Work Text:
God… Is there anything better than this?
Adrenaline pulses through Zhang Hao’s body as they climb downstage. He feels a pat on his lower back, a jumble of congratulatory cheers from dancers and the soothing tune of Hanbin’s melodic voice wraps it up in lacy ribbons.
Sung Hanbin in a white suit ensemble. If Zhang Hao was wearing white as well, perhaps he could squint and project their slowly approaching wedding onto this moment; as it is, though, Zhang Hao is temptation clad in deep wine red and Hanbin’s angelical halo is a lark from paradise.
A shower of praises with the two of them in the center. Like the finale, like the best moments of his life, all of which keep happening beside this man.
His own personal piece of paradise.
His greed is boundless, but at the same time it’s… very grounded.
These are the fruits of their passion, their labor; rewards he’s been promised for a long while now, finally granted by whatever deity it is that decides people should work hard towards their dreams.
The Romans associate the long term reaping of success to the god Saturn, for instance, so perhaps that could be it. It would fit in nicely, thematically speaking, considering the irony of a programme called Boys Planet bringing two gay men together, into a serious relationship, and how hard they still have to work for it to work once they have won.
Zhang Hao isn’t too religious, not even in the bedroom does he sing in prayers. In his native language, he just tells Hanbin he’s so fucking good and that he wants it faster.
In the whirlwind of the aftermath, he’s out of thanking prayers to whatever gods are above, but there’s a God of sorts right here, white suit and beads of sweat on the side of his face as they walk side by side, and that divine creature turns luminous all of a sudden.
Surrounded by his godly aura, Hanbin turns from laughing at one of their dancers to smiling adoringly at Zhang Hao, tilting his head curiously.
And suddenly, Hao knows who to thank. This is his religious awakening. Right now.
He stops Hanbin just as they’re about to go inside the dressing room, holding his hand gingerly. Hao has many kind, delicate gestures as of late, learned and used by Hanbin, so he returns the amiable favor. Hao uses them on him almost exclusively. “Good work,” he says, watching his fiancée’s expression brighten tenfold, if even possible.
Before Hanbin has a chance to return the praise, though, his mouth hanging open in the middle of a word, Hao pulls him closer in a rougher motion, more of his own gesture this time, and puts his lips to Hanbin’s ear, “Tomorrow, come to bed early.”
He’s built some gentleness, sure, but inside, they both know how feral they are for this. Their greed is a shared asset, as it should be. They share everything else, why not this? Why shy away from the whole experience if he’s been so bare, so seen, with nothing else to lose?
The pink shade that spreads fast through Hanbin’s face is very telling, and it earns him a satisfied smile from Hao. The fact that his reactions are still so intense after all this time is an ego boost on its own. But Hanbin is a gentle creature, so he backpedals fast.
“Hyung…” He whines, pouting a little, “Don’t you have a flight the next morning?”
“Ah, well. It’s a short one, I’ll survive. I’ll sit on a cushion, or whatever,” Hao says, delighted by Hanbin’s choked out chortle, shocked by the blunt solution to such a private matter. The stylists must pick up on the sound, coming to check up on them and urging both inside at once for the outfit change.
These shared moments, they all fleet by quickly. He couldn’t make them more intimate with the time he has, but still, Zhang Hao is willing to try. To write out plans, then to religiously try to follow.
Their life is this sort of clustered web of moments, squeezed dates between schedules, overseas or at nights. Still, despite everything, they did manage to spend Christmas together last month, rather fearlessly so, and now they got to have a duo performance– as an opening act to an award ceremony.
It’s honestly rare that Zhang Hao would schedule sex like this, but the occasion feels like a good time as any to clear quality time for intimacy. He wants to give Hanbin his body to feast upon, an eucharistic rite.
It’s not like every time they have sex it’s scheduled– no, it’s quite the opposite, actually. Countless were the times that a sheer outfit, a comment over lipgloss or a cowboy hat (oh merciful God, the cowboy hat–) have been the spark that started full body workouts at nights preceding packed schedules.
