Work Text:
It’s late when Yibo finally lets them into their hotel room that night, both of them dragging their feet as they shuffle inside. It had been a long day of shooting and Yibo can feel the phantom weight of his wig tugging at his scalp as though it’s still there. His jacket is discarded carelessly on the back of a chair, his bag dumped on the floor beside it, while only a few feet away Xiao Zhan is doing the same.
Yibo looks up from where he’s kicking off his boots to flick a glance at Xiao Zhan. He’s long ago dismissed the idea of it being character bleed that draws his eyes to Xiao Zhan, and his control feels thin, stretched by their proximity, by long hours working side by side on camera and teasing each other off of it.
“Ah, I can’t wait to take a shower,” Xiao Zhan sighs. He stretches, then rakes a hand through the messy, sweat-flattened fall of his hair. It flops back over his forehead, brushing at the line of his dark eyebrows.
“Hm,” Yibo says slyly, eyeing him sidelong, a smirk just starting to curl the corners of his lips. He can’t resist the urge to tease and takes a long, theatrical sniff. “I can smell you from here.” Xiao Zhan swats at him and Yibo dodges away grinning, huffing a laugh. “Don’t get mad, Zhan-ge. You smell good.”
Xiao Zhan turns to him, brow creasing and lower lip pursing into a pout. He sticks his tongue out petulantly.
Yibo doesn’t know what makes him do it, some impulse born of desire and unrepentant impertinence, of too long staring into Xiao Zhan’s eyes and pretending between takes that he doesn’t want to touch him. His eyes narrow and something snaps, and he shoves his hand forward, two fingers slipping between Xiao Zhan’s soft lips. Xiao Zhan’s eyes blow wide with shock, his mouth falling slack around the fingers pressed to his tongue. Yibo’s heart thumps, but he doesn’t back down, can’t back down, and he lets the corner of his mouth tick up in challenge, staring down Xiao Zhan’s shocked expression.
They stay like that, staring across the narrow space between them, until finally Xiao Zhan swallows, his throat pulling taut, and his lips close, slow and tentative around Yibo’s fingers.
Yibo’s mouth falls open around a startled gasp. He presses his fingers deeper, the motion almost involuntary, harder against Xiao Zhan’s tongue, and Xiao Zhan’s eyes roll back in his head. He lets out a moan, the sound flickering over Yibo’s skin, reverberating up his fingers, and gives a hard suck that has Yibo’s knees going weak, heat pooling deep in his belly.
“Zhan-ge,” he says, the sound cracking out of his mouth. He draws his fingers back, just a little, and thrusts them back in, the wet slurp of Xiao Zhan’s mouth around him obscene and so, so hot.
Xiao Zhan’s eyes slit open, the pupils wide and dark behind the fan of his dark lashes. His tongue moves, slipping over Yibo’s fingers, getting them wet. Xiao Zhan leans forward into the thrust of Yibo’s fingers, his cheeks hollowing in a way that makes Yibo’s cock twitch inside his too-tight jeans. He can feel the flush lighting up his cheeks, the way his mouth parts, his eyes wide and fixed on the slip of his fingers between Xiao Zhan’s lips. Xiao Zhan’s mouth goes more and more pink, his lips wet and soft where they curl tight and sloppy around Yibo’s fingers.
Xiao Zhan’s hands fly out, one of them curling around Yibo’s wrist, the other fisting in the fabric of his oversized shirt where it creases at his shoulder. His fingers are tight around the elegant line of Yibo’s wrist and he draws him closer, closer, pulling Yibo’s fingers deeper into his mouth.
Yibo can’t stop the gasp that bursts from his mouth, nor his free hand from flying up to press to the sharp line of Xiao Zhan’s jaw. His skin is warm, soft and heated under the pads of Yibo’s fingers. His thumb slides over the hollow of Xiao Zhan’s cheek, feeling the press of his own fingers through it as he plunges them in and out of Xiao Zhan’s mouth. Xiao Zhan’s eyes shutter closed again and Yibo’s free hand moves without his permission, grazing over his jaw and dipping into the hollow behind it before slipping into the soft strands of his hair.
Then there’s the scrape of teeth along the length of his fingers and Yibo can’t stop the harsh “fuck” that escapes him. His hand closes tight in Xiao Zhan’s hair, the fingers inside Xiao Zhan’s mouth pressing hard against his tongue, and Xiao Zhan moans again, the sound filthy and needy. It makes Yibo’s body light up, his hips grinding forward against nothing, seeking friction against the inside of his jeans.
He wants to drag Xiao Zhan forward, to press his cock into the sharp curve of Xiao Zhan’s hip, the desire swelling up inside him like a tidal wave. He’s fucking Xiao Zhan’s mouth, using him like he’d imagined in his darkest moments, and Xiao Zhan is moaning around him, his tongue working and getting him so, so wet. The thought shakes him in its fervency, his breath catching, painful, in his chest, and he jerks his fingers back, out of Xiao Zhan’s mouth. A string of his saliva trails out, clinging and connecting his fingers to the wet parting of Xiao Zhan’s lips.
