Archive of Our Own

Wu Suowei never thought height could be a problem. Not his. Not with one-meter-eighty, long limbs, and a body that shot upward so fast in adolescence that he sometimes woke up at night with his bones throbbing. He had never been small. Never had reason to imagine feeling small.

Then there was Chi Cheng.

Ten centimeters wasn't supposed to mean anything. On paper, it was nothing. On Chi it became something that rearranged gravity.

When Chi stood close, Wu felt the world tilt. Doorframes shrank. Shadows shifted. Wu’s breath hitched.

When Chi touched him, really touched him, hands circling his waist, fingers wrapping almost completely around his wrist, arms braced on both sides of him, body closing in like a wall, Wu felt small.

And he liked it.

He just did not have the language for that yet. He only knew he felt warm and unsettled, as if there were fizzy water instead of blood in his veins.

They had been together for more than two years now. Long enough for Wu’s early panic about liking a man to soften into routine. Long enough for the word “boyfriend” to stop feeling like a foreign object in his mouth. Long enough that his shame about being the one under, the one held down, the one that Chi slid fingers into first until he melted, had quietly turned into something else.

Trust.

Craving.

And something darker that he did not dare look at directly.

Chi usually had to coax him, patient and steady, reassuring and grounding. That what they did in bed was theirs and no one else’s business. Little by little, Wu stopped flinching from his own reflection when he caught it in those moments.

Which left him free to notice the rest.

Chi’s height. Chi’s hands. Chi’s shoulders. Chi’s habit of picking him up like he weighed nothing.

Progressively, the younger's brain was filling with Chi Cheng in new ways.

Chi tugged him into his lap, one big palm supporting his back. Chi guiding him through a crowd with a hand at the nape of his neck. Chi leaned over him at the stove to reach a spice jar, chest pressing into his back. Chi catching his wrist with two fingers and making him stop without even trying. Chi hand big and sprawled on his stomach, feeling himself pressing inside.

Wu started doing things. Questionable things.

He began standing on his tiptoes when he did not have to, so Chi would steady him by the hips. He passed objects a little too high so Chi had to reach over him, arm brushing his cheek, breath warm by his ear. He sat sideways on Chi’s thighs during movies, claiming the couch was too narrow, even though they both knew there was space.

He wandered into the older’s shadow and stayed there, pretending it was coincidence, when really he liked the way the world disappeared inside that outline.

He tightened the lid of jars then handed them to Chi, watching his boyfriend open them one-handed like it was nothing.

He raised his arms when he was tired and waited for Chi to sigh and lift him from the couch, carrying him down the hallway with a grumbled, “You have legs, Weiwei.”

He pressed his foot against Chi’s calf under the table and pretended he was just stretching when Chi looked down.

Worst of all, he started holding Chi’s hand in strange ways. Not properly. Sometimes he wrapped his entire fist around Chi’s middle and index finger only, absent-minded, playing with them. The size comparison did something unspeakable to his stomach.

It also reminded him of mornings where those same fingers had pressed into him slowly while Chi whispered that he was beautiful like this.

He tried not to think about that part.

He failed.

Whenever Chi Cheng’s breathing changed, whenever his voice dropped, Wu blinked up at him with wide eyes.

“Cheng-ge, you pervert.”

“Cheng-ge, I just needed help, why are you looking at me like that.”

“You are a bit weird, ge.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

And Chi, who had decided not to misinterpret things anymore, clenched his jaw and turned away before he forgot this new rule.

Chi had come to accept that he and Wu moved at their own pace. Their mismatched rhythms, becoming something Chi found oddly endearing.

The walls started crumbling when Wu went to visit Jiang Xiaoshuai.

Wu did not go there to talk about what happened in his sheets. Or Chi. Or anything that involved sweating. He went because he had been restless for days, and when he was restless, he started talking.

When Wu Suowei started talking, there was no guarantee of what would spill out.

Jiang Xiaoshuai listened for the first twenty minutes with a perfectly neutral face.

“How is work?” he asked.

