#143: Forever in Orbit
Prompt: #143
Title: Forever in Orbit
Pairing: Tao/Chen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, explicit sex including frottage and minor face-fucking
Word count: ~6200
Summary: For Tao, the mission to seduce a corrupt official for proof of his crimes is the easy part; keeping his partner Chen safe and in check during said mission is what’s difficult.
Author’s note: there is actually almost 30k of backstory written for this fic. for now, I hope you enjoy this until you get the real fic. shout out to M for beta’ing.
-
Zitao can smell the ocean in the air from the open windows of the hotel ballroom as he moves through the gathering of political officials. Shanghai is half-asleep at this hour of the evening, the moon a sharp sickle of illumination embedded within the dark sky. He leans against the window sill, trying to catch a breath of fresh air, before the din of celebrations overwhelm him again. Shanghai might be going to bed, but the party behind him is still loud, an event swathed in silk and suits and alcohol, as the people celebrate the company buyout that had happened earlier that day.
Normally, talking to people is what Zitao likes to do. He chatted up his barista this morning, had lunch in the company of a friend, and smiled at his hotel receptionist when he went up to his room afterwards to change into his suit, getting ready for this party.
This time, of course, Zitao has to talk to Han Dawai - CFO of the company that had been bought out by a shipping corporation, conveniently after Dawai had extorted money for himself and a couple of politicians within the city. A smooth, slick cover-up, so all the financial records would be stone-walled by the new company and new rules.
At least, thinks Zitao idly, Dawai is not ugly to look at. He’s the son of the CEO - still in his mid-thirties with a tailored suit and silk tie, artfully stylized with the new company logo, and has coiffed black hair and a charming smile. A face so good-looking, it becomes generic and boring.
With a sigh, Zitao grabs a flute of alcohol from the open bar, and tries to remember he’s here to seduce, not throw bubbly in the man’s face for being a piece of scamming shit.
Dawai’s busy speaking to someone else when Zitao approaches - a shorter man, with dark eyes and a smile. He’s in dress pants and a lavender button-up shirt, a blazer over top but no tie. The two top buttons of the shirt are undone. Zitao has a moment where he thinks of dumping the bubbly over this one instead of Dawai.
‘Excuse me for interrupting,’ smiles Zitao, swallowing back the urge, as he offers the flute. ‘Congratulations on the successful buyout.’
Dawai turns away from the other to look at Zitao - flicks his eyes from head to toe before breaking into smile. ‘Thank you.’ He takes the drink, checks out Zitao one more time - the well-fitted dark suit, the blood red undershirt to complement Zitao’s skin tone, the half-hooded gaze that Zitao knows works very, very well for himself. ‘We have not been introduced.’
‘Zhou Yu,’ says Zitao, nodding his head, eyes never looking away. ‘PR manager for Zhou Steel in Qingdao.’
Dawai raises an eyebrow. ‘Here on business?’
‘Business is during the day,’ murmurs Zitao. ‘I’m just here to have a little fun.’
The man beside Dawai bursts out laughing, poorly muffled behind his hand, and shakes his head. Zitao wishes he had the drink back in his hand. Dawai looks over, before it occurs in his skull to introduce them. ‘Ah, yes, this is Li Zhongda, newly-hired manager of the Beijing branch that will be opening later this year. Zhongda, this is Zhou Yu, from Qingdao.’
Zhongda smiles, sweetly insincere. ‘If you wanted to talk about the company expanding to Qingdao, you would be better off talking to me.’
‘I’m here for Dawai, personally,’ replies Zitao, feeling vaguely like he’s in a cat fight that he never signed up for. He stares at Zhongda - the high cheeks, the dark eyes, the pretty curved mouth - and wonders which one between them Dawai is going to fuck tonight.
‘How unprofessional,’ titters Zhongda and Dawai scoffs.
‘Please,’ he says, laying a hand on Zhongda’s shoulder. ‘Be civil to our guest.’
‘You’re right,’ he replies, leaning into the touch, looking up at Dawai with a chastened expression. ‘I just wanted you all to myself tonight.’
Zitao has a moment where he’s torn between gagging at Zhongda’s line and breaking Dawai’s fingers one by one for touching him. Instead he falls back a step, watches for the reaction. If Dawai accepts the possessiveness, then Zitao has no chance. If he eases away from it, then Zitao can sink his teeth in and drag Dawai all the way back to his penthouse apartment.
What he doesn’t particularly expect is for Dawai to swing his arm around Zhongda’s shoulder, drag him to his side and turn to face Zitao fully, smiling at him. ‘I suppose you’ll have to entertain us both.’
Immediately, Zitao’s gaze flicks to Zhongda and sees Zhongda flinch, try to adjust the arm around his shoulder to ease his discomfort. Maybe he would break all of Dawai’s bones after this.
Mustering up a slow smile - seduce, Zitao - he nods. ‘That’s not a problem. Shall I get a drink for you too, Zhongda?’
‘I can get it myself,’ he replies, easing away now, almost fleeing the entire situation. Dawai lets him go without a word, only blatantly checking out Zhongda’s ass in the perfectly tailored dress pants, before grinning at Zitao.
‘He did get the job through his qualifications,’ says Dawai. ‘He might’ve gotten it faster if I knew there would be added perks. If you know what I mean, Yu.’
Zitao wonders if offering to suck him off in the bathroom would make this night end faster, but then scraps the idea. Focus - Zhongda had blessedly left them alone; he needed to make use of the time. ‘I have no idea,’ smiles Zitao, fingers reaching out to smooth Dawai’s silk tie, brush imaginary lint off his shoulders, the touch slow and lingering. ‘You might have to show me.’
‘Still innocent? In this business?’ laughs Dawai.
‘Surprise,’ he replies. ‘But my qualifications include quick learner, of course.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That I can be quick? Or that I don’t know?’ Zitao raises his eyebrows, eyes still half-hooded. ‘Please humour me.’
‘That’s what he’s doing,’ bites out Zhongda from behind him, and Zitao’s shoulders go stiff with the urge to - to just do something to him. Dawai looks past Zitao’s shoulder, laughs as Zhongda walks out from behind Zitao to tuck himself back into Dawai’s side - looking pretty and prim as he holds his glass of wine, so utterly comfortable, like he belongs there.
‘You’re both flattering me,’ says Dawai, hand drifting from Zhongda’s shoulder down his spine. Zitao tries to look away, he does, but it’s hard to stop him from clenching his jaw when he sees Zhongda’s lashes flutter - thick and dark - as Dawai quite obviously palms his ass. ‘I have the mind of taking you both home. To talk business, of course.’
‘Of course,’ says Zhongda flatly, going for jealous. ‘Just business.’
‘Now, Zhongda,’ says Dawai, trying to soothe, and Zitao just wants to tap him on the shoulder, tell him Zhongda really honestly doesn’t give a fuck, could they please leave already.
‘If Zhongda doesn’t want to join, there’s no need to force him,’ he says instead. ‘I’m more than willing.’
Predictably, Zhongda makes a face. ‘If Yu goes, I go,’ he sniffs.
‘Isn’t that just perfect?’ says Dawai, smiling at them both, and Zitao smiles back, because it truly is.
-
The ride to the penthouse has Zhongda sitting in Dawai’s lap, playing with his fingers, staring Zitao down, as Zitao makes half-hearted attempts at conversation about the economic benefits of expanding to Qingdao.
Dawai seems interested enough. Which figures, supposes Zitao - what was more attractive to a man than having his ego and dick stroked by money and two men fighting over him respectively.
Thankfully, the ride is short. Dawai breezes through security, stands in the elevator with his hand on Zhongda’s ass the entire time and eyes on Zitao as Zitao undoes his cufflinks. ‘Preparing for something?’ he asks.
Zitao smiles slow and sweet. ‘Just want to relax a little before we begin.’
Zhongda scoffs at the innuendo, arches his spine to press closer to Dawai, and Zitao starts counting the minutes until this is over.
Dawai is surprisingly gracious as a host. He offers various liquors, mixes a drink for Zhongda, claiming it’s his favourite, and lets them settle in his living room. Zitao has lost the suit jacket at some point, and Zhongda ditched his blazer the moment they walked in the door, even though Zitao knows he’s never been up here before. Dawai is still dressed up, but his tie is gone, the top few buttons undone to reveal a delta of pale skin.
Like a target, thinks Zitao idly as he watches Zhongda put down his untouched drink and crawl into Dawai’s lap. ‘A target to stab.’
‘What was that?’ asks Dawai before Zhongda has his mouth on him, muffling the words. Zitao sighs and watches as Zhongda paws at Dawai’s shoulders, and Dawai is looping an arm around Zhongda’s small waist, making Zhongda pull away with a gasp.
