holding his dick inside, rocking just a little in and out, like he can't quite stop the movement of his hips. "Yibo, is this—are you—"

"Hnnngh." Yibo gathers himself and pushes back against Xiao Zhan. It's a sharp, bright white behind his eyes as Xiao Zhan's dick sinks all the way inside, made even better by the way Xiao Zhan cries out when he does it.

"Fuck." Xiao Zhan's hand is pressed to the small of Yibo's back and he fucks into him, harder now. "You're so—" He cuts himself off as he pulls back again, almost all the way out.

Yibo whines, tight in his throat, but it's worth it for the long thrust back in, the way Xiao Zhan bottoms out inside him, the way he grinds in when he does so, and— Yibo shoves his hand down, around his dick, and he's coming. He jerks with it, losing it, biting out sounds against the pillow. He can't—it's too— He's moaning, he thinks, so loud, as he jerks himself frantically, spilling over his hand again and again, long pulses that make his entire body shudder.

He's lost in the white heat of it. When he starts to come back to himself, Xiao Zhan is still fucking him, and through the buzzing in his ears, Yibo hears him muttering desperately, "That was so—you're so tight and so hot and so—fuck, that was fast, I can't even—you're so—you're too—"

Yibo's body is buzzing and he's down on his elbows now, doesn't know when he collapsed, but his cheek is pressed against the pillow as Xiao Zhan fucks him. He thinks, in some hazy part of his brain, that he could get hard again, that he could come again, that it wouldn't take much, it wouldn't take more than this, more than—

Xiao Zhan's thrusts become short and stuttered, and he's got both hands on Yibo's hips. Everything is wet and hot between them and Yibo wants it, wants to feel it, realizes he's mumbling against the sheets for Xiao Zhan to come, now, come, now.

When Xiao Zhan does, with a shout, Yibo feels it. Feels the kick of Xiao Zhan's dick inside him, as Xiao Zhan stays in as deep as he can get, shaking as he comes. Yibo can feel it.

Xiao Zhan holds himself there for a handful of moments before slowly collapsing down onto Yibo's back. He's wet with sweat and it should be gross, but it's not. It's so fucking hot, it's just them, together: loud. Wet. Spent.

Xiao Zhan is breathing hard against Yibo's ear and Yibo can feel his heart pounding against his back and he likes that, too, likes being the one who gets to feel that.

When Xiao Zhan takes a breath and moves to pull out of Yibo, Yibo whines—again, somehow he didn't think he'd be as whiny as this—protesting. "Stay," he says. It comes out muffled against the pillow. "Don't—why?"

Xiao Zhan huffs out a laugh, rolling to the side, too far away from Yibo, too far the second he's no longer inside of him. "I have to deal with the..."

Yibo manages to crack one eye open. Oh. Right. Condom.

When Xiao Zhan rolls back over to him, Yibo pushes himself up onto his side and leans in to kiss him. He's not sure what this is, but he knows Xiao Zhan likes him. He knows Xiao Zhan just fucked him. He knows that his heart is still beating too hard and that his body feels sore in the best possible way, and that he wants to do that again, as soon as possible.

Xiao Zhan laughs at whatever he sees in Yibo's eyes when he pulls back. "You have to give me more than a minute," he says, sinking down so his head is resting on his arm against the pillow. He's on his side, looking at Yibo with that soft smile that isn't doing anything to slow down the rhythm of Yibo's heart. "Hi," he says then.

"Hi." Yibo sinks back onto his stomach and crosses his arms under his head, looking at Xiao Zhan. The air conditioning hums in the background and he likes the feel of it drying the sweat on his skin. He shifts against the bed a little, watching Xiao Zhan's eyes skate down his body as he does so. He smiles against his arms, and shifts again.

Xiao Zhan traces his hand, warm despite the cool air of the room, down over Yibo's shoulder, along his back, and lets it rest on the curve of his ass. Yibo presses his mouth against his arm but Xiao Zhan clocks the smile. "Stop looking so smug," he scolds.

"Not smug," Yibo says. He's not. That's not exactly what he's feeling. He just—he likes the feel of Xiao Zhan's hand against his skin, likes the proprietary way it rests there. He likes it a lot.

"You look smug." Xiao Zhan settles down a little more on the bed. He's shifted closer to Yibo and his hand is still resting on his ass. Yibo feels warm all over. "Okay, maybe not smug, maybe—"

"Satisfied," Yibo offers, and rolls his hips, just a little, in order to feel the weight of Xiao Zhan's hand against him.

"Maybe that," Xiao Zhan says softly. He's still just watching Yibo.

The curtains of the room are open but it's gotten dark around them as they'd fucked. God. God, Yibo wants to do it again.

"It was nice," Xiao Zhan says, his fingers moving just a little bit on Yibo's skin. Yibo can feel him, pressing one finger down at a time, a rhythm that might be the cadence of a song. "To be loud. To be able to just—do whatever we wanted."

"Let's do it again," Yibo says without—quite—meaning to.

Xiao Zhan grins, his head still resting against his arm. "Insatiable," he says.

Yibo shrugs one shoulder. He's not going to argue. He's too fucked out to argue.

Xiao Zhan's fingers are now tracing down Yibo's ass, to his thigh, and back up again, lingering on the crease between them. "I liked hearing you. I liked the way you sounded when I—" He stops, and Yibo wonders if this is the thing he's going to be shy about, but that's not quite it. He has that look on his face, like when he's looking for just the right word, but can't find it.

I like your dick, Yibo thinks, looking at Xiao Zhan. I like the way you fuck me. "I like you," he says.

Xiao Zhan doesn't tease him for it. He just looks at him for a moment. "Yeah," he says then. "Me too."

Yibo moves onto his side, shifting close enough that he can kiss Xiao Zhan again. Xiao Zhan makes a quiet sound into his mouth, settling into the kiss. It's nice, like this—to be able to kiss softly, for as long as they want to. Yibo moves closer and Xiao Zhan huffs a little against his mouth when Yibo pushes his dick against him. "Hard again already?"

"Already," Yibo says in agreement, but he's in no rush. Xiao Zhan's mouth is soft, and hot, and the way he kisses is so intense, even here in the quiet of the hotel room, that Yibo can feel it all the way down to his toes.

They trade kisses until Yibo can't help making soft, needy noises into Xiao Zhan's mouth, until he's pressing his dick against him rhythmically—he can't stop. He pulls Xiao Zhan's hand down to it and Xiao Zhan giggles a little against his mouth as he wraps his fingers around it. "I can do you one better," he says, and moves down the bed to take Yibo in his mouth.

Yibo sucks in a breath as Xiao Zhan takes him in—it's not even that deep, it's just his hot mouth on the head of Yibo's dick, but Yibo's pulse kicks up even higher and he doesn't manage to stop himself from digging his heels into the bed and pushing his hips up. "Sorry," he pants, but Xiao Zhan just slings his arm over Yibo's hips and continues his slow exploration of his dick.

It's unlike any blowjob Yibo has ever had. So much of his sex life has been furtive, rushed, desperate, quiet. This is— Xiao Zhan is running his mouth over Yibo's dick, so hot and wet and almost too slow, almost too much. Too much because it's so slow. He takes the head in again and Yibo thinks he's going to go down deep, but instead, he wraps one hand around the base of it, jerking him off so slowly, so fucking slowly, as he tongues the slit at the top.

Again, Yibo can't stop his hips from trying to press up, but Xiao Zhan is holding him down tight. Yibo's into that, too, into being caught between Xiao Zhan's arm across his hips and his mouth on his dick, and he doesn't stop himself from crying out, the sound wrenching out of his throat. He sinks his hand into Xiao Zhan's hair, hanging on as Xiao Zhan sucks him off. He doesn't know how long it goes on; he gets lost in the rhythm of it, the heat of Xiao Zhan's mouth, the obscene noises filling the room. He's moaning, continually, and his heels are still digging in, his thighs trembling, Xiao Zhan's mouth driving him closer to the edge, closer, closer, until—

He comes, crying out, his fingers tightening in Xiao Zhan's hair, his whole body bowed up off the bed as he spills into Xiao Zhan's mouth. It's an endless orgasm, shaking through him for what feels like minutes, feels like forever. He collapses into a heap afterwards. He's soaked with sweat and the muscles in his thighs are twitching and he's panting like he's just completed a dance routine.

He's still breathing hard up at the ceiling when Xiao Zhan settles back down beside him. He has to work to open his eyes, to tilt his head towards Xiao Zhan, and even then, it takes him a second to bring him into focus.

Xiao Zhan isn't quite smiling, but—

"Now who looks smug," Yibo manages.

