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There are hands on Yibo's thighs, spreading him open for the fourth time tonight, or maybe the fifth — he's lost count at this point, awareness ping-ponging between the delicious fullness in his ass and the heavy press against his tongue, the stretch of his muscles and the aching hardness between his legs. The blindfold plastered across his face is drenched with sweat, fabric chafing over the bridge of his nose, so damp Yibo can barely open his eyes against it. God, he just wants to see.
But he can't. Not yet — those are the rules. "You get one guess per orgasm, so make them count," Jackson said at the beginning of the evening, when he'd straddled Yibo on the hotel bed and tied the blindfold around his head. The last thing Yibo saw was his wide grin, and then other people helped gently rearrange his limbs, securing his wrists to his ankles. Competition always makes his blood pump faster, but his senses feel slow and dull today, overloaded by stimulus. He'd guessed Hanliang-ge after the first person went rigid above him, groaning as he came, but they're either getting better at disguising themselves or Yibo's getting worse at telling them apart through the haze of arousal, settling over him thick like a blanket. "Sorry, Yibo," he heard Yixing say, dropping a light kiss to his temple as he pulled out. "Better luck next time."
The restraints are gone now, so he's easier to twist into different positions, though Yibo can still feel one satin tie fluttering against his foot as a palm wraps around his calf. The hands maneuvering him into position push his knees up towards his shoulders, folding him in half. Yibo sighs as his back twinges, as his sore thighs twitch. His own erection spurts more precome across his stomach, joining the sticky mess from earlier, when Xiao Ji and Wuming had jerked off and finished there. Yibo's pretty sure it was them, from the low murmur of voices through the fabric around his eyes and ears, but only guessing the people actually fucking him counts. Bouboo had been second, which Yibo should have known, but he'd been otherwise preoccupied by blowing someone else, distracted by the bitter taste in his mouth and the broadness tickling the back of his throat.
Yibo hadn't even bothered guessing anymore after that, perception winnowing down to the jolt of every thrust inside him and the occasional hand brushing over his cock. It feels like Yibo's been hard for days, though it can't have been more than an hour. He's been fucked so loose that whoever's folding him in half now slides right in, easy and fluid. He tries his best to clench around the mystery dick, mustering the last of his energy to squeeze as tight as he can. The hips driving into him stutter, once, twice, before pulling out and driving in again, nailing his prostate hard enough that Yibo tilts his head back and groans. Fuck, that's good. He's so close. He wants to be allowed to see; he wants to be allowed to come.
It takes him a long, drawn-out minute to realize he recognizes the steady rhythm pounding into him, that the shallow-shallow-deep pattern is something well-known and well-loved, though it seems impossible that he'd be here right now. "Zhan-ge," Yibo gasps anyway, and then there's a familiar laugh above him as fingers scrabble against the back of his head and wrest the blindfold off.
When Yibo blinks his eyes open, squinting against the light, Xiao Zhan's giggling, his mouth stretched wide, a sheen of sweat already dappling the side of his face. "Surprise," he murmurs, somehow in Shanghai when he should be halfway across the country, not tucked hilt-deep inside Yibo. "Can't believe you recognized me through dick alone."
"It's a — ahhh, fuck — it's a great dick," Yibo pants, bracing his calves along Xiao Zhan's sides, reaching up to loop his trembling arms around Xiao Zhan's neck. "You're good at using it."
Xiao Zhan huffs. "You're so nice when you're turned on."
"I'm always nice," Yibo protests, shaking his bangs out of his face, but he still hauls Xiao Zhan as close as possible. "Can't believe you're here. What the hell." He clenches around Xiao Zhan's cock again, jerking as it drags across his prostate just right. He swallows around a gasp. His vision swims. "You — you better come inside me. You better fuck me so hard I pass out when I finally come."
"Whatever you want, sweetheart," Xiao Zhan promises, because he's reliable like that.
"Why are you guys so gross?" Jackson demands from the corner, to a smatter of amused noises from anyone else still hanging out in the room, but there's no heat in it. Xiao Zhan's stupid gorgeous face is crinkled with laughter when he thrusts in again, fingers digging into the soft skin behind Yibo's knees, and leans down to kiss him.
