Crush On You ♣ Prompt #35
Title: crush on you
Prompt #: 35
Length: 2309 words
Rating: NC-17
Warning/s: love potion
Summary: "I think you've been drugged," Yifan says, mouth inches away from Yixing's lips.
Notes: The title is from Crush on you by Nero.
Yixing starts feeling a little strange after lunch time, but Elliot had pushed the tray of cream puffs at him even after he'd finished his third roast beef sandwich, the horseradish sauce the perfect mix of creamy and sharp, and he hadn't been able to resist.
"Urgh," he groans into his charms desk, resting his head against the cool wood surface and swallowing against the sudden nausea. "Never again."
"Are you okay?" Shafiq, his deskmate, sounds concerned, but her presence, leaning over into his space, probably to peer at the greenish tinge of his skin, just makes Yixing feel worse.
"'m fine," he groans into his desk, biting his lip and prying his face off the desk.
"Mr. Zhang," Professor Flitwick says from in front of the chalkboard. "Do you require the services of Madame Pomfrey?" Yixing wants to let his head fall right back onto the desk as all the other Hufflepuffs, and the Ravenclaws the seventh years share the class with, crane their heads to look up at him, anything to get out of Advanced Charms revisions. N.E.W.T.-level classes really suck, Yixing thinks, but he doesn't put any force behind the thought; he's too uncomfortable by now to do more than shake his head, swallowing before he opens his mouth.
"Can I go lie down?" he asks, mouth already watering, and Professor Flitwick looks at him for a moment, as though assessing the veracity of his words, before he nods his head.
"Mr. Wu," he says, turning to flick his wand at the textbook open in from of Yixing's classmate, the pages fluttering as they cascade shut, the cover closing with a smart snap. "I understand you are roommates with Mr. Zhang?"
Yifan pries his eyes away from the closed cover of his textbook, the quill in his grasp poised to write on a surface that's no longer accessible, and nods.
Yixing tries to protest, anyone but him! but he's afraid if he opens his mouth again, he's going to lose his lunch all over the desk, and he'd rather not if it's all the same. There's a potion that his mom send just last week for digestive-related stomach ailments, and he desperately wants it. I can do this, he tells himself, trying to brace himself only to melt into Yifan's arm, hand hooking under his elbow to keep him moving.
Yixing barely notices the barely perceptible swish of Yifan's wand as he levitates their bags, keeping them floating down the hallway behind them. Yifan's side is warm and Yixing gives up, letting himself hang onto his roommate. He'll never have an excuse like this again.
"Are you sure you don't need to go the infirmary?" Yifan asks, pausing in the kitchen corridor, wand raised to tap the barrels to enter the common room.
A jolt of panic shoots up Yixing's back at the thought; now that he has a chance to lean on Yifan, he doesn't want to give it up so quickly, even if Madame Pomfrey could probably set him to rights in an instant.
"My mom sent me a potion," he says, omitting the entire truth, but Yifan is used to Oriental potions for all that he grew up abroad before coming to Hogwarts, and he probably believes Yixing sooner than any of his other classmates might have done.
"Come on then," Yifan says, hitching Yixing up against his arms as he taps out "Helga Hufflepuff" in a sharp staccato on the barrel second from the bottom and the lid swings out. Yixing eyes the tunnel with a sinking feeling, but he swallows and hitches his robes away from his knees as he starts crawling. Only the thought of Yifan behind him keeps him from slumping down on the cold stones of the passageway.
By the time Yixing reaches the seventh year dorm room, resting almost all his weight on Yifan's arm, he's not sure whether he should try his mom's potion or just run for the toilets. Luckily, it's tossed on the top of the contents of his trunk, and Yifan is kind enough to pry out the stopper when Yixing's grip proves too weak to do the job. He doesn't even care at this point, all thoughts of his seven year crush on his roommate paling in comparison to the chaos of his stomach.