Xiao Zhan just looks even more smug, his lips—dark, wet, looking used—curving up on one side. "Is it me?" he says.

"It is." Yibo wants to kiss him, again. Wants to get this going, again, wants it to become this feedback loop of sex. Wants Xiao Zhan to roll him over and fuck him again, just take Yibo while he's still loose and limp against the bed. He wants—

His stomach growls, loud in the quiet room. They both snort with laughter.

"We should shower," Xiao Zhan says, pushing himself up to sitting. He draws the back of his hand across his mouth, and something about the movement feels filthy, hits Yibo right in the gut. Makes him want to come all over Xiao Zhan's face, next time.

Xiao Zhan tilts a look down at him, pausing, then licking his lips, just a little. Like he knows what Yibo is thinking about. "We should shower," he says again, more firmly, "and we should order room service."

Both of those ideas sound phenomenal. Except that the concept of moving off of this bed feels overwhelming. He's going to protest, but his stomach growls again.

Xiao Zhan laughs. "Have you even eaten at all today?" he asks.

"Have you?" Yibo shoots back instead of answering. He's actually not sure. There might have been a snack at the photoshoot, but he's not sure if he's remembering right.

Xiao Zhan's eyes are bright as he looks down at him. "That was quite the athletic feat," he says, rolling to his feet and padding around to Yibo's side of the bed, "to perform on no fuel."

"Yeah, well, I'm a professional," Yibo says, whining just a little as Xiao Zhan grabs his hands and hauls him to his feet. "Why do we have to shower, if we're just going to get dirty again?" He intends to get dirty again. Soon.

Xiao Zhan giggles again, high and bright. "You need it. We both need it."

Yibo can't help grinning back. "I'm—so gross," he agrees. He is: he's sticky and still somewhat slick and the sweat drying on his skin is itchy, and he loves it. He can't wait to wash it off and then get disgusting all over again. He lets Xiao Zhan herd him into the bathroom.

"Order food," Yibo calls as he flips on the water. "I'm going to die if I don't eat." He studies himself in the mirror as he waits for the water to get warm. He looks wrecked. He likes how he looks.

"What do you want?" Xiao Zhan calls back.

"Food," Yibo bellows as he climbs into the shower. "I trust you."

He can hear Xiao Zhan's high-pitched laughter through the open door even as he sticks his head under the spray.

"What?" Xiao Zhan asks. They'd ordered food from room service, eaten it while sitting on the couch on the other side of the room. It's late, now—they've been sprawled there, digesting and catching up on their phones for a while, and it's just—nice. There's no rush, there's no interruption. Xiao Zhan has turned sideways and curled his legs up on the couch, pushing his toes underneath Yibo's thigh as he settles down.

Yibo knows the thing to do would be to tease him for it, protest, but he likes it. He likes the feeling of being...happy. Content. Relaxed. Xiao Zhan's feet, warm under his thigh, and the quiet of the room make it feel like they've stepped out of time, that everything is paused while they're wrapped up here together.

He simply slouches further back against the sofa and tilts his head to look at Xiao Zhan.

"What?" says Xiao Zhan again. "Do I have something on my face?" He shifts a little, like he's going to sit up, go check, and Yibo puts his hand on Xiao Zhan's ankle, holding him in place.

"You're fine," he says. "I was just looking." Xiao Zhan's ankle is knobby under his hand, the skin warm, and Yibo runs his thumb over it, back and forth.

"At what?" Xiao Zhan's dropped his phone on the couch next to him, and is looking at Yibo now with his full attention. The room is dim—it's late, they should sleep, but their flight isn't until afternoon tomorrow, and Yibo doesn't want to waste time on sleeping.

"At handsome Xiao Zhan," he says. "How pretty you are, such a good face, so handsome, too handsome." He says it in the rote tone of their endless teasing, the way they do on set, but it doesn't quite hit the mark. It comes out too sincere and he's glad for the dim lighting—his face is warm. He presses his thumb into the side of Xiao Zhan's ankle and Xiao Zhan jerks and giggles, but Yibo doesn't let him pull too far away.

"Shut up," Xiao Zhan says then. "Don't tease."

Yibo just nods. He doesn't say anything more, doesn't say that he wasn't teasing, that he had, in fact, been looking at Xiao Zhan's face and thinking about the sharp line of his jaw, thinking about how even now, when he's rumpled and sleepy, he looks so handsome. Too handsome.

He moves his hand up Xiao Zhan's leg, over his shin, letting his hand drift up above his knee. Xiao Zhan had put on shorts and a t-shirt when they'd ordered room service. Yibo had just slipped his boxers back on and left it at that.

His hand drifts higher, wrapping around Xiao Zhan's thigh, his thumb moving back and forth over the delicate skin of the inside of it. Xiao Zhan shivers against the couch.

"Tickles?" Yibo asks.

Xiao Zhan shakes his head. "No, it's—" He moves a little, shifting slightly closer to Yibo.

Yibo moves his thumb again, and eases his hand just a little higher up.

"Do you—" Xiao Zhan hesitates, looking at Yibo.

Yibo waits it out, Xiao Zhan's thigh very warm under his hand.

"Is this something that you—" Xiao Zhan stops again, shaking his head. "This isn't coming out right. I just." He takes a breath. "My contract says I am not supposed to publicly date. I am certain that yours says the same thing." He's speaking rapidly now, like the seal has been broken. "I'm not supposed to date girls. I don't date girls. You...don't date girls. Do you—" He's looking at Yibo now. "Is this something you've done before? With men."

Yibo's still moving his thumb over the soft skin of Xiao Zhan's inner thigh. He's faintly surprised, in some small part of his brain, to find out that he's not bothered by the questions. He hears what Xiao Zhan is saying. He gets it.

"I have done this before," he says, letting his lips quirk into not-quite-a-grin. "With men." He pauses, pushing his hand a little further under Xiao Zhan's shorts. His thumb is edging up to trace along the crease of Xiao Zhan's thigh, brushing against his balls with each movement. He can see Xiao Zhan getting hard under his shorts, can feel the shift of his dick as Yibo's fingers trace his thigh. It's exciting. It's— He makes himself focus, looks up at Xiao Zhan.

Xiao Zhan is breathing a little faster, and his face is definitely flushed enough that Yibo can see it even in the dim light of the room. His eyes are dark, intent on Yibo's face.

"I don't date," Yibo says. "I have had some close friends. Some good friends, who I can trust. Who—" Yibo pauses, trying to find the right words himself now. Friends who are like I am, he thinks. Friends who don't date. Friends who, even if they were allowed to date, wouldn't, because these close friends are friends who— "Who like men. The way I...like men."

That's as close as he can come to it, right here. It's as close as he's ever really been able to come to it.

Xiao Zhan nods, his mouth a little bit open. He's fully hard now—Yibo shifts his hand up further, moving closer, so he can brush against Xiao Zhan's dick, just a little bit. Xiao Zhan takes a tight breath, letting it out slow. "I think... It's impossible to date," he says. "It's—difficult, even if I..."

He drifts off as Yibo slowly wraps his hand around his dick. They're in a ridiculous position, Yibo's hand all the way up the leg of Xiao Zhan's loose shorts, but his dick is hot and hard and wet. Yibo moves his thumb up the shaft, going slowly until he gets to the head, where it's the wettest. He rubs his thumb over it in a circle, slick and hot and—

"Even if I only liked girls," Xiao Zhan says finally, tightly, hissing in a breath as Yibo circles the head of his dick again.

"But you don't." Yibo reluctantly lets go of Xiao Zhan's dick, draws his hand out of Xiao Zhan's shorts. "You don't only like girls." He's moving, then, shifting to his knees on the couch, reaching to ease Xiao Zhan's shorts down, and off. It's awkward and it should be funny, the way they get caught for a moment on his ankle, but it's not. Yibo's too into this, too—

He shoves Xiao Zhan's shirt up with one hand as he leans forward, feeling the jump of muscles under his hand as he takes Xiao Zhan into his mouth. He uses his lips on the head, not trying to tease, but needing to taste it, sharp and salty. Xiao Zhan's breathing hard and he's muttering under his breath, at first, then louder, like he remembers they're allowed to here, that they can make as much noise as they want.

Yibo wants him to make as much noise as he wants.

He takes him in deep and man, there's something that can be almost zen about sucking dick. He could get lost in this, does get lost in it, the rhythm of it almost like dancing, the stretch of his mouth around Xiao Zhan. He goes down deep again, and again, going a little bit further each time until it hits the back of his throat. He swallows around it, breathes through it, caught up in it.