‘Eager, eager,’ he teases as Zhongda squirms, and finally lays him back on the couch, getting on his hands and knees to loom over him.
Zhongda smiles, his curved mouth pink and wet. ‘Please,’ he moans. That’s enough for Dawai to kiss him hard again, and even from here, Zitao can hear the noises Zhongda is making, his spine arched and hands trying to unbutton Dawai’s shirt.
Finally, Zitao stands up from his seat across from them, walks around the coffee table, and stands beside Dawai’s head. ‘Get your mouth off him,’ he says flatly.
Dawai breaks the kiss and looks up, ‘what - ’
Without a second’s delay, Zitao’s hand crashes into the back of Dawai’s skull, instantly knocking him out, and catches him around his chest, lifting the weight off Zhongda’s body.
After that, Zitao just drops him on the ground, figuring that incurring more blunt force trauma wouldn’t wake him up sooner.
‘You’re fucking terrible at this,’ says Zhongda - otherwise known as Kim Jongdae, most annoying partner alive.
‘You still thought I was hot,’ replies Zitao, picking up the drinks from the table and taking them to the kitchen.
‘Taozi,’ croons Jongdae from behind him, ‘I always think you’re gorgeous.’
Flustered, Zitao stumbles for a reply, and decides he’s better off wiping their prints from the glasses in silence instead.
Behind him, he can hear Jongdae talking, ‘yeah - we’re in’ and knows he’s on his burner phone to Minseok at the moment. ‘We - as in this bastard invited both of us, can you fucking believe it.’
Minseok’s voice crackles out in reply as Jongdae switches to speakerphone. ‘Even better - Taozi, use your key on his laptop and send me the data. Chen, look through any papers you can. Too risky to send picture through the burner phone, so you’ll have to keep the pictures on you until we rendezvous.’
‘Don’t just stand there then,’ says Zitao, leaving the glasses to dry on the counter. ‘Go.’
‘Shut up, Tao,’ says Jongdae, rolling his eyes.
‘Both of you get to work,’ snaps Minseok. ‘I’ll clean up the security cameras.’
‘Thanks, ge,’ says Zitao as Jongdae hangs up. They look at each other for a moment before they’re in motion - Jongdae striding towards the office while Zitao ducks into the bedroom, fingering the USB in his pocket that Minseok gave him.
The laptop is easy to find in the bedroom. He carries it out to the living room and uses Dawai’s comatose body to get the thumbprint identification. Logged in, Zitao snaps in the USB, lets the folder open, and runs Minseok’s program. To kill time, he drags Dawai to the bedroom, undresses him, and puts him to bed.
Jongdae is still busy rifling through the office papers while Zitao checks for bugs in the apartment - any cameras or microphones or trackers to give them away in case someone else had cased-out Dawai’s apartment before them. The cops did that sometimes - but the apartment was clean. Perhaps cops had skipped over the CFO with ties to political corruption on their list.
Afterwards, he joins Jongdae in the office. ‘I’ve cleaned up, how’s it over here?’
Jongdae holds up a thin, manila folder. ‘The proxy businesses whose records will disappear once the buyout is complete.’
He takes it and flips through. ‘There’s like twelve.’
‘Money laundering,’ replies Jongdae. ‘We can add that to his list of shit.’
Zitao pulls out his burner phone and takes pictures. ‘By the way, do you want gum or something?’
‘What - why?’
‘You had his tongue in your mouth,’ says Zitao, a touch sympathetic.
Jongdae snorts, opening the next drawer of the filing cabinet and flicking through the labels. ‘I had to deal with more than his tongue, Zitao.’
He can’t help it - feels himself go tense, looking at Jongdae, who is still focused on his work. ‘Before - while you were gone, he - ’
‘Yeah?’
‘He said something about you giving him bonuses,’ blurts Zitao, feeling himself scowl after the words have left his mouth.
‘Are you asking if he touched me, Zitao?’ Jongdae is looking at him, something in his eyes. Zitao flushes and looks back down at the folder, snapping it shut and tossing it on the desk.
‘You’re being annoying,’ he says. ‘I need to check up on Minseok’s program.’
He hates the sound of Jongdae laughing at him - feeling his shoulders draw up as he walks out. The laptop sits on the coffee table, the screen lit up with a loading bar that said 37%. He sighs and sits on the couch, running a hand through his hair. Minseok had warned them that to rip all of the data on the laptop without leaving a trace would mean it’d take a long time to run, but Zitao had overestimated how long he’d be able to be in Jongdae’s presence after something like this.
The last time Zitao had to seduce someone, he had been alone. No Jongdae drifting within his periphery - sharp eyed and dressed up, playing up how small he was, how pliant and eager he would be if someone just please got their hands on him.
And Zitao isn’t jealous - because Jongdae would probably bite Dawai’s dick off instead of suck it. At least - at least he hopes so. It never occurred to him what Jongdae would do if he was invited back to the apartment alone. Zitao has been trained to fight, is used to being Jongdae’s bodyguard more often than not, especially in the days before this. When Jongdae was constantly in danger.
Had Zitao been invited up alone, he thinks he could have tolerated one kiss before knocking Dawai out and going about his business. Jongdae doesn’t know how to do that.
Alarm pulses at the base of his throat. As annoyingly competent as Jongdae is with pretending, lying, acting his way out of a situation - he would have had to wait. Maybe drug Dawai with a drink, or fuck him until he passed out, then perhaps smother him with a pillow? Zitao had doubts as to whether Jongdae saw any difference between knocking someone unconscious or murdering them.
He looks back at the laptop but the loading bar has barely moved while he was lost in his thoughts. Still - he remains seated, despite the itch under his skin, the urge to walk back into the office and ask Jongdae, ‘Would you let him? Let him fuck you?’
After a while, Jongdae finally joins Zitao in the living room, holding out the phone again. ‘Office is done, target’s been put to bed, the apartment is clean, and now we’re just staring at your program.’
Minseok makes a noise. ‘I warned you it’d take a while.’
Jongdae peeks at the screen. ‘This thing doesn’t even have an ETA.’
‘You’re right, Chen, I should’ve added that feature in the forty-eight hours I had to program this entire thing from scratch,’ he snaps.
‘Stop picking a fight with Min-ge,’ says Zitao sharply, and Jongdae sneers at him.
‘Fine, fine, we’ll wait. How is the security footage looking?’
‘I’m almost done cleaning it up,’ he says. ‘Call me once the program is done and I’ll send Yixing over.’
‘How will we ever pass the time,’ sighs Jongdae after he hangs up, tossing the phone on the coffee table beside the laptop and sitting down next to Zitao.
Zitao glances at him, mind still racing. ‘If - If you were here alone, what would you have done?’
‘The same thing we’re doing now,’ replies Jongdae, stretching out his legs in front of him. ‘Check for bugs, look through his papers, and hack his laptop. I wouldn’t have put him to bed though - you’re too nice.’
‘You would have ended up there anyway,’ says Zitao before he can stop himself.
There’s a pause before Jongdae looks at him. ‘And what does that mean, Tao?’
‘He was - he was already on you,’ he says, gesturing at the couch they were sitting on. ‘He wanted to fuck you, he would have - and you would have too - ’
The expression on Jongdae is unreadable, and it has the anxiety in Zitao spiking sharply at the back of his throat. He clicks his jaw shut, waiting, until Jongdae finally does reply. ‘He’s handsome.’
‘That’s - !’
Suddenly, Jongdae is straddling Zitao, small hands settling on Zitao’s shoulders. Zitao leans back, looks away, but Jongdae doesn’t let up - eyes on him. ‘What is it?’
‘Get off me,’ mumbles Zitao, even as his hands cup Jongdae’s hips, holding him steady, not wanting to let him fall.
‘Say it again and I will,’ he replies. ‘Are you jealous?’
‘No,’ says Zitao, incredulous. ‘I just - I’m your partner, Chenchen.’
‘Unfortunately,’ sighs out Jongdae, but he’s smiling, soft, sweet. Leans forward to nose into Zitao’s cheek. ‘You’re worried.’
Zitao turns his head and kisses Jongdae then, feels Jongdae breathe out a laugh against his lips. He expects Jongdae to pull away, to press him for more, so Zitao nips at the other’s mouth, asking the other to deepen it, to swallow up the anxiousness that tightens Zitao’s throat like this.
Jongdae understands - opening his mouth and inviting Zitao in. He tastes the faintest bit of alcohol on Jongdae’s tongue, more of the dinner he must’ve had alone in his hotel room as he got ready before the party - and Zitao moans softly at the thought of Jongdae putting himself together as well as he did.