The outcome is just that Zhang Hao has a hard time sitting on… well, hard surfaces. And bending over sends a sharp pull of pain through his spine, which grants him the princess treatment so often: soft thumbs massaging his lower back and the constant picking up of water bottles during concerts.
Hanbin becomes the weatherman of a perpetually sunny holiday. He has it way too easy, frankly speaking.
(You try breaking your back in bed to accommodate the girth of a lovecraftian nighterror appendage and then dance through a full concert set and see if you won’t wince bending over to pick up a water bottle! Dare you!)
–Except it’s not like Hanbin doesn’t try to go slow and gentle. Sometimes the spur of the moment asks for making out, and even the softest, most chaste of kisses will start some heavy petting. They’re beasts, creatures in the wild that will jump at any opportunity to hump at each other. They’re men.
And when Hanbin goes slow, too tortuously slow, Zhang Hao will demand to be wrecked like a ragdoll, forcing Hanbin to find a satisfactory intermediate. He’s not so brutal that Hao is rendered useless to society the next day, but he’s definitely rough.
Yet to keep him wanting more, merciful and sweet. Hanbin caters to his every whim.
On occasion, Hanbin would feel so energetic that he’d take upon himself to straddle Zhang Hao, push him back and do all the work. And then Hanbin’ll use those dancer hips to ride him into the night, the soft skin of his tummy contracting, strong legs shaking, all cowboy like, and oh. Where did they keep that hat again? It wouldn’t be so bad to go on another ride like that one–
“Jjanghao, spacing out?” Hanbin’s voice pops Zhang Hao’s dream bubble, his vision blinking slowly out of his impassive daydream and back into reality. Thankfully, he’s good at keeping his expressions at bay when he wants to, but Hanbin’s fingers sliding into his palm, intertwining his as he pulls Zhang Hao’s bag away from his hand in a gesture that’s pure, genuine chivalry, makes him flash a small smile in turn. Victory feels good, so he flirts with him, shamelessly, like he’s invincible now.
Hanbin is his one weakness, after all.
“Thinking of you,” Hao gives it to him on a platter, and it makes Hanbin gasp. It’s not like it’s a surprise, the situation itself, but the delight on his lover’s face at having it admitted so easily is overblown like it’s the first time he’s heard it.
What a cute person Zhang Hao has found and how fortunate it is. Who’s the god of fortune again? The Irish folklore talks about good fortune entities that bring gold and wealth, but this isn’t even close to how lucky he feels for having this stupidly charming guy around.
Would he trade any of it for a pot of gold? As if. Zhang Hao already has his own four-leaf clover and gold is overrated. He likes silver rings. Sculpted, cubic crystals or a small diamond would be nice, too.
Hanbin pulls him along to the car that’ll take them home, already in comfortable clothes, makeup removed save for a bit of smudged eyeliner around the corners of his lower eyelids. Hanbin decidedly looks sultry, even, dressed down from his idol persona, holding Hao’s hand the whole ride back to the hotel.
Even though they’ve planned to have a moment the next day, Hao wobbles into the shower half expecting Hanbin to follow, and he’s not disappointed when the overgrown puppycat joins in.
“Hambin-ah…” Hao calls out, as he feels arms sneaking around his wet body, clinging to his torso. The image of him in a white suit, dancing to perfection even with the edits they had to make to the original choreography to, you know, tone it down. Zhang Hao lets out a sigh without noticing, “You were so great.”
Hanbin hums, giggling into the soaked hair of Zhang Hao’s nape, “I have an amazing partner, I have to be great to match him. The only one I ever need.”
It takes a moment, but the exhaustion hits him, his body growing sore as Hanbin’s breath becomes heavier, slower. The chest pressed to his back starts hiccuping, now and then, erratic and discreet, but he knows Hanbin is crying. It’s fine, they’ve done their very best.
“This is just the proof of our justice, baby.”
It’s an impactful sentence Zhang Hao has heard somewhere from some erudite, but he feels it’s meaning fits their moment. Hanbin rubs his forehead against the back of Hao’s neck, “I’m never letting you go. I hope you know that.”
“Oh, I hope you know that, as well,” Zhang Hao scoffs, sliding a hand between their bodies so he can cup Hanbin’s girth and squeeze him a little. It makes the other squeak, which in turn makes Zhang Hao laugh loudly.