Yibo's tired and wrung out but the press of Xiao Zhan's mouth still makes his whole body light up. He kisses back as best he can, tongue slipping across the threshold of Xiao Zhan's teeth to drag against the roof of his mouth. His own dick throbs, twitching along his abdomen, bouncing with every snap of Xiao Zhan's hips.
It's going to happen soon — Yibo can feel it building in his stomach, shivering down his spine, making his toes curl and his heart pound. Yibo locks his ankles behind Xiao Zhan's back, heels digging into Xiao Zhan's tailbone, and sighs into his mouth. "Please," he groans, arching up into Xiao Zhan's chest, the solid weight of his body crushing Yibo into the mattress. "C'mon, Zhan-ge, fuck—"
Xiao Zhan bites down on Yibo's lips and pistons forward, rough enough to knock Yibo against the headboard. The box spring creaks loudly as Xiao Zhan splits him open over and over, less than half a heartbeat between each thrust now, barely pulling back before he drives in again. Xiao Zhan's right hand squeezes around Yibo's thigh one more time before it drifts down to clamp around Yibo's erection, as firm as the caress of his tongue and the slide of his dick. Yibo's breath hiccups in his throat as the searing wave of pleasure crashes over his head and yanks him under, swift and unrelenting.
When Yibo bobs back up to the surface, awareness returning to him in increments, he's been rearranged on his side, facing the door. His breathing has eased somewhat, though his skin feels hot and his pulse is still fast. The rest of the room has cleared out; Jackson murmurs one last thing to Xiao Zhan at the door, and then it clicks shut behind him and they're alone.
A towel is dangling from Xiao Zhan's hand when he turns around. His damp hair is sticking out in every direction, and he's still completely naked, soft cock swinging between his long legs. There are times when Xiao Zhan is as shameless as he is, unabashed about the reality of his presence in the world, and Yibo chases those moments almost as often as he chases the luxury of his company. Yibo wants him near, wants to tug him down and wind around him like ivy, wants to drag his mouth all over Xiao Zhan's skin and mark him up until he's ready to go again. Fortunately, that seems to be in the cards, because Xiao Zhan drifts over and sinks onto the edge of the bed, running his palm down the curve of Yibo's shoulder. He smiles when Yibo scoots closer and brushes his lips over the ridge of Xiao Zhan's bony knee. "Welcome back," he says, lifting the towel and pressing it to Yibo's navel. It's hot and fluffy and wet, already starting to smear away the flaking jizz on his abs. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"
Xiao Zhan gets to work, swiping carefully, always so meticulous. Yibo watches through slitted eyes, sighing at the textured drag of the towel, warmth soaking into his loose limbs. He twists obligingly when Xiao Zhan finishes on his front, moving onto his stomach so Xiao Zhan can get at his back. The towel slips between Yibo's asscheeks, across his tender rim, and he squirms a little, turning his face so he can nose at Xiao Zhan's leg.
"Sensitive?"
"You saw me," Yibo mumbles, stretching his legs, rotating his ankles. "There was a lot going on." He reaches out blindly until Xiao Zhan catches his fingers with his free hand, folding them together. "How are you here?"
"Asked my people for a few days off and they made it happen," Xiao Zhan says. The towel keeps roaming, across Yibo's back and up towards the nape of his neck. It's cooler now, but it still feels good wiping him clean. "You've been having so much fun down here, I had to come out and see what all the fuss was about." When Yibo peeks up, there's a thoughtful expression on Xiao Zhan's face. "Jackson said you'll all be performing with your teams again this weekend."
Yibo scrambles up, suddenly heedless of his sore muscles, and nearly pitches them both off the bed when he grabs Xiao Zhan's shoulders and slides into his lap. "You'll stay and watch, won't you? They can get you a private box up high for better viewing. Our routines this round are so sick. There's a mummy."
Xiao Zhan hikes him more solidly onto the bed, arms winding around his waist. "Thought you didn't like horror movies," he teases, cackling when Yibo swats his shoulder. "Obviously I'm staying. Wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Good," Yibo says, which seems inadequate for the moment, so he tilts forward and tries to convey his meaning with his mouth, his questing tongue. From the way Xiao Zhan kisses back, hard and enthusiastic, Yibo thinks he gets it.