Chapter Text
Chapter Two
When the staircase ended, Zhao unlocked another door, and they were in an unfamiliar room. Enough people had tried to kill Ichiban lately that, even under these circumstances, he instinctively checked his surroundings. It was a spacious room, warmly dappled with evening sunshine, the faded wood floor spread with rich rugs. In the far corner was a small but well-equipped kitchen. On the wall opposite the windows was a rack of swords.
“Well, here we are.” Zhao released his hand and began untying his boots. “Make yourselves at home, mi casa es su casa and all that.”
Ichiban toed off his shoes and kept looking around. Obviously this place was Zhao’s. The thrill of getting to see it almost made up for the fact none of the three of them were touching any more. Slowly, he padded further into the room, feeling through his socks where the sunshine had warmed the floor. Below the sword rack was a low divan spread with cushions, and he sat down.
Joon-gi was first to join him, curling up cross-legged to his right, not touching him – out of politeness to Zhao? This whole thing made his brain hurt. But Joon-gi’s smile was warm, reassuring, and without his boots and his big black overcoat, he almost looked unintimidating. Ichiban would have made a move towards him himself, but it didn’t seem right to.
He heard Zhao laugh softly, and looked up to find him standing in front of the divan, a bottle in one hand. “Guess we’re all shy now,” Zhao said with a smile, and sat down to his left. “I dunno about you two, but this is pretty new to me.”
Ichiban let out a helpless sigh of relief, and scooted back into the cushions so he could see both of them. “Yeah. Totally new here.”
“The situation is not entirely alien to me,” Joon-gi said, slight hesitation in his voice as if he hadn’t wanted to admit it.
Zhao’s eyes widened. “You could’ve told me, man!” He shook his head and shoved the bottle in Joon-gi’s direction. “You get to kick us off, then.”
Joon-gi looked down at the bottle in his hand. Sitting this close, Ichi could see him worrying at his lip with his teeth. Tentatively, he put a hand on Joon-gi’s knee, and offered him an encouraging smile.
“Heh.” Joon-gi pulled the stopper from the bottle and took a gulp. The uncharacteristically coarse action left a sheen of liquid glistening on his lips, and as he licked it away Ichiban found himself staring. “Situations such as this differ greatly. Nonetheless, I have a suggestion. I propose that we take it in turn to make a request.”
When there were no objections, he smiled, a little hesitantly. “I shall begin then. Zhao-san, you have already had the pleasure, so I wonder if it might be my turn.” He turned to Ichiban. “Kasuga-san, may I kiss you?”
Floored to be asked so earnestly, Ichiban felt himself gaping like a fish. He forced himself to close his mouth. “…Yes. I mean, please.”
He felt like a complete fool, until Joon-gi’s hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Joon-gi’s lips pressed against his. It was a tentative, respectable kiss that sent jagged tingles down his spine with its restraint.
When Joon-gi pulled away, Ichiban couldn’t help a slight roll of his eyes. “You can do better than that.”
He felt Joon-gi’s laughter on his skin. “Is this how our evening’s going to be? Demanding of you, Kasuga-san.”
“Fine,” he retorted, feeling a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as confidence surged through him. “We can do better than that.” And he kissed Joon-gi hard, one hand clasping the back of his neck to pull him in, a hum of satisfaction bubbling up in his chest as Joon-gi’s grip on his shoulders tightened.
This time when they separated, he was breathing a little faster.
“You guys remember I’m here?”
He turned swiftly. Zhao was looking intently at the two of them, eyes wide and hot.
“My turn,” Zhao said, and took a drink from the bottle. “No more surnames.”
Ichiban blinked. He couldn’t argue with that. “Okay. Tianyou.” It felt weird on his tongue.
Joon-gi looked more taken aback. “Are you sure?”
“You wanna be formal when we’re gettin’ down?” Zhao gave him a look of challenge.
“…Very well.” Joon-gi nodded. “…Tianyou. Ichiban.”
“Much better.” Zhao pushed the bottle at Ichiban.