“Way to ruin the moment!” Hanbin half-complains, but loses strength as Hao starts to stroke him into surrender.
“I’m improving it,” Hao tuts in a bratty tone and, like clockwork, the melodic sound of heady gasps and choked out moaning fill the bathroom, amplified by a slight reverb.
They finish quickly in the shower, both overdriven by pent up energy and tired muscles. Clean, fragrant bedsheets and warm blankets welcome their sore bodies like an angel’s embrace and Zhang Hao sleeps soundly on Hanbin’s chest.
Home, Zhang Hao thinks, is a place of love. Wherever love is, wherever his heart is, that’s a place he can call home.
Sung Hanbin has been his home for a little over three years, even if he’s only realized it a little later than that. Even if his home is a little bit of a mobile place that’s never really settling down, he’s been thinking that, as long as they’re together, comfort will surely follow.
A nomad home, a place that follows him around. Or, well, a place he has to keep on finding, but it’s worth it. Like the myth of eldorado, or a human-shaped holy grail.
But recently the dream of having a real place has been inching perilously closer. Their plans have been getting so much more concrete, dates scheduled for visiting estate like it means something more than just daydreaming; like a mirage that slowly starts to grow shape, density, weight…
… On his middle finger, soon to move one slot further.
He has dreamed of it when staring at that amusement park, an island in the middle of the citadel surrounded by water, displayed in such a manner designed to keep out the unworthy, separating wheat from chaff.
Yearning from the outside, the manifest allegory of hopes and dreams.
Zhang Hao has felt unworthy many times over as a child, somebody’s son; as a teen, to his peers; as a man, to his array of lovers… And as a person. An incomplete person, frantically searching for the golden ticket that takes him on the whimsical adventure of becoming whole.
Whatever his choice of craft would be, even if he’d be merely decent at it or nearly perfect, the constant praise is the only sort of proof of his worth, so seldom does self satisfaction cross his path.
The praise is the fuel to his fire, the wheel that keeps on turning. Proof that he’s real.
That his existence is just.
The wavering mirage of what a perfect world looks like has always been that amusement park in the distant island. It’s not really that far from the bay, but as a child, it’s as far as an odyssey.
He imagines that’s what Paradise must be like to Christians, flaming sword notwithstanding. The goal, or as close to it as something could ever be.
“I’ve got the wine!” Hanbin walks in gleefully, holding a bottle and two glasses in a single hand, in grey sweatpants and a black tanktop. Zhang Hao doesn’t have time to catch himself before sighing, a gesture so deep and dramatic that it fully depletes his lungs of air. (He muffles a small cough.)
Hanbin stops, blinking in confusion, “… Everything okay?”
Okay doesn’t even cut it. He’s so damn… happy.
There’s so much going on, so many things to worry about and discuss and settle; problems that are a headache and hectic schedules that overexert his body, and still.
Zhang Hao is still happy.
He gathers his knees up on his bed and wraps his arms under his bare thighs, hiding his face in the collar of his big black hoodie, forehead resting upon his knees.
“I’m so selfish, Hanbin-ah.”
It’s a statement so left field that Hanbin shock-scoffs at him, “What’s this about?” he asks, and Hao feels the mattress dip beside him. Hanbin’s warm feet cover his own cold ones, a much too intimate touch that just makes him feel even happier, as he shuffles closer and rubs his chin on Hao’s shoulder.
Hao whines, fearing he’s just too lucky for this world.
“… Is it really okay to be this happy?” Zhang Hao finally asks, finally lifting his face up to level with Hanbin. The confused expression he’s making softens as he understands where this is coming from.
Not everyone has this much, and close friends have been going through a lot. But his stupid brain is dopamine driven and his mind and heart have never been so full. How just is that? “Is it okay that I’m happy with you?”
Instead of answering, Hanbin only hums to himself, pensive, and hands Hao one of the glasses.
Pulling the cork out with his teeth– the wine bottle’s halfway to being empty, idolhood’s not really a line of work that lets you get hammered every day so they’ve been drinking it like birds. Hanbin fills both glasses to half. Perhaps he pours a bit more on his own, knowing Hao has to fly the next day and a hangover will make his stomach queasy during the flight.