“It is fine,” Wu said. “Sales are steady. We have a new line of lamps. And Cheng-ge picked up a shelf by himself. You should have seen his arms. He did not even ask for help. He just lifted it, like this, and his shirt was tight on his shoulders, and I was like, wow.”

“Uh huh,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said.

“And then he told me to get out of the way because I was blocking the door. He put his hand here.” Wu grabbed the back of Xiaoshuai’s neck, fingers spread. “Just like that. He did not even press hard. I just moved.”

“Right,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said.

“And yesterday he had to fix a light bulb. He reached up, and the shirt rode up a little, and I was under him, and I thought, if he dropped it, I would die happy. Then he got down and asked why my face was red.”

“Da-Wei,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said.

Wu ignored him.

“And you know when we walk outside and he is talking, and he does not notice anything, but I see people staring at him. Not because he is famous, just because he is Chi. And I get this feeling in my chest like I want to push everyone away and also climb him at the same time. Ah- that sounds weird”

“Da-Wei,” Jiang Xiaoshuai repeated, slower now.

“And when we sit on the couch and I lean my head on his shoulder, there is this part of me that relaxes because he is so big and I fit here just right, and I know he could carry me out of any room if he had to.” Wu stopped, squinting at the ceiling. “Is that weird?”

Jiang Xiaoshuai stared at him. Then he took a slow sip of the bubble tea Wu had brought with him and said, in a careful voice, “Da-Wei. There is a pattern there.”

“Pattern?” Wu echoed. “For what?”

“Size kink,” Xiaoshuai said.

Wu stared. “A… what?”

“Size kink,” Xiaoshuai repeated, as if he were telling him his test results. “You get turned on by the difference in your bodies. He is big, you feel small, your brain goes happy, your dick follows.”

Wu made a strangled sound. “I- no- that is not- I just think he looks good.”

“Of course you do,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said. “You are in love. And also a little perverted. It is fine.”

“I am not perverted!” Wu protested weakly.

“You are very perverted,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said calmly. “You light up every time I say his name like I pressed a switch.”

Wu covered his face with both hands.

Jiang Xiaoshuai leaned back, almost fond.

“Listen. Some people like pretty hands. Some like feet. Some like getting thrown around. You like being picked up like a doll. Congratulations.”

Wu muttered into his palms. “I am broken.”

“You are in your twenties, in love with a man custom made for you. This is not broken. This is physics.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai tilted his head. “Do the words ‘being manhandled’ sound different in your head now?”

Wu groaned louder. “Stop putting images in my brain, I am already dying.”

“Never,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said. “Describe what he does again? The carrying. The hands.”

Wu peeked through his fingers, suspicious. “Why?”

“Scientific curiosity,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said smoothly. “Also, I am bored.”

Wu hesitated.

Then he started talking again, because he was weak.

“That time I could not reach the top of the wardrobe, and he put his hands on my waist and just, lifted. Like I did not weigh anything. I almost dropped the box.”

“Of course you did,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said nodding, comparing.

“And when I sit on the counter, and he stands between my legs, it feels like the whole world is just his chest and his shoulders and his neck and my knees do this shaking thing.”

“Da-Wei,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said.

“Do not say my name like that, I know it sounds bad,” Wu complained.

“It sounds very normal for someone with a size kink,” Jiang Xiaoshuai replied.

Wu let his hands fall. “Stop saying that.”

“Size kink, size kink, size kink,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said, unhelpful.

Wu picked up a cushion like he might suffocate himself with it.

And that was exactly when Cheng Yu walked in.

He had closed the door quietly, planning to surprise them, and instead froze halfway into the room, their conversation a little juicier than he had expected.

Jiang Xiaoshuai turned his head lazily. “Cheng Yu, welcome home. Your best friend’s boyfriend is here to confess that he is weak for his tall and strong dudes.”

Cheng Yu blinked. “What.”

“Apparently,” Jiang Xiaoshuai continued, “every time Chi Cheng does anything vertical, Da-wei’s soul leaves his body.”

