Unfortunately, Xi’s mumbled reassurances weren’t enough to stem the tide of handwringing—real, actual handwringing—on Jiong’s part.

“It won’t be visible,” Xi tried, only to see Jiong’s already strained expression crumple. “Jiong, don’t.”

“I’m an idiot,” was the low, fierce response. “I should’ve been able to fucking control it.”

“Jiong, look at me,” Xi said, only to instantly regret it, because he really didn’t think he could bear to try and sit up, and the commanding reassurance he was trying to project was definitely losing something coming from someone laid out like a beached whale, too tired to even roll out of his own wet spot. “Jiong, please.”

Jiong shook his head, a brief, jerky movement almost as worrying as the way he was staring down at his hands. “I hate it.” Then, just as Xi hesitantly opened his mouth to ask for details, he added: “It feels too fucking good.”

“That… you mean, when you’re, when you’re holding me down, or…?”

“I could hold you down without hurting you,” Jiong said, flatly. “But I don’t, do I?”

“Jiong, sweetheart, please believe me when I say that holding me down hard enough that it hurts is, in fact, the point, at least for me.” Fuck, Xi wished he could sit up, there just wasn’t the right sort of effect saying this sort of thing half into the pillow. “If I didn’t want it to hurt, I would have fucking told you.”

“What if I didn’t listen?”

“Then I’d fucking well dump you, alright? Dump you, report you, trash your fucking reputation, etcetera.” Please god that he wouldn’t ask if Xi had ever had to cut someone off for crossing the line, because the last thing Xi wanted was to have his history of being temporarily mentally compromised enough to put up with emotional abuse being held up as the reason why his word couldn’t be trusted in this situation. “If you don’t think I’d do it, you can bloody well count on my friends to do it.”

“No, I just…”

“If it worries you this much,” Xi said, huffing a bit as he began a careful attempt at turning over, “we could, you could dial it back?”

Jiong didn’t say anything, just reached out to help support his weight and—embarrassingly—peel away the sticky sheets from his front. Then, with Xi now beached on his back on the unstained side of the bed, Jiong got up and stalked into the bathroom, then came back out with a deep frown and a dampened hand towel.

“Jiong?” Seeing him frowning as he approached, weighing the towel in his hand as if it were some sort of deadly weapon, Xi had to fight not to smile. “Jiong, talk to me.”

Jiong bowed his head, avoiding Xi’s gaze as he walked around to sit down on the dry side of the bed, squeezing in beside Xi’s prone, aching form. “I don’t want to dial back.” His voice was low and tense. Controlled. “It’s too fucking good.”

Worried, Xi started to turn his head in a bid to get a better look at Jiong’s expression, only for Jiong’s hand to settle in his hair and gently, but firmly prevent him. “What, I can’t even look at you?”

“I—sorry.” The hand towel Jiong had just started wielding paused, a warm, comforting weight against Xi’s stomach, and the hand that had been keeping Xi’s head still immediately lifted away. “It’s, I just feel I shouldn’t… I feel like I should be able to do without. That.”

“I don’t mind if you can’t,” Xi murmured. “Y’know. Do without it.”

“Sleepy?” When Xi nodded, the hand towel went back into gear, wiping away the stickiness on his belly, his groin, his upper thighs. “It’s like clockwork with you, the way you clock out when you’re satisfied.”

“Mmh.” Possibly, the wave of drowsiness hitting Xi right now was more due to the late night he’d had last night in this very same bed, tossed and turned and played around with by this very same man. Even when Jiong slid the cloth up between Xi’s thighs, working it into the cleft of his aching ass, Xi continued to nod off. “Hgh, you…”

“I’m not teasing,” Jiong muttered. “I know you don’t like being sticky. If it’s too—do you want me to stop?”

It did hurt, just not enough that Xi could be bothered to flinch in reaction, much less say anything to direct the cleansing process. “’M fine,” he found himself muttering in response. “T’morrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Talk. Talk then? Maybe?” Xi wasn’t sure if the words had come out clearly enough, but in the next moment, Jiong leaned in over him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Which was enough of an answer that Xi nodded again, and then snuggled right up against that warm, broad chest.

Initially, Xi’s primary thought upon being shaken awake by Jiong the next morning was that staying over with him had been a mistake. Yes, if they’d gone to Xi’s flat after the cursed karaoke event, it’d probably have meant that they wouldn’t have been able to see each other until Dom-V was all done with playoffs, but right now, faced with the thought of having to drag himself out of bed, Xi couldn’t help but consider it a fair trade.