The potion is vile, sludgy in his throat and sticking to his tongue in a sweet coating that soon turns overwhelming, like taking a mouthful of cinnamon. His stomach sloshes, but whether it's the potion or just a matter of time, he no longer feels in danger of spilling his stomach over the smooth floorboards. Instead, he's starting to realize just whom he's sitting next to on the bed, now that the nausea is abating, and a flush rises to his cheeks.
He's had a crush on Yifan for so long, the kind of sweet yet hopeless thing that he's held close to his chest, watered and coaxed into soft blooms, their colour pale without the sun. So many years of sharing the same dorm room, watching Yifan boarding the train, getting off alone and heading to the same international portkey office, but heading in such opposite directions. He’s dreamed about letting his hand smooth over Yifan’s soft skin, enfolding Yifan’s softly moaning lips in his mouth, stretching Yifan below him, splayed on his bed. Now Yifan is sitting, barely a hand's breadth away, and Yixing can feel the warmth of his skin, radiating, a sun he's been reaching towards for so long.
It's almost in reach and he just wants to-
"Did you eat anything strange?" Yifan says, brow furrowed, and Yixing's thoughts burst in bright shards as his tongue tangles around his teeth, looking for the words. They're slow, and his brain feels drunk.
"No?" he manages to say, after a moment, "Just too many cream puffs at lunch, but that's Elliot's fault." He's watching Yifan, the little furrow between his eyes, and he just wants to lean over and trace it with his tongue-
"What about before?" Yifan's words drag him back, shallower this time, and Yixing blinks. He's leaning towards him, fingers bunching in the covers, and Yixing pulls back slowly.
"Just breakfast," he says, trying to think, but it's like wading through molasses. "And then there was a box of chocolates. . ." He blinks. "Burks says they didn't belong to him though."
"You ate something from a random box of sweets?" Yifan sounds shocked, angry, and resigned at the same time; the conflicting emotion feel too complicated and Yixing just wants to lean forward and drink it all out of Yifan's mouth, make everything simple again.
"But what about Travers?" Yixing blinks.
"Travers?" How does Yifan know about that Ravenclaw who's always watching him from across the Great Hall? He doesn't want to think about her; he wants to keep looking at Yifan without all this complicated thinking-
"Zhang?" Yixing blinks, fingers tangled in the fabric of Yifan's robes, and he's not sure how he got there.
"Just let me-" Yixing isn't even sure what he wants, he just needs to get closer to Yifan, needs it like the soft flowers of the crush he's been holding, sheltered in the warm dark of his chest, need the sun, the warmth of his skin, the rain, the taste of his lips, Yifan spread below him like the rich soil in spring and Yixing just wants-
"I think you've been drugged," Yifan says, mouth inches away from Yixing's lips so he can feel the warm air slipping over his skin; he can hear the words but they don't make any sense. "It must have been the chocolates." He tries to push Yixing away, fingers gentle on his shoulders, but Yixing struggles. It feels like someone is tearing him away from the light, threatening to drag him back into the shadows.
"No," he protests, and voice cracks over the vowel, as rain beads beneath his eyelids. "Please let me-" Everything feels like it's falling apart, his thoughts are slow, sticky, but like a raging torrent they all flow in the same direction. His forehead, resting against the ridge of Yifan's collarbones, feels like it belongs there.
"But this isn't you," Yifan says, and he sounds like there's something twisting in his chest, trying to hold his words back. His eyes are the deepest brown, almost black, and Yixing wants to slide into them, lose himself in their depths-
"But this is me," he says, the words swimming out of the box in his heart he's kept locked for so long, the syrup of his head, limbs, twisting the key and letting everything out.
"But-" Yifan says, but his words are muffled as he leans forward to press his lips to Yixing's mouth, and Yixing gasps, parting his lips to drink Yifan in.
They end up tangled together on the bed, Yixing struggling with his robes and Yifan shifting beneath him, his erection poking into Yixing's hip as he shifts, and Yixing's dick is pressed against Yifan's leg, everything friction and heat and yet it's not enough and there are so many layers of fabric-
"I hate this uniform," Yifan curses under his breath, helping Yixing extricate himself from the mess of fabric, robes and t-shirt and trousers and Yixing doesn't have the words but he nibbles at the hollow of Yifan's throat in thanks, trailing his mouth down to run a tongue over the sharp lines of Yifan's collarbones. Yifan barely has his own trousers off before Yixing is slipping his hands into Yifan's underwear, wrapping his fingers around the smooth skin of Yifan's dick, as Yifan's breath hitches and he thrusts up into Yixing's hand.
