“Hh—ah—you’re so—” He pulled out and then thrust forward again, all at once this time. Weiran screamed, but Xingyu was relentless. He pounded Weiran like he had something to prove. One hand still gripped Weiran’s fingers and the other pressed into the small of his back, holding him in place as he writhed beneath Xingyu’s weight.

“Xingyu—Xingyu-ge—agh—gege—”

Xingyu was hitting the same spot over and over. His breath was ragged, his grip suffocating, but Weiran was exhilarated by it. He hadn’t even—he hadn’t even pictured Xingyu like this, drawing in air like it was choking him, like Weiran was overwhelming him.

“Does it—ngh—feel—”

Xingyu understood what he was trying to say. He bent over Weiran’s back, spoke right into his ear again: “You feel unbelievably good, Weiran.” His voice sounded different now—strained. “J-just hold on a little longer.”

There was no ‘holding on’ for Weiran, but he didn’t know how to put that into words. It was inevitable that he would break, so at this point the question was more whether this would mean breaking in half or if it would mean shattering. He wanted the latter. He wanted Xingyu to fuck him until he was torn apart underneath his hands, until he couldn’t think about anything else, until the murder of his parents that had consumed his every being for so long faded into the background. He wanted Xingyu to consume him whole, to leave evidence across his unmarred skin, to press into him until Weiran didn’t know or care where either of them began or ended. Hold on a little longer? He didn’t want to hold onto anything, didn’t want to retain anything. He’d been fantasizing about this moment for almost as long as he’d known Xingyu. Every long night, every stolen glance, every time he pulled himself off or pushed a finger into his ass with Xingyu’s face behind his eyes—it had all been building up to this, to the moment Xingyu’s mouth met his, to the moment he pushed himself inside, to the moment his breath found Weiran’s ear. He had no need to go further than this, not now, not in this state—he was more than prepared to give everything he had to Xingyu, all at once, to surrender his very sanity—as long as it meant Xingyu stayed inside of him.

Then the movement of Xingyu’s hips stuttered. His hand crawled from where it was splayed across Weiran’s lower back to between Weiran’s legs and he began jerking Weiran off furiously, like he was insisting Weiran get off before him, and Weiran was more than happy to oblige. He came again with a shout, and then Xingyu was coming too, his length pulsing inside of Weiran.