Xiao Zhan is tense underneath him, hips moving in tiny jerks, and he's saying, over and over again, "Fuck. Yibo. Your mouth. Your mouth, I want—" He gasps when Yibo swallows around the head of his dick again. "I can't—"

Yibo slides back up, finding a rhythm with his mouth and his hand, keeping it shallow, wanting Xiao Zhan to—yes, fuck, yes, Xiao Zhan is moving his hips harder now, thrusting up, and up, fucking Yibo's mouth. His breathing is frantic and his dick is so wet and slick, his movements desperate. He's making this little cut-off groan every time he surges up, and Yibo feels it like a kick to the gut. He's hard, he's so hard, and he doesn't have anything to press against from this angle, up on his knees over Xiao Zhan. He sucks Xiao Zhan harder, giving him everything. He can barely breathe like this, through the relentless slide of Xiao Zhan into his mouth, and he feels the best kind of dizzy with it.

"Fuck." Xiao Zhan grits it out, then gasps, his hand tightening in Yibo's hair. "I'm close, I'm so close, I'm going to—fuck, fuck, going to come in your mouth, going to come in your—" He does, shuddering hard, and panting out curses over Yibo's head, comimg again and again over Yibo's tongue.

He swallows down as much as he can then pulls off, stroking Xiao Zhan through the last shudders of it, another spurt of come—he comes so much—landing on Xiao Zhan's stomach.

"That was—" Xiao Zhan's sprawled on the couch, one foot having slid off to brace on the floor, his dick, softening now, resting against his thigh, his belly spattered with come.

Yibo pushes himself up, shoving his boxers down so he can wrap his hand around himself. "I'm not going to last, I can't, I have to—" He's jerking himself off, frantic, is going to come so fast and so hard, and—

Xiao Zhan spreads his legs further, letting them fall open, and Yibo comes all over Xiao Zhan's thighs, groaning so loud and long that his throat stings with it. He can't seem to stop coming, it shouldn't be possible for it to be this much, he's jerking again, and again, coating Xiao Zhan's thighs with it.

He can't help the slow collapse that comes after, trying to control it as he lets his dick slip out of his hand as he lands across Xiao Zhan.

Xiao Zhan presses a hand against the back of Yibo's head. His chest rumbles a little under Yibo's face, where it's squished against it. Yibo can't open his eyes, can't actually feel his hands. "What's funny," he mumbles.

"You were right," Xiao Zhan says, laughing again. "About the shower." Yibo feels him tilt his head and he makes a superhuman effort and opens his eyes so he can look up at him. "We should have waited."

"Told you." Yibo's pleased. He was totally right. "Just going to keep messing you up," he mumbles. "All night."

"All night," Xiao Zhan says in agreement. He's running his hand through Yibo's hair and it feels nice, even though they're sprawled together in a weird angle, even though Xiao Zhan's leg is still dangling off the couch, even though they have a bed right there and they should be taking advantage of it.

They stay there for a little while longer though, sticky and sweaty, the night dark and close around them.

"Hold it there," the lighting tech says. "Hold it, while I get set up, just—"

Yibo's just standing there, as he has been for the last twenty minutes. So much of acting is just waiting. Xiao Zhan is supposed to be waiting, too, but he's not the focus of the lighting tech, yet, so he's been on the other side of the set (indoors this time, so the heat is not as bad, at least), fooling around with Xuan Lu. Yibo's been watching them—Xiao Zhan seems to be trying to teach Xuan Lu the dance moves he's been working on for the last week, but he's getting them wrong. Yibo watches as he skips a spin, and gets two of the hand motions not quite right. He's grinning, and Xuan Lu follows his moves easily, looking absolutely tiny beside him, even though she's not that short herself. He spots Yibo watching him and Yibo purses his lips, shaking his head a little at the missed moves.

Xiao Zhan sticks his tongue out at him.

Yibo bites back his grin, holding still as the lighting tech finishes setting up the screens off to his side.

When he gets called into place, Xiao Zhan bounces over, still grinning. He plants himself across from Yibo, a little breathless from the dancing. "I know, I know," he says, waggling a finger at him before Yibo has even said anything. "I missed a step."

"You missed a spin," Yibo points out.

"So cruel, Wang-laoshi." Xiao Zhan sighs, but he's still grinning widely. His cheeks are flushed and he's sweating lightly. His assistant comes up and pushes his portable fan into his hand and Xiao Zhan takes it absently, holding it towards his face, his full attention on Yibo. "I'll get there."

"I'll help," Yibo says, looking at him steadily.

"I know you will." Xiao Zhan's grin slips a little, as Yibo watches him. Yibo's thinking about Xiao Zhan's face as he fucked him in the late morning hours before they left Shanghai. How Yibo's body was open for him, how Xiao Zhan had bent him nearly in half, Yibo's legs over Xiao Zhan's shoulders as Xiao Zhan moved inside of him. His cheeks had been flushed like this, his face sweaty, his eyes dark and intent as he fucked into Yibo again, and again.

Xiao Zhan tilts his head a little, his lips pressed together like he's trying not to smile.

Yibo just looks at him. He wonders if they'll get a break soon. He's sweating under the lights, though he doesn't get as shiny with it as Xiao Zhan does. Is there someplace close by they can go, maybe? Someplace with a door. He wants—well, he wants to do a lot of things they don't have time or privacy to do, but if they had someplace to go, he could make it quick. He wants to see Xiao Zhan's face when he comes; he wants to remind himself of what it looks like when Xiao Zhan breaks apart.

He wishes they didn't always have to make it quick.

Xiao Zhan shifts where he's standing, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're quiet over there," he says.

"Mm." The need curling through Yibo's body is close to overwhelming. "Just thinking."

Xiao Zhan tilts his head. "About what?"

Yibo looks at him. About you, he thinks. About how there's only a week or so of filming left. About how Yibo's publicist has already moved on from this show, is lining up promos and interviews and appearances for other things, like this show is already in the past, like Yibo's not still standing right here.

About how when the show ends, they'll both move on, and this will be it. About how making it quick will seem like something to yearn for.

"Nothing," is all he says.

Xiao Zhan's face changes, his eyes going hot. It takes an endless amount of time for the lights to be set, as they wait. When the break is called, Yibo moves immediately, brushing past Xiao Zhan as he strides off set. He thinks—he's pretty sure he saw— There it is, there's a dressing room not that far down a corridor off of the set. It's small but it has a door, and that's all Yibo needs right now.

Xiao Zhan is right behind him. Yibo discovers the door has a lock. Even better.

He's the one who moves up against Xiao Zhan, pushing him against the wall and kissing him at the same time as he shoves his robes aside. His cock is half-hard by the time Yibo manages to wrap his hand around it. He jerks him off, still kissing him, Xiao Zhan panting into his mouth, tiny moans that Yibo gets to feel, swallowing them as he feels Xiao Zhan get harder, get closer.

This is good. This is enough. He gets to have this, right now.

"I'm—" Xiao Zhan cuts himself off, his hips moving as he pushes his dick into the circle of Yibo's fingers. He's close; Yibo can feel that he's close. He's leaking and his cock is so hard, so hot, and he wrenches his mouth away from Yibo's, leans his head back against the wall, gasping, his mouth open, his eyes shut. Yibo slows his hand so he can watch him as he trembles on the edge.

Yibo gives one more twisting stroke and Xiao Zhan is coming in his hand. He's quiet, but he's shaking with the force of it, and he looks—

Yibo can't find the word. He just knows he can't look away, can't stop watching him.

Xiao Zhan sags against the wall and Yibo makes himself loosen his grip on his cock, carefully pulling his hand back so he doesn't get any come on the costumes. He takes a step back, grabbing some tissues from the table nearby and cleans his hand off.

Xiao Zhan leans there against the wall, watching him. He's tucked himself away, the robes falling back into place, but in the short time they've been in here, he looks like he's been wrecked. His wig is messed up in the back, his cheeks are so, so red, the way they get when he's tipsy. He's sweating, still, and his mouth looks like he's been kissing for a lot longer than the few minutes they got.

Yibo studies him, cataloguing all of this without really processing what he's doing. He's hard, but it feels almost distant, like what he wants is something more.

"Come here," Xiao Zhan says, still slumped against the wall.

Yibo shakes his head a little. "We don't have time."

"I don't need much time." Xiao Zhan is the one studying Yibo, now. "I can get you off so quick it'll make your head spin."

"I don't want that," Yibo says. "Not right now." He doesn't. He wants—

"What do you want?" Xiao Zhan asks it softly.

Yibo shakes his head again. He's not sure how to answer that. He just wants...something more.

"We have to get back on set," he says instead. "Let's just—later, okay?"

Xiao Zhan pushes off of the wall. He comes towards him and for some reason, Yibo thinks that if he tries to kiss him right now, Yibo will break apart, or...something, he's not sure what, he just knows that his heart is beating too hard and he can't take that. Not right now.