He took it and picked at the label, trying to think what to say. “Okay. Um, I’d like you guys to tell me what you want.” Maybe he was pushing what Joon-gi had meant by a request, but he felt like he had some catching up to do.
Zhao blew out a breath through his teeth. “Might need a bit more of the mijiu before that.” He smiled sheepishly.
“Likewise,” Joon-gi agreed, his tone apologetic.
Looking between them, Ichiban couldn’t do anything but laugh. “We’re really shit at this, aren’t we?”
It was no small relief that both of them laughed with him.
“A’ight,” Zhao said at last, leaning back into the cushions with the mijiu bottle in hand, “how ‘bout we take this slow? One little thing at a time?” He took a swig and handed the bottle to Joon-gi. “Back to you, buddy.”
Joon-gi took a moment to think, tapping his fingers against the neck of the bottle. “…Tianyou. Take your jacket off.”
Zhao slipped his ever-present leather jacket obligingly down his arms and off, and tossed it on the floor. Now at least none of them were wearing jackets, though Zhao still had the lead on number of layers. “Gimme the bottle, then,” he said, and waggled his fingers until Joon-gi handed it over.
Once it was in his hands, he hesitated as Joon-gi had, running the rim of the bottle back and forth over his bottom lip, eyes narrowed. He didn’t stop until he noticed them both staring. “…Ichiban. Take your socks off.”
“What?” Grinning, Ichiban pulled them off, one then the other, and dropped them to the floor. “Dude, that’s the most unsexy request.”
“Unless one has a foot fetish,” Joon-gi broke in reasonably.
“I don’t have a foot fetish!” Zhao took a long pull on the bottle. “But realising you’re still wearin’ socks ain’t the sexiest moment either.”
Ichiban had to agree, and seized the bottle with gusto. “Joon-gi. Socks off.”
“Surrounded by foot enthusiasts,” Joon-gi sighed, masking a grin as he obliged. Then Ichiban drank and passed the bottle on, and as soon as it was in his hand he spoke again: “Tianyou. Socks.”
“Can we move on now?” Zhao groused, but he was smiling. “Ichi. How ‘bout both our belts off?”
“Sure.” Ichiban reached for his buckle to oblige, but Zhao shook his head.
“Nope. You’re taking mine off and I’m doin’ yours.” Zhao raised his hand and crooked his forefinger to beckon Ichiban closer, and he went like a moth to a flame.
He had to push Zhao’s loose shirt out of the way, and his fingertips brushed over Zhao’s skin before he got a hold on the buckle, a tremor running through firm muscle under his touch. He fumbled a little over the buckle, but got it undone, and pulled the belt through the loops to free it.
“Now you.” Zhao’s rings clinked against the goldtone metal of the buckle, his touch scarcely more sure than Ichiban’s had been. But they were done, and it was his turn again.
“Joon-gi.” He’d seen the outfit without the big overcoat so infrequently that he had to look it over. “Time for your belt.” He tried to make a less clumsy job of it this time, but it was some kind of combat belt, all webbing and different fastenings, and the more time he spent looking at it, the more he was aware he could be looking at other things. Like the muscles he could see through Joon-gi’s t-shirt. Finally, he got it free, and threw it aside with a quiet cry of victory.
“That much of a challenge?” Joon-gi asked, raising the bottle to his lips.
“Hey, I got other things on my mind right now.”
“Don’t we all,” Joon-gi replied with a smirk. “Tianyou.”
“Me again?”
“You’re the one who chose to wear more layers than tamagoyaki.” Joon-gi looked him up and down. “Take off your shorts. Or rather,” he shifted himself off the divan, “let me do it.”
Ichiban looked back to Zhao, whose expression was more nervous now. But he stood, arms at his sides, and let Joon-gi unfasten the grey shorts he wore. When they fell at last to pool on the floor at his feet, Zhao let out a quick breath that sounded like relief, but the small smile on his face was hard to miss.