“Well… I dunno, frankly speaking. I’ve been really riding the joyride of being this close to you, so…” Hanbin shrugs, places the bottle on the ground beside the bed, clinks their glasses together in a toast and takes a big sip, “I must be really selfish, then, because being happy and making you happy is my number one priority and I keep forgetting to ask myself if I should do that… Mm–! Or to ask for permission, even.”
It’s delightful to hear it, which doesn’t make their case any better. The fact that Hanbin keeps choosing him over and over again; keeps allowing him to dream of that stupid glowing island, helps plan out a reality that is not only within grasp, but already half actualized. Builds with him the bridges that will take them both there.
Zhang Hao idly swirls the red liquid in the glass, then sips it.
He considers his options, then glances at Hanbin’s side profile. He’s the most beautiful man, kind and trustworthy. Everyone depends on him, but only Zhang Hao can be the one Hanbin depends on.
His partner. His other half.
The urge to make him happy is an unstoppable force, and everything else sits on the backburner. It’s unfortunate for the fallout that it may present, but Hao wants him to be happy, too. He wants to be the one that makes Hanbin happy so, so badly.
He hopes he may also forget to ask permission to feel good.
Zhang Hao hums, after a few seconds, noncommittal, “I got it now. I can’t be selfish,” he says. Then adds, after a lazy sip, “I’m already starfish.”
“…Ah… Ha.”
Hanbin’s expression slacks. Hao blanks out for a moment, the lukewarm response to his joke making him stare at Hanbin, then finally he sighs, very somberly. That grants him a full snort out of Hanbin, as he finally cracks up.
“Oh my God, the sigh– I love you so much, you’re so silly.”
Hanbin hugs him, pushes him down and the two nearly spill their glasses of wine. After some wrestling, the glasses end up on the bedside table, Zhang Hao pinned onto the mattress, not entirely against his will.
“Oh, you got me, you bandit…!”
Hao thrashes about, for good measure, but Hanbin pouts, “No. This is only fun if you want me, gege…”
“Oh, that’s my factory standard, dummy,” Zhang Hao says, his smile a bit wicked, “Never have I not wanted you, from the moment I laid eyes on you, baobei.”
Hanbin’s cheeks bloom in red, a beautiful shade concocted by the wine, the words and his tendency to easily overheat. Dionysus. Aphrodite. Who else? Hestia, perhaps. Zhang Hao counts the blessings in his head, giggling.
He then tilts his head to the side, blinking slowly at him, like a siren. “Did I leave you speechless, pretty?”
“Ah… I’m…” He keenly watches the way Hanbin’s Adam's apple bobs up and down, with the big gulp he takes, licking his lower lip and biting it for good measure. His eyes fleet across Hao’s face quickly, eyebrows knitting together, “When you say that, or… When, uh, when I realize you might actually want me as much as I want you, it’s… Strangr. Because I– I feel so desperate, all the time… And when you leave, I just…”
Their bodies crash and Zhang Hao squeals as Hanbin topples onto him, suddenly, fitting his nose on the curve of Hao’s neck, inhaling, licking and biting. Trying to consume as much as he can, for as long as he could possibly have him. The nipping leaves a trail of reddish bites up to his chest, Hanbin getting more serious about his hickeys there.
Zhang Hao starts to squirm, exasperated as to what’s gotten Hanbin so worked up, his own thighs rubbing against each other for some friction, but his hazy mind can’t stop him from saying what he has to, to ease his mind, soothe his every pain.
“... I’m– I’m not, ah, leaving, Hanbin-ah…”
Hanbin keeps on pushing, his hands enter Hao’s hoodie and push the fabric up, thumbing his nipples and pressing them down the nub until Hao feels dizzy with it, whimpering. Then he’s sliding his fingers back down until he’s pressing those thumbs on the divots on the inside of Hao’s love handles.
Zhang Hao gasps and Hanbin lifts his own body, to look down at him.
His eyes are a mix of adoration and muddled uncertainty, even behind a cute smile.