But Xiao Zhan just nudges him a little with his shoulder, brushing the backs of his fingers against Yibo's hand as he opens the door. "Later," he says over his shoulder, and it sounds like a promise.

Yibo shoves at Xiao Zhan with his shoulder.

"Stop it." Xiao Zhan pushes him away absently, shaking his hair out of his face and studying his script.

Yibo bumps against him again, hard enough to knock him off balance. Xiao Zhan just takes a step to the side in order to catch himself and continues to ignore him.

Yibo waits for a moment, then drapes his sleeve over the script.

When Xiao Zhan looks up at him, eyebrows raised, Yibo just shrugs, and waits. "What, can you not read it?"

"Can I not— Yibo, can you please be less like...this?" Xiao Zhan tugs the script out from underneath Yibo's sleeve and waves it up and down at Yibo.

"Did you not study it last night?" Yibo asks. "You were supposed to study it last night. Does Xiao-laoshi not know his own lines?"

Xiao Zhan glares at him. "I know my own lines," he says. "I am just making sure."

"Making sure of what?" Yibo knows he's being annoying. He's not even really paying attention to what he's saying. He just wants—he doesn't even know, he's just at loose ends, and he wants—

"Making sure that I put you in your place, child," Xiao Zhan says then. He nearly snaps it, his eyes flashing.

Yibo raises his hands, taking a step back. He crosses his arms behind his back carefully and falls silent.

Xiao Zhan sighs heavily and lifts his script back up, studying it again for a few moments before he raises his eyes and looks at Yibo over the top of the script. "Wait, that worked?" he says.

Yibo carefully keeps his eyes on the crew setting up the scene across the way. "I have nothing but respect for Zhan-ge's method," he says.

"Hmm." Xiao Zhan flips the script closed and moves towards Yibo.

Yibo slants him a glance, going for innocent. He keeps his hands tucked behind his back.

"Hmm," Xiao Zhan says again. He leans closer, until his lips are right up against Yibo's ear. "Nothing but respect, huh?"

That's all he whispers. That's it; even if it's picked up by the cameras, it's nothing at all, just more teasing, more trash talk. Only Yibo feels his cheeks get hot, and he's clenching his hands together behind his back, just for a moment.

Xiao Zhan pulls back, a small smile on his face, one eyebrow up.

Yibo's face gets hotter. Xiao Zhan had not, in fact, studied the script last night the way he had planned. Xiao Zhan had been busy with other things last night. Things that had been fast, quiet...not enough. Yibo feels wound up tight; it feels like sparks across his skin.

Xiao Zhan's still watching him with that damn eyebrow up. Yibo swallows, tightly, and doesn't do anything to try to control his expression. Xiao Zhan should see it, should see what Yibo's thinking, what he's feeling, what he wants.

Xiao Zhan's expression changes. The crew is moving around them, setting up. Xiao Zhan's assistant is scrolling through her phone while she holds the charger to Xiao Zhan's fan, the cord trailing up to where it's clutched in his hand. The set is loud, everyone talking over everyone else, and Yibo feels like they're caught in the middle of it, in a bubble that's just them. Xiao Zhan's expression is...a little startled. Like somehow he hadn't seen this coming; somehow hadn't expected Yibo to be simmering below the surface like this. That's it; that's what it feels like, like how he wants Xiao Zhan is just right there, all the time, all of the fucking time, and if he doesn't get it, he'll—

"Places!" The shout comes across set. Xiao Zhan's assistant tugs the fan out of his hand, scoops up his phone where he'd left it on the low table in between them.

Xiao Zhan just keeps looking at Yibo. He has this smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Yibo wants to lick it off of him. Two days left of filming. Two.

Yibo sits down neatly at the table, straightening his back, resting his hands on his knees. He looks up at Xiao Zhan, not letting Lan Wangji's expression fall into place yet. Xiao Zhan's still standing there, hands loose at his sides, looking down at Yibo with an expression that, if the cameras are catching this, which they probably are, isn't something you can explain away. It's wide-open intensity; it's this heated gaze that feels like it's drilling to the very core of him. It's a lot, it's too much, it's—

Xiao Zhan sits down in his spot across the table from Yibo, and Yibo meets his gaze for another moment before he closes his eyes, moves his head back and forth a little, stretching his neck. When he blinks his eyes open, he's Lan Wangji.

It takes Xiao Zhan another couple of moments to slide into Wei Wuxian.

They roll into scene after scene. The filming schedule is tight today—they fly out in just a couple of days and every scene that's left is him with Xiao Zhan. Director Chen seems to be milking the energy between them and it's working, the two of them sparking off of each other. The retakes are for blocking issues or angles only, and every time they re-do a scene, they hit the vibe, over and over again.

Director Chen says, "Very good, that was it exactly. Come look at what we just filmed."

They're crowded over the small screen and Yibo feels like half his brain is still caught up back in the scene. Xiao Zhan is pressed up against his side, his eyes on the screen, watching the footage and nodding along to Director Chen's murmured notes. Yibo's hand keeps brushing Xiao Zhan's and it's electric, makes him feel like he's vibrating out of his skin.

He breaks away when they're done watching, taking a stumbling step backwards, feeling like if he doesn't, he's going to snap, right here, break and do something stupid. He can feel Xiao Zhan's eyes on him, but he just walks over to the break table, takes a bottle of water and drinks it. He thinks about dumping it over his head. Yibo's skin is buzzing. He's sweated through the layers of robes and the make-up that's been layered on over and over through the day is itchy on his skin.

Xiao Zhan is buoyed up somehow, bouncing around, loud, being the sort of deliberately annoying that makes Yibo want to do nothing but press him up against the wall.

"You're the young one, didi." Xiao Zhan dances up to him, bouncing up on his toes. "Why so tired, why are you so tired?"

Xiao Zhan is the one who's tired—Yibo can see it in the circles under his eyes, in the manic energy bleeding out. Xiao Zhan sticks his flute out to poke at him, and YIibo grabs it, pushing it aside.

Xiao Zhan makes an outraged face at him. "How dare you," he says, eyebrows up.

Yibo grabs his wrists as Xiao Zhan moves forward again. He's got the flute clutched in his fist but Yibo has him in a tight grip, holding him back so Xiao Zhan can't do much but stagger backwards. Yibo's hold on him is secure; Xiao Zhan's tiny bird wrists completely enveloped in Yibo's hands. Yibo lifts his chin, grinning at him, as Xiao Zhan tries, and fails, to extricate himself. "Are you stuck?" He makes his tone deliberately calm. "Oh no, look, you're so stuck."

He moves Xiao Zhan back, and back, until he stops fighting against Yibo and slumps, giving in.

"I'll stop," Xiao Zhan says, looking up at Yibo, breathless, and sweaty. A props coordinator appears beside them, tugging the flute out of Xiao Zhan's hand without a second glance at either of them, not noticing or not caring that Yibo has his hands wrapped around Xiao Zhan's wrists, Xiao Zhan gazing at him. "I'll stop, I'll stop." Xiao Zhan tugs a little bit against Yibo's hold on him.

Yibo doesn't let him go. He licks the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. "Are you sure?"

Xiao Zhan's eyes darken immediately. "Come on," he says. "Let's go."

Yibo feels the crackling under his skin, feels the heat in the air sink against him. Two more days, and then it's done. "Where," he says.

"Anywhere," Xiao Zhans says, turning away. "Anywhere but here."

They don't have a lot of options, but they're both far past caring. They catch the first car out to the hotel, just the two of them in the back of the SUV. It had gotten dark out by the time they left the set and the car is dim and quiet between them. Xiao Zhan's profile gets caught in the lights flashing by outside the window: the sharp cut of his jaw, the fall of his hair over his forehead. He looks younger when he's stripped down like this.

Xiao Zhan tilts his head, looking over at Yibo. "Tired?"

Yibo shakes his head. He's thinking, again, about Xiao Zhan's face when he comes. How his mouth falls open, soft and wet. He's thinking about how he's flying out Wednesday morning and how, after that, he won't see Xiao Zhan again. Not until the promo starts. How this is almost over.

Xiao Zhan shifts a little. He moves his hand, lets it fall on Yibo's leg, high up on his thigh. It's a move that shouldn't work as well as it does.

Yibo puts his hand over Xiao Zhan's. He pushes it down against his thigh, holding it there tight, for a handful of moments. Then he drags it up to his dick. He's halfway hard already, just from Xiao Zhan's dumb, high school move. When he presses Xiao Zhan's hand over his dick, Xiao Zhan sucks in a breath through his nose.

Yibo holds him there for the whole ride.