Jiong’s newfound tendency to hover was not making things any easier. “I’m always like this,” Xi muttered. “You know I’m like this in the mornings, alright? Stop fucking worrying.” But even as he said those harsh words, he was dragging Jiong down and in for a fierce hug. “Surely you know how much I like you.”

The way Jiong stiffened in his arms, and then returned the hug just a bit too enthusiastically was gratifying, considering the fact that Xi hadn’t meant to—to say something so sappy to his lover so openly. But it had felt right to say it, to draw an unspoken line between the tension signalled by Jiong’s over-attentive manner and the deep-seated worry that his upset after last night’s vigorous fuck had revealed. “Breakfast?” Xi didn’t feel at all in the mood to cook one, but sprucing up leftovers was something he could do. “Though I don’t think there’s enough that we could eat and still leave you your love-love lunch.”

“That’s okay,” Jiong said, his voice muffled against Xi’s chest, his warm breath just a little ticklish. “I’d rather eat it with you, anyway.” And if that refusal to take the bait and sell some of his usual poisonous meng wasn’t a sign of his continued emotional unrest, Xi didn’t know what was. “Unless you’d rather eat out…?”

“Fuck no, that’d just mean being photographed dripping something down my front, wouldn’t it?” Xi ruffled Jiong’s hair. “There’s the press out there still, remember? Unless something big happened overnight, at least.”

“Sorry.” Jiong’s arms tightened around Xi again, almost too much to be borne. “Jiongjiong is really sorry.”

“Save it,” Xi muttered, now quite happy to return to being verbally short again, even if he wasn’t also in the mood to support it with physical actions, such as shoving at his silly lover or trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “And don’t think I forgot you owe me a talk, a real talk, mind you, on just what the fuck you did that left the great Andy Bai thirsting for your head on a pike.”

Sadly, as they both exchanged the dubious comfort of the stained, rumpled bed for that of the kitchen, not much more information was forthcoming on that tricky subject. Well, there was information all right—all the relevant chatlogs and a handful of images Jiong could dig up from that time—but just looking at all of it didn’t immediately suggest any additional reason why Bai had come on so strong last night.

“And y’know, it isn’t, I’m not doing this to point fingers or whatever,” Xi murmured, as he projected a screen on the tiny kitchen table, one large enough that they could both see everything he was analysing as they ate. “It’s just that I don’t really even know Bai that well, so I’d like to get a better picture of what he might’ve been thinking.”

It was easy enough to figure out what the draw had been, back then, when Bai had barely dipped a toe into the karaoke circuit, and had mostly been orbiting around Jiong. A bastard Star, even one that was only lightly acknowledged by the main family, was someone to reckon with, especially compared to the general run of pro player. And that wasn’t taking into consideration the fact that Jiong had also been the textbook definition of a sexy bad boy type: delicate good looks, charisma enough to drown in, and not at all shy about clubbing people with it to get his own way.

Xi didn’t want to assume too much about Bai just from his few, dim memories of him, or even from the earnest, bubbly personality he showed in the chatlogs. But for someone who initially rarely spoke up, someone who came off as an endearing mix of shy and desperate for approval the more he participated in Jiong’s team’s fan chatgroup, Xi could definitely see the appeal of the kind of guy confident and callous enough to juggle as many as five potential lovers who all knew about (and resented) each other.

It probably hadn’t helped Bai’s infatuation that Jiong’s team had been consistently successful. Or that he and his teammates had been just picky enough about who tagged along to fawn on them that being allowed to do so would have made your average uni student feel terribly special.

At least that was the overall impression Xi got. “Why’d you stop?” he couldn’t help but pause to ask, around a mouthful of fragrant, reheated rice. “I mean—”

“Aside from it being a massively bad idea to keep it going, scandal or no?” Jiong said, eyeing the current chatlog, a raucous private group chat following an unexpected win. It had devolved into enthusiastic, slightly cringey cybering halfway through, and though Jiong had yet to say anything, the way he was fidgeting as he demolished his bowl of stir fried pork and rice made it obvious that he’d much rather skip the topic.

Fat fucking chance, Xi thought. God knows when next I’ll have the time to pin him down to talk about all this. “What I really want to know is, um, is if you prefer more than one, um.” It’s one fucking question, Xi, just fucking ask… “I mean, are you poly?”

“Uh,” Jiong said, pausing with his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth, looking so flummoxed that Xi couldn’t help but smile. “I, um. I’ve never thought about it.”