“Xiaoshuai!” Wu hissed, mortified.

Cheng Yu set the grocery bag down very carefully, like it might explode. He sat beside Wu on the sofa and leaned forward.

“Da-Wei,” Cheng Yu said, voice somewhere between impressed and scandalized. “Really?”

Wu stared at his knees, embarrassed, that was supposed to stay between him and his Shifu.

“I don’t know? Maybe? A little? Cheng-ge is just… tall.”

“Tall?” Jiang Xiaoshuai repeated. “Tall is your average office worker who hits his head on the bus rail. Chi Cheng walks into a room and people check the ceiling.”

Cheng Yu nodded seriously. “He does look like he was built for someone to hang on him.”

Xiaoshuai glanced at his boyfriend. “As if you’re not as tall yourself.”

Cheng Yu thought about it a bit before nodding again. “And I got you to climb me.”

Wu made another dying noise while the other two exchanged knowing looks.

“Can everyone stop talking like I am not here.”

“You started it,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said. “You came here to brag about how strong your man is.”

Cheng Yu covered his mouth, laughing into his palm.

Wu glared weakly. “You at least have to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” Cheng Yu said. “And your side is currently pressed against a very large man in my imagination.”

Wu buried his face again.

Jiang Xiaoshuai took pity. A little.

“Da-Wei,” he said, gentler. “You love him. You trust him. You had to take care of yourself and became the man of the household way too soon. Now you’re all safe and pampered. Of course, your brain might connect feeling safe with feeling turned on sometimes. That is how wiring works.”

Wu’s shoulders sank. “You make it sound very logical.”

“It is logical,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said. “You used to be the responsible one, and tiring yourself for other people. Of course you like that with him you are just… his.”

The mention of those years made Wu’s chest tighten. He remembered the small jobs, the stupid managers, bosses who told him how to stand, sit, smile, breathe. Then he had given his all to provide for the woman he thought might become his wife, leaving him with debt that did not belong to him and a broken heart that made him take unhinged decisions.

At least within that chaos he found Chi Cheng. And Chi looks at him like he was not a failed product, just a man who deserved gentleness.

Wu rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I do feel safe with him,” he muttered. “Annoyed sometimes. But safe.”

“Hm-hum,” Jiang Xiaoshuai replied. “He is terrifying to everyone else and soft to you. Classic.”

Cheng Yu said, “And you earned it. You made that man your own puppet.”

Wu stared at him. “You’re supposed to be his friend.”

“I am,” Cheng Yu said. “I just watch you two and think, if he messes this up, I will drag you back together myself.”

Xiaoshuai nodded. “Same. I am too invested.”

“You are both the worst,” Wu muttered, but the words had less bite.

Jiang Xiaoshuai slurped his drink. “So. Now that you have a label, how do you feel.”

“Worse,” Wu said honestly. “Now I will be thinking about it all the time.”

“You were already thinking about it all the time,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said. “Now you just know what to type in a search bar.”

“Do not say things like that,” Wu begged.

Cheng Yu, eyes sparkling, pulled out his phone and wiggled it. “Should I send Cheng a message.”

“If you tell him I have a… that thing, I will jump off your balcony,” Wu said flatly.

“I was going to text him,” Cheng Yu said, thumbs already flying, “congratulations, your boyfriend is down bad for your height, please lift responsibly.”

“Cheng Yu,” Wu yelped.

Jiang Xiaoshuai cackled. “Send it. He deserves a heads up.”

“You two are monsters,” Wu said.

“Sure, we’ll see what you’ll have to say later,” Jiang Xiaoshuai replied.

Cheng Yu hit send. Somewhere across the city, Chi’s phone buzzed.

Wu stayed another half hour, complaining and pacing and insisting he was normal. Jiang Xiaoshuai kept poking holes in his arguments. Cheng Yu offered him snacks and fake sympathy.

When Wu finally left, cheeks still red, Cheng Yu shut the door and turned to Jiang Xiaoshuai.