He doesn’t want Jongdae to pull away, whines when he does, feeling overwhelmed by Jongdae’s dark eyes lingering over his mouth. ‘Do I taste like him?’
‘No,’ says Zitao immediately.
‘I did more than kiss him before tonight,’ says Jongdae, voice low. ‘I touched him.’ His fingers go to the tie knotted around Zitao’s throat, undoes it with methodical tugs. ‘Took this off.’ The silk slides off with a whisper, and Zitao swallows as Jongdae loops it around his hand.
There’s a part of Zitao that tells him Jongdae is lying, that he would never entertain someone like Dawai - but there’s also the twisted up, anxious voice that scratches at his throat, that pushes for Zitao to believe, and he can’t help but hold Jongdae’s hips a little bit tighter, move him a little bit closer.
Jongdae notices, and he smiles, indulging, as his fingers pull at the buttons of Zitao’s shirt, undoing it all the way down till his hands bump into the waist of his dress pants. ‘He doesn’t have scars,’ murmurs Jongdae, dipping in for a soft kiss from Zitao’s mouth, keeping his lips wet. ‘Not like you, Taozi.’
He feels the warmth of Jongdae’s hands, how they sweep over his bare torso, down around his ribs, thumbing at the soft curves of muscle he finds. Zitao arches his spine, pushing up against the touch, thinks how his hands are calloused with training and Jongdae’s are still soft, unscarred.
There’s no need for Zitao to look down to know where Jongdae’s fingers touch, where he drops his kisses. That he traces a history over Zitao’s skin - scars from small injuries, accidents, childhood memories and training incidents and fights - imprints it with transparent marks of affection.
‘Liar,’ gasps Zitao as Jongdae scrapes his teeth across the other’s collarbone. ‘You didn’t touch him like this.’ Not as reverently, carefully, because Jongdae likes to remind Zitao that he’s the younger one, the more inexperienced partner - both with their jobs and this.
Jongdae replies in a low hum, his fingers skipping down to undo Zitao’s belt buckle, pulling it loose, toying with the zip as he looks through his thick lashes where Zitao is watching him. ‘I got him off too,’ he says, voice rough.
‘Chenchen,’ says Zitao, nodding, and it’s enough for Jongdae to unzip him, shove down his dress pants and undershorts so Zitao’s cock curves half-hard through the air, enough for Jongdae to palm him with a soft noise.
‘He likes it wet,’ says Jongdae, shimmying back off Zitao’s lap, but Zitao shakes his head, his hold on Jongdae’s hips sliding down to cup his ass and hold him still.
Before Jongdae can protest, Zitao drops open his mouth, inviting him silently. ‘Fuck,’ he hears Jongdae murmur, letting go of Zitao’s dick to slide two fingers onto his tongue. ‘Don’t want my mouth on you?’
Zitao moans at the thought, licking at Jongdae’s fingers, before Jongdae slips them out, spreads his saliva down the curve of his dick and back up again. Jongdae jacks him slowly like that - thumb pulling back the foreskin so he can rub at the leaking tip, mix spit with precome. Zitao hisses at how good it feels - undulating his hips upwards into the grip as he tips his head back on the couch, unable to look away from Jongdae as Jongdae doesn’t watch his cock, watches Zitao’s face instead.
‘I think,’ says Jongdae, leaning forward, lips ghosting over Zitao’s panting mouth, ‘I think I’d let him fuck me too.’
Zitao moans, eyes closing when he imagines it - Jongdae naked and arched, his ass hot and tight around Zitao’s cock, the way his voice would break every time he fucked himself over Zitao’s lap, fast, faster, harder, saying feels good, fuck, more, make me come, want to fucking come all over you.
He squeezes Jongdae’s ass between his palms, loves that Jongdae is small enough to simply fit before holding him still, trying to fit a thigh between his. He shifts, slides, feels the heat of Jongdae’s cock leak through the fabric of his dress pants as he pulls Jongdae by the ass, making him ride up Zitao’s thigh.
The strokes on his cock stutter - Jongdae letting go to fist his fingers in Zitao’s shirt, hanging loosely over his torso - when Zitao does it again, has his leg pushing up the same time Jongdae’s ass juts out, his cock catching friction along the movement. Jongdae moans, eyes fluttering, and Zitao loves it, wants to see it again.
‘He’d never see this,’ says Zitao in a breathless gasp, entranced by the sight. It isn’t a declaration, not a possessive statement; Zitao could never own something as unpredictably volatile as Jongdae - but it’s something that is for Zitao. What Jongdae will give him. ‘Never see you like this - getting off in his lap - ’
Meeting Zitao’s push-pull grip on his ass, Jongdae nods and keeps riding his thigh, keeps trying to catch that friction. His balls must feel it too - pressed hot over Zitao’s leg, the inseam of the dress pants digging up into the sensitive skin in a way that is just a pinch of pain amongst the wave of delicious friction.
‘Never,’ agrees Jongdae, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he keeps bucking his hips. ‘Fuck - never - ’ A long, low moan slides out of him, one that shoots straight to Zitao’s cock, has him harder than ever at the sight of flushed Jongdae, with glazed over eyes and his eager, quick hips meeting rhythm. ‘Shit - c’mon, fuck me, Tao.’
Zitao shakes his head, amazed he denies Jongdae, but he has to, knows that even if he said yes, Jongdae would refuse a beat later once he realized - ‘we can’t, we’ll risk leaving a trace in the apartment.’
‘Taozi,’ moans Jongdae, ‘get his fucking touch off me.’
‘Yes,’ agrees Zitao without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Jongdae’s waist, lifting him up and aside to lay him on his back against the couch.
Once settled, Jongdae’s hands are undoing his belt, shoving his dress pants down where his cock curves hard and pink against his abdomen. Unable to help it, Zitao looms over Jongdae and quickly undoes the buttons of his shirt, pushing it aside, wanting to see the wounds, the hurt that was all his fault.
The wound in Jongdae’s shoulder still has stitches, a little pink and raw along the edges. ‘He threw his arm around you,’ says Zitao, doesn’t regret the acidity in his voice. ‘Your waist too - wasn’t careful enough with you.’
Jongdae laughs a little breathlessly, fingers tracing along the skin around the stitches on his waist from his other wound. ‘He didn’t know.’
‘He hurt you,’ says Zitao, helplessly. ‘And he was going to keep going, keep hurting.’
‘Don’t worry,’ says Jongdae. ‘My personal bodyguard knocked him out.’
Leaning down, Zitao kisses Jongdae hard, feeling Jongdae moan, his small fingers running through Zitao’s hair, holding onto his shoulders. Dropping his hips, Zitao grinds his dick against Jongdae’s, and Jongdae gasps, bucks up in reply.
‘Like this?’ he says against Zitao’s mouth, and Zitao nods, pulling away.
Bracing himself on one forearm beside Jongdae’s head, he reaches down between them with his other hand, curls his fingers around both their dicks, bringing them base to tip. It’s feels so hot already, and Zitao bites back a gasp, tries to keep himself together, because he has to make this good for Jongdae.
He cants his hips forward, fucks into his own fist, and Jongdae hisses as their cocks push up against each other. Zitao does it again - tries to find the rhythm, the angle. He tightens his fist, feels the crown of his dick catch under the ridge of Jongdae’s, pop up past it sharply, shooting pleasure through Jongdae who arches and holds onto Zitao’s shoulders.
It feels too good for Zitao too - loves how slickly they move against each other, how he can press his thumb along the shaft of his cock when he pulls back and pushes forward, how his breath hitches when the tips of their dicks kiss wetly, precome getting all mixed up in between. He gasps soundlessly as he keeps going, trying to fuck his fist faster, give Jongdae all he can.
‘Yeah, yes, fuck,’ groans Jongdae underneath him, his hips trying to push into the tight ring of Zitao’s fingers. ‘Stop - get my pants off, do it, Zitao - ’
Zitao swallows to wet his dry mouth, pushing himself up to pull the dress pants off Jongdae completely, toss it to the floor, and can’t help but press his fingers against the thickness of Jongdae’s thighs, watching Jongdae raise his knees in the air and spread his legs, beckoning Zitao to kneel between them. ‘Like this.’
Like this means Jongdae can hook his legs around Zitao’s hips, can fuck into Zitao’s fist quicker, rougher. Zitao tries to match the rhythm Jongdae sets, loves the hot drag of skin on skin, how his cock leaks precome every time he listens to Jongdae moan when they both ride a wave of pleasure, cresting but never enough.
