It was the most dizzying, electrifying kiss Weiran had ever gotten in his life. He’d imagined this with Xingyu, had picture it even more hesitantly than he’d pictured having sex with him—it was too intimate somehow. Too romantic. Xingyu might have sex with Weiran because he was bored or because he couldn’t find anyone else to get out his urges, but kissing wasn’t something you did for either of those reasons. Kissing was something you did with someone who you were in a relationship with. Xingyu was never going to kiss him.

Xingyu was kissing him.

He was kissing him passionately, deeply. He had one hand on Weiran’s waist and one around the back of Weiran’s neck, holding and pulling him closer. He dimly still knew that it was Xiaokai, but he wasn’t sure he cared anymore. When he was this close, he couldn’t see the shorter hair or the birthmark or any of the other differences. This close, Xiaokai could be Xingyu. This close, Xiaokai was Xingyu.

The hand that had been resting at the nape of Weiran’s neck slid down, down—it met his other hand at Weiran’s waist and then slid down further, found the front of Weiran’s jeans, found his belt buckle.

“I—ah—w—”

“Tell me I can,” Xingyu whispered. “I want to feel you. Tell me yes.”

Tell him no, Weiran told himself. This isn’t real. It isn’t Xingyu. Xingyu only ever touches you in your fantasies. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, please.” And he even reached down and tugged at his belt, opening it for Xingyu’s prying hands. “P-please.”

Xingyu pulled Weiran out of his pants. He moved his hands leisurely, circling his fingers around the base of his cock and then working his thumb over the tip when he reached the top. Weiran panted against his mouth.

“Oh my g-god—fuck-—”

“I know, I know. Hold on.” Xingyu gave him one last, lingering kiss, his hand working faster over Weiran’s length, and then he slid back from him, stretching out in front of Weiran on his stomach. “Are you okay?”

Weiran was so hard it hurt. He braced one hand behind him, afraid he would collapse if he was right about what was coming next. “I—yes—”

Xingyu’s lips slid around his cock so agonizingly slow that Weiran immediately bit into his hand, stifling the choked cry that Xingyu was prying out of his throat. He lingered around the head for what seemed like an eternity, his tongue working at Weiran’s opening, and then when Weiran was sure he would begin sobbing from the sensation, he moved downward and swallowed Weiran inch by inch until Weiran was biting hard enough into his skin to draw blood.