Jiang Xiaoshuai raised an eyebrow. “Do you think Chi will freak out.”

Cheng Yu grinned. “I think he will ascend.”

He flopped onto the couch and opened a browser.

“Now,” Xiaoshuai said, peering over his shoulder. “Let us create a curated list of educational material in case Da-Wei panics later.”

Cheng Yu hummed. “Purely for his sake, of course.”

“Purely,” Jiang Xiaoshuai echoed, clicking on a thumbnail with a wicked little smile.

The next day, Wu could not look at Chi properly.

He tried. He really tried. But every time Chi walked past, Wu saw Jiang Xiaoshuai’s face mouthing size kink like a curse.

Every time Chi reached for something on a shelf, Wu forgot to breathe.

Every time Chi put a hand on his back, Wu’s brain screamed big and his stomach flipped.

He dropped things twice that morning. Forgot where he had put his own phone. Stared into the fridge for a full minute without processing what he was looking at.

Chi noticed immediately.

“Weiwei,” Chi said, catching his chin with gentle fingers. “You are somewhere else.”

Wu jerked his head away, too fast. “I am fine.”

Chi frowned. “Did something happen with work?”

“No.”

“With the contract?”

“No.”

“With Cheng Yu?” He tried remembering what he received. “He always happens,” Wu muttered. “That is not new.”

Chi tilted his head. “Then what?”

Wu could not exactly say, you lifting boxes makes me want to climb you.

“Nothing,” he lied. “I slept badly.”

Chi’s frown deepened, but he let it go.

For a few hours.

By the time evening rolled in, Wu was wound so tight he could barely sit still. They ate dinner together on the couch, a movie playing quietly in the background.

Wu was not taking in a single frame. His eyes kept tracking Chi’s hands on the bowl, Chi’s throat when he swallowed, the flex of his forearm when he shifted his weight.

He lasted another fifteen minutes.

Then he got up and started doing the dishes purely to keep his hands busy.

He should not have looked back.

Chi had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The light from the kitchen turned the muscles in his forearms into moving lines of shadow and tendon. His hands were submerged in soapy water, fingers sliding along the curve of a pan.

Wu stared.

His grip on the glass loosened. The dishcloth slipped. The glass fell. It shattered in a bright, sharp sound.

Chi turned immediately.

“Weiwei!”

“I am fine,” Wu said, too fast.

Chi was already crouching. He picked up the larger pieces carefully, dropped them into the trash, then took Wu’s hand in his own and inspected his fingers one by one, turning his palm upward, looking for cuts.

His hands were warm. Steady. Completely surrounding Wu’s.

“No blood,” Chi said. “You were lucky.”

Wu’s brain supplied unhelpfully: because you are here.

His chest felt tight.

Chi stood and went to get the broom. Wu tried to breathe normally.

The fragments were swept away. Order restored.

Wu thought that was the end of it.

Then Chi came back with slippers.

“Sit,” Chi said.

Wu obeyed, dropping onto the nearest chair.

Chi knelt.

Wu thought he was fine until Chi’s hand closed around his bare ankle.

A new revelation.

Chi’s fingers wrapped almost fully around the narrow bone. His thumb pressed into the soft skin just above the heel. He held Wu’s foot steady with the careless confidence of someone who could easily break it but never would.

Wu’s lungs forgot how oxygen worked.

The difference in scale hit him like a physical impact. His ankle in Chi’s palm. His calf looking thinner with Chi’s hand there. The easy strength in that grip.

Something low in his stomach fizzed and spilled over.

Heat flooded his face. His vision swam.

Chi slid one of the slippers on, gentle, oblivious.

“Weiwei,” he said. “You have to be careful. If a shard gets in, you will not feel it until it is bad.”

Wu made a faint noise that might have been “mm.”

Chi looked up.

Wu looked wrecked. Cheeks red, lips parted, pupils wide, breathing too fast for someone who had simply dropped a glass.

Chi’s first instinct was concern.

“Weiwei. I’m not scolding you—baobei.”