Still, Zitao tries - wants to see Jongdae come, erase any thought of anyone else that isn’t Zitao right here in this moment. He drives his hips forward, keeps time, doesn’t care that his arm is aching with being so tense for so long, listening to the way Jongdae’s voice pitches, breaks, soft there, yeah, c’mon and don’t stop, Tao, fuck lost among a symphony of moans.
Caught up in the friction, Zitao doesn’t realize Jongdae’s only holding onto his shoulder with one hand until he feels Jongdae’s other hand skirt up the inside of Zitao’s thigh, pressing for a moment against his perineum.
Zitao’s hips stutter as pleasure shoots through him, making him notice how Jongdae has an arm between their bodies, and he’s looking, stroking against the sensitive skin near Zitao’s hole. Zitao groans, ‘no - I’ll come - fuck, Chenchen - ’
‘That’s what I want,’ says Jongdae, his voice rough. When Zitao blinks past the haze of want, he sees Jongdae spread out beneath him, looking right back up at him. ‘I want to see you hold yourself over me and come.’
He chokes on a noise - doesn’t know if he can be any more turned on than right now - and keeps fucking into his fist, keeps feeling how Jongdae’s cock slides against him, keeps making desperate, pathetic noises as Jongdae’s fingers rub over his hole. It’s a tease, a whisper of a possibility - of the idea that Jongdae could sink into him, stretch out Zitao’s ass with the thickness of his dick and fuck him till Zitao was coming over himself.
The thoughts overwhelm him faster than he expects - Zitao jerks his hips hard, whining when Jongdae’s dips in just the tip of his finger inside of his ass, and gasps helplessly, ‘fuck, I’m going to come.’
‘Up,’ demands Jongdae, both hands on Zitao’s hips, pulling, and Zitao follows, crawling forward on the couch, before he realizes -
‘Fuck - Chen - ’ gasps Zitao when he feels hot, wet warmth envelop the tip of his cock. Then Jongdae is sucking sloppily, tonguing the tip, and one of his fingers is sliding right inside of Zitao, and Zitao is gone. He moans into the fabric of the couch, trying to keep his hips still as orgasm pulses right at the base of his spine, a wave of pleasure rising through him as his ass is stretched dry and cock sucked hard.
Then Jongdae moans when he feels Zitao squeeze his hole around Jongdae’s finger, the vibrations going straight through him, before his mind blanks out and he comes hard, without even a warning. There’s a dim realization that he could probably hear Jongdae swallow the come he’s just shot down Jongdae’s throat, but Zitao is too wiped to even follow through, just thankful that he didn’t fall on Jongdae.
Shivering, he pulls his hips back, feeling the slow drag of Jongdae’s tongue along the skin of his softening cock, the soft give of Jongdae’s bottom lip when the crown slides out. Zitao shuffles back - careful - and looks down at Jongdae’s face - how red and wet Jongdae’s mouth, the flash of white come on his tongue when Jongdae licks his lips.
It takes a moment for a lazy grin to spread over Jongdae’s face, eyes looking at Zitao before flicking down. Zitao nods and crawls down Jongdae’s body, sees how red and arched Jongdae’s cock is. A wave of lust hits Zitao so hard when he realizes Jongdae was so, so hard from Zitao’s dick in his mouth, Zitao shooting his load without warning, how Jongdae had swallowed without complaint.
Immediately, he nuzzles Jongdae’s cock, licking the sac first, tongue and teeth catching along the skin just to feel the twitch in Jongdae’s thighs. Then Zitao is sucking at his balls, eager and sloppy, doesn’t care about the spit streaking down his chin as he shows how much he wants this. He can hear Jongdae moan above him, finally tangling a hand in Zitao’s hair to take a grip.
Zitao licks up along the underside, kissing the leaking tip, before sliding the dick into his mouth, right to the base. There’s a moment where Zitao thinks he might gag, choke, cough - but it’s quickly gone when he lets Jongdae’s cock stretch out his throat.
‘There we go,’ croons Jongdae from above, and Zitao hums in agreement, swallowing around the dick in his mouth, wanting Jongdae to feel how wet and warm and good Zitao was making this. He earns a groan and a slow roll of hips - push-pulling his cock between Zitao’s lips almost languidly.
No - not like this. Zitao whines, long and low, lets the sound run through the tip of Jongdae’s cock to his balls, and swallows around Jongdae again, trying to tell him. ‘Keep sucking then,’ says Jongdae, before the grip on Zitao’s hair tightens and he fucks into Zitao’s mouth properly.
The rhythm is haphazard at best - Jongdae’s chasing what he needs, driving his cock between Zitao’s lips, uncaring when Zitao gags, makes a choked off noise. Zitao could pull away if he wanted to - stronger between them both - but he doesn’t because this is exactly what he wants: to be used up until Jongdae gets to the end.
It doesn’t take long - almost laughably short if Zitao wasn’t still desperately keyed up despite coming minutes before. He hollows out his cheeks and sucks, eyes closed as Jongdae fucks his face, and knows Jongdae is close when the rhythm changes pace yet again. From short and quick to a hard, deep grind, Jongdae’s grip in Zitao’s hair pulling him so that Jongdae can stuff his cock down Zitao’s throat.
Zitao swallows around the weight, the pressure, milking the dick in his mouth, and doesn’t choke when Jongdae lets out a long breathless noise, his cock twitching as he finally comes, making Zitao drink it all.
He’s petting Zitao’s hair while Zitao kitten-licks Jongdae’s soft cock clean, catching any drop, wanting to make sure he did a complete job, before finally pulling away and looking up at Jongdae’s flushed face, the way his bangs stick to his forehead from sweat, and the lovely high flush on his cheekbones to match his bruised mouth.
‘Chen,’ says Zitao, wincing at how wrecked his voice is. Jongdae nods, sitting up, his hands reaching out to pet Zitao’s hair, cheek, neck - soothing and repetitive - until something like reality filters through Zitao’s head. They’re in Dawai’s apartment. They’re waiting for his data to get ripped onto a USB. They fucked on his couch.
‘You’re so good,’ murmurs Jongdae, as Zitao shivers, trying to shrug off the haze of want and need and satisfaction, before preening under the touch, following the path of Jongdae’s fingers and leaning into them. ‘So wonderfully good.’
‘Chen,’ says Zitao, but words don’t come, and instead he sits in warm silence, listening to Jongdae’s low voice drape him in gorgeouses and perfects until Zitao smiles back, feeling pleased, a hum of contentment buzzing under his skin.
‘You come back yet,’ murmurs Jongdae, and Zitao nods, yes, he just needed a few moments. ‘Okay - c’mon, let’s clean up and get out of here.’
-
By the time they’ve put their clothes back on, Minseok’s program has finished running. Zitao takes back the USB, does a cursory check in case he needs to delete any files, puts the laptop where he found it and wipes off any fingerprints he might have left behind.
He sees Jongdae standing in the living room, hair a mess but clothes straightened out, as he contemplates the couch. ‘We need to take the back entrance anyway, so lets steal his couch cushions.’
Zitao pauses. ‘What?’
‘C’mon,’ says Jongdae with a grin and a glint in his eye.
They call Minseok, who sends Yixing to pick them up in a car in the back alley, and then gather the couch cushions, thankfully passing no one through the halls of the building.
‘Of course we wouldn’t pass anyone,’ scoffs Jongdae. ‘He bought like the five top floors of this place - for privacy or something.’
They stand in the back alley around a pile of couch cushions - waiting for the flash of headlights from an approaching car. Finally, Yixing turns the corner, easing the car to a stop next to them in the back alley and rolling down his window. ‘What is this?’
‘We might have left a trace,’ says Jongdae, ‘give me your lighter.’
Yixing hands it over, and looks up at Zitao. ‘A trace of what?’
Zitao chokes.
‘Taozi drooled over our target,’ says Jongdae as he lights a couch cushion on fire, making sure the others light too.
‘What - Chen - ’ splutters Zitao as they finally clamber into the back seat of the car, driving away from the burning pile behind them, but his protests drown under a chorus of laughter.
-
Later, when they’re back safe in their HQ, Jongdae will stuff his hands in his pockets and say, ‘I wouldn’t have let him fuck me. I would’ve bit his dick off.’
Zitao, who is polishing his favourite knife, almost drops it, before he realizes what Jongdae is talking about. Then he’s laughing out loud, looking up at him. ‘And then let him bleed out? While you looked at his files?’
‘Not a bad plan,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I can’t punch very well, but the human jaw, I’ve been told, is incredibly strong.’
‘Chen,’ says Zitao, incredulous and relieved, and Jongdae just grins back.
In hindsight, Jongdae was probably one of the best partners Zitao could have ended up with.