“… I meant for your trip, Hyung.”
It’s quite funny that Hanbin feels the need to clarify that, like he’s somehow pushing Hao into feeling guilty about his own separation anxiety.
But even if they have had this discussion multiple times over the years, the result is always the same. He thinks about the possessive way Hanbin’s hand has grabbed his chest during the performance, and the satisfaction of having him by his side on stage, ripping his mask off so the world can peer into their truth.
Spotlights shining on the both of them, their complementary chemistry, their journey always parallel, their exposed, bleeding hearts visible from the palpable chemistry and unfiltered lovegaze.
From the moment they’ve met, they’ve clicked together. Like two halves of a whole, the original meaning of soulmates.
Zhang Hao’s not even religious, but Hanbin’s thumbs pressed deep into his skin, as further as it willingly gives in, pads rubbing circles near his navel and exciting goosebumps over his body, makes him recite homilies and hymns through his whimpers; the way he unravels him with his hands is as good a reason as any to thank his God.
Zhang Hao reaches up and pulls Hanbin’s face in for a kiss, quick, and then lustful once his mouth falls open and tongues intertwine. Hanbin flutters his long eyelashes closed, rutting softly against Hao’s bulge while softly moaning praises into his mouth, (“Baby… I love your body…”) but Hao keeps his eyes open and watches every shift of emotion and sensation that goes through Hanbin’s expressions.
He’s slightly drunk but his eyes are focused. Eyebrows knitting together when his emotions get too overwhelming, his nails digging into Hao’s milky skin and leaving crescents in their stake. A claim of property he’s not even sure he’s worthy of.
They keep reflecting each other like that. But Hanbin makes him feel precious and wanted. Doesn’t he understand he’s the same? Zhang Hao sighs into their kiss.
They part when Zhang Hao pulls away, putting their foreheads together and swallowing in his lust, keeping it at bay for a moment, “I know what you mean, Sung Hanbin. And you know what I mean. Just listen to me, one time. I am forever by your side,” he says, signing with “I want to be here,” and Hanbin’s bottom lip quivers.
“Don’t,” He starts, then draws in breath like he’s about to hiccup, a funny expression flashing through his face before he takes control, again, “ Stop making me emotional, I’m horny and I know it must be weird when we fuck while I cry” Hanbin whines, laughter erupting from the both of them. He’s got it under control, but Hao adds “No, it isn’t? I like pathetic men crying for me,” and it cracks Hanbin up.
“Don’t you mean man, singular?” he says, and with newfound focus on continuing their night as intended, Hanbin leans down and takes his lips again, getting handsy with his palms on Hao’s thighs, grabbing everywhere and even pressing his palm against the wet patch over his leaking cock, before bringing it back up his body, and it’s oh so distractingly, mind numbingly, deliciously good— but this isn’t what Zhang Hao had planned for the night.
“Hanbin-ah… Ah, ah– mm, hey…” He calls softly, “Mind your head.”
“Hm?” Hanbin effectively stops kissing him, “My head?”
“Yeah,” Hao says, and it’s enough pause for him to lock his thighs around his hips, pushing Hanbin to flip their positions in a swift motion.
Just as Hanbin was about to hit his head on the headboard, Hao shields the back of his head with his hand, “Ah. Didn’t I just tell you to mind your head?”
“Whoa!” Hanbin huffs as the air gets knocked out of his lungs, “What’s going on? Are you topping tonight?” He asks, all smiles and compliance.
“No, not tonight, baobei,” Zhang Hao tuts, caressing Hanbin's chest over the tanktop, down to his navel, sliding cold fingers under the fabric and pressing down. He’s always so ready to say yes, like a shining knight, so ready to give in, “Not topping, just on top,” Hao says, rather leisurely.
His man is ready to make him feel good regardless of how, where or when, and it’s the whole reason Hao wants to worship him tonight.
So he sits, slowly, on the hard bulge under him and cants his hips forward, undulating. Making tortuous friction, watching the way Hanbin bites his lower lip, overjoyed and lustfully entertained by the lewd display.