Wu’s throat worked.

His brain screamed at him to say something normal.

Instead he heard himself whisper, “Cheng-ge, stop touching my leg like that.”

Chi’s eyes scanned him trying to paint the picture.

“I am putting your shoe on,” Chi said.

“I know,” Wu said miserably.

Chi’s grip tightened just a fraction.

“Then what is the problem?”

“You are doing it on purpose,” Wu blurted.

Chi blinked. “Doing what?”

“You know,” Wu said, which was not explaining anything.

Chi’s gaze dropped, very briefly, to the way Wu’s thigh was tensing, the way his fingers had curled on the edge of the chair.

Realization clicked. Hard.

“Oh,” Chi said softly.

Wu squeezed his eyes shut. “Do not say oh.”

Chi’s voice lost some of its strictness, the dots connecting.

“Weiwei,” he murmured. “What did Xiaoshuai tell you yesterday?”

Wu’s eyes flew open. “How do you know I saw Xiaoshuai?”

Cheng Yu’s text flashed in Chi’s memory. Congratulations, your boyfriend is weak for your height, please be gentle.

Chi’s mouth twitched.

“You always go to Xiaoshuai and come back all squirmy,” he reasoned, “Also, I have my sources.”

Wu groaned. “I hate everyone.”

Chi let the second shoe fall uselessly to the floor. He slid his hand up from Wu’s ankle to his calf, fingers wrapping easily around the muscle.

Wu’s breath stuttered.

“Does this feel good,” Chi asked quietly.

Wu nodded, mortified.

Chi’s hand moved higher to his knee. “What about this.”

Another nod, quicker.

And higher.

The fabric of Wu’s pants did nothing to hide the way his leg trembled.

Chi rose in one smooth movement, his hand never leaving Wu’s leg, and stepped in close until his thighs brushed Wu’s knees.

“Come here,” he said.

Wu did not even think. He reached up and grabbed Chi’s neck, pulling him in. The kiss landed messy and desperate. Teeth clicked.

Wu made a sound in the back of his throat that was halfway between a whimper and a curse.

His hands slid into Chi’s hair, clinging, trying to drag him closer.

Chi’s balance shifted. He braced a palm on the table behind Wu’s chair, the other hand sliding to Wu’s waist as if it had always belonged there.

“Weiwei,” Chi murmured against his mouth. “Slow down.”

“I can’t,” Wu panted. “You are doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Chi asked, but his own breath was no longer steady.

“Being big,” Wu snapped, then wanted to fall through the floor.

Chi’s laugh was low and rough.

“Being big is not something I can turn off.”

“I hate you,” Wu said, kissing him again.

Chi’s hand tightened on his waist. “No, you do not.”

Wu tried to stand in his urgency, misjudged, and stumbled forward into Chi’s chest.

Chi caught him before he could fall, hands sliding under his thighs in a movement so easy it felt rehearsed.

Wu’s stomach dropped.

In one instant, he was off the ground, held against Chi’s front, his legs wrapping around Chi’s hips without conscious thought.

“Cheng-ge,” Wu choked. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you,” Chi said. “Apparently that is a crime now.”

Wu’s arms looped around his neck, clinging.

“You are not allowed to talk like that when you do this,” Wu said. “It is illegal.”

“Do you want me to put you down?” Chi asked.

“No,” Wu answered instantly.

Chi’s smile turned dangerous.

“Then be quiet, baobei.”

He walked. Just that. From the kitchen to the living room, Wu in his arms, held as if he weighed less than the grocery bags they usually carried together.

Every step jostled Wu just enough that his body rubbed against Chi’s. The friction was not explicit, but his nerves did not care.

By the time Chi reached the couch, Wu was breathing in short, hot bursts.

Chi set him down on the cushions and took a small step back.

Wu reached for him automatically.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere." Chi’s eyes had gone very dark. "I just want to see you."

Wu’s face burned. He tried to look away, but Chi caught his jaw, turning his face up like it was no effort at all.