So too, Ichiban realised as Zhao and Joon-gi both sat back down, was the straining of his tight black trousers over his crotch. Ichiban swallowed.
The bottle went to Zhao, and he took a long drink before he spoke. “Joon-gi, you’re up again. Take Ichi’s shirt off.”
This time, Joon-gi only checked for permission with a look. When Ichiban just smiled, he set to work on the buttons. Maybe it was the mijiu kicking in, or maybe it was just the atmosphere beginning to shift, but Joon-gi’s fingers trailed down every inch of newly-exposed skin, and he found himself tipping his head back, enjoying the touch.
Then Joon-gi threw the shirt aside, and he heard Zhao whistle behind him. “Holy shit, Ichi, your tattoo’s gorgeous.” And Zhao’s hands were on his back, tracing the outlines of the dragonfish, the cool metal of his rings occasionally grazing the skin, the warmth of his fingertips making Ichiban shiver.
“The front view is also… spectacular.” He felt Joon-gi’s voice as much as he heard it, and Joon-gi’s breath ghosted over the hollow of his throat. A ragged sigh escaped him as he felt lips on his skin, tracing the line of his collarbone.
Then he felt Zhao lean in closer and begin mouthing soft kisses over his spine. At the back of his neck, the kisses stopped, and he felt the distinctive scrape of teeth, of Zhao sucking a gentle mark into his skin. He lost track of the sounds he was making now, lost in what the two of them were doing.
“You like this?” Zhao murmured in his ear after a long moment.
“I love this,” he admitted, and Zhao’s low chuckle made excitement buzz through him.
“Well it’s your turn, Ichi, what do you want?”
With a second of respite, the bottle pressed into his hand, he had the distance to think, to answer. “I want… you, Tianyou, to take your glasses off.”
Slowly, Zhao reached up and slid the glasses off his ears, folded them, and put them aside. “Hope you weren’t expecting some ugly-duck transformation or nothin’.”
“Nah. Just wanna see your eyes.” Without the tinted glass in the way, he could see the colour of Zhao’s eyes, a warm brown that leaned almost amber at the edges, and the wideness of his pupils.
“My turn.” Joon-gi swiped the bottle from his hands, and his attention too was on Zhao. “Ichiban, would you be so good as to remove Tianyou’s shirt?”
He’d barely been able to trust his hands before, let alone now, but Ichiban let his gaze drop obediently from Zhao’s face to his buttons, and took it one at a time. Just like before, every brush of his fingers against Zhao’s skin caused a hint of a shiver, and it was so bewitching he invited it, at last sliding his hands inside the completely open shirt to caress Zhao’s body deliberately.
Scars of all shapes and sizes were scattered over Zhao’s skin, and the brush of Ichiban’s fingertips over his ribs drew little gasps from him. Ichiban lifted one hand to cradle his face, which was flushed. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, and kissed Zhao lightly.
Zhao huffed out a shallow breath, smiling. “Yeah. That a problem?”
“No. So long as you let us know if it doesn’t feel good.”
“Oh, it’s all good.” Zhao pulled him into another kiss, and the sensation of him nibbling sharply at Ichiban’s lower lip made Ichiban forget for a moment who was the sensitive one here.
He started when he felt arms slip around him from behind, but Joon-gi’s voice beside his ear was soft. “Gentlemen?”
They sprang apart like guilty teenagers, but after a moment Zhao reached past Ichiban to take the bottle, understanding in his eyes. “Joon-gi, you know what I’m gonna say. Lose the shirt.”
Joon-gi was already sliding it up his sides by the time Zhao finished his sentence. “As you wish.” When he pulled it over his head, it ruffled his hair in a way Ichiban found immediately captivating.
“Ichiban?” Zhao proffered the bottle, and Ichiban’s gut squeezed. They were reaching the business end of things.
He took the bottle and mulled it over. Then, with another slug of mijiu in his system for luck, he stood up, stuck his arms out to the sides, and grinned. “Who wants to take my pants off?”
“Don’t make me fight him,” Zhao said with unnerving seriousness.