It feels exactly right-like everything he's ever wanted, like everything he thought he would never have-having Yifan stretched under him like that, and Yixing doesn't even think before he's sliding down the sheets, one hand reaching down to tug at his own dick as he leans down and swallows Yifan into his mouth.
It's a good thing that's it's mid-afternoon and everyone is still in classes, because if Yixing could think past the sticky syrupy sweetness in his head, he would realize that the sound that escapes Yifan's mouth-not even a moan but more of a full-body groan, coming not from his mouth but the bottom of his chest, his groin, the tips of his fingers and toes curling-can probably be heard all the way along in the Hufflepuff common room, and maybe even in the kitchen corridors outside. But his head is full of honey and he doesn't care-his blood singing with the fact that he’s reduced Yifan to wordless ecstasy-running his tongue in circles around Yifan's length as he thrusts into his own hand, thumb circling the head of his own dick as his tongue nudges at the slit in Yifan's, tastes the precome leaking out, sweet, thought maybe that's more the taste of his own mouth.
It's hard to tell what's real and what's whatever what was in the chocolates, but it doesn't matter because it's all him, and he's not doing anything he doesn't want to do.
Yifan's fingers reach down to tangle in Yixing's hair, tugging at the roots but not hard, not so that it hurts, just sending the most delicious pinpricks that shoot straight down Yixing's spine as he takes a deep breath and swallows Yifan down, his dick tapping the back of Yixing's throat as the stickiness, sweetness humming through his veins sings and his throat flutters around the head of Yifan's dick.
Time hangs heavy for a moment, everything is honey and amber and nothing means everything and everything means nothing at all, and then the muscles of Yifan's thighs, stomach, coiled so tight, shudder and he releases down Yixing's throat, suddenly salty, breaking the suspended stickiness of his head, the haze suspending his thoughts-Yixing barely realizes he's coming into his own hand, staining the sheets, before his stomach flip-flops and he's leaning over the side of the bed, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor.
The sour sweetness fills the room, overwhelming, and Yixing gags, dry heaving even though his stomach is already empty; there's a rustling of sheets and Yifan points his wand at the mess.
"Scourgify," he says, voice hoarse, and then the puddle of sick is gone, the air once again clean and fresh, not sweet and not sour.
Yixing doesn't want to look at Yifan at all. Not only did he just crawl all over him, the results of some jealous girl's love potion, but he also threw up all over the floor right after he finished. Great way to impress a crush.
It's only when he feels warm skin against his arm, Yifan nudging him with his arm, that Yixing glances over, expecting to see anger and disgust.
Instead, Yifan's brow is furrowed slightly, but he only looks concerned.
"Are you okay?" he asks. His voice is still hoarse, cheeks pink, and Yixing feels a soft flutter in his chest.
"I'm sorry," he says, even though it's not exactly his fault except it feels like it is.
There's a pause then, and Yixing's fingers curl over, nails pressing into his palms. I've ruined everything, he thinks, bracing himself, but Yifan's words, when they break the silence, aren't what he's expecting.
"Are you sorry for having sex with me?" Yifan asks. "Or are you sorry for telling me you like me?"
Yixing just looks at him, his mouth dry, tongue stuck to his teeth. He doesn't know what to say.
"Because I like you," Yifan says, the twitching of his fingers belying the steadiness of his tone, "And I'm not sorry."
"Oh," Yixing says. Everything is turning over, breaking apart and coming back together again in his head. His skin feels hot, too tight to contain the explosion of his body, and it's partly want, partly need, that has him reaching over the sheets to tangle his fingers together with Yifan's, the skin of his palm warm.
He can feel Yifan's pulse, humming beneath his skin, and the rhythm of his own heart falls into step.