“What I really should ask is if, if you’re seeing anyone else,” Xi said, bolstered by the fact that he’d been able to ask the p-question without stammering. “Other than me, that is.”

“No,” was the low, emphatic answer. “I don’t—like I said last night, I’m not, if that was how it was, I would have told you.” Jiong sounded a little angry now, but worried as well, worried in a way that soothed and flattered Xi in spite of his knowing that those emotions could be faked. Or, if not faked, used as a screen for a truth his partner felt too guilty or too entitled to admit. “Do you believe me?”

And, like Xi had been half expecting, half dreading, here was the tough bit. “I do,” he said, trying not to pay attention to the way Jiong perked up on hearing that. “Mostly.” There was no way to miss the way Jiong’s face fell then, even if he’d wanted to. “I—it’s not you,” and Xi was slightly shading the truth there, because Jiong’s ease at manipulation was definitely a factor, “it’s, well, I got cheated on, once, and it was…” enraging, humiliating, demoralizing, “…so I kind of have a shadow there.”

“Right,” Jiong said, his even tone and calm, understanding expression almost enough to convince Xi that he wasn’t upset by the lack of trust by proxy. The slightly stiff way he put down his fork gave him away. “That makes sense.”

“I also, um,” Xi began, because he was suddenly quite sure that if he didn’t air it now, he’d find excuse after excuse not to do so in future, “there was also this other bastard, who hit me—not during sex, by the way—and was a total and complete bastard emotionally, to me. So there’s that as well, as a reason.”

Silence. Xi couldn’t bear to look up from the screen and his own, almost empty plate for a long, long moment, caught between the old, irrational pulse of shame, and envy, envy that the problematic past Jiong was so nervous of seemed to mostly amount to having put his dick into one too many ardent groupies a decade or so ago. “So, so if I don’t—if it takes some time for me to fully trust you—”

“Xi,” Jiong said, coming around to stand beside Xi, his hand a comforting weight, first on Xi’s shoulder, then stroking down the hunched curve of his back. “It’s okay. I get it.” His voice was just a little hoarse, his tone restrained, and it really, it all really shouldn’t have made Xi feel like tearing up. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” Xi grumbled, blinking hard, determined not to linger on this mortifying topic another moment. “I’m fine, it’s just. Well. Now you know, so…” Probably those curt words would have been more believable if he wasn’t still hunching a bit, and if he had been able to gin up the strength to try and shrug off Jiong’s comforting touch. “So, as far as, as Bai Bai’s intentions now…”

“Far as I remember, he wasn’t in love or anything, back then,” Jiong said, his tone calm again. He hadn’t moved his hand away, had in fact transitioned to something that was almost a shoulder rub, his fingers kneading a smooth circle against Xi’s bare skin. “But the way things ended, I figure he was pretty pissed off. Embarrassed.”

“So it’s publicity, with a nice little side dish of revenge on the Star that got away?”

“Well, yeah, but…” His hands slowed their movements, deepening them. “I don’t know if… I might be imagining it, but. I just thought, when, last night, that video he handed in as proof?”

“Hm?” Under the increasingly satisfying assault of those fingers, which were seeking out and eliminating knots Xi hadn’t thought existed, Xi couldn’t muster much in the way of a response. “’M listening.”

“He picked you to challenge, on purpose,” Jiong said. “He was like that, I remember that much. Calculating. Definitely the sort to pick the easier target, which was you, in that context, on the face of it.”

“Hrgh.”

“Which means he’s not just likely out for my blood, but also for a bit of yours, as well. You know, considering.”

“Huh?” Jiong’s hands had finally lifted away, leaving Xi a little dazed as he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, pleased with the lack of kinks. “Considering what?”

“Considering that you won me over in the end,” Jiong said, slouching a bit as he edged back around to his empty seat. The arrogant ease with which he sat combined with the equally arrogant implication of those casual words, and for the first time, Xi could see in him the kind of proud, lawless young master that would have been an irresistible attraction to even someone as jaded as Xi had been back in his college heyday. “Don’t you think?” And just like that, the lawless young master’s mask had fractured a bit, the slightly wheedling undertone of his voice hinting at his insecurities. “Xi?”

“Hmph,” Xi said, cramming the last spoon of pork and rice into his mouth. The last thing he wanted was to end up being the kind of guy that rewarded this kind of half-pleading, half-spoiled behaviour. “Ahem. Fucking overestimating yourself.”

“Really?” Jiong, taking up his plate, deliberately scooted his chair around the curve of the table edge, bringing himself as close to Xi as possible. “You really don’t think I’m worth getting jealous over?”