-
Title: Forever in Orbit
Pairing: Tao/Chen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, explicit sex including frottage and minor face-fucking
Word count: ~6200
Summary: For Tao, the mission to seduce a corrupt official for proof of his crimes is the easy part; keeping his partner Chen safe and in check during said mission is what’s difficult.
Author’s note: there is actually almost 30k of backstory written for this fic. for now, I hope you enjoy this until you get the real fic. shout out to M for beta’ing.
-
Zitao can smell the ocean in the air from the open windows of the hotel ballroom as he moves through the gathering of political officials. Shanghai is half-asleep at this hour of the evening, the moon a sharp sickle of illumination embedded within the dark sky. He leans against the window sill, trying to catch a breath of fresh air, before the din of celebrations overwhelm him again. Shanghai might be going to bed, but the party behind him is still loud, an event swathed in silk and suits and alcohol, as the people celebrate the company buyout that had happened earlier that day.
Normally, talking to people is what Zitao likes to do. He chatted up his barista this morning, had lunch in the company of a friend, and smiled at his hotel receptionist when he went up to his room afterwards to change into his suit, getting ready for this party.
This time, of course, Zitao has to talk to Han Dawai - CFO of the company that had been bought out by a shipping corporation, conveniently after Dawai had extorted money for himself and a couple of politicians within the city. A smooth, slick cover-up, so all the financial records would be stone-walled by the new company and new rules.
At least, thinks Zitao idly, Dawai is not ugly to look at. He’s the son of the CEO - still in his mid-thirties with a tailored suit and silk tie, artfully stylized with the new company logo, and has coiffed black hair and a charming smile. A face so good-looking, it becomes generic and boring.
With a sigh, Zitao grabs a flute of alcohol from the open bar, and tries to remember he’s here to seduce, not throw bubbly in the man’s face for being a piece of scamming shit.
Dawai’s busy speaking to someone else when Zitao approaches - a shorter man, with dark eyes and a smile. He’s in dress pants and a lavender button-up shirt, a blazer over top but no tie. The two top buttons of the shirt are undone. Zitao has a moment where he thinks of dumping the bubbly over this one instead of Dawai.
‘Excuse me for interrupting,’ smiles Zitao, swallowing back the urge, as he offers the flute. ‘Congratulations on the successful buyout.’
Dawai turns away from the other to look at Zitao - flicks his eyes from head to toe before breaking into smile. ‘Thank you.’ He takes the drink, checks out Zitao one more time - the well-fitted dark suit, the blood red undershirt to complement Zitao’s skin tone, the half-hooded gaze that Zitao knows works very, very well for himself. ‘We have not been introduced.’
‘Zhou Yu,’ says Zitao, nodding his head, eyes never looking away. ‘PR manager for Zhou Steel in Qingdao.’
Dawai raises an eyebrow. ‘Here on business?’
‘Business is during the day,’ murmurs Zitao. ‘I’m just here to have a little fun.’
The man beside Dawai bursts out laughing, poorly muffled behind his hand, and shakes his head. Zitao wishes he had the drink back in his hand. Dawai looks over, before it occurs in his skull to introduce them. ‘Ah, yes, this is Li Zhongda, newly-hired manager of the Beijing branch that will be opening later this year. Zhongda, this is Zhou Yu, from Qingdao.’
Zhongda smiles, sweetly insincere. ‘If you wanted to talk about the company expanding to Qingdao, you would be better off talking to me.’
‘I’m here for Dawai, personally,’ replies Zitao, feeling vaguely like he’s in a cat fight that he never signed up for. He stares at Zhongda - the high cheeks, the dark eyes, the pretty curved mouth - and wonders which one between them Dawai is going to fuck tonight.
‘How unprofessional,’ titters Zhongda and Dawai scoffs.
‘Please,’ he says, laying a hand on Zhongda’s shoulder. ‘Be civil to our guest.’
‘You’re right,’ he replies, leaning into the touch, looking up at Dawai with a chastened expression. ‘I just wanted you all to myself tonight.’
Zitao has a moment where he’s torn between gagging at Zhongda’s line and breaking Dawai’s fingers one by one for touching him. Instead he falls back a step, watches for the reaction. If Dawai accepts the possessiveness, then Zitao has no chance. If he eases away from it, then Zitao can sink his teeth in and drag Dawai all the way back to his penthouse apartment.
What he doesn’t particularly expect is for Dawai to swing his arm around Zhongda’s shoulder, drag him to his side and turn to face Zitao fully, smiling at him. ‘I suppose you’ll have to entertain us both.’
Immediately, Zitao’s gaze flicks to Zhongda and sees Zhongda flinch, try to adjust the arm around his shoulder to ease his discomfort. Maybe he would break all of Dawai’s bones after this.
Mustering up a slow smile - seduce, Zitao - he nods. ‘That’s not a problem. Shall I get a drink for you too, Zhongda?’
‘I can get it myself,’ he replies, easing away now, almost fleeing the entire situation. Dawai lets him go without a word, only blatantly checking out Zhongda’s ass in the perfectly tailored dress pants, before grinning at Zitao.
‘He did get the job through his qualifications,’ says Dawai. ‘He might’ve gotten it faster if I knew there would be added perks. If you know what I mean, Yu.’
Zitao wonders if offering to suck him off in the bathroom would make this night end faster, but then scraps the idea. Focus - Zhongda had blessedly left them alone; he needed to make use of the time. ‘I have no idea,’ smiles Zitao, fingers reaching out to smooth Dawai’s silk tie, brush imaginary lint off his shoulders, the touch slow and lingering. ‘You might have to show me.’
‘Still innocent? In this business?’ laughs Dawai.
‘Surprise,’ he replies. ‘But my qualifications include quick learner, of course.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That I can be quick? Or that I don’t know?’ Zitao raises his eyebrows, eyes still half-hooded. ‘Please humour me.’
‘That’s what he’s doing,’ bites out Zhongda from behind him, and Zitao’s shoulders go stiff with the urge to - to just do something to him. Dawai looks past Zitao’s shoulder, laughs as Zhongda walks out from behind Zitao to tuck himself back into Dawai’s side - looking pretty and prim as he holds his glass of wine, so utterly comfortable, like he belongs there.
‘You’re both flattering me,’ says Dawai, hand drifting from Zhongda’s shoulder down his spine. Zitao tries to look away, he does, but it’s hard to stop him from clenching his jaw when he sees Zhongda’s lashes flutter - thick and dark - as Dawai quite obviously palms his ass. ‘I have the mind of taking you both home. To talk business, of course.’
‘Of course,’ says Zhongda flatly, going for jealous. ‘Just business.’
‘Now, Zhongda,’ says Dawai, trying to soothe, and Zitao just wants to tap him on the shoulder, tell him Zhongda really honestly doesn’t give a fuck, could they please leave already.
‘If Zhongda doesn’t want to join, there’s no need to force him,’ he says instead. ‘I’m more than willing.’
Predictably, Zhongda makes a face. ‘If Yu goes, I go,’ he sniffs.
‘Isn’t that just perfect?’ says Dawai, smiling at them both, and Zitao smiles back, because it truly is.
-
The ride to the penthouse has Zhongda sitting in Dawai’s lap, playing with his fingers, staring Zitao down, as Zitao makes half-hearted attempts at conversation about the economic benefits of expanding to Qingdao.
Dawai seems interested enough. Which figures, supposes Zitao - what was more attractive to a man than having his ego and dick stroked by money and two men fighting over him respectively.
Thankfully, the ride is short. Dawai breezes through security, stands in the elevator with his hand on Zhongda’s ass the entire time and eyes on Zitao as Zitao undoes his cufflinks. ‘Preparing for something?’ he asks.
Zitao smiles slow and sweet. ‘Just want to relax a little before we begin.’
Zhongda scoffs at the innuendo, arches his spine to press closer to Dawai, and Zitao starts counting the minutes until this is over.
Dawai is surprisingly gracious as a host. He offers various liquors, mixes a drink for Zhongda, claiming it’s his favourite, and lets them settle in his living room. Zitao has lost the suit jacket at some point, and Zhongda ditched his blazer the moment they walked in the door, even though Zitao knows he’s never been up here before. Dawai is still dressed up, but his tie is gone, the top few buttons undone to reveal a delta of pale skin.
Like a target, thinks Zitao idly as he watches Zhongda put down his untouched drink and crawl into Dawai’s lap. ‘A target to stab.’
‘What was that?’ asks Dawai before Zhongda has his mouth on him, muffling the words. Zitao sighs and watches as Zhongda paws at Dawai’s shoulders, and Dawai is looping an arm around Zhongda’s small waist, making Zhongda pull away with a gasp.