Xiao Zhan tries to follow and Yibo tightens the fingers of his other hand instinctively in Xiao Zhan’s hair, holding him back. His eyes fly open, wide and needy, and then disgruntled as they stare across into Yibo’s.
“What—” he starts, and his voice is shaky and harsh. He cuts himself off and stares. His fingers are still tight around Yibo’s wrist and Yibo can feel his pulse beating against that grip.
“I didn’t think you were someone to back down from a challenge,” Xiao Zhan says then, and the smile that curves his mouth is somehow sweet and devious all at once.
“Fuck you,” Yibo says, a knee-jerk reaction, and he fights against the instinctual grin that pulls at his mouth. And he realizes his mistake when Xiao Zhan’s smile deepens.
“Would you?” Xiao Zhan says sweetly, teasing, the words sending Yibo’s heart catapulting up into his throat. He strains against the hold Yibo still has in his hair, the broken moan he lets out at the sharp pull tightening every muscle in Yibo’s abdomen. “You should fuck me, Lao-Wang.”
“Zhan-ge,” Yibo growls before he means to. But god, he wants to follow through, has wanted to follow through. This game they’ve been playing, dancing around each other, teasing, chasing, challenging--it’s all been a way to temper the need that burns through him whenever Xiao Zhan is around.
Xiao Zhan just grins wider, dimples standing out in his cheeks. He tilts forward, gasping out a breath at the tug of Yibo’s hand still clenched tight in his hair, and Wang Yibo breaks. He pushes into Xiao Zhan’s space, his hand still wet from Xiao Zhan’s mouth finding the back of his neck as he crashes their mouths together.
Xiao Zhan’s tongue is hot and eager in his mouth, his teeth a shock of bright pain against Yibo’s bottom lip. His arms go around Yibo’s waist, drawing them closer, and when their hips press together, needy and fierce, Yibo can feel the hard line of Xiao Zhan’s cock against his own. They don’t make it to the bedroom, tumbling down together onto the couch up against the wall of the suite. It bangs hard against the wall and Yibo has only a moment for the amusement of Yu Bin next door being disturbed by their antics to tick up the corner of his mouth before Xiao Zhan is drawing him down and back into a kiss with a hand curled around the back of his neck.
Their mouths part only long enough for Yibo to wiggle his shirt off over his head and then he’s reaching for the buttons of Xiao Zhan’s. He can’t draw back far enough to watch the reveal of Xiao Zhan’s soft skin, but his fingers learn his lines greedily, tucking inside the flaps of the shirt as soon as it’s loose. And then he has to draw back, pressing Xiao Zhan into the couch and sitting up on his knees to admire him, breath catching hard in his chest when his fingers find Xiao Zhan’s waist, taut and narrow under his hands. He’s known how small that waist is, emphasized with maddening precision by the fall of the Wei Wuxian robes, but seeing it now, under his hands—
“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says, his voice dragging him back to his body, his eyes back to Xiao Zhan’s face. “Come on,” he urges, and he reaches again to drag Yibo down.
“Impatient, Zhan-ge?” Yibo says around a grin, resisting the pull of Xiao Zhan’s eager hands. “You that eager to get Didi’s cock in you?”
“Shut up, you little shit,” Xiao Zhan grumbles, and rises up himself to kiss Yibo again.
His jeans end up in a pile on the floor, shed hastily and kicked halfway across the room. Yibo snorts and Xiao Zhan shoves him in the shoulder, reaching for the button of Yibo’s pants. It’s a bit more of a struggle to get his jeans off, skinny as they are, and Xiao Zhan teases him as he drags them down his legs, jumping off the couch to dodge the kick Yibo aims in his direction as they pass over his ankles.
Xiao Zhan returns with lube and a condom, tossing them both at Yibo with a grin. Yibo catches them both deftly in one hand, one after the other, shoving Xiao Zhan back down on the couch beneath him. Xiao Zhan’s legs splay wide and Yibo hides how much it affects him, how beautiful Xiao Zhan is spread out below him by smirking, reaching to jerk Xiao Zhan’s leaking cock between them. Xiao Zhan arches into it, his fingers tangling in Yibo’s hair. Yibo has to fight to keep it together, drawn in by the curve of Xiao Zhan’s body, the tightness of his narrow waist, his fingers in Yibo’s hair. Yibo is burning up from the inside, his hips rocking involuntarily to drag his cock against the crease of Xiao Zhan’s hip and thigh, and he releases Xiao Zhan’s cock to fumble for the lube.
