Work Text:
Spring never really ended in Kunming. Tender young blossoms filled the city nearly year-round, and now—as March brought the beginning of the rainy season—they flourished.
Han Wenqing wasn’t here to admire the city’s flowers, though it was impossible to ignore the way they twined around the metal staircase he and Zhang Xinjie climbed, or how they spilled over apartment balconies to flutter in the wind. No, he and his vice-captain had received permission to stay in Kunming an extra day so they could visit Zhang Jiale and give him two offers.
Only one of those offers was corporate-approved: Tyranny wanted Zhang Jiale, because they believed his retirement had nothing to do with his personal skill and everything to do with burnout and a lack of support by Hundred Blossoms’ team and management. Han Wenqing carried the details of that offer downloaded on his tablet.
The other—which Han Wenqing was looking forward to just as much—was personal. Management was right that Zhang Jiale had been alone too long, and Han Wenqing was looking forward to providing Zhang Jiale with an intimate reminder of what teamwork could be like. Zhang Xinjie had supplies for said offer nearly packed in his innocuous-seeming bag.
Han Wenqing knocked on the door, which was unmarked by any personal decor, at precisely the appointed time. Zhang Jiale opened the door and let them in with a nod of greeting. His long hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and despite it being early afternoon he was still dressed in what looked like his pajamas; Zhang Jiale was a night owl by preference, like many pro gamers, and right now he could allow himself to sleep until noon more days than not.
“Congrats on your victory,” Zhang Jiale said, a pained tightness in his eyes. “It looks like you’ve got play-offs pretty locked-in.”
“Thank you.” Han Wenqing traded a look with Zhang Xinjie. “We aren’t here to talk about how this year has gone, however.”
Zhang Jiale straightened, pulling himself to his full lanky height, and considered them. “I’m going to make coffee,” he said after a few seconds. “If you’re making a business proposal, it can wait until I have caffeine. Should I make tea as well?”
“Please,” Zhang Xinjie said, as Zhang Jiale must have expected.
It didn’t take long to prepare suitable drinks and sit down to go over Tyranny’s offer. Han Wenqing had been given permission to make all reasonable promises, including Tyranny’s intent to acquire Hundred Dazzling Blossoms if Zhang Jiale agreed to join their team next year. Zhang Xinjie spoke to the precise numbers of Tyranny’s plans, while Han Wenqing spoke about the emotions and dedication behind their goals. “We want to be champions,” Han Wenqing said at the end of their pitch, “and we don’t think you’re ready to give up that dream either.”
Zhang Jiale looked up from his own tablet, which was now filled with all the information Tyranny could give him, and met Han Wenqing’s eyes. They had tested themselves against each other for so long as foundational members of their teams; Han Wenqing could remember the laughing youth full of excitement he’d met during Season Two. They were older now, and Zhang Jiale’s fire had guttered with Sun Zheping’s injury and retirement, but in his gaze Han Wenqing still saw the fireworks that were the hallmark of his style.
“I’m not making a decision today.” Zhang Jiale smiled and leaned over the table, chin propped on his hand. “How’d you convince them to let you give me the offer personally, Old Han?”
“I told them the truth.” Han Wenqing reached forward and rested a hand on Zhang Jiale’s shoulder. “I missed my friend.”
Zhang Xinjie mirrored Han Wenqing’s gesture so that they framed Zhang Jiale. “Everyone’s invested in our team’s well-being,” he said. Han Wenqing could hear the deeping tone of his voice, silken and subtle, that signaled his shift to the day’s other business. “The personal touch helps. As may the unrelated suggestion Wenqing had for today, since our flight back to Qingdao is scheduled for late this evening.”
“Other—” Zhang Jiale’s eyes flicked between them.
“What Xinjie is so politely dancing around is that we’d like to have sex with you.” Han Wenqing slid his thumb along the collar of Zhang Jiale’s thin shirt until it brushed skin. Zhang Jiale shivered at the touch. “Acceptance of the personal offer does not require acceptance of the professional one, and vice versa.”
Zhang Jiale laughed. “Taking care of your team, huh?”
“Of course.” Zhang Xinjie stood, his attention wholly on Zhang Jiale now, and circled the table until he could tilt Zhang Jiale’s chin up. “Do you want us to take care of you, Lele?”