‘Eager, eager,’ he teases as Zhongda squirms, and finally lays him back on the couch, getting on his hands and knees to loom over him.
Zhongda smiles, his curved mouth pink and wet. ‘Please,’ he moans. That’s enough for Dawai to kiss him hard again, and even from here, Zitao can hear the noises Zhongda is making, his spine arched and hands trying to unbutton Dawai’s shirt.
Finally, Zitao stands up from his seat across from them, walks around the coffee table, and stands beside Dawai’s head. ‘Get your mouth off him,’ he says flatly.
Dawai breaks the kiss and looks up, ‘what - ’
Without a second’s delay, Zitao’s hand crashes into the back of Dawai’s skull, instantly knocking him out, and catches him around his chest, lifting the weight off Zhongda’s body.
After that, Zitao just drops him on the ground, figuring that incurring more blunt force trauma wouldn’t wake him up sooner.
‘You’re fucking terrible at this,’ says Zhongda - otherwise known as Kim Jongdae, most annoying partner alive.
‘You still thought I was hot,’ replies Zitao, picking up the drinks from the table and taking them to the kitchen.
‘Taozi,’ croons Jongdae from behind him, ‘I always think you’re gorgeous.’
Flustered, Zitao stumbles for a reply, and decides he’s better off wiping their prints from the glasses in silence instead.
Behind him, he can hear Jongdae talking, ‘yeah - we’re in’ and knows he’s on his burner phone to Minseok at the moment. ‘We - as in this bastard invited both of us, can you fucking believe it.’
Minseok’s voice crackles out in reply as Jongdae switches to speakerphone. ‘Even better - Taozi, use your key on his laptop and send me the data. Chen, look through any papers you can. Too risky to send picture through the burner phone, so you’ll have to keep the pictures on you until we rendezvous.’
‘Don’t just stand there then,’ says Zitao, leaving the glasses to dry on the counter. ‘Go.’
‘Shut up, Tao,’ says Jongdae, rolling his eyes.
‘Both of you get to work,’ snaps Minseok. ‘I’ll clean up the security cameras.’
‘Thanks, ge,’ says Zitao as Jongdae hangs up. They look at each other for a moment before they’re in motion - Jongdae striding towards the office while Zitao ducks into the bedroom, fingering the USB in his pocket that Minseok gave him.
The laptop is easy to find in the bedroom. He carries it out to the living room and uses Dawai’s comatose body to get the thumbprint identification. Logged in, Zitao snaps in the USB, lets the folder open, and runs Minseok’s program. To kill time, he drags Dawai to the bedroom, undresses him, and puts him to bed.
Jongdae is still busy rifling through the office papers while Zitao checks for bugs in the apartment - any cameras or microphones or trackers to give them away in case someone else had cased-out Dawai’s apartment before them. The cops did that sometimes - but the apartment was clean. Perhaps cops had skipped over the CFO with ties to political corruption on their list.
Afterwards, he joins Jongdae in the office. ‘I’ve cleaned up, how’s it over here?’
Jongdae holds up a thin, manila folder. ‘The proxy businesses whose records will disappear once the buyout is complete.’
He takes it and flips through. ‘There’s like twelve.’
‘Money laundering,’ replies Jongdae. ‘We can add that to his list of shit.’
Zitao pulls out his burner phone and takes pictures. ‘By the way, do you want gum or something?’
‘What - why?’
‘You had his tongue in your mouth,’ says Zitao, a touch sympathetic.
Jongdae snorts, opening the next drawer of the filing cabinet and flicking through the labels. ‘I had to deal with more than his tongue, Zitao.’
He can’t help it - feels himself go tense, looking at Jongdae, who is still focused on his work. ‘Before - while you were gone, he - ’
‘Yeah?’
‘He said something about you giving him bonuses,’ blurts Zitao, feeling himself scowl after the words have left his mouth.
‘Are you asking if he touched me, Zitao?’ Jongdae is looking at him, something in his eyes. Zitao flushes and looks back down at the folder, snapping it shut and tossing it on the desk.
‘You’re being annoying,’ he says. ‘I need to check up on Minseok’s program.’
He hates the sound of Jongdae laughing at him - feeling his shoulders draw up as he walks out. The laptop sits on the coffee table, the screen lit up with a loading bar that said 37%. He sighs and sits on the couch, running a hand through his hair. Minseok had warned them that to rip all of the data on the laptop without leaving a trace would mean it’d take a long time to run, but Zitao had overestimated how long he’d be able to be in Jongdae’s presence after something like this.
The last time Zitao had to seduce someone, he had been alone. No Jongdae drifting within his periphery - sharp eyed and dressed up, playing up how small he was, how pliant and eager he would be if someone just please got their hands on him.
And Zitao isn’t jealous - because Jongdae would probably bite Dawai’s dick off instead of suck it. At least - at least he hopes so. It never occurred to him what Jongdae would do if he was invited back to the apartment alone. Zitao has been trained to fight, is used to being Jongdae’s bodyguard more often than not, especially in the days before this. When Jongdae was constantly in danger.
Had Zitao been invited up alone, he thinks he could have tolerated one kiss before knocking Dawai out and going about his business. Jongdae doesn’t know how to do that.
Alarm pulses at the base of his throat. As annoyingly competent as Jongdae is with pretending, lying, acting his way out of a situation - he would have had to wait. Maybe drug Dawai with a drink, or fuck him until he passed out, then perhaps smother him with a pillow? Zitao had doubts as to whether Jongdae saw any difference between knocking someone unconscious or murdering them.
He looks back at the laptop but the loading bar has barely moved while he was lost in his thoughts. Still - he remains seated, despite the itch under his skin, the urge to walk back into the office and ask Jongdae, ‘Would you let him? Let him fuck you?’
After a while, Jongdae finally joins Zitao in the living room, holding out the phone again. ‘Office is done, target’s been put to bed, the apartment is clean, and now we’re just staring at your program.’
Minseok makes a noise. ‘I warned you it’d take a while.’
Jongdae peeks at the screen. ‘This thing doesn’t even have an ETA.’
‘You’re right, Chen, I should’ve added that feature in the forty-eight hours I had to program this entire thing from scratch,’ he snaps.
‘Stop picking a fight with Min-ge,’ says Zitao sharply, and Jongdae sneers at him.
‘Fine, fine, we’ll wait. How is the security footage looking?’
‘I’m almost done cleaning it up,’ he says. ‘Call me once the program is done and I’ll send Yixing over.’
‘How will we ever pass the time,’ sighs Jongdae after he hangs up, tossing the phone on the coffee table beside the laptop and sitting down next to Zitao.
Zitao glances at him, mind still racing. ‘If - If you were here alone, what would you have done?’
‘The same thing we’re doing now,’ replies Jongdae, stretching out his legs in front of him. ‘Check for bugs, look through his papers, and hack his laptop. I wouldn’t have put him to bed though - you’re too nice.’
‘You would have ended up there anyway,’ says Zitao before he can stop himself.
There’s a pause before Jongdae looks at him. ‘And what does that mean, Tao?’
‘He was - he was already on you,’ he says, gesturing at the couch they were sitting on. ‘He wanted to fuck you, he would have - and you would have too - ’
The expression on Jongdae is unreadable, and it has the anxiety in Zitao spiking sharply at the back of his throat. He clicks his jaw shut, waiting, until Jongdae finally does reply. ‘He’s handsome.’
‘That’s - !’
Suddenly, Jongdae is straddling Zitao, small hands settling on Zitao’s shoulders. Zitao leans back, looks away, but Jongdae doesn’t let up - eyes on him. ‘What is it?’
‘Get off me,’ mumbles Zitao, even as his hands cup Jongdae’s hips, holding him steady, not wanting to let him fall.
‘Say it again and I will,’ he replies. ‘Are you jealous?’
‘No,’ says Zitao, incredulous. ‘I just - I’m your partner, Chenchen.’
‘Unfortunately,’ sighs out Jongdae, but he’s smiling, soft, sweet. Leans forward to nose into Zitao’s cheek. ‘You’re worried.’
Zitao turns his head and kisses Jongdae then, feels Jongdae breathe out a laugh against his lips. He expects Jongdae to pull away, to press him for more, so Zitao nips at the other’s mouth, asking the other to deepen it, to swallow up the anxiousness that tightens Zitao’s throat like this.
Jongdae understands - opening his mouth and inviting Zitao in. He tastes the faintest bit of alcohol on Jongdae’s tongue, more of the dinner he must’ve had alone in his hotel room as he got ready before the party - and Zitao moans softly at the thought of Jongdae putting himself together as well as he did.