Joon-gi laughed. “You can have this one.”
So it was Zhao’s fingers, still weighed down with his rings, that Ichiban felt on his fly, brushing against him in a way that had him biting his lip. The soft sound of the zip sounded loud in the silence of the room, but it was eclipsed by the delicious sound Zhao let out when he slid the red slacks down and off, leaving Ichiban in his underwear.
For a second, he wanted to pull Zhao into his arms and kiss him again, but then he felt Joon-gi pluck the bottle from his hand, and the look on his face made Ichiban want to kiss him too. How did people do this kind of thing?
Joon-gi looked him in the eye, and even now he felt his heart rate pick up slightly. “Ichiban. Would you please pass on the favour?”
“I can do that.” Well, he hoped he could. At least it was only one button this time. Carefully, he slid it through its buttonhole, and pulled the raspy metal zipper down all the way. The loose-fitting cargo pants virtually fell away from Joon-gi’s slim hips, and when he stepped out of them Ichiban was very aware of how close they were, and how little there was between them.
This time, he gave in to the immediate need, and kissed him. His hands came to rest at Joon-gi’s sides, tracing the outlines of his obliques, mapping his body while his tongue mapped his mouth.
When they broke apart, a thin string of saliva stretched between their mouths. Ichiban swallowed heavily.
“So…” Zhao scooped the bottle from where Joon-gi had left it beside the divan. Lounging on the divan in just his trousers, sliding his rings one by one off his fingers, he looked like an image of debauchery. Ichiban tried to burn the image into his memory. “My turn again.” His gaze flicked up and down Ichiban’s body. “Ichi. Can I touch you?”
His heart slammed against his ribs. “Yeah.”
Zhao slid from the divan and stood in front of him, close enough for Ichiban to feel the heat from his skin. Slowly, so lightly it almost tickled, he ran his hand over Ichiban’s chest, from the scar close to his heart down to the waistband of his boxer briefs. Without the rings, his touch felt hot, and the sensation only intensified as he slipped his hand under the waistband.
Zhao’s able fingers caressed their way down Ichiban’s inner thigh, and encircled his cock with a firm grip that made him catch his breath. Another hitch of breath from the divan grabbed his attention, and his eyes met Joon-gi’s. The peculiar sensation of being watched, of Joon-gi enjoying seeing what Zhao was doing to him, pressed a moan from his chest.
The slow drag of Zhao’s fingers was too much, and he had to still him with a hand on his arm. “My turn.”
“Yeah?” Zhao withdrew his hand, his gaze heavy. “What are you gonna do, then?”
“Lose the pants.”
A wicked smile came over Zhao’s face. “If that’s what you want.” He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and slid the tight-fitting black fabric down his legs.
It was Joon-gi who spoke first. “Tianyou, you’re a devil.”
Zhao grinned and straightened up, completely naked. “You were complainin’ about the layers before.”
Ichiban took a gulp of mijiu and licked his lips. “Request part two. Spin.”
“Oh, you get two now?” Zhao gave him a look of indignation, but obligingly made a slow, modelesque turn before flopping back onto the divan. “Happy?”
“Very.” He might understand now why Zhao wore those baggy shorts; if people got an idea of just how fantastic an ass he had, he’d never get a minute’s peace.
“Ichiban.” Joon-gi pried the bottle out of his hand. “Naked. Please.”
He would have laughed at the request, simultaneously so blunt and so polite, if he hadn’t been so distracted. So he simply complied, and joined Zhao on the divan.
Zhao stretched a hand in Joon-gi’s direction to claim the bottle, but he wasn’t looking in that direction. His eyes were fixed on Ichiban, his single-minded focus as erotic as a caress. “Joon-gi. Likewise.”
Joon-gi followed Ichiban’s example with little ceremony, and Ichiban got only a brief glimpse of his body before he felt him against his back, skin against skin, and felt him kiss his shoulder.
“I guess we should talk business,” Ichiban said, his voice coming out rusty. Zhao handed him the bottle. “Tianyou. Has there been enough mijiu now?”