Prompt #: 35
Length: 2309 words
Rating: NC-17
Warning/s: love potion
Summary: "I think you've been drugged," Yifan says, mouth inches away from Yixing's lips.
Notes: The title is from Crush on you by Nero.
Yixing starts feeling a little strange after lunch time, but Elliot had pushed the tray of cream puffs at him even after he'd finished his third roast beef sandwich, the horseradish sauce the perfect mix of creamy and sharp, and he hadn't been able to resist.
"Urgh," he groans into his charms desk, resting his head against the cool wood surface and swallowing against the sudden nausea. "Never again."
"Are you okay?" Shafiq, his deskmate, sounds concerned, but her presence, leaning over into his space, probably to peer at the greenish tinge of his skin, just makes Yixing feel worse.
"'m fine," he groans into his desk, biting his lip and prying his face off the desk.
"Mr. Zhang," Professor Flitwick says from in front of the chalkboard. "Do you require the services of Madame Pomfrey?" Yixing wants to let his head fall right back onto the desk as all the other Hufflepuffs, and the Ravenclaws the seventh years share the class with, crane their heads to look up at him, anything to get out of Advanced Charms revisions. N.E.W.T.-level classes really suck, Yixing thinks, but he doesn't put any force behind the thought; he's too uncomfortable by now to do more than shake his head, swallowing before he opens his mouth.
"Can I go lie down?" he asks, mouth already watering, and Professor Flitwick looks at him for a moment, as though assessing the veracity of his words, before he nods his head.
"Mr. Wu," he says, turning to flick his wand at the textbook open in from of Yixing's classmate, the pages fluttering as they cascade shut, the cover closing with a smart snap. "I understand you are roommates with Mr. Zhang?"
Yifan pries his eyes away from the closed cover of his textbook, the quill in his grasp poised to write on a surface that's no longer accessible, and nods.
Yixing tries to protest, anyone but him! but he's afraid if he opens his mouth again, he's going to lose his lunch all over the desk, and he'd rather not if it's all the same. There's a potion that his mom send just last week for digestive-related stomach ailments, and he desperately wants it. I can do this, he tells himself, trying to brace himself only to melt into Yifan's arm, hand hooking under his elbow to keep him moving.
Yixing barely notices the barely perceptible swish of Yifan's wand as he levitates their bags, keeping them floating down the hallway behind them. Yifan's side is warm and Yixing gives up, letting himself hang onto his roommate. He'll never have an excuse like this again.
"Are you sure you don't need to go the infirmary?" Yifan asks, pausing in the kitchen corridor, wand raised to tap the barrels to enter the common room.
A jolt of panic shoots up Yixing's back at the thought; now that he has a chance to lean on Yifan, he doesn't want to give it up so quickly, even if Madame Pomfrey could probably set him to rights in an instant.
"My mom sent me a potion," he says, omitting the entire truth, but Yifan is used to Oriental potions for all that he grew up abroad before coming to Hogwarts, and he probably believes Yixing sooner than any of his other classmates might have done.
"Come on then," Yifan says, hitching Yixing up against his arms as he taps out "Helga Hufflepuff" in a sharp staccato on the barrel second from the bottom and the lid swings out. Yixing eyes the tunnel with a sinking feeling, but he swallows and hitches his robes away from his knees as he starts crawling. Only the thought of Yifan behind him keeps him from slumping down on the cold stones of the passageway.
By the time Yixing reaches the seventh year dorm room, resting almost all his weight on Yifan's arm, he's not sure whether he should try his mom's potion or just run for the toilets. Luckily, it's tossed on the top of the contents of his trunk, and Yifan is kind enough to pry out the stopper when Yixing's grip proves too weak to do the job. He doesn't even care at this point, all thoughts of his seven year crush on his roommate paling in comparison to the chaos of his stomach.
The potion is vile, sludgy in his throat and sticking to his tongue in a sweet coating that soon turns overwhelming, like taking a mouthful of cinnamon. His stomach sloshes, but whether it's the potion or just a matter of time, he no longer feels in danger of spilling his stomach over the smooth floorboards. Instead, he's starting to realize just whom he's sitting next to on the bed, now that the nausea is abating, and a flush rises to his cheeks.