The touch wasn't rough. It wasn't gentle either. It was like being placed on a work surface, every inch of him visible and available for use.

Chi’s thumb slid along his cheekbone.

Wu tried to say something, but it came out as air, hot and wet. The air got stuck behind his teeth and made his chest feel small.

Chi kissed him, slow but not soft, teeth grazing Wu’s bottom lip until he gasped.

Wu’s hands pressed uselessly in the front of Chi’s shirt. He was supposed to be kissing back, but Chi was already doing everything. There was nothing for Wu Suowei to add except the little noises that kept escaping his throat.

Suddenly Chi Cheng wasn't satisfied with them on the couch anymore.

He raised him again, just as swiftly, and started leading him. Hands circling his small waist.

They made it two steps before Wu’s back hit the wall.

Chi pressed him there, thigh between his knees, palm flat on the plaster next to his head. The force was enough to make the picture frames rattle.

Wu made a weak, indecent sound.

He could feel his heart knocking around under his ribs, panic and lust in equal measure.

He looked up. Chi’s pupils were huge.

The only thing keeping Wu upright was Chi’s thigh, the way it wedged between his legs and forced him to balance on tiptoes or else fall.

"Good boy," Chi murmured, almost kindly. "You do like this."

Wu tried to shake his head. He failed. Instead, he clung tighter, his hands up under Chi’s arms now, nails digging through the fabric.

He wanted to say something scratchy, but the words got lost every time Chi kissed him. It was like Chi was drinking the language out of his mouth, along with his willpower.

"Cheng-ge..."

"Quiet."

The word landed heavy, right in the base of Wu’s spine.

He obeyed.

Another day he would have talked back but he didn’t want to this time.

Chi pulled back just enough to look at him. Wu knew his own face had to look wrecked, eyes glazed, lips bitten, a string of saliva bridging their mouths.

He couldn't catch his breath, not really.

Chi licked the corner of Wu’s lip, deliberate.

"It’s okay," Chi said, almost gentle. "I already know."

Wu’s ears rang.

Chi dropped his hand from the wall and instead caught both of Wu’s wrists in one palm, lifting them above his head and pinning them there.

Wu struggled, more from habit than actual protest. The grip was loose enough that he could have escaped, but he didn’t want to. Not really. Not at all.

His own pulse thudded under Chi’s fingers, unsteady.

Chi kissed him again, this time grinding his hips forward.

The pressure against Wu’s crotch was obscene, nothing between them but thin cotton and the knowledge that Chi was already hard.

Wu’s own body had betrayed him long ago, cock jerking, leaking before he could stop it. There was already a wet spot on his briefs, probably soaking through his pants.

Chi noticed. Of course he noticed.

He made a noise that could have been a laugh, except it sounded like hunger.

"Are you embarrassed?" Chi asked, voice gone low.

Wu shook his head, but his face said otherwise.

"That is fine," Chi said. "I like you embarrassed."

He jerked Wu’s wrists higher, forcing him to stretch up, exposing the line of his throat.

Chi bent and bit the tendon where neck met shoulder, not enough to leave a mark, just enough to make Wu gasp.

Wu’s knees buckled.

"If you are going to fall," Chi said, breath hot in his ear, "I will catch you. You don’t have have to be scared."

Wu squeezed his eyes shut. "I am not scared."

"Good."

Chi moved Wu’s wrists in one hand, and used the newly free one to pop the button on Wu’s pants.

Wu’s mind blanked.

He tried to twist away, but Chi caught him, no room to free himself now, the older working his zipper down slow.

The brush of knuckles against Wu’s hard-on made him almost sob.

The fabric caught on his erection, dragged the briefs down with it, and Wu’s cock sprang free, more than wet, flushed dark.

He made a helpless sound, shame burning hot under his skin.

Chi looked down and exhaled, slow and mean.

"You are a mess," Chi said, and stroked his thumb over the head, collecting the precum and smearing it down the shaft.

Wu jerked, every nerve ending on fire.

