When he pulled out, Weiran almost wept from the immediate feeling of emptiness. He wanted to reach back again, grab Xingyu with his other hand and hold him there, but even the hand that had already entwined with Xingyu was too weak to hold on, and slipped limp to the mattress.

He could hear movement behind him. He couldn’t move to see what was happening, and didn’t know if he wanted to. Slowly, he drifted out of consciousness.

XIAOKAI WAS BEYOND feeling like this was a mistake. Weiran always started these little sessions a lot more aware of Xiaokai than he ended them with; it was usually about five minutes into foreplay that Xiaokai’s existence seemed to disappear from Weiran’s mind entirely. That was ideal. Xiaokai had fucked a lot of people who couldn’t put together that Xiaokai wasn’t ever going to love them back, but then here was Weiran who couldn’t even recognize after Xiaokai stuck his tongue in his mouth that he was even having sex with Xiaokai.

He wiped the cum off of Weiran’s stomach and cleaned up the lube with a warm washcloth. Then, carefully, laboriously, he tugged the comforter out from underneath the other man and replaced it with another he’d ordered from room service. He tucked Weiran in. For a moment he just looked down at him, his hand against the softness of Weiran’s cheek. What an innocent fool. He wanted almost to beat some sense into him. What the hell was Liu Xingyu thinking, bringing an idiot like this into his grand plan? Even if he had the skills in hacking, and even if he did have the drive to kill the ones who destroyed his parents—he was too stupid to plan properly and too brash to follow someone else’s plan. He could have destroyed everything, and he had the audacity to say it wasn’t a big deal? That Xiaokai was overreacting?

He drew his hand back. Hovered for a long moment over Weiran’s face, considering the merits of just slapping him silly, and then ultimately decided that it would be more trouble than it was worth. Weiran would get all upset, ask for an explanation, probably tell Liu Xingyu—no, Xiaokai didn’t have the patience for any of that.

He went to take a shower.

WEIRAN WOKE UP feeling more rested than he had since his parents died.

He was in his bed, wonderfully comfortable even beyond the ache in his back. The sheets smelled freshly clean. He was warm.

What he’d done before he passed out came back to him slowly—Xiaokai’s head between his legs, Xiaokai’s warm mouth, Xiaokai thrusting into him—and then Weiran sobbing from pain and pleasure, Weiran clinging to Xiaokai’s hand, Weiran’s fantasies imploding into reality, Weiran gasping out Xingyu’s name.