Han Wenqing had a beautiful view of the way Zhang Jiale’s cheeks flushed and how his throat moved as he swallowed. Despite spending the last few years attempting to act carefree and unaffected by the world, Zhang Jiale truly wore his emotions on his sleeves. “Yes,” Zhang Jiale said, breath catching on the word. “I’d like that.”
Zhang Xinjie bent down to give Zhang Jiale a slow, lingering kiss. Han Wenqing watched, perfectly willing to enjoy the sounds Zhang Jiale made and the effect Zhang Xinjie had on him. Even in the pro scene, where they should know better, most people expected Han Wenqing to be the driving force behind their relationship—and their sex life. That wasn’t the case. Zhang Xinjie always knew exactly what he wanted and how to achieve it, and Han Wenqing was willing to follow his lead so long as it led him to pleasure.
Zhang Jiale clutched at Zhang Xinjie, muffled moans escaping his mouth whenever Zhang Xinjie broke contact to adjust his angle. Han Wenqing carefully moved their tea cups and Zhang Jiale’s coffee mug away from potentially-flailing elbows as Zhang Xinjie crowded closer to Zhang Jiale. Seeing how far he could go, Han Wenqing thought; getting a read on Zhang Jiale’s desires and responses.
By the time Zhang Xinjie stopped, his tongue was fully in Zhang Jiale’s mouth and the only way he could get closer would be to sit in Zhang Jiale’s lap.
Han Wenqing’s own breathing had quickened with desire, but it was nothing like Zhang Jiale’s panting whines. Zhang Xinjie straightened, one hand still casually gripping Zhang Jiale’s hair and holding his head tilted back, and said, “Lovely.”
“You are,” Han Wenqing agreed, speaking of them both. “Are we doing this here?”
Zhang Xinjie glanced back down. Zhang Jiale’s mouth still hung open, lips shiny and wet from the kiss and eyes vacant. “No,” Zhang Xinjie said. He stepped back and tugged gently on Zhang Jiale. “Come, Lele; show us your bed.”
Zhang Jiale was quick to do so. As he moved, the bulge of his cock became quite clear against his thin clothes. Han Wenqing’s own cock stirred in recognition and satisfaction; his Xinjie had done that, and soon they would reap the rewards. Han Wenqing grabbed Zhang Xinjie’s bag, since Zhang Xinjie was managing Zhang Jiale, and followed them into Zhang Jiale’s bedroom.
“Keep him busy while I prepare,” Zhang Xinjie said, and they traded: Zhang Xinjie took his bag, and Han Wenqing took Zhang Jiale.
Han Wenqing sunk his hands into Zhang Jiale’s hair with visceral satisfaction. He’d played with it before in teasing fun, batting at Zhang Jiale’s long ponytail or tugging on it momentarily, but now he could revel in the sensation and pull Zhang Jiale down for a rough kiss. He could be soft and sweet, when it suited him, but Zhang Jiale’s moan as his mouth met Han Wenqing’s told him that he didn’t need to be.
Zhang Jiale tasted like bitter coffee. Han Wenqing nipped at his lip, and Zhang Jiale’s hands dug into Han Wenqing’s hips in response. “You like that?” Han Wenqing asked, because he didn’t have the secret of reading desire from a body the way Zhang Xinjie could, and so he’d need to use his words. “Want to be devoured?”
“If you’re the one doing it.” Zhang Jiale jerked on Han Wenqing’s belt so that their crotches pressed together. Han Wenqing groaned and retaliated by taking advantage of Zhang Jiale’s height: Han Wenqing’s mouth was perfectly placed to sink his teeth into the pale softness of Zhang Jiale’s throat.
Han Wenqing had moved on to Zhang Jiale’s collar bones when Zhang Xinjie interrupted. “Strip. Both of you.”
Following his directions was instinctive. Han Wenqing might miss Zhang Jiale’s skin against his teeth and the thrum of Zhang Jiale’s pulse against his lips, but nudity would provide yet more opportunities to touch. Han Wenqing even remembered to fold his shirt and trousers as he discarded them—not as neatly as Zhang Xinjie had done with his own clothing, but enough to avoid the disappointed sigh Zhang Jiale received for shedding his clothes in a messy pile.