"Cheng-ge...don’t..."

"Don’t what?" Chi mocked, working his hand with lazy precision. "You want me to stop?"

Wu whimpered.

The urge to rut forward was overwhelming. He bit down on the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't beg.

Chi’s hand was so much larger than his own, almost comically so. The size difference was an embarrassment by itself. But it also made Wu’s cock look smaller, more helpless. That made it worse.

Chi pressed him into the wall with his body, using the bulk of his frame to hold Wu steady while he stroked him.

His rhythm was merciless: slow at first, then just when Wu thought he could handle it, faster, rougher, twisting at the end making Wu’s vision spark.

The world got very narrow. Just the sensation of the older hand, Chi’s thigh holding his legs open, the iron grip around his wrists, and the knowledge that he couldn't do anything but take it.

Wu thought, distantly, that he should be mortified by how quickly he was going to come. Instead, it just made him burn hotter.

He moaned, head dropping to Chi’s chest.

"That’s it," Chi said, almost tender. "Let go, Weiwei."

Wu was panting, breath gone shallow and ragged.

Chi wrapped both their hands around Wu’s cock and squeezed.

That did it.

Wu’s whole body went rigid.

He came with a choked, desperate cry, semen splattering across his shirt, his stomach, some even hitting Chi’s wrist.

The orgasm was so intense that his legs gave out, and if Chi hadn’t been holding him up, he would have hit the floor.

For a second, Wu just hung there, limp and gasping.

Chi let go of his wrists, but only to slide both hands under Wu’s ass, hoisting him up effortlessly.

"Not done," Chi said, and moved.

The living room was a blur.

Wu barely realized he was being carried until he was dumped unceremoniously onto the couch.

Chi manhandled him onto all fours, knees sinking into the cushions, hands spread in front of him.

Wu tried to protest, but the only sound that came out was a whine.

Chi pulled Wu’s pants the rest of the way down, briefs with them. The fabric bunched around his ankles, pinning his legs together.

He couldn't move.

He didn’t want to.

A palm smacked down on Wu’s ass, just hard enough to sting.

"Cheng-ge," Wu moaned, mortified at how good that felt.

Chi’s hand lingered there, squeezing, kneading.

Then a finger slid lower, tracing the cleft, spreading him.

Wu felt exposed, displayed, like an object.

The thought made him even harder, which seemed impossible.

Chi pulled Wu’s hips up, forcing him to arch his back.

Then he spit, right on Wu’s hole, and watched it drip down.

Wu nearly cried.

Chi used his thumb to spread it, working the spit in lazy circles until Wu was shivering.

Then he pushed the tip of his finger inside, slow, waiting for Wu to clench around it.

He didn’t have to wait long.

"Relax," Chi said, massaging the rim with small, relentless pressure. "You can take more."

It wasn't a command. It was a promise.

He worked Wu open with one finger, then two, pumping in and out until Wu was rocking back onto his hand, panting into the couch cushions.

"That’s good," Chi praised, voice going rough. "You are always so greedy for it."

Wu made a strangled sound, more like a sob than a moan.

His cock was hard again, dripping onto the fabric of the couch.

Chi curled his fingers, searching, until Wu jerked and nearly screamed. Tears and drool staining the cushion fabric.

"There," Chi said, satisfied.

He fingered Wu until he was begging under his breath, little gasps, “gege,” and “please,” and “yes, fuck, yes,” all mashed together.

Chi pulled his fingers out, slow, making Wu whimper at the loss.

He lined his own cock up, nudged the head against Wu’s slick hole, and pushed.

He didn’t go slow. Not really.

He gave Wu just enough time to adjust, then drove in the rest of the way, filling him completely.

Wu arched, teary eyes rolling back.

The stretch hurt, just a little, but it was the kind of hurt that made everything else feel sharper, brighter.

His body remembering to adjust for the man who owned all of him.

Chi fucked into him with steady, punishing thrusts, hands gripping Wu’s hips so hard it would leave bruises.

Wu couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. All he could do was take it.