He doesn’t want Jongdae to pull away, whines when he does, feeling overwhelmed by Jongdae’s dark eyes lingering over his mouth. ‘Do I taste like him?’
‘No,’ says Zitao immediately.
‘I did more than kiss him before tonight,’ says Jongdae, voice low. ‘I touched him.’ His fingers go to the tie knotted around Zitao’s throat, undoes it with methodical tugs. ‘Took this off.’ The silk slides off with a whisper, and Zitao swallows as Jongdae loops it around his hand.
There’s a part of Zitao that tells him Jongdae is lying, that he would never entertain someone like Dawai - but there’s also the twisted up, anxious voice that scratches at his throat, that pushes for Zitao to believe, and he can’t help but hold Jongdae’s hips a little bit tighter, move him a little bit closer.
Jongdae notices, and he smiles, indulging, as his fingers pull at the buttons of Zitao’s shirt, undoing it all the way down till his hands bump into the waist of his dress pants. ‘He doesn’t have scars,’ murmurs Jongdae, dipping in for a soft kiss from Zitao’s mouth, keeping his lips wet. ‘Not like you, Taozi.’
He feels the warmth of Jongdae’s hands, how they sweep over his bare torso, down around his ribs, thumbing at the soft curves of muscle he finds. Zitao arches his spine, pushing up against the touch, thinks how his hands are calloused with training and Jongdae’s are still soft, unscarred.
There’s no need for Zitao to look down to know where Jongdae’s fingers touch, where he drops his kisses. That he traces a history over Zitao’s skin - scars from small injuries, accidents, childhood memories and training incidents and fights - imprints it with transparent marks of affection.
‘Liar,’ gasps Zitao as Jongdae scrapes his teeth across the other’s collarbone. ‘You didn’t touch him like this.’ Not as reverently, carefully, because Jongdae likes to remind Zitao that he’s the younger one, the more inexperienced partner - both with their jobs and this.
Jongdae replies in a low hum, his fingers skipping down to undo Zitao’s belt buckle, pulling it loose, toying with the zip as he looks through his thick lashes where Zitao is watching him. ‘I got him off too,’ he says, voice rough.
‘Chenchen,’ says Zitao, nodding, and it’s enough for Jongdae to unzip him, shove down his dress pants and undershorts so Zitao’s cock curves half-hard through the air, enough for Jongdae to palm him with a soft noise.
‘He likes it wet,’ says Jongdae, shimmying back off Zitao’s lap, but Zitao shakes his head, his hold on Jongdae’s hips sliding down to cup his ass and hold him still.
Before Jongdae can protest, Zitao drops open his mouth, inviting him silently. ‘Fuck,’ he hears Jongdae murmur, letting go of Zitao’s dick to slide two fingers onto his tongue. ‘Don’t want my mouth on you?’
Zitao moans at the thought, licking at Jongdae’s fingers, before Jongdae slips them out, spreads his saliva down the curve of his dick and back up again. Jongdae jacks him slowly like that - thumb pulling back the foreskin so he can rub at the leaking tip, mix spit with precome. Zitao hisses at how good it feels - undulating his hips upwards into the grip as he tips his head back on the couch, unable to look away from Jongdae as Jongdae doesn’t watch his cock, watches Zitao’s face instead.
‘I think,’ says Jongdae, leaning forward, lips ghosting over Zitao’s panting mouth, ‘I think I’d let him fuck me too.’
Zitao moans, eyes closing when he imagines it - Jongdae naked and arched, his ass hot and tight around Zitao’s cock, the way his voice would break every time he fucked himself over Zitao’s lap, fast, faster, harder, saying feels good, fuck, more, make me come, want to fucking come all over you.
He squeezes Jongdae’s ass between his palms, loves that Jongdae is small enough to simply fit before holding him still, trying to fit a thigh between his. He shifts, slides, feels the heat of Jongdae’s cock leak through the fabric of his dress pants as he pulls Jongdae by the ass, making him ride up Zitao’s thigh.
The strokes on his cock stutter - Jongdae letting go to fist his fingers in Zitao’s shirt, hanging loosely over his torso - when Zitao does it again, has his leg pushing up the same time Jongdae’s ass juts out, his cock catching friction along the movement. Jongdae moans, eyes fluttering, and Zitao loves it, wants to see it again.
‘He’d never see this,’ says Zitao in a breathless gasp, entranced by the sight. It isn’t a declaration, not a possessive statement; Zitao could never own something as unpredictably volatile as Jongdae - but it’s something that is for Zitao. What Jongdae will give him. ‘Never see you like this - getting off in his lap - ’
Meeting Zitao’s push-pull grip on his ass, Jongdae nods and keeps riding his thigh, keeps trying to catch that friction. His balls must feel it too - pressed hot over Zitao’s leg, the inseam of the dress pants digging up into the sensitive skin in a way that is just a pinch of pain amongst the wave of delicious friction.
‘Never,’ agrees Jongdae, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he keeps bucking his hips. ‘Fuck - never - ’ A long, low moan slides out of him, one that shoots straight to Zitao’s cock, has him harder than ever at the sight of flushed Jongdae, with glazed over eyes and his eager, quick hips meeting rhythm. ‘Shit - c’mon, fuck me, Tao.’
Zitao shakes his head, amazed he denies Jongdae, but he has to, knows that even if he said yes, Jongdae would refuse a beat later once he realized - ‘we can’t, we’ll risk leaving a trace in the apartment.’
‘Taozi,’ moans Jongdae, ‘get his fucking touch off me.’
‘Yes,’ agrees Zitao without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Jongdae’s waist, lifting him up and aside to lay him on his back against the couch.
Once settled, Jongdae’s hands are undoing his belt, shoving his dress pants down where his cock curves hard and pink against his abdomen. Unable to help it, Zitao looms over Jongdae and quickly undoes the buttons of his shirt, pushing it aside, wanting to see the wounds, the hurt that was all his fault.
The wound in Jongdae’s shoulder still has stitches, a little pink and raw along the edges. ‘He threw his arm around you,’ says Zitao, doesn’t regret the acidity in his voice. ‘Your waist too - wasn’t careful enough with you.’
Jongdae laughs a little breathlessly, fingers tracing along the skin around the stitches on his waist from his other wound. ‘He didn’t know.’
‘He hurt you,’ says Zitao, helplessly. ‘And he was going to keep going, keep hurting.’
‘Don’t worry,’ says Jongdae. ‘My personal bodyguard knocked him out.’
Leaning down, Zitao kisses Jongdae hard, feeling Jongdae moan, his small fingers running through Zitao’s hair, holding onto his shoulders. Dropping his hips, Zitao grinds his dick against Jongdae’s, and Jongdae gasps, bucks up in reply.
‘Like this?’ he says against Zitao’s mouth, and Zitao nods, pulling away.
Bracing himself on one forearm beside Jongdae’s head, he reaches down between them with his other hand, curls his fingers around both their dicks, bringing them base to tip. It’s feels so hot already, and Zitao bites back a gasp, tries to keep himself together, because he has to make this good for Jongdae.
He cants his hips forward, fucks into his own fist, and Jongdae hisses as their cocks push up against each other. Zitao does it again - tries to find the rhythm, the angle. He tightens his fist, feels the crown of his dick catch under the ridge of Jongdae’s, pop up past it sharply, shooting pleasure through Jongdae who arches and holds onto Zitao’s shoulders.
It feels too good for Zitao too - loves how slickly they move against each other, how he can press his thumb along the shaft of his cock when he pulls back and pushes forward, how his breath hitches when the tips of their dicks kiss wetly, precome getting all mixed up in between. He gasps soundlessly as he keeps going, trying to fuck his fist faster, give Jongdae all he can.
‘Yeah, yes, fuck,’ groans Jongdae underneath him, his hips trying to push into the tight ring of Zitao’s fingers. ‘Stop - get my pants off, do it, Zitao - ’
Zitao swallows to wet his dry mouth, pushing himself up to pull the dress pants off Jongdae completely, toss it to the floor, and can’t help but press his fingers against the thickness of Jongdae’s thighs, watching Jongdae raise his knees in the air and spread his legs, beckoning Zitao to kneel between them. ‘Like this.’
Like this means Jongdae can hook his legs around Zitao’s hips, can fuck into Zitao’s fist quicker, rougher. Zitao tries to match the rhythm Jongdae sets, loves the hot drag of skin on skin, how his cock leaks precome every time he listens to Jongdae moan when they both ride a wave of pleasure, cresting but never enough.