Han Wenqing leaned against the wall and grinned as Zhang Xinjie fixed Zhang Jiale’s disorder with exactly zero attention to the proximity of his head to Zhang Jiale’s erect cock. He simply didn’t care; right up until they consumed him, Zhang Xinjie considered pleasures of the flesh to be a vehicle for the joy of coaxing reactions from his partners. Han Wenqing, on the other hand, was enjoying the view of Zhang Xinjie bent over and Zhang Jiale flustered and blushing all down his chest.
He still wasn’t stroking himself, the way Zhang Jiale was starting to, because he knew the way Zhang Xinjie worked. “Better not,” Han Wenqing advised. “You told Xinjie he could take care of you. Trust that he will, and don’t skip steps.”
Zhang Xinjie glanced up, glasses flashing, and Zhang Jiale froze. “Ah,” Zhang Xinjie said pleasantly. “Yes, Wenqing is correct. There’s an order to the process.” He stood, laid a hand on Zhang Jiale’s chest, and gently advanced until the backs of Zhang Jiale’s knees hit the bed. Zhang Jiale collapsed onto the mattress, still staring up at Zhang Xinjie. “On your hands and knees. Arrange yourself over the towel.”
“Can you tell me what you’re doing?” Zhang Jiale asked, even as he took the requested position.
“I’m taking care of you.” Zhang Xinjie smiled. “Once we’re all ready, you’re going to take both of us. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Zhang Jiale glanced between Han Wenqing and Zhang Xinjie, his eyes lingering noticeably on their crotches. Han Wenqing grinned and pushed off the wall and sauntered over to Zhang Jiale, following the direction of Zhang Xinjie’s head tilt. “Have a better look,” Han Wenqing said. He took himself in hand, gave himself a few encouraging jerks, and then slowly rolled the condom Zhang Xinjie dropped into his hand over his erection.
If it were just him, Han Wenqing might do this without the condom and let the wet heat of Zhang Jiale’s mouth ease him into his arousal. However, Zhang Xinjie wanted everything to be done with an utmost concern for health and safety, and a condom wasn’t too much of a hardship—especially when the delay meant Zhang Jiale was staring at him, eyes wide, at the realisation of what exactly he was going to be asked to take.
Han Wenqing was not a particularly large man, though people regularly thought that he was taller and broader than he was due to the sheer force of his personality. That said, his cock lived up to his sizable reputation: at full mast, his cock was longer than his hand and as wide as three of his fingers side-by-side.
“Open your mouth,” Zhang Xinjie said. He wasn’t even looking at them; his attention was on the gloves he was pulling over his hands. “Tease him. If you make Wenqing come, I’ll be disappointed in both of you.”
“Yes, Vice-captain,” Zhang Jiale said, voice shaky, and he let his jaw drop open.
Han Wenqing climbed onto the bed so he could kneel between Zhang Jiale and the head of his bed. Once he was in place, Han Wenqing braced one hand on Zhang Jiale’s shoulder and the other on his cock, and then rocked his hips forward until the tip of his cock touched Zhang Jiale’s tongue. Gingerly, Zhang Jiale’s lips closed around Han Wenqing, and it was all Han Wenqing could do to stay still and not fuck deeper into Zhang Jiale’s warmth. As good as it would feel for him, Zhang Xinjie would get upset and Zhang Jiale might choke. So Han Wenqing stayed still, muscles taut and trembling, until Zhang Jiale swallowed him in.
They found a slow rhythm. Zhang Jiale’s mouth relaxed around Han Wenqing, allowing him to thrust gently in, head of his cock trapped between Zhang Jiale’s fluttering tongue and the hard graze of his teeth. Han Wenqing’s whole body felt warm, as much from the view of Zhang Jiale’s lips wet and shiny around his cock as from the pleasure of sensation.
Then Zhang Xinjie said, “Time to prepare you, Lele.”
Han Wenqing looked up from his cock to see Zhang Xinjie kneeling between Zhang Jiale’s legs. One gloved hand covered the hundred-petaled lotus tattooed onto the small of Zhang Jiale’s back. The other glistened with lube and pressed confidently into Zhang Jiale’s ass.