“So I just… Sit back and relax?” Hanbin asks, a cocky smile on his lips as he crosses his arms behind his head and leans back with an attitude.
Not many people can pull such a thing and still look attractive, but Zhang Hao receives the smile as a throb right on his cock and he has to palm himself for a solid moment.
Hanbin’s eyes become hooded, looking down and then slowly up. Darkening as they watch the slender figure make tidal waves on top of his body. It’s a bit embarrassing, how focused he is, how Zhang Hao can feel his own erection growing harder.
What a twat, Zhang Hao thinks, it’s unfair how hot Hanbin is; unfair that Hao’s this hot for him.
“You’re the only person that can say that to me without sounding like an asshole, I’ll give you that.”
Hao leans his palms against the flat plane of Hanbin’s stomach and keeps on humping like a dog, small whiny breaths escaping his lips, but he gets abruptly interrupted. Hanbin grabs his face, hard, and makes him freeze up in shock, “No one can say any of this to you regardless of how they sound like, Hao. No one but me. Ever.”
“Ho…oh.” Zhang Hao chokes, trying to regain control, then scoffs, feeling his face heat up over being caught off guard. He sneaks his palm under his own body and releases Hanbin’s cock from his pants, stroking him.
Hanbin hisses, grunts in pleasure, but keeps his grip on him, fingers sliding down to hold his jaw a little less rough, now. He doesn’t smile, though.
After carefully considering for a moment, Hao nods, “Okaaay,” he says, then tilts his face to the side, to kiss and lick at Hanbin’s palm, “Since I’m trying to be a devout husband today, I’ll keep the bratiness to a minimum this once, and make you jealous about this some other time.”
With a scoff, Hanbin lets go after being sure he got his point across, “I just wanted to be very clear,” he says, just before gasping– Zhang Hao has slid his cock inside the leg opening of his underpant, now rubbing it against the fold of his leg and hip.
“Hear you loud and clear, you’re my man.”
Palming Hanbin over the fabric of his underwear, Hao pumps him twice before pushing his dick between his legs and to the back, between his bare asscheeks. It slips right over his hole, Hao’s perineum and rim already slick with lube. Hanbin’s eye widens and his mouth makes an “o”.
“You’re prepped…” He slides a hand and touches Hao’s belly under the hoodie, rubbing circles, “How’s your tummy?”
Hao huffs a grateful chuckle, “I ate light, I’m feeling good right now,” he says, then gives him a toothy smile before leaning forward, biting Hanbin’s lip and licking at his mouth, “Then I fingered myself open in the shower, put on your favorite perfume on, my skimpiest boxers and got to bed before you came home.”
Hanbin’s pupils dilate in awe, before he presses his nose to Hao’s cheek, noses and nips along his jawline, to then finally captures his lips again. While he’s distracted, Hao reaches back, inside his underwear through the leghole, and pushes Hanbin’s cock into his hole, which swallows the tip right in.
They gasp together, Hao bites down on Hanbin’s lower lip accidentally and Hanbin hisses.
“Oh shit, sorry…! It feels… Feels so good…” Hao whines, but Hanbin only kisses him again, harder, a slight metallic tang on their tongues from the bite. He feels both of Hanbin’s hands grabbing him by the waist and pushing his hips down with urgency, but he’s still not forceful.
Still, Zhang Hao sits down, pliant and so, so willing. The slide is wonderful and it fills him up to the brim. Hanbin frees Zhang Hao’s cock and it bounces against Hanbin’s stomach, leaking all over his top.
Impatient, Hanbin bottoms out with a loud groan and Hao uses the momentum from the burst of pleasure to gain back control, taking a hold and pinning Hanbin’s hands back down on the bed.
“Hey, I wanna to- touch you at least…?” Hanbin complains, but throws his head back as Hao starts to really work his hips up and down, then sitting his weight down entirely and circling his hips. Hao feels it graze over and over inside of him, the constant pang of dizzying pleasure making him gasp a little louder. It takes a moment before, but Hao relents to Hanbin’s helpless whimper, finally letting go.
His voice starts mellow and syrupy sweet but it transforms halfway, “I wanted to… To take care of you, ah, tonight, you— you control freak.” If he really tried, Hanbin would’ve let him, but they’re both a little sensitive tonight.