Still, Zitao tries - wants to see Jongdae come, erase any thought of anyone else that isn’t Zitao right here in this moment. He drives his hips forward, keeps time, doesn’t care that his arm is aching with being so tense for so long, listening to the way Jongdae’s voice pitches, breaks, soft there, yeah, c’mon and don’t stop, Tao, fuck lost among a symphony of moans.
Caught up in the friction, Zitao doesn’t realize Jongdae’s only holding onto his shoulder with one hand until he feels Jongdae’s other hand skirt up the inside of Zitao’s thigh, pressing for a moment against his perineum.
Zitao’s hips stutter as pleasure shoots through him, making him notice how Jongdae has an arm between their bodies, and he’s looking, stroking against the sensitive skin near Zitao’s hole. Zitao groans, ‘no - I’ll come - fuck, Chenchen - ’
‘That’s what I want,’ says Jongdae, his voice rough. When Zitao blinks past the haze of want, he sees Jongdae spread out beneath him, looking right back up at him. ‘I want to see you hold yourself over me and come.’
He chokes on a noise - doesn’t know if he can be any more turned on than right now - and keeps fucking into his fist, keeps feeling how Jongdae’s cock slides against him, keeps making desperate, pathetic noises as Jongdae’s fingers rub over his hole. It’s a tease, a whisper of a possibility - of the idea that Jongdae could sink into him, stretch out Zitao’s ass with the thickness of his dick and fuck him till Zitao was coming over himself.
The thoughts overwhelm him faster than he expects - Zitao jerks his hips hard, whining when Jongdae’s dips in just the tip of his finger inside of his ass, and gasps helplessly, ‘fuck, I’m going to come.’
‘Up,’ demands Jongdae, both hands on Zitao’s hips, pulling, and Zitao follows, crawling forward on the couch, before he realizes -
‘Fuck - Chen - ’ gasps Zitao when he feels hot, wet warmth envelop the tip of his cock. Then Jongdae is sucking sloppily, tonguing the tip, and one of his fingers is sliding right inside of Zitao, and Zitao is gone. He moans into the fabric of the couch, trying to keep his hips still as orgasm pulses right at the base of his spine, a wave of pleasure rising through him as his ass is stretched dry and cock sucked hard.
Then Jongdae moans when he feels Zitao squeeze his hole around Jongdae’s finger, the vibrations going straight through him, before his mind blanks out and he comes hard, without even a warning. There’s a dim realization that he could probably hear Jongdae swallow the come he’s just shot down Jongdae’s throat, but Zitao is too wiped to even follow through, just thankful that he didn’t fall on Jongdae.
Shivering, he pulls his hips back, feeling the slow drag of Jongdae’s tongue along the skin of his softening cock, the soft give of Jongdae’s bottom lip when the crown slides out. Zitao shuffles back - careful - and looks down at Jongdae’s face - how red and wet Jongdae’s mouth, the flash of white come on his tongue when Jongdae licks his lips.
It takes a moment for a lazy grin to spread over Jongdae’s face, eyes looking at Zitao before flicking down. Zitao nods and crawls down Jongdae’s body, sees how red and arched Jongdae’s cock is. A wave of lust hits Zitao so hard when he realizes Jongdae was so, so hard from Zitao’s dick in his mouth, Zitao shooting his load without warning, how Jongdae had swallowed without complaint.
Immediately, he nuzzles Jongdae’s cock, licking the sac first, tongue and teeth catching along the skin just to feel the twitch in Jongdae’s thighs. Then Zitao is sucking at his balls, eager and sloppy, doesn’t care about the spit streaking down his chin as he shows how much he wants this. He can hear Jongdae moan above him, finally tangling a hand in Zitao’s hair to take a grip.
Zitao licks up along the underside, kissing the leaking tip, before sliding the dick into his mouth, right to the base. There’s a moment where Zitao thinks he might gag, choke, cough - but it’s quickly gone when he lets Jongdae’s cock stretch out his throat.
‘There we go,’ croons Jongdae from above, and Zitao hums in agreement, swallowing around the dick in his mouth, wanting Jongdae to feel how wet and warm and good Zitao was making this. He earns a groan and a slow roll of hips - push-pulling his cock between Zitao’s lips almost languidly.
No - not like this. Zitao whines, long and low, lets the sound run through the tip of Jongdae’s cock to his balls, and swallows around Jongdae again, trying to tell him. ‘Keep sucking then,’ says Jongdae, before the grip on Zitao’s hair tightens and he fucks into Zitao’s mouth properly.
The rhythm is haphazard at best - Jongdae’s chasing what he needs, driving his cock between Zitao’s lips, uncaring when Zitao gags, makes a choked off noise. Zitao could pull away if he wanted to - stronger between them both - but he doesn’t because this is exactly what he wants: to be used up until Jongdae gets to the end.
It doesn’t take long - almost laughably short if Zitao wasn’t still desperately keyed up despite coming minutes before. He hollows out his cheeks and sucks, eyes closed as Jongdae fucks his face, and knows Jongdae is close when the rhythm changes pace yet again. From short and quick to a hard, deep grind, Jongdae’s grip in Zitao’s hair pulling him so that Jongdae can stuff his cock down Zitao’s throat.
Zitao swallows around the weight, the pressure, milking the dick in his mouth, and doesn’t choke when Jongdae lets out a long breathless noise, his cock twitching as he finally comes, making Zitao drink it all.
He’s petting Zitao’s hair while Zitao kitten-licks Jongdae’s soft cock clean, catching any drop, wanting to make sure he did a complete job, before finally pulling away and looking up at Jongdae’s flushed face, the way his bangs stick to his forehead from sweat, and the lovely high flush on his cheekbones to match his bruised mouth.
‘Chen,’ says Zitao, wincing at how wrecked his voice is. Jongdae nods, sitting up, his hands reaching out to pet Zitao’s hair, cheek, neck - soothing and repetitive - until something like reality filters through Zitao’s head. They’re in Dawai’s apartment. They’re waiting for his data to get ripped onto a USB. They fucked on his couch.
‘You’re so good,’ murmurs Jongdae, as Zitao shivers, trying to shrug off the haze of want and need and satisfaction, before preening under the touch, following the path of Jongdae’s fingers and leaning into them. ‘So wonderfully good.’
‘Chen,’ says Zitao, but words don’t come, and instead he sits in warm silence, listening to Jongdae’s low voice drape him in gorgeouses and perfects until Zitao smiles back, feeling pleased, a hum of contentment buzzing under his skin.
‘You come back yet,’ murmurs Jongdae, and Zitao nods, yes, he just needed a few moments. ‘Okay - c’mon, let’s clean up and get out of here.’
-
By the time they’ve put their clothes back on, Minseok’s program has finished running. Zitao takes back the USB, does a cursory check in case he needs to delete any files, puts the laptop where he found it and wipes off any fingerprints he might have left behind.
He sees Jongdae standing in the living room, hair a mess but clothes straightened out, as he contemplates the couch. ‘We need to take the back entrance anyway, so lets steal his couch cushions.’
Zitao pauses. ‘What?’
‘C’mon,’ says Jongdae with a grin and a glint in his eye.
They call Minseok, who sends Yixing to pick them up in a car in the back alley, and then gather the couch cushions, thankfully passing no one through the halls of the building.
‘Of course we wouldn’t pass anyone,’ scoffs Jongdae. ‘He bought like the five top floors of this place - for privacy or something.’
They stand in the back alley around a pile of couch cushions - waiting for the flash of headlights from an approaching car. Finally, Yixing turns the corner, easing the car to a stop next to them in the back alley and rolling down his window. ‘What is this?’
‘We might have left a trace,’ says Jongdae, ‘give me your lighter.’
Yixing hands it over, and looks up at Zitao. ‘A trace of what?’
Zitao chokes.
‘Taozi drooled over our target,’ says Jongdae as he lights a couch cushion on fire, making sure the others light too.
‘What - Chen - ’ splutters Zitao as they finally clamber into the back seat of the car, driving away from the burning pile behind them, but his protests drown under a chorus of laughter.
-
Later, when they’re back safe in their HQ, Jongdae will stuff his hands in his pockets and say, ‘I wouldn’t have let him fuck me. I would’ve bit his dick off.’
Zitao, who is polishing his favourite knife, almost drops it, before he realizes what Jongdae is talking about. Then he’s laughing out loud, looking up at him. ‘And then let him bleed out? While you looked at his files?’
‘Not a bad plan,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I can’t punch very well, but the human jaw, I’ve been told, is incredibly strong.’
‘Chen,’ says Zitao, incredulous and relieved, and Jongdae just grins back.
In hindsight, Jongdae was probably one of the best partners Zitao could have ended up with.
-