His fingers slip inside, slow and careful, the clench of Xiao Zhan’s hole tight and consuming around him. He’s gentle at first, part for Xiao Zhan’s sake and part for his own, fighting the rising tide of heat pooling deep in his belly, burning under his skin. But then Xiao Zhan cranes his neck to tease him between panting breaths and Yibo has to thrust his fingers in hard in punishment. It makes Xiao Zhan’s back come off the scratchy cushions of the couch, his mouth falling open in a high-pitched, wanting moan, and Yibo can’t wait any longer.
Yibo draws his fingers out, wiping them against his own thigh. Xiao Zhan makes a noise of protest, but Yibo just grasps him by the waist and flips him bodily, turning him face down and dragging him up on his knees.
“Holy—” Xiao Zhan gasps, turning to look over his shoulder at Yibo. The look in his eyes is searing, the taunting smile gone, replaced with a hunger that flips Yibo’s stomach and his heart upside down. “Fuck me,” he challenges, and they’d already established that Yibo is not one to back down from one of those.
Even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t.
His fingers shake as he opens the condom and smooths it down his own length, slicking it with extra lube. Xiao Zhan rises up on his hands and knees, and Yibo reaches for him, pressing his slick cock to Xiao Zhan’s entrance and then slowly, slowly in. Once he’s fully inside, his hips pressed against the curve of Xiao Zhan’s ass, he has to press his forehead between Xiao Zhan’s shoulder blades and just breathe. The sound is harsh in the empty room, Xiao Zhan’s skin hot against his. Xiao Zhan is quiet for a few moments, adjusting, and then he tilts his hips back, supplicating, a moan edging from his mouth.
“L-lao-Wang,” he says, “move.”
Yibo can’t resist that pleading tone, though he would deny it if asked. He levers himself up onto his knees, his hands stroking hot trails down Xiao Zhan’s sides until they rest at his waist. He draws his cock out slowly, biting his lip against the flash of pleasure, then thrusts hard back inside. Xiao Zhan cries out and the sound lances through Yibo like a shock. He’s made of need, of desire, all the moments of playfulness and teasing arrowing down to the heat of Xiao Zhan pressed up against him, clenching around him tight and slick and hot. His pace is fast, uneven, but Xiao Zhan arches into it, pressing back into the thrust of Yibo’s cock. Yibo’s fingers are tight around Xiao Zhan’s waist, the length of them almost spanning far enough to touch in the center of Xiao Zhan’s back. Finally he can do this, can curl his hands around that tight little waist like he’s longed to for so long. The thought makes him shudder, his hips pounding harder.
“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says, the teasing gone and replaced with raw need, and it makes Yibo growl. One of his hands slips from its place at Xiao Zhan’s waist, to press into the center of his back, forcing him down onto the couch. Xiao Zhan’s hands grasp feebly at the couch cushions, curling around the seamed edge and pressing divots into the material. He uses the leverage to push back into Yibo and Yibo just gives it to him harder, holding him down with one hand, the other reaching to clench in his hair. Xiao Zhan’s answering moan is loud and Yibo has to press himself forward to kiss him, wet and sloppy and awkward, over his shoulder.
“Yibo--I need—” Xiao Zhan chokes out into his mouth and Yibo reaches below them to get a hand around his cock. His moans turn high pitched, needy, and it’s only a few ragged strokes until he’s coming, gasping open-mouthed against Yibo’s lips, clenching around Yibo’s cock. Yibo’s eyes clench shut as he breathes through the squeeze, works Xiao Zhan through his own climax.
“Zhan-ge,” he chokes out, unsure, and Xiao Zhan looks blearily over his shoulder at Yibo.
“Do it, Didi,” he says, his voice wrecked and raw. “Use me.”
It doesn’t take long. Yibo’s voice cracks on his moan and he draws back shakily onto his knees, tugging Xiao Zhan’s hips up. He holds him tight, dragging him back into the thrust of his hips, and it only takes a few minutes before the pleasure is overtaking him, whiting out his vision and stealing the breath from his lungs, bending him forward until he’s clinging to Xiao Zhan, arms wrapping shakily around his waist.
When he can breathe again, he opens his eyes to find Xiao Zhan watching him over his own shoulder, his eyes soft. Yibo smiles automatically, turning his mouth into the sweat-damp skin of Xiao Zhan’s shoulder blade in a futile attempt to hide it.
“You’re heavy,” Xiao Zhan complains, grinning.
“Shut up, Ge,” Yibo says, biting his retaliation into Xiao Zhan’s back. Xiao Zhan yelps, the high-pitch sound making Yibo snort. He hesitates then, going still, and presses a kiss over the bite-mark instead, his heart stuttering anew at the way Xiao Zhan’s breath catches beneath him. He pulls back, suddenly shy, sitting up and reaching to help Xiao Zhan up as well.
“Come on, Zhan-ge,” he says. “Didn’t you say you wanted a shower? Let Didi help you clean up.” He grins, mustering as much cheekiness as he can find, and dodges the shove that Xiao Zhan aims his direction, skittering out of reach.