Hao’s leaving tomorrow and he can’t keep up the act for too long, so he uses his hands to pull his hoodies over his head and off, now only in his underwear as Hanbin fucks him through its left leghole. His hair is messy and he looks debauched already.
Keeping his hips up, Zhang Hao grants Hanbin space to cup the curve of his ass, grope and knead the meat as he fucks upward slowly. Hao holds the side of his face and thumbs his beautiful cheeks, rosy and perfect, his long eyelashes blinking up in a daze.
“Faster…” Zhang Hao finds himself asking without needing to translate, kissing his face and lips and sucking onto them, licking his neck and down to the tattoo on his collarbone, “Faster, baobei…”
“Hmn…” Hanbin smacks both his hands on Hao’s ass, gripping him strong, making Hao jolt as the pace picks up all at once. Before he understands what’s going on, he’s wrapping himself around Hanbin’s body and being hoisted against the bedside wall, Hanbin kneeling on the mattress and drilling into him.
The night stretches long, as they gasp into each other's mouth, Hao cums a few times before getting bent over the edge of the bed, his cheek smushed against the comforter as Hanbin pins him down by the nape.
It’s strenuous and perfect and he goes to sleep at an ungodly 4:58 in the morning, body aching and relaxed, glowing in a post-climax haze. Hanbin still cleans him up and massages his lower back, even if Zhang Hao has wanted to dote on him tonight.
To the sort of believer that he used to be when he was younger, Gods are unrelenting. They only take and sometimes grant wishes, but it’s unusual to get more than you bargained for. It’s even more unusual to get everything you ever wanted without asking, without sacrificing any part of his mind, body and heart.
The way he sleeps on Hanbin’s chest, he gets to hear his heartbeats.
Does he feel blessed? Or does he take his happiness by his own hands, unwilling to depend on the whims of Gods?
Does he know he’s someone else’s miracle? Has Zhang Hao been vocal enough about it?
“Sleep well, my love,” he whispers, sleepy.
“You too, sleep well. Make sure to wake me up to say goodbye, yeah?”
Hao may have nodded, but he doesn’t want to do that to him. Hanbin needs uninterrupted rest more than frivolities.
In the morning, he takes the booked round flight ticket to China and places it on a baby pink envelope, kissing it with his tinted lipgloss. It leaves a mark and he signs it with capricious penmanship. He writes, “to my future Husband” and spritzes it with perfume once, before shaking the envelope until only a subtle trail of fragrance comes off it.
The envelope sits on top of Hanbin’s smartphone, as Hao moves to kiss his cheek and brush his bangs away from his face, hot under the blankets even though it’s cold outside. In the end, he’s weak and he’s selfish and interrupts his sleep.
Hanbin whines and grabs onto his pants, like a child, half asleep. He doesn’t let go until Hao peppers him with more kisses and promises they’ll meet soon.
Before leaving, Hanbin still stares at him from the bed, mournful, like leaving is like cutting away a limb. He should have let him sleep peacefully. It’d be less painful, even if it’s just a few days.
Later, Hanbin will text bomb him, extremely touched, surprised and elated by the gift Zhang Hao left him.
Later, Hanbin will enter a religious workout regimen, so that when they visit his natal province, Hanbin’s in his top form. Because he wants to– he needs to impress Zhang Hao, his family, his friends. Needs to be perfect for them– but he already is.
Later, Zhang Hao’ll dive into the deep abyss of faith and hope that the hardest part is already over, that whatever’s left to overcome will never be bigger in heart than the image of Hanbin coming through the arrival’s gate.
Holding his hand as he introduces his old neighborhood.
Eating at his favorite childhood restaurants, showing him off to his friends, his aunt and uncle. Watching him play around with Baobao and Liuliu and finally allowing himself to picture their near future. Their family.
(Could it be possible? he prays)
Zhang Hao isn’t religious, but this will certainly make him understand what Dante meant by writing Beatrice in the divine grace and image of Jesus Christ.
(Yes, it’s possible, it answers.)
There’s nothing he could think of that would be better than this.