By the time they get to the hotel, Yibo's hard as a rock and Xiao Zhan's breath is coming fast. Yibo releases Xiao Zhan's hand as they pull up to the hotel, tugging his shirt down and positioning his bag over himself. Xiao Zhan's face, as their driver opens the door to let them out, is flushed, just a little, right over his cheeks. They stride into the hotel quickly, together.

Xiao Zhan can't stop giggling on the elevator. He keeps rocking up on his toes, leaning against Yibo as he chats about nothing funny, nothing at all. "Early day tomorrow," he says, grinning. "Can't believe we're flying out this week. Can't believe it's almost finished."

Yibo swallows tightly. "Only two more days."

Xiao Zhan laughs a little. "Two days and then it's done," he says. "It's too strange. What am I going to do without you?" He's draped against Yibo's shoulder, uncaring that the elevator is full of crew members who came in the car just behind them, like he doesn't even notice that they're there.

Yibo shoves an elbow into his side. He doesn't exactly mean to, he just can't—

Xiao Zhan sucks in a sharp breath that hits Yibo completely differently than the injured, put-upon way Xiao Zhan was clearly going for. He looks at Xiao Zhan and Xiao Zhan reflects the heat back at him. "Ow," he says softly, just as the elevator dings as it gets to their floor.

Yibo doesn't hesitate when they get to Xiao Zhan's door, just stands there next to him, as he slots the card in and gets it open.

"Oh, are you coming in?" Xiao Zhan asks innocently.

He is.

They're kissing as soon as the door shuts behind them, Yibo fumbling backwards to lock it. "I want—" he says, mumbling it against Xiao Zhan's lips. "I want—"

"Me too," Xiao Zhan pants, and drags Yibo over to the bed.

They fuck face to face and the stretch of it is exactly what Yibo needs. Xiao Zhan keeps a steady rhythm, his dick sliding home, his face looking damp and flushed and as desperate for this as Yibo feels. He's biting back his sounds and, right now, that's okay, too. It makes it feel intimate, private. Xiao Zhan makes a soft noise each time he slides in, sort of broken, lost. He changes up the angle on his next thrust and hits that spot inside Yibo that makes his eyes roll back in his head, makes him have to open his mouth wide and choke back the sounds that want to come pouring out as fireworks go off throughout his entire body.

Xiao Zhan fucks him through the fireworks, his hips snapping forward, bends closer so he's sliding against Yibo's dick with every thrust. Yibo wants this, needs this—it's fast and it's filthy and it's just rough enough. Xiao Zhan's hand is in his hair, tight, holding his head back as he fucks into him again, and again.

When Xiao Zhan's hips start losing their rhythm, he wraps his hand around Yibo's cock and presses his mouth against Yibo's neck, digging his teeth in, sucking hard. Yibo cries out, feels like it echoes in the stillness of the room, but he doesn't care, it doesn't matter.

"Harder," he says frantically, and he's not sure if he's talking about Xiao Zhan's mouth or Xiao Zhan's hand but Xiao Zhan gives him both, sucking so hard at his neck that it makes his spine tingle even as he jerks him off harder, faster.

Yibo comes with Xiao Zhan's teeth sunk into his neck, his thighs tight around Xiao Zhan's hips. He moans the entire time, just a little too loud. He doesn't care.

Xiao Zhan fucks him through it, uneven and perfect, and when he comes, it's with his mouth pressing open against Yibo's neck, his breath fast and frantic and hot against Yibo's skin.

When Xiao Zhan moves back, he does it slowly, carefully. Yibo can feel his pulse beating in the spot where Xiao Zhan had dug his teeth in and the feel of his orgasm is still ringing through him.

"I can't feel my hands," he says helplessly, and Xiao Zhan's laughing softly as he pulls out.

Yibo can only lie there, trying to get his breath back as Xiao Zhan deals with the condom.

"I think we were loud," Xiao Zhan says, scratching his fingers through his messy hair as he stands comfortably naked beside the bed.

"I think we were, too." Yibo knows they were. He can feel it in his throat.

Xiao Zhan moves his shoulders a little, nose crinkling. "Shower?" he says, with a brilliant smile. "We're disgusting. I can smell myself. I can't believe you let me fuck you when we're so gross like this."

"I'd let you fuck me anytime," Yibo says. He understands that Xiao Zhan is making a joke, he gets that, but he means it. He wants Xiao Zhan when he's sweaty and exhausted the same way he wants him when he's fresh out of the shower and smells like his body wash, crisp and clean. He wants him when his eyes are squinting after he's taken out his contacts but hasn't put his glasses on yet, looking puzzled and so much younger than he is, looking like he's Yibo's age. He just wants—

"Promises, promises," Xiao Zhan says, heading to the bathroom. He peeks back out the door after he flips the water on, grinning at Yibo. "You coming?"

Yibo shakes his head against the bed.

Xiao Zhan tsks at him. "Lounging in your filth, I get it," he calls back over his shoulder.

Yibo thinks about him in the water of the shower, it streaming over him. Xiao Zhan doesn't like the water as hot as Yibo likes it, and he takes his time in the shower—Yibo doesn't have the patience for that. He gets himself clean as quickly as possible, to leave more time for, well, sleeping, mostly. Right now, he is, in fact, itchy with dried sweat—both his and Xiao Zhan's—and he's got his own come drying on his stomach, but he's sprawled against Xiao Zhan's sheets and he can still feel it where Xiao Zhan had fucked him, and he doesn't know if he'll get this again.

He listens to the shower running, listens to Xiao Zhan as he sings in there, some soft, lilting song that Yibo can't quite figure out, but it's familiar, catching right on the edge of his memory. He thinks about two days. About how so much of the cast is gone already. About how they've got their last few scenes together and then they're gone, too. He doesn't even know where his flight is headed from here—he's got it in an email from his agent, but all he can remember is that it's not home.

When the shower stops, he makes himself swing his legs off the bed, pushing himself to his feet. He pulls his clothes back on, then calls, "Okay, I've got to go to sleep. Early day tomorrow."

Xiao Zhan appears in the bathroom door, towel wrapped around his waist, a toothbrush shoved in his mouth, foam around the edges. He makes a small, disappointed, "you sure?" sound, and Yibo makes himself smile a little.

"I'm beat," he says, scooping up his bag from where he'd dropped it next to the door and shoving his feet into his sneakers. He wants to go press a kiss to Xiao Zhan's face, flushed from the heat of the shower, wants to put his hands on the skin of his waist, feel the heat of it. "See you tomorrow," he says, and heads out, letting the door close quietly behind him.

Yibo has a mark on his neck when he rolls out of bed in his own room the next morning.

He tilts his head as he brushes his teeth, studying the dark bloom of color there. He spits and rinses, wiping his mouth and then studying the mark again in the mirror. He touches two fingers to it gently—it's sensitive, just a little.

He's tired of this hotel. He's tired of the thin walls. He's tired of Xiao Zhan being right across the hall and miles away at the same time. He's flying out tomorrow and he's tired of that, too, before he's even gone.

No one says anything about the mark on his neck on set. He doesn't try to hide it and his make-up tech just covers it like she would any other skin issue; no knowing glances or anything.

Yibo has to make an effort to not keep touching it all day, to not mess up the make-up covering it.

He's not been avoiding Xiao Zhan, or at least he's not doing it on purpose, it just works out that they really don't have any time alone together, pushing through on the filming, rolling from scene to scene.

The last scene of the day is brutal. It's the clifftop death scene and it's one of those filming sessions that feels like breathing, where you just land it, where every line, every flicker of a glance, every moment slides into place. Even with constant cuts, even with breaks to reset lighting, or change camera angles, or do make-up touch ups, they stay so firmly in character, so deeply in the scene, that sliding back into it every time Director Chen calls action feels right, feels necessary, feels like they are exactly where they need to be.

Yibo feels breathless when they finish the scene, his chest tight like he can't quite get all the air his lungs need. It's lighting him up inside. Xiao Zhan is looking at him from across the set like he feels the same. He's not Wei Wuxian anymore, but it's just like it's slipped, like the character is still right there and Xiao Zhan is having to work to shed it.

Xiao Zhan advances on him as soon as he's out of hair and make-up. "What?" he says, tilting his head and looming over Yibo. "What did I do? Where have you been all day?"

"Right here," Yibo says tiredly. Every scene they've filmed, they've filmed together. He can't get away from Xiao Zhan's face, Xiao Zhan's eyes, Xiao Zhan's mouth. He's leaving tomorrow. They both are. Maybe he should be glad of these last chances to see him like this.

"You're not, though." Xiao Zhan studies him. "You're only fully here when you're Lan Wangji. What's going on? What do you—" He cuts himself off. "Listen, you know what? Let's go. Let's just—go. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just you and me."