"You are mine," Chi growled, driving in deeper.

Wu could only nod, face mashed into the cushions.

"Say it," Chi demanded.

"I- I am," Wu gasped. "Yours. Gege, please…"

Chi wrapped a hand around Wu’s throat, pulling him up so they were both kneeling.

He fucked Wu like that, hand squeezing just enough to make his voice go thin and high.

Wu was delirious, body reduced to sensation.

"Cheng-ge...going to..."

"Come," Chi ordered.

Wu did, again, spraying the couch, his own thighs, the floor. The orgasm went on forever, shuddering out of him in waves.

Chi kept fucking him through it, pace never slowing.

He lasted longer, drawing it out, making Wu shudder with every thrust.

When he finally came, he buried his cock to the hilt and held Wu there, both trembling.

For a second, there was nothing but breathing.

Wu slumped, body spent.

Chi withdrew, slow and careful.

He watched as his own cum leaked out, smearing down Wu’s thighs.

He dragged it back with two fingers, pushing it back in, testing.

Wu whimpered, too sensitive to even register what the older was doing.

Chi licked a tear from Wu’s cheek, then kissed his spine, gentle.

"You did so well," he said, voice gone soft. "Beautiful, baobei."

Wu couldn't respond. He was boneless, mindless, floating in a haze of endorphins and afterglow.

Chi picked him up, carried him to the bathroom.

Set him on the closed toilet lid and ran a cloth under warm water, then knelt and cleaned Wu up with steady, practiced hands.

Wu stared at him, dazed.

He couldn't believe any of it was real. That someone would go to all that trouble for him. That he could feel so empty and so full at the same time.

Afterwards, Chi handed him a bottle of water. Wu drank it all, and then, in a fit of something like bravery, pulled Chi down for a clumsy, exhausted kiss.

Chi smiled against his mouth. "You look destroyed."

"I feel destroyed," Wu admitted.

He didn’t move for a while.

When he finally did, it was to shuffle back to the couch, still naked, and collapse into the cushions.

Chi followed, sitting on the floor at Wu’s feet, head leaning against his thigh as he lit a cigarette.

Wu stroked Chi’s hair, feeling the difference in their bodies all over again. The size of his hand on Chi’s head, the length of Chi’s thigh compared to his own.

He thought, absurdly, about what would happen if Chi decided to fuck him in the office. There was a floor-to-ceiling window. Wu wouldn’t be able to move. He wouldn’t be able to do anything except take it.

He shivered.

Stop it, he scolded himself.

But the thought stuck.

He wondered if he could survive it.

Wu glanced at Chi, who looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

"What?" Chi said.

"Nothing," Wu lied.

Chi just grinned, blowing some smoke in his direction.

Wu leaned back, sighing.

He stared at the ceiling, then at the mess of their clothes on the floor, then at Chi, still sitting there like he owned the place and everything in it.

Which, to be fair, he did.

Wu smiled, soft and a little smug.

He picked up his phone, thumbed to his messages, and typed:

[To Xiaoshuai]: You were right about the size thingy. But is it bad to want to do it outside of home?

[Xiaoshuai]: what? planning to give us a show?

Wu snorted in disbelief, but then he considered that it might finally bring closure to their persistent debate about which boyfriend was superior in bed.

“Looks like I’m just hoping for an audience,” he teased, casting a glance at Chi.

Chi frowned, moving closer, his hand settling possessively on Wu’s throat.

“What was that?”

Wu fell silent, taken aback by the intensity in Chi's gaze.

“Huh?” Wu finally managed.

Chi leaned in, his breath hot against Wu’s ear.

“That’s not happening.”

Wu raised an eyebrow and took the cigarette to ease the mood. "Are you being a prude now? I remember you used to share everything with your best friend."

Chi's smirk faded, replaced by a serious look.

“I don’t want to share.”

With everything now out in the open, Chi Cheng tried to remember exactly when the shift happened, when exactly this shameless little brat happened and finally decided a win was a win after all.

[END]