He's had a crush on Yifan for so long, the kind of sweet yet hopeless thing that he's held close to his chest, watered and coaxed into soft blooms, their colour pale without the sun. So many years of sharing the same dorm room, watching Yifan boarding the train, getting off alone and heading to the same international portkey office, but heading in such opposite directions. He’s dreamed about letting his hand smooth over Yifan’s soft skin, enfolding Yifan’s softly moaning lips in his mouth, stretching Yifan below him, splayed on his bed. Now Yifan is sitting, barely a hand's breadth away, and Yixing can feel the warmth of his skin, radiating, a sun he's been reaching towards for so long.
It's almost in reach and he just wants to-
"Did you eat anything strange?" Yifan says, brow furrowed, and Yixing's thoughts burst in bright shards as his tongue tangles around his teeth, looking for the words. They're slow, and his brain feels drunk.
"No?" he manages to say, after a moment, "Just too many cream puffs at lunch, but that's Elliot's fault." He's watching Yifan, the little furrow between his eyes, and he just wants to lean over and trace it with his tongue-
"What about before?" Yifan's words drag him back, shallower this time, and Yixing blinks. He's leaning towards him, fingers bunching in the covers, and Yixing pulls back slowly.
"Just breakfast," he says, trying to think, but it's like wading through molasses. "And then there was a box of chocolates. . ." He blinks. "Burks says they didn't belong to him though."
"You ate something from a random box of sweets?" Yifan sounds shocked, angry, and resigned at the same time; the conflicting emotion feel too complicated and Yixing just wants to lean forward and drink it all out of Yifan's mouth, make everything simple again.
"But what about Travers?" Yixing blinks.
"Travers?" How does Yifan know about that Ravenclaw who's always watching him from across the Great Hall? He doesn't want to think about her; he wants to keep looking at Yifan without all this complicated thinking-
"Zhang?" Yixing blinks, fingers tangled in the fabric of Yifan's robes, and he's not sure how he got there.
"Just let me-" Yixing isn't even sure what he wants, he just needs to get closer to Yifan, needs it like the soft flowers of the crush he's been holding, sheltered in the warm dark of his chest, need the sun, the warmth of his skin, the rain, the taste of his lips, Yifan spread below him like the rich soil in spring and Yixing just wants-
"I think you've been drugged," Yifan says, mouth inches away from Yixing's lips so he can feel the warm air slipping over his skin; he can hear the words but they don't make any sense. "It must have been the chocolates." He tries to push Yixing away, fingers gentle on his shoulders, but Yixing struggles. It feels like someone is tearing him away from the light, threatening to drag him back into the shadows.
"No," he protests, and voice cracks over the vowel, as rain beads beneath his eyelids. "Please let me-" Everything feels like it's falling apart, his thoughts are slow, sticky, but like a raging torrent they all flow in the same direction. His forehead, resting against the ridge of Yifan's collarbones, feels like it belongs there.
"But this isn't you," Yifan says, and he sounds like there's something twisting in his chest, trying to hold his words back. His eyes are the deepest brown, almost black, and Yixing wants to slide into them, lose himself in their depths-
"But this is me," he says, the words swimming out of the box in his heart he's kept locked for so long, the syrup of his head, limbs, twisting the key and letting everything out.
"But-" Yifan says, but his words are muffled as he leans forward to press his lips to Yixing's mouth, and Yixing gasps, parting his lips to drink Yifan in.
They end up tangled together on the bed, Yixing struggling with his robes and Yifan shifting beneath him, his erection poking into Yixing's hip as he shifts, and Yixing's dick is pressed against Yifan's leg, everything friction and heat and yet it's not enough and there are so many layers of fabric-
"I hate this uniform," Yifan curses under his breath, helping Yixing extricate himself from the mess of fabric, robes and t-shirt and trousers and Yixing doesn't have the words but he nibbles at the hollow of Yifan's throat in thanks, trailing his mouth down to run a tongue over the sharp lines of Yifan's collarbones. Yifan barely has his own trousers off before Yixing is slipping his hands into Yifan's underwear, wrapping his fingers around the smooth skin of Yifan's dick, as Yifan's breath hitches and he thrusts up into Yixing's hand.