"Where?" Yibo asks. Where could they possibly go? There's nowhere where it's just going to be them.

"Can your assistant get us a reservation somewhere?" Xiao Zhan is looking around for Yibo's set helper, reaching out his hand so she'll hand him Yibo's phone. "Let's just do it. She can do it." He looks determined. "Let's go get a drink."

Yibo looks at him uncertainly. "We have filming tomorrow," he says.

Xiao Zhan shakes his head firmly. "It's us," he says. "We've got this. We know Wei Ying and Lan Wangji inside and out." He's right. They've been running lines on that final upcoming rooftop confrontation scene and they've both got it nailed down. They're ready. They're more than ready.

Yibo messages his assistant.

They end up someplace downtown. Yibo's not even sure how far away from set it is, really—he wasn't paying attention in the car that brought them over, trying to behave normally. He is normal; he feels normal. This is normal. Shoots end; Hengdian is nothing but a make-believe set of ancient China and leaving here should feel normal.

"Hey." Xiao Zhan nudges him. Yibo's assistant had booked them a private room in a restaurant that seems way too fancy after a summer of eating craft services food and microwaved hotpot. Everyone is always concerned about avoiding looking bloated from salty food; Xiao Zhan himself seems to avoid eating every other day. But this is a special occasion,Yibo guesses. "You getting a beer? I'm getting a beer. We should—" He nudges Yibo again. "We should celebrate."

"Right," Yibo says, staring blankly at the menu. "Yeah, I could use a beer."

Their server takes their order—Yibo lets Xiao Zhan take the lead on that, but he nods along with his selection of various dumpling and noodle dishes. The beers come first, in nice glasses—tall, curved, fancy glasses, the outside covered with condensation from the ice cold beer inside.

Yibo drinks half of his in one go.

Xiao Zhan watches him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he takes a small sip of his own beer. "You have some tolerance, didi," he says.

"You have almost none." Yibo likes that about Xiao Zhan—likes that he gets flushed and tipsy off of one beer; likes that he gets handsy after two.

Xiao Zhan shrugs a little, still smiling. He sets his beer down neatly on the coaster in front of him, centering it carefully. "I have a little bit more, after this summer," he says. "So many parties." He shakes his head. "I can't believe this is it."

Yibo's stomach tightens. The beer glass is slick where his hand is wrapped around it. "Tomorrow," he manages.

"Right." Xiao Zhan takes another sip of beer. "When is your flight?"

"I have to head out right after filming wraps." He'd started packing this morning; his room is scattered with open suitcases and half-full bags. He'll need to finish tonight, so his assistant can get them picked up for him in the morning. He swallows. "Yours?"

"I got pushed back to Thursday morning, early." Xiao Zhan fiddles with the glass in front of him. "That's weird. It's going to be so weird to not have you across the hall from me." He grins over at Yibo. "It's going to be so quiet."

Yibo makes himself nod. Tomorrow night, he'll be on a flight and Xiao Zhan will be alone in his hotel room. This will be over. This whole long summer of...whatever this has been, it will be done. "Where are you heading?" he asks, even though he knows. He's been aware of Xiao Zhan's schedule, has paid too much attention to it. He'll be in Changsha for a few days, then home in Beijing for a while, and meanwhile Yibo will be wherever his schedule takes him. He still calls Beijing home, but it feels like a joke, since he's never there for longer than a few days at a time.

"Changsha," Xiao Zhan says. He takes a sip of beer, looking at Yibo over the top of his glass. He looks relaxed, easy, the type of look that hasn't happened a whole lot this summer; they're always on the go. Even when they're hanging out at room parties at night, there is an air of rushing to it, an air of everyone eking out what time they have, knowing that it starts up all over again early the next morning. "For a bit." He smiles again, leaning back in his chair. "And you'll be all over China."

Yibo shrugs, and finishes his beer. "That's how it works," he says.

"Yeah." Xiao Zhan sits forward again. "Yibo—"

Their server comes back in, with a tray of steaming plates balanced easily in front of him. He serves them swiftly, nodding when Yibo gestures at their beers, asking for two more, even though Xiao Zhan's is still half-full. When they're alone again, he looks at Xiao Zhan, but Xiao Zhan's face has lit up at the sight of the food and he's busy scooping noodles onto his plate. Yibo watches him and thinks that, maybe, getting this summer with him, getting to be the center of Xiao Zhan's attention at any given time—maybe that's good enough.

They eat and Yibo keeps his mind on that: the food, the beer, Xiao Zhan's happy chatting. Xiao Zhan doesn't appear to be struggling with feelings of losing something he never even had. Xiao Zhan is taking it as exactly what it is: a summer thing. An intense summer thing, but a summer thing. Yibo knows this sort of thing happens on set, and fades away immediately afterwards. He needs to stop being such a kid about it; needs to just move on.

He orders them a third round after they finish eating, and Xiao Zhan raises an eyebrow at him, smiling as he takes a sip, still working on his second. "Trying to get me drunk, Wang Yibo?" he asks.

Yibo's stomach swoops a little but he ignores it, focusing on Xiao Zhan's flushed cheeks, his eyes bright from alcohol. "We're celebrating," he says.

"We are," Xiao Zhan agrees. He's sitting back, holding his beer, watching Yibo. He looks happy, content, and Yibo bites the inside of his lip, reminds himself that this was how it was always going to end. "You seem tired."

Yibo isn't tired. Or, at least, he's not more tired than he always is. There isn't ever any time to catch up on his sleep debt and he's gotten used to just carrying it with him. He's young; he'll survive. He nods a little, because saying he's tired is a whole lot easier than trying to unravel what he's feeling. "Long day."

"Long summer," Xiao Zhan responds. "It feels like we only just started, but also like we've always been here. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah." Yibo drinks more of his beer. He's not drunk, but he feels like he's taken the edge off. He feels better, maybe. Or maybe it's just making him care less. That last part is a lie, but he lets himself try to believe it. "I do. I feel like—I mean, it's been this sort of—" He can't finish his sentence. What has it been like? How can he say the things that are churning around inside of him? None of it even makes any sense. Teasing you has made me feel more alive than I have in years. Or We could run away together. Miss our flights. Stay here in Hengdian, or fuck it, go somewhere where no one knows us and just— Just what? That's not an option, not for either of them. It makes no sense.

"I'll miss it," is all he ends up saying.

"Me too." Xiao Zhan has that soft, fond look in his eyes that usually makes Yibo want to press him up against a wall. Right now, he just takes another sip of beer and looks away.

They finish up not that long after—Xiao Zhan has three-quarters of a beer left, but he's already a little bit past tipsy, and pushes it away from himself with a soft laugh. Yibo scoops it up, finishes it in a few gulps—he's a little bit past tipsy himself and wants to stay that way.

It's hot when they emerge, even though it's late—the air is thick and sultry, and Yibo's shirt immediately sticks uncomfortably to his back. Xiao Zhan's face is damp with sweat almost right away, just in the minute or so they're waiting for their car to pull around. They climb in the back, and the privacy shield is up between them and the driver. Xiao Zhan is reaching for him almost before the door is closed.

Yibo pushes into it. He lets Xiao Zhan drag him forward and he kisses him, hard and deep, right off the bat. Xiao Zhan makes a startled sound into his mouth, but he doesn't pull back, he just adjusts his position a little so that he can pull Yibo closer.

Not that that's a problem to be solved. Yibo kisses Xiao Zhan harder, deeper, pushing him back until he's half-sprawled on the seat, up against the door. Yibo's hand is under Xiao Zhan's shirt and he doesn't even remember having yanked it out from where it had been neatly tucked into his pants. "Come here," he's muttering against Xiao Zhan's mouth, even though they're as close as they can get. "Come here, just—" He's got his leg in between Xiao Zhan's thighs, and he's hard, he's so hard. Xiao Zhan's skin is warm under his hand and he moves it, up to thumb over his nipple, Xiao Zhan rocking up against him as he does it.

"I'm here." It comes out on a ghost of a laugh. "I'm right here, I'm—"

He's here, for right now, and that's what Yibo needs to think about, only that. Tomorrow is...tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll be gone and Xiao Zhan will be alone in his hotel room, and it will be quiet and the room across the hall won't be Yibo's anymore.

He moves his hand down to Xiao Zhan's dick, pressed up hard against the front of his pants. Nice pants this time—not jeans, not the basketball shorts Yibo's used to seeing him in. He'd dressed up for their— Whatever this is, not a date, not that. He'd dressed up for this, though, because they'd been...celebrating.