“I guess so.” Zhao shifted closer. “What I really want, Ichiban, is you inside me.”
He bit his lip abruptly to cut off a groan. “…Joon-gi, that work for you?”
He could feel Joon-gi’s chin resting on his shoulder. “That end of things is… of less interest to me, so yes. Please continue.”
“So you’re just gonna be, what, freelancin’ or something?” Zhao asked huskily.
Joon-gi chuckled, and Ichiban could feel it in his bones. “Something of that sort.”
“Suits me,” Zhao said, and reached for something in a drawer beside the divan. He handed it to Ichiban.
Quietly, Joon-gi returned to kissing his shoulders and neck, a flurry of touch that all at once calmed him and heightened the anticipation in his body. The way Joon-gi curled around him made him feel cared for, protected, and grounded. And he needed grounding.
Of the things Zhao had given him, he placed the condom within reach, and kept the lube in his hand as he pulled Zhao onto his lap. The contact between their bodies made his blood heat up, and he could feel Zhao’s cock against his stomach, as hard as his own.
“How do you like it?” he asked in a whisper, leaning in to drop a kiss below Zhao’s ear as he uncapped the lube.
“You. I like it you,” Zhao said, dropping his head back.
The words sent a thrill through him. A growl came from close to his ear. “I might make you take that back later, Tianyou.”
Zhao laughed breathlessly, and he was looking past Ichiban to grin at Joon-gi. “Might hold you to that.”
And somehow, the two of them flirting like that just made things even better. “You better watch me, Joon-gi, get some pointers.”
Joon-gi bit lightly into his shoulder. “Big talk.”
“Big plans.” Ichiban ran a hand over Zhao’s lower back, feeling him shiver, and dipped lower to circle his hole with one lubed finger. When Zhao moaned quietly in response, he caught the sound with his lips. As he pressed a finger into Zhao’s ass, Zhao pushed his tongue into his mouth, and their bodies found a rhythm together.
Joon-gi’s teeth scraped over the side of his neck, Zhao panted against his cheek, and he could feel Zhao’s cock leaking pre-come against his skin. All too soon, he felt Zhao’s painted nails digging into his arms. “Ichi… I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
“You bet I am.” Zhao scrabbled for the condom and tore open the packet. Agonisingly slowly, he started to unroll it, while Ichiban bit his lip so hard it almost bled.
“Don’t think I’m going to last long,” he gritted out.
“You think I am?” Zhao laughed shakily.
“It doesn’t matter,” Joon-gi said softly, and reached out to brush his fingers over Zhao’s cheek.
The look of concentration in Zhao’s eyes as he raised himself up and began to sink down slowly on Ichiban’s cock was intoxicating, his pupils blown wide in the darkening room. Ichiban kissed him deeply as they moved together, the dizzying tight heat around him threatening to send him hurtling over in seconds.
The squeeze of Zhao’s knees either side of his hips, the warmth and solidity of Joon-gi against his back, their skin rubbing together, the sounds they made against his lips and neck, all overwhelmed him so much he forgot where or even who he was.
Joon-gi’s lips were pressed to his shoulder again, he was gasping for air, and then somehow he heard the soft wet sounds of a kiss – out of the corner of his eye he could see for the first time tonight Zhao and Joon-gi kissing each other, and right there, pressed between them, with a yell that tore from his throat, Ichiban let go.
Zhao pulled back enough for him to see, through hazy eyes, the way Zhao’s own eyes widened with the shock of his orgasm. He shuddered hard as warm come coated his abs, and then he could feel the same sensation against his lower back, and Joon-gi’s teeth in his shoulder again.
It was Joon-gi who seemed to recover his senses first, and by the time Ichiban could see straight he was standing by the divan with a box of tissues and a wastebasket.
He took care of the condom himself, but as the two of them wiped his sweaty skin clean and they collapsed into the cushions together, Ichiban had to admit: maybe he could see how people did this after all.