It feels exactly right-like everything he's ever wanted, like everything he thought he would never have-having Yifan stretched under him like that, and Yixing doesn't even think before he's sliding down the sheets, one hand reaching down to tug at his own dick as he leans down and swallows Yifan into his mouth.
It's a good thing that's it's mid-afternoon and everyone is still in classes, because if Yixing could think past the sticky syrupy sweetness in his head, he would realize that the sound that escapes Yifan's mouth-not even a moan but more of a full-body groan, coming not from his mouth but the bottom of his chest, his groin, the tips of his fingers and toes curling-can probably be heard all the way along in the Hufflepuff common room, and maybe even in the kitchen corridors outside. But his head is full of honey and he doesn't care-his blood singing with the fact that he’s reduced Yifan to wordless ecstasy-running his tongue in circles around Yifan's length as he thrusts into his own hand, thumb circling the head of his own dick as his tongue nudges at the slit in Yifan's, tastes the precome leaking out, sweet, thought maybe that's more the taste of his own mouth.
It's hard to tell what's real and what's whatever what was in the chocolates, but it doesn't matter because it's all him, and he's not doing anything he doesn't want to do.
Yifan's fingers reach down to tangle in Yixing's hair, tugging at the roots but not hard, not so that it hurts, just sending the most delicious pinpricks that shoot straight down Yixing's spine as he takes a deep breath and swallows Yifan down, his dick tapping the back of Yixing's throat as the stickiness, sweetness humming through his veins sings and his throat flutters around the head of Yifan's dick.
Time hangs heavy for a moment, everything is honey and amber and nothing means everything and everything means nothing at all, and then the muscles of Yifan's thighs, stomach, coiled so tight, shudder and he releases down Yixing's throat, suddenly salty, breaking the suspended stickiness of his head, the haze suspending his thoughts-Yixing barely realizes he's coming into his own hand, staining the sheets, before his stomach flip-flops and he's leaning over the side of the bed, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor.
The sour sweetness fills the room, overwhelming, and Yixing gags, dry heaving even though his stomach is already empty; there's a rustling of sheets and Yifan points his wand at the mess.
"Scourgify," he says, voice hoarse, and then the puddle of sick is gone, the air once again clean and fresh, not sweet and not sour.
Yixing doesn't want to look at Yifan at all. Not only did he just crawl all over him, the results of some jealous girl's love potion, but he also threw up all over the floor right after he finished. Great way to impress a crush.
It's only when he feels warm skin against his arm, Yifan nudging him with his arm, that Yixing glances over, expecting to see anger and disgust.
Instead, Yifan's brow is furrowed slightly, but he only looks concerned.
"Are you okay?" he asks. His voice is still hoarse, cheeks pink, and Yixing feels a soft flutter in his chest.
"I'm sorry," he says, even though it's not exactly his fault except it feels like it is.
There's a pause then, and Yixing's fingers curl over, nails pressing into his palms. I've ruined everything, he thinks, bracing himself, but Yifan's words, when they break the silence, aren't what he's expecting.
"Are you sorry for having sex with me?" Yifan asks. "Or are you sorry for telling me you like me?"
Yixing just looks at him, his mouth dry, tongue stuck to his teeth. He doesn't know what to say.
"Because I like you," Yifan says, the twitching of his fingers belying the steadiness of his tone, "And I'm not sorry."
"Oh," Yixing says. Everything is turning over, breaking apart and coming back together again in his head. His skin feels hot, too tight to contain the explosion of his body, and it's partly want, partly need, that has him reaching over the sheets to tangle his fingers together with Yifan's, the skin of his palm warm.
He can feel Yifan's pulse, humming beneath his skin, and the rhythm of his own heart falls into step.