Zhang Jiale choked. As soon as his jaw tensed, Han Wenqing pulled out to give him space to recover—and to avoid Zhang Jiale accidentally biting down on him. “Has it been a while?” Han Wenqing asked. He saw Zhang Xinjie nod and adjust his fingers; anything Zhang Jiale was going to say was lost in his moan.
Han Wenqing settled back on his heels. He’d meant to offer his lap to Zhang Jiale, but Zhang Jiale had already collapsed into the bed, face buried against the mattress. With every precise press of Zhang Xinjie’s fingers, Zhang Jiale’s body got flatter. It was very lovely, since it meant Han Wenqing had an excellent view of both Zhang Jiale’s quivering back and Zhang Xinjie’s little smile as he slowly added more fingers and force to his thrusts.
Zhang Jiale was a moaning mess by the time Han Wenqing couldn’t stand watching silently anymore. His fists were clenched tightly on his thighs, framing his erect cock. He wanted, so badly, to stroke himself, but something better was just around the corner. “He’s taking four fingers,” Han Wenqing said, the edge of a whine in his words despite his best efforts. “He can take me now.”
Zhang Xinjie paused, his hand buried in Zhang Jiale’s ass, and looked up at Han Wenqing. “Are you calling the shots?” he asked mildly. “We can continue like this. After all, I’m sure Jiale could take my entire hand if I asked him to.”
He must have widened his fingers inside Zhang Jiale at that statement, from the way Zhang Jiale groaned and rutted back into Zhang Xinjie’s fingers. Han Wenqing’s cock twitched too, wanting to feel the delicious heat of a body around it instead of the cool spring air. Zhang Jiale’s hair brushed against his knees; so close, yet so far away. “Apologies, sir.” Han Wenqing bent his head, though his eyes stayed steadily on Zhang Xinjie’s. “I can wait.” He was certain that Zhang Xinjie would hear the implicit question of whether or not Zhang Jiale could.
“That’s because you’re well-trained,” Zhang Xinjie said. His smile broadened and he pulled his fingers out and lightly slapped Zhang Jiale’s ass. “This one… You’d better take your pleasure before he comes, Wenqing; I don’t know how much longer he’ll last.”
“How should I take him?” They’d talked about potential arrangements on the way over, but the best plans changed in action.
Zhang Xinjie hummed as he circled his fingers around Zhang Jiale’s ass. “Perhaps Lele has a preference?”
Zhang Jiale turned his head enough that his voice wasn’t muffled by the sheets. “Are you both going to fuck me at the same time?” he asked. “Or are you taking turns?”
“Excellent idea.” Zhang Xinjie rewarded Zhang Jiale with a gentle squeeze of his balls. Zhang Jiale moaned. “Wenqing, let him ride you for a few minutes before I join in.”
“Up, Lele,” Han Wenqing murmured. He ruffled Zhang Jiale’s hair. “Or do I need to pick you up to get under you?”
Zhang Jiale gave an inarticulate moan that sounded like it might’ve been “Yes please.”
This would take more effort, but it was doable. Han Wenqing didn’t love the gym the way some people did, but he made an effort to keep in shape. The more difficult part was the angles. After a moment’s consideration, Han Wenqing rolled Zhang Jiale over onto his back, something Zhang Jiale eagerly aided him in doing. From this angle, Han Wenqing easily saw the wet spot where Zhang Jiale’s cock had been pressing into the towel Zhang Xinjie had laid down earlier. He also saw even more liquid dripping onto Zhang Jiale’s stomach.
Han Wenqing wanted to slide his fingers into that thin wetness and taste it, suck his fingers like Zhang Jiale had sucked his cock, but he didn’t think Zhang Jiale would be able to stand it. So instead he said, “If you come, we aren’t going to stop until we’re done,” as he walked down to the foot of the bed. “Xinjie, if you wouldn’t mind moving?”
Zhang Xinjie tilted his head fractionally in consideration, then smiled. The promise in his expression lit up Han Wenqing’s chest even before Zhang Xinjie’s now-gloveless hands reached for him, taking possessive hold of his skull. Zhang Xinjie drew Han Wenqing in, thumbs framing his ears, strong fingers wrapping around the base of his skull, and kissed him with slow familiarity.