“Fuck off.” Xi had been planning to say something cutting and witty about the heaven and earth discrepancy between Jiong’s two settled public personas—don’t think he hadn’t noticed the distinct lack of tildes and crying and cutesiness on Jiong’s part in the logs involving the groupies—but Jiong’s sudden closeness scrambled him. “I said fuck off.”

“Won’t Xi-er miss jiongjiong if he goes?”

For answer, Xi did his level best to try and elbow-shove Jiong out of his chair. It didn’t work—leverage and Jiong’s sheer solidity were both against him—but it was deeply satisfying.

After getting through that somewhat awkward breakfast, Xi felt far more confident about his ability to keep his chin up for the media. Still, when it came to the actual thing…

“Just got done fucking, did you?” “Hey, Mike! Mike! Look, come on, just look—” “Any comment on the rumours, Mikey?” “Quote from the femme-y fatso, please?” “How’d it feel to go down on our Michael for the first time?” “Smile, just fucking smile!” “How do you think he stacks up against the rest, Mike? Be honest, now!” “Any comment on where you met?”

Even with all his experience streaming large and small events and participating in the intensely documented process of the Karaoke Regional Concours, Xi couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous in front of a proper camera swarm. And proper swarms were nothing like this—shouting, calling out to him, a clutter of different models and makes whirring in and out of his peripheral and frontal vision, clicking and flashing nonstop even as they transmitted the voices of their controllers over link.

“Oh come on, just a quote, just a quick statement!” “Taking him to work, Mike?” “Did he suck your cock last night, Mike?” “Any comment on the rumour that you’re retiring to get married, Captain Star?”

“I’m not planning to retire any time soon,” Jiong said, his hand squeezing Xi’s. The sudden, deafening silence that had descended the moment he opened his mouth was soon drowned out by a wave of furious flashes and feverish follow-up questions, all of which Jiong smoothly ignored, to add: “As for how we met, it was down the street from the team house, in a cafe.”

“Then, Mike—” “Which—” “—tell us—”

“That’s all this morning, or else I’m going to be late,” Jiong said, now towing Xi along at a slightly quicker walk. His hand was gripping Xi’s too tightly—probably, he was more nervous than his current, gently smiling expression made him look.

The storm of questions followed them down onto the subway platform, which was where Xi and Jiong had planned to part ways with a hug. Somehow, though, in the midst of the floating, beseeching cameras, under the puzzled or curious or disdainful gazes of various passersby, Xi couldn’t help but think of just how long the playoffs would last. Just how long it’d be before he could see Jiong again.

[XiErXi]: can I kiss you?

[XiErXi]: please?

For answer, Jiong stooped down a bit, his gentle smile gaining a genuine, slightly wicked edge, and then they were kissing amidst a torrent of excited flashes.

No tongue—couldn’t get too wrapped up, which they absolutely would, if they kissed open-mouthed—but it was still somehow devastating, the feel of Jiong’s warm mouth on his. For a long, stupid moment, even though Xi knew he had to step back, he couldn’t bear to.

[MrJiong]: see you in a week? After semifinals?

“Okay,” Xi murmured. “See you then.” God knew how they’d manage any kind of meeting, if this plague of cameras was still on their trail by then. “Have a good day, sweetie.”

Jiong smirked down at him, then bent in to press a hot, wet, taunting kiss to his cheek—he licked, he absolutely fucking licked—and then stepped back, gentle, proper smile back in place. “You too, darling.”

And then he’d turned around and walked away, dragging approximately three-fourths of the cameras in his wake, all while Xi stood there flushing and staring after him, biting down the urge to curse at his back.

Darling? Darling?

[XiErXi]: who the fxxing hell is your darling ah??

It figured, it just fucking figured that the first time Jiong chose to call Xi such a normal endearment, he’d do it in front of what was probably half the tabloid gaming press. And of course he knew the kind of overreaction a restrained-looking person like him saying something like that would cause, because the only response Xi’s private raging received was:

[MrJiong]: [away message:] Xi-er~ jiongjiong is on a train with low signal okay~~~

“Wow, so intimate, are you guys already engaged?” “Can you comment on the rumour that you’re pregnant, Ling-ssi1?” “Ling-ssi, do you miss him already?”

“No comment,” Xi managed to say, with a smile, before heading for the platform where he’d take the train. He would just have to endure, he told himself. Revenge would be his by the end of the week, one way or another.

-ssi, 씨: Korean suffix meaning Mr./Ms./Mrs. Used towards strangers, or towards people you’re formally interacting with.↩