"Yibo." Xiao Zhan's panting now, and his throat is damp with sweat. Yibo presses his mouth against it, tasting salt and skin as he grinds the heel of his hand against Xiao Zhan's dick. "Yibo, we have to—not here, not—oh fuck."

Yibo is pressing his teeth against Xiao Zhan's skin, he can't stop himself. Xiao Zhan's making so much noise, too much noise, but Yibo can feel how his cock jumps against his palm when he does it, can feel how it's making Xiao Zhan tremble against him. He wants to leave a mark. He wants Xiao Zhan to look in the mirror tomorrow, when Yibo's a hundred miles away, and see the mark that Yibo's left on him.

"We have to—" Xiao Zhan's still sprawled back against the door, his hips lifting up against Yibo's hand. "We have to—Yibo. Yibo."

Yibo lifts his head from Xiao Zhan's neck. The car is moving fast in the light, late-night traffic. Xiao Zhan's face flickers in the passing glimmer of streetlights, his mouth open and damp, his eyes wide and completely focused on Yibo. Yibo still has his hand on Xiao Zhan's cock.

Xiao Zhan takes in a shaky breath. "We're nearly there," he manages. "We have to—" His hand lands over Yibo's, and he presses down for a second, lifting his hips into the pressure as his eyes slide shut, before gently tugging Yibo's hand away. "We just have to get up to the room."

Yibo manages to pull himself back. He's aware, all at once, of how hard he is, how turned on he is, how desperate he is. He can't imagine what his face looks like—looking at Xiao Zhan's, his blown eyes, his hair a wreck, his mouth looking exactly like he's been making out in the back of a car. He thinks they're going to have a rough time getting up to the room without attracting attention.

He touches his hand to his mouth, where it's wet and feels almost swollen with kissing. Xiao Zhan is sitting up now, running his hand through his hair, tugging his shirt back into place. He's still breathing too fast and he's damp with sweat, and still a little bit tipsy—Yibo can see it in the smile Xiao Zhan shoots him, in how flushed he looks as the car pulls into the overly-bright light of the portico of the hotel.

"We just have to keep it together," Xiao Zhan says, still grinning, "until we get upstairs. We can do it."

Yibo's not sure he can. He wants to climb on top of Xiao Zhan right here. He wants to keep him here in this car, make the ride last forever. If they go upstairs, then it's their last night together, and he—

"Come on." Xiao Zhan has his head tilted, listening to the slam of the door as the driver climbs out.

Yibo makes himself climb out in one smooth movement, and he doesn't wait for Xiao Zhan, just strides quickly into the hotel, keeping his eyes on the middle distance. He doesn't feel drunk anymore, he just feels—

"Let's—" Xiao Zhan has caught up to him, and they get to the elevator just as it dings and the doors open.

Xiao Zhan brushes against him as he gets on and it sends a shudder down Yibo's back. He gets on the elevator.

They're alone in it, but Yibo doesn't look at Xiao Zhan, doesn't move towards him. His heart is beating in his throat and he doesn't think that he's going to be able to stop once they start. Xiao Zhan is just standing there too, but Yibo can feel his eyes on him, can feel as he tilts a little bit towards him, not touching him, just bending closer, like a plant towards the sun.

Yibo bites his lip, and watches the numbers as they go up, and up. They make it to their floor. They make it to their rooms. Xiao Zhan hesitates for a moment in the corridor, but Yibo steers them towards Xiao Zhan's room. The one across the hall doesn't even feel like his anymore, stripped down and half packed up and nearly as blank and quiet as it's going to be tomorrow night.

Inside, they kick off their shoes and Xiao Zhan reaches for him just the way he had in the car, his hands on Yibo immediately. His tongue is in Yibo's mouth and his hands are on Yibo's hips, tugging him towards the bed. He sprawls backwards, bringing Yibo down on top of him, between his thighs. He's making high, cut-off sounds as he kisses Yibo, and Yibo can't breathe, can't think, can only rock down against him. His heart is beating in the rhythm of last time, last time and he ruthlessly tries to shove it away, to get lost in this. "I need," he says, his mouth sliding down the cut of Xiao Zhan's jaw, the line of his neck. "I need," he says again, tilting Xiao Zhan's head back so he can lick into the base of his neck, where sweat has gathered, the tang of it sharp against his tongue. "Please," he says then, his mouth pressed against Xiao Zhan's neck. "Please," he says again, and pushes himself up, and off.

He tugs his shirt off over his head without unbuttoning it, struggles to get his pants undone, none of it made easier by Xiao Zhan's hands on him, Xiao Zhan reaching for every part of skin that gets revealed, his long, warm fingers tucking themselves against Yibo's waist, against his hips, pressing in between his thighs as soon he's got his pants kicked down and off. "Fuck me," Yibo says. His voice sounds high, sounds desperate, and he doesn't care, he doesn't fucking care. "Fuck me," he says again, turning over. "Now, I need—please, now, I—"

"Look at you." Xiao Zhan's fumbling with his clothes behind him, running his hand down Yibo's back as he does so, dropping kisses along his spine even as he works to strip himself down.

Yibo's anxious, restless, his head pressed against his wrists. He arches his back into Xiao Zhan's touch, his breath coming fast. Xiao Zhan's hands land on his hips, so hot that he shivers against them. Xiao Zhan keeps touching him as he opens him up, keeps murmuring soft words that Yibo is desperate to hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears. They're nothing-words, meaningless, just yes and good and I've got you, I've got you.

Yibo digs his teeth into the back of his hand. He's trembling.

When Xiao Zhan sinks into him, it's all the way in one smooth thrust and it's easy, fuck, it goes so easy, Yibo's body opening up for him like he's meant to be there. Xiao Zhan fucks him, slow and steady, driving into him, and it's not enough, Yibo wants it to be more, he wants it to be—

Xiao Zhan's hands are hot on his hips and he's snapping into him, fucking him harder now, it's good, that's...good, that's what Yibo needs. He just needs this, he needs it to be like this. His hands are clenched in the sheets and his dick is so hard, and he wants to come, he wants to come while Xiao Zhan is deep inside him, but if he comes, if they come, then this is over, and he can't—he needs—

Xiao Zhan wraps his hand around him, strokes him hard and fast, just right, too good to hold back, and Yibo comes, burying his sounds against the pillow, shaking hard even as Xiao Zhan fucks him through it.

He's lost in the haze of it after, as Xiao Zhan fucks him harder, holds him there against the sheets as he drives into him again, and again, then comes with a shout, grinding into him deep, bent over him. Yibo can feel his forehead pressed against his back, the hot rush of his breath against his skin as he stays there, deep inside Yibo.

When he shifts to pull out, Yibo has an insane moment of wanting to reach back and hold him there, keep him inside for just this while longer. He doesn't—he just presses his mouth against the pillow as it happens, shivering against the ache of being empty again.

"Holy shit." Xiao Zhan has dealt with the condom and rolled over onto his back beside Yibo, his breath still coming fast. "That was. Intense."

Yibo keeps his cheek against the pillow. It's damp underneath him, from sweat, and spit, but he doesn't shift away. He can see Xiao Zhan's chest going up and down, can see how he has his eyes closed, his eyelashes dark against his skin. His face is still flushed, from alcohol, or sex, or maybe both. Yibo wants to roll up on his side, wants to drag Xiao Zhan close, he bets he'd giggle, high and bright—Yibo wants to hear that. He could do it, he could bury his face against Xiao Zhan's neck, and Xiao Zhan would wrap his arms around him, and it would be—

"I should go." He pushes himself to sitting. He has to pause, feeling the ache where Xiao Zhan had been. Good. Good. He wants to feel it, all day tomorrow. He wants the reminder. He gets to his feet.

"What?" Xiao Zhan rolls onto his side, looking up at Yibo. He looks confused, and rumpled, and it takes pretty much everything Yibo has to not climb back into bed with him. "Why? It's not late. I mean." He scratches his hand through his hair. "I know it is late, but it's our last night, I thought you'd—"

"I've got to finish packing." Yibo cuts him off. He can't hear this. He can't hear Xiao Zhan nonchalantly marking their last time together, he can't— He's fine. This is fine, but— "I have to go."

"Okay," Xiao Zhan says, still looking confused. He rolls to his feet, starts searching for his underwear.

Yibo shoves his legs into his pants, tries to unearth his shirt from where the covers had gotten shoved off the bed. He has to go. He has to go now.

"So when do I see you next?" Xiao Zhan asks. "Hong Kong, right?"

Yibo's just dragged his shirt out from under the covers, but he hasn't shrugged into it yet. He'd gotten his pants on, the button still undone in his hurry to get away. He pauses, clutching his shirt in his hands. "What?"