Han Wenqing closed the distance between them without a thought. He knew right where to fit himself against his partner, one hand on the small of Zhang Xinjie’s back and the other curling against his ribs and up to his shoulder. Sometimes, Zhang Xinjie kissed him like this for minutes on end, uncaring of the way it worked Han Wenqing up, thinking only of the simple pleasure of their mouths moving against each other and their bodies swaying gently in place.
“Thought you wanted him to ride me,” Han Wenqing murmured when Zhang Xinjie paused.
“Then you came over here.” Zhang Xinjie’s glasses were ever so slightly askew from their kiss. He didn’t fix them before diving back in to taste his lips and run his fingers along Han Wenqing’s spine. The soft touch of his cock to Han Wenqing’s was maddening, all the more so for how Han Wenqing could feel Zhang Xinjie’s cock growing erect against his thigh as Zhang Xinjie continued kissing him with single-minded focus.
Beside them, Zhang Jiale breathed, “Holy shit.”
His words caught Zhang Xinjie’s attention and he pulled back. “Open him up properly,” Zhang Xinjie ordered. Even he was breathing hard now, cheeks flushed, nipples taut against Han Wenqing’s chest for the briefest moment before they parted. “I want to ruin him with you.”
“Yes.” This was a command Han Wenqing was happy to obey. He grinned down at Zhang Jiale. “Legs up, Lele.”
Zhang Jiale raised his legs almost quickly enough to knee himself in the face. Han Wenqing didn’t laugh; he was too busy admiring Zhang Xinjie’s work preparing Zhang Jiale for him. His ass was lube-shiny and open; all Han Wenqing had to do was arrange himself low on the mattress and press in.
“Tell me if it hurts too much,” Han Wenqing said, and then took hold of Zhang Jiale’s hips and slowly thrust into Zhang Jiale’s waiting hole.
Zhang Jiale made a high-pitched noise, shivered, and tightened around him.
“Don’t come,” Zhang Xinjie snapped. Han Wenqing froze, half his cock in Zhang Jiale’s body and eyes fixed on the leaking cock in front of him. “Wenqing, wait there until I say you can continue.”
Han Wenqing’s frustrated groan harmonized with Zhang Jiale’s. He could feel every twitch of Zhang Jiale’s hips. It was maddening to know that he had brought Zhang Jiale to such a height of need and then been forced to wait. He focused instead on Zhang Xinjie’s movement. Footsteps receding out of the bedroom. The crack of either fridge or—more likely—freezer door. A crackle. Han Wenqing laughed as he understood Zhang Xinjie’s plan. “Hey, Jiale,” he said. “How do you think Xinjie’s going to fix your little problem?”
Zhang Jiale looked up at him, eyes wide, blinking like his brain wasn’t working well enough to understand the question.
That was alright. He didn’t need to wait long for a practical application of the answer.
Zhang Xinjie returned carrying a cup full of ice and a dish towel. The former was deposited in the latter as Zhang Xinjie carefully urged Zhang Jiale’s legs apart. “It doesn’t need to be for very long,” he said, stroking Zhang Jiale’s thighs in a way that made him quiver and Han Wenqing bite his lip in self-restraint. “Just long enough to bring you back from the edge.”
“The fuck,” Zhang Jiale said. Then he gasped, because Zhang Xinjie placed the towel full of ice directly on the base of his cock, angling it to cover his balls as well. Han Wenqing could feel the chill on his own cock; he let out a guttural whimper and twitched his hips forward, into the heat of Zhang Jiale’s body.
Zhang Jiale hissed and squirmed. His legs locked around Han Wenqing’s waist, and his flailing arms struck out at Zhang Xinjie, who patiently warded them off. “Since you’re no longer feeling so desperate to come,” Zhang Xinjie said calmly, “it’s time for Han Wenqing to give you a ride.” He removed the ice and met Han Wenqing’s eyes. “If you would, Wenqing?”
Han Wenqing nodded, tightened his grip on Zhang Jiale’s waist, and tilted backwards. Zhang Jiale followed, his torso now upright. As a result, he slipped the rest of the way onto Han Wenqing’s cock, which felt spectacular—for him; Zhang Jiale’s groan said he was taking a moment to adjust—and Han Wenqing hummed in pleasure only marred by the way Zhang Jiale’s feet took a little too long to shift to the outside of his thighs.
“Oh, shit.” Zhang Jiale said faintly. He fell forward, hands on Han Wenqing’s chest, hair landing on Han Wenqing’s face. “Oh, shit.” He started rocking back onto Han Wenqing’s cock, a litany of meaningless words spilling from his tongue. Han Wenqing met him stroke for stroke, guiding him with hands on his hips and gladly chasing his own pleasure. He could feel Zhang Jiale’s own cock, wet and hard, sliding across his stomach with their movement; any trace of the chill Zhang Xinjie had inflicted had clearly worn off.
“You wanted us both,” Zhang Xinjie said after a minute. The mattress creaked as he positioned himself around Han Wenqing’s legs. Their hands overlapped as Zhang Xinjie took hold of Zhang Jiale’s waist as well. “Let me show you what it feels like to take us both, Lele.”
Han Wenqing halted his thrusts, trembling as he waited for the brush of Zhang Xinjie’s cock against his. Zhang Jiale buried his face in Han Wenqing’s shoulder, mouth open, wet and panting, when Zhang Xinjie began entering him. His hands clawed at Han Wenqing’s ribs and shoulders, scratches with no intent or force behind him, bright lines of sensation that nonetheless rippled through Han Wenqing in parallel with the persistent pressure of Zhang Xinjie’s cock squeezing his inside of Zhang Jiale.
There was a moment of silence when Zhang Xinjie bottomed out. Han Wenqing moved one hand onto the nape of Zhang Jiale’s neck, holding him in place, and turned his head so that his chin rested on Zhang Jiale’s forehead. “It’s alright,” he murmured soothingly. “Relax. Let it overwhelm you. We’ll take care of you.”
Then Zhang Xinjie began to move.
It didn’t matter how many times they’d done this before. To be sure, it felt different with any new partner, and it could feel different based on their precise positioning, and perhaps that was what tricked Han Wenqing into forgetting just how good it felt to fuck someone alongside Zhang Xinjie. The heat of Zhang Jiale’s ass. The slide of Zhang Xinjie’s cock. The ability to lie in place, holding Zhang Jiale securely, and give himself wholly over to sensation.
Han Wenqing’s orgasm drew slowly but steadily closer. Each moan Zhang Jiale bit into his shoulder added fuel to the fire Zhang Xinjie was building for them with the slap of his hips into theirs. Han Wenqing watched Zhang Xinjie with fuzzy wonder, tracing the lines of his extended arms and the flush of his face contrasting with the shine of his glasses as his muscles contracted in his stomach with every thrust.
“Xinjie,” Han Wenqing murmured. “You’re beautiful, my Xinjie.”
Zhang Xinjie’s lips parted at the words. His fingers shifted until they intertwined with Han Wenqing’s on Zhang Jiale’s hip. “Wenqing—”
“Yeah, come on, we can handle it.” Han Wenqing curled his hips deeper into Zhang Jiale, and Zhang Jiale moaned encouragingly at the shift. “Fuck us until we can’t speak anymore, darling.”
Zhang Xinjie—so controlled, so exacting—lost his rhythm at those words. His strokes came as fast as he could make them now, driving into them with unleashed desire.
Han Wenqing groaned, head falling back as the force of Zhang Xinjie’s cock impacting his turned his body shaky and liquid. Zhang Jiale whined, high in his throat, and trembled against Han Wenqing. Every breath he took was another noise fucked out of him, and Han Wenqing wanted more, louder, faster.
Zhang Xinjie’s thumb stroked Han Wenqing’s as he bent over Zhang Jiale. “Lele,” he said, softly commanding, “come for me.”
For a moment, Han Wenqing thought it wouldn’t work.
Then Zhang Jiale’s whole body jerked. He cried out, loud and wailing, and hot jizz began spilling across Han Wenqing’s stomach. The spurts came in time with Zhang Jiale’s shaking hips, the clutch of his hands, the whimpering shudder of his breath as his mouth sought Han Wenqing’s.