"You'll be there, right? In, like, a couple of weeks?" Xiao Zhan spins around, searching for his phone. "I know you have that photoshoot this week, and then you're back to Changsha for Day Day Up, obviously, but after that, I'm pretty sure..." He's grabbed up his pants from the floor, tugging his phone out of the pocket.

"What do you—" Yibo stops, staring at Xiao Zhan. His face feels numb. Wait. Wait. "How do you know my schedule?"

"I, uh, you know, asked Huifang." Xiao Zhan is scrolling through his phone, clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs. He's thin, and he's long, and Yibo still can't quite feel his face. "I'm pretty sure that's what she told me your manager said." He grins a little, not looking up from his phone. "How do I know your schedule better than you, didi?" he says teasingly.

"You asked my assistant," Yibo says through numb lips.

"Yeah, I—" Xiao Zhan looks up at him. "Yeah," he says more slowly. "I told you that I was going to be shooting there, too. I..think I told you that. No, I totally did."

"You're shooting in Hong Kong," Yibo says. His voice is coming out weird and wooden. He's so stupid. He's so stupid.

"Yeah." Xiao Zhan's looking at him and Yibo's face feels so hot, like it's scorching. "Yibo, are you—"

"I'm good." He's still got his shirt clutched in his hands, which are now both sweaty and numb. Great. He's great. He's— "Hong Kong. Right."

Xiao Zhan's still just looking at him. "Like, yeah, just because you're not across the hall doesn't mean we're not—" He pauses, his whole face looking startled in a way that would be put-on by anyone else but is just Xiao Zhan's pure emotion rising to the surface. "Oh, shit. Did I read this wrong? Did I—do you not want to—"

"No," Yibo says, and his voice doesn't come out hysterical, which is good, it's great, he's fine. Xiao Zhan's coming to Hong Kong. He's great. "No, this is exactly—" He stops, takes a breath. "You didn't read this wrong."

Xiao Zhan is carefully putting his phone down on the table, lining it up with the edge with his long fingers, taking his time with it. He tilts his head, looking over at Yibo. "I want to be sure," he says slowly, "that you're not saying that just to agree with me."

Yibo can feel a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He can feel laughter starting to bubble up a little, but he makes an effort to keep his voice steady. "Zhan-ge," he says, the intimacy of the name feeling warm on his lips, "do I ever just agree with you? For the sake of it?"

Xiao Zhan's lips twitch a little and he moves a hesitant step closer. "Historically speaking," he says, "not exactly."

"Right." The relief is a huge, overwhelming feeling, like being sunk into warm water after freezing for hours. He's shirtless, and he's sweaty, and he's exhausted, honestly, like the tension he's been carrying with him for days, for weeks, feeling like every step was the beginning of the end has finally seeped away and turns out, that has been the only thing keeping him upright. He sits down on the bed abruptly, feeling stupidly like his knees could go out from underneath him if he didn't. "So we'll see each other in Hong Kong." He can't stop smiling. He thinks he must look stupid, but he can't stop.

"Right." Xiao Zhan drifts over to sit down beside him. "And I'm in Beijing a lot more than you are, but I think you have a few days off after that filming, and we could—"

"We could," Yibo cuts him off. He could see Xiao Zhan in Beijing. They can be together in Beijing, in Yibo's apartment. They could do anything they wanted. This is more than just...Hengdian. "Let's do that, yeah."

Xiao Zhan is still looking at him, with a soft, puzzled smile. "Yibo," he says. "Did you think that I would just..." He bites his lip. "I wouldn't," he says. "I don't want to. I want—"

Yibo's grinning so wide it feels like his face will crack with it. "Good," he says. "Good, yes, I want, too. I want—" He wants so much. He wants it all. "Oh fuck," he says, and the giggles really are rising up now.

"What?" Xiao Zhan looks faintly alarmed, which Yibo can't really blame him for at this point.

"I really actually do have to pack," he says, laughing through the words. "Oh my god, what time is it? We have to be on set at, like, the crack of dawn, and my room is—" He gestures, giggling harder now, sagging back on his elbows on the bed. "It's a disaster."

Xiao Zhan's grinning now, too, and there's no reason not to tug him down onto the bed and kiss the breath out of him, so Yibo does. Xiao Zhan is pink-cheeked when he lifts his head, finally, saying, "I'll help." He's out of breath, and god, Yibo likes him so much. "I'll help you pack."

Yibo cracks up again, glancing around the room. "You're a bigger disaster than I am, Zhan-ge."

Xiao Zhan eyes the piles of clothes and bags and toys scattering every surface in his room. "I have all of tomorrow night to get my act together," he says, his lower lip drawing into an exaggerated pout. Yibo wants to bite it. "I'll have nothing better to do, since you'll have heartlessly left me all alone here."

"Not heartlessly," Yibo says, the honesty of it pounding in his chest.

Xiao Zhan's eyes crinkle and he kisses Yibo again before rolling to his feet and reaching down to haul Yibo off the bed. "Come on," he says. "I can at least keep you company."

Yibo grins, because he can't stop grinning. "Okay," he says, "I like company."

"I like you," Xiao Zhan says, his eyes dancing.

"Shut the fuck up," Yibo says, shrugging into his shirt so he doesn't have to look up at Xiao Zhan, doesn't have to let Xiao Zhan fully see his hot cheeks and what he's pretty sure is pure joy in his eyes. "Let's go."

Xiao Zhan finishes pulling his clothes back on. "Let's go," he agrees.

July in Changsha is hot as fuck, and it's raining to boot, a steamy, ceaseless drizzle that creates a wall of pure humidity the moment you step outside. Yibo's in a good mood. He's actually in a great mood, an excellent one. He's looking forward to the series of fanmeets and guest appearances to promote the show, that are going to roll them into pretty much the end of the year. His Day Day Up filming falls neatly just two days after the Happy Camp filming and it feels like a vacation, almost. He knows he's walking with a spring in his step and he flips his skateboard down as he heads from the car to the studio, just because he can.

It's not that far, but he skates right up to the doors of the studio before flipping his skateboard up, catching it and tucking it under his arm as he heads in.

His team is trailing behind him as he makes his way to hair and make-up and as he pushes the door open, he hears, "You're late, didi!"

He whirls around, and there he is. Xiao Zhan is heading down the corridor towards him, his long-legged stride just eating up the space in between them, until he's right in front of Yibo, smiling so wide that his eyes nearly disappear.

Yibo's heart catches in his chest and it takes everything he has to not reach out and just haul Xiao Zhan up against him. Instead, he just says, "Hey," in the most injured tone he can manage. "I'm a very busy man."

Xiao Zhan giggles, pushing against his shoulder. "You sure are," he says.

It has no tone, nothing untoward, but the tiny look he gives Yibo out of the corner of his eye packs such heat that Yibo feels it all the way down to his toes. He hasn't seen Xiao Zhan in...five weeks and three days, the last time Yibo was home in Beijing. Seeing his face—real, and warm, and here, in person, not on a screen, feels exhilarating. They're making this work, eking out time together when their schedules allow, but every time they see each other again, it just rocks through Yibo: that he gets to have this.

They head inside, shoving against each other and laughing, and they get greeted with a shout from across the room, where Zhuocheng and Yu Bin are already in their outfits for the show, getting their hair done. "It's old home week," Xiao Zhan says, looking over at Yibo with dancing eyes.

"It is," Yibo agrees. He needs to stop grinning like this. He knows that. And he will, in just a minute. He just. He rocks up on his toes, close to Xiao Zhan's ear. "I've got two days off between this and Day Day Up."

"I am aware." Xiao Zhan's voice is warm and close, god, so close to him that Yibo can feel his breath against his skin. Five weeks and two days of just phone calls and video chats—nowhere near enough. "I am so very aware."

"Well." Yibo bounces a little on his toes, letting his skateboard flip down to the floor again. "Good. Just making sure." He knows that Xiao Zhan knows; knows that Xiao Zhan has arranged for the same two days off, knows that they'll have time, they'll have time, just the two of them together. He just needed to say it. Needed to hear it out loud.

Xiao Zhan giggles as Yibo pushes off on his skateboard, gliding over the short distance towards where Yu Bin is cackling at him in the mirror. He stops just short of crashing into his chair, nudging at Yu Bin with his shoulder. "Long time, no see."

Yu Bin gives him a fist bump over his shoulder. "This is going to be something," he says.

"It is," Yibo says, looking into the mirror over Yu Bin's shoulder and catching Xiao Zhan's eye as Xiao Zhan comes up behind them.

Xiao Zhan's shaking his head, a smile on his face, his eyes warm on Yibo's in the mirror.

"It really is," Yibo says again, grinning wide. It is. It's something.