The moment Zhang Jiale kissed him, sloppy and needy and desperate, Han Wenqing came too. He couldn’t help it. His arms were full of Zhang Jiale’s pliant sweetness, and Zhang Xinjie was still fucking against his cock, and he couldn’t think of anything but how good it all felt. Han Wenqing ground himself into Zhang Jiale as he came, biting at Zhang Jiale’s lips, one hand fisted in Zhang Jiale’s hair and the other digging nails into his spine over that beautiful lotus tattoo.
Zhang Xinjie withdrew his cock—something Han Wenqing was only distantly aware of in the midst of his own climax—and dropped down beside them with a frustrated hiss. Han Wenqing reached blindly out for Zhang Xinjie so he could hold his partner close, and Zhang Xinjie gladly rolled into his embrace, displacing Zhang Jiale as he ground his cock into Han Wenqing’s hips and the slick jizz Zhang Jiale had gifted him.
Zhang Jiale whined in displeasure at being knocked aside, and plastered himself close to Han Wenqing. His frantic kisses had stopped for the moment, and Han Wenqing groaned at his cock slipping out of Zhang Jiale’s ass and slapping down against his thigh, still heavy and sensitive.
Zhang Xinjie ignored him and gasped, “Just— Let me—”
“Yeah,” Han Wenqing said, not quite knowing what Zhang Xinjie wanted but knowing that he would want it too.
Zhang Xinjie bit down on his chest, teeth tugging on one suddenly-taut nipple, and Han Wenqing’s back arched with a groan. “Go on,” Han Wenqing managed to say after a moment, tightening his arm around Zhang Xinjie’s shoulders and kissing his partner’s forehead. “Take what you need.”
He looked back at Zhang Jiale after that, and so he saw Zhang Jiale’s eyes widen at the way Zhang Xinjie drove himself into Han Wenqing’s softening cock. Han Wenqing moaned at the sensation and pulled Zhang Jiale back in for more kisses, because Zhang Xinjie’s mouth was occupied with digging into his chest, shoulders, nipples, even his throat. It was almost too much, but Han Wenqing wanted more, and Zhang Jiale could provide that.
Sometimes, Han Wenqing could come again like this. It all depended on how long it took Zhang Xinjie to find his own pleasure and how hard his first orgasm had hit him. Han Wenqing didn’t think he’d manage it today, but he was happy to hover in blissful overwhelm for as long as he could, soaking up pleasure and the sublime physicality of desire.
Zhang Xinjie came with a gut-punch exhale and sudden stillness.
His hips kept thrusting, and Han Wenqing felt Zhang Xinjie’s cock twitch against his own, but the rest of Zhang Xinjie’s body was frozen for long seconds before he collapsed with a loud groan onto Han Wenqing’s newly-decorated chest.
Han Wenqing gave Zhang Jiale one last kiss, then lifted his head just enough to press his lips to Zhang Xinjie’s forehead. “Pleased with yourself?” he asked softly.
Zhang Xinjie laughed. “Of course, Captain.”
“What about you?” Han Wenqing met Zhang Jiale’s eyes. He was pressed just as tightly to Han Wenqing’s side, head now pillowed on Han Wenqing’s shoulder. “Are you pleased?”
Zhang Jiale smiled. His eyes slipped closed. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he mumbled. He draped an arm over Zhang Xinjie. “That was fantastic.”
“Good,” Han Wenqing told them. “I liked it too.” Then he ruffled Zhang Xinjie’s hair. “Xinjie, clean up before you fall asleep, or you’ll be upset later.”
Zhang Xinjie sighed loudly into Han Wenqing’s skin.
“I know.” If Han Wenqing weren’t trapped under both Zhang Jiale’s boneless weight and Zhang Xinjie’s post-orgasmic heaviness, he’d get up and do it himself, the way he usually did. “You’ll thank yourself in about five minutes.”
He was right, and Zhang Xinjie knew it, because after a few seconds he did get up and begin doing the unglamorous work of removing condoms and wiping up jizz. Han Wenqing watched him with a fond smile, appreciating the unselfconscious way he moved through Zhang Jiale’s space.
When Zhang Xinjie came back, he set his glasses on a side table and drew a blanket over all three of them before retaking his place in their arms.
Han Wenqing closed his eyes with a smile. No matter what came of their other proposition, he was glad this one had gone so well.
It felt like a good omen for the future.