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The room was dark, only fragments of light filtering through the curtains. It gave Jingheng a suspended feeling, as though all that existed was the bed, and his body, and Lu Bixing. It was claustrophobic in the way sitting in a free-floating light mech could be claustrophobic: the sphere of existence so reduced, and space so vast around it. There had been a moment, very long ago, when that kind of claustrophobia had left his body entirely; there had been another, more recently, when it returned.
Lu Bixing pressed his fingers into Jingheng's hips, holding him down on the bed. The small points of contact ached, and the skin around them buzzed with a different feeling. Electric.
"Oh?" Jingheng murmured. "You'll imprison me?"
"Yeah," Lu Bixing said.
The edge of his crushing strength was right there. He held onto Jingheng too hard, but so exactly too hard. Bruising and not bone-crushing. Did he think about it all the time, or was it automatic—the regulation of it—Jingheng's stomach felt too acidic. Saliva pooled in his mouth. His pulse pounded between his legs anyway.
"Just imprisonment?" he asked.
"Yes," Lu Bixing said. "Just have to keep you." He buried his face against the dull side of Jingheng's neck. When Jingheng tried to put his fingers in Lu Bixing's hair, Lu Bixing grabbed his wrist—pinned that to the bed. Then the other as well. His entire weight was on Jingheng, pressing him down.
It felt like more than the weight of a person. There was something limitless about it. The way it trapped him in place. An ecopod on an isolated dwarf planet was nothing in comparison.
Their bodies moved together. It wasn't much, not much friction, not much focus. But it made pleasure fizz in Jingheng's gut anyway. He needed something more very badly. He had been needing something. The gulf between atoms seemed like the gulf between stars. Nothing close enough to really touch.
Lu Bixing bit him, teeth digging into damaged flesh which couldn't properly appreciate it. Bit harder and harder, until it did hurt, until Jingheng kicked under him. Tugged against his grasp. Their bodies became solid. Connected.
"Not even an interrogation," Jingheng said. "Lazy."
His face was warm. Lu Bixing could tell, certainly—if he lifted his head, he would be able to see that Lin Jingheng was flushed—would be able to see everything, even in this darkness, because of what he had done to himself.
Another buzzing feeling: anger, thrumming at the base of his skull and filling his sinuses. He inhaled deeply, drawing it down into his lungs and sighing it out.
"If you want," Lu Bixing said. He nosed his way up Jingheng's neck and kissed him behind his ear. He was trembling slightly. "I should—should tie you up first—"
But he didn't make any move to do so. He knelt over Jingheng, still holding him down by the wrists. Jingheng couldn't see his expression; there was a lack of balance to the moment. His eyes were adjusting, but only enough to give him a vague sense of Lu Bixing's outline.
His expression might be giving anything away. To properly regulate affect, feedback was needed. Without it, you didn't necessarily know if you were succeeding or not.
Lu Bixing took a slow breath. Said, "Do you understand what your crime is, Commander Lin?"
It wasn't exactly sexy, probably—any of it. It wasn't how people played this particular game in the kinds of books Lu Bixing read—used to read—? Did he still? It was annoying not to know. It was annoying that there were so many things he didn't know. But his cock was still hard. It was the memory of the way Lu Bixing could never resist fooling around with things like this once. Make-believe. Laughing his way through it as Jingheng told him it was absurd. But there was still the fact of Lu Bixing's hands on his wrists, the scent of his body below the alcohol and eucalyptus, the damp warmth of his breath on Jingheng's face. Nothing and nobody had touched Jingheng, for years and years and years. He had come back, and Lu Bixing had touched him, but not like this. So it was kind of hot anyway, despite all the weird awkwardness.
His wrists really fucking hurt. It was good.
"Enlighten me," he said.
"Oh," Lu Bixing said. "Um—I—"
His trembling had gotten worse. He seemed lost. He used to always have something to say—just like Lin always used to have something to say—even if they were lying to each other or messing with each other.
"Now you tell me I do know," Jingheng said. "And you're going to make me admit it."
"Don't bother pretending," Lu Bixing said, trying it out. "I'll have you begging to confess—?"
Jingheng felt extremely stupid. He tried to keep thinking about idiotic books and not about brightly-lit and easily-disinfected rooms. The latter intruded anyway—and if he thought about that, about being strapped down and really—well—that—that was—
He pulled himself away from examining what it was.
"Good," he murmured. "Keep going."
"Jingheng," Lu Bixing said. He started to laugh, and then his laughter turned unsteady—a little hiccupy—water dripped onto Jingheng's face.
"Come here," Jingheng said, with a quiet sigh.
He couldn't gather Lu Bixing in his arms, because Lu Bixing still had hold of his wrists. He flexed his hands, in case Lu Bixing had forgotten what he was doing—and perhaps he had—he let go at once. Jingheng's hands were prickly and numb, but it didn't really matter. He placed them on Lu Bixing's back, and Lu Bixing collapsed down against him, shivering.
"I still want to have sex," Lu Bixing said, after a while. He hadn't stopped crying. Jingheng's hands had had time to go from cold-prickly to hot-prickly to just kind of sore.
"Okay," Jingheng said.
He had what he was aware was a pathological need for control, and he was good at taking it for himself—and then there was Lu Bixing. He'd happened to Jingheng over and over again and Jingheng had done a great many things to try and control the situation, to manage him, to manage both of their feelings. Put up barriers, pulled dirty tricks. And here they were, and years had past, and he felt, all at once, terribly tired of himself. He wouldn't mind if Lu Bixing really took over. They could fuck however Lu Bixing wanted to fuck. Lu Bixing could take anything he liked.
There was also something under that thought besides exhaustion, well-hidden but stirring slowly. It was related to the other thing he wasn't thinking about.
Lu Bixing kissed him, sloppy and too hard, his lips tasting of salt. His tongue pressed against Jingheng's teeth, and Jingheng groaned, opened up for him. He felt the kiss in his entire body. He was making embarrassing little noises over and over again, but at least Lu Bixing was too.
"Gonna fuck you until you can't walk," Lu Bixing said, words pressed to Jingheng's lips. He didn't say it in a teasing voice—he sounded teary, mostly. Sort of desperate.
"You're still not fucking me at all," Jingheng complained—managed to make Lu Bixing laugh, just a tiny bit—and then Lu Bixing slid his fingers under the waistband of Jingheng's trousers and underwear, both at once, and Jingheng shuddered at the sudden touch. Then he was entirely bare from the waist down, and mostly bare above it—his open shirt had slid off his shoulders and was stuck half way down his upper arms, lightly limiting his range of movement.
Lu Bixing's fingers skimmed ticklishly over Jingheng's cock, and Jingheng hissed in—not protest exactly—
"Where's my jacket," Lu Bixing mumbled, talking to himself mostly. "Shit, alright—hang on—"
He rolled towards the edge of the bed, groped around on the floor. He would have been able to see what he was doing easily if he looked, but Jingheng felt sure that he wasn't looking—for all that the darkness of the room was limiting he was still attuned to the space around him, and to Lu Bixing, and he didn't need to see him clearly to feel the weight of his gaze. Lu Bixing didn't want to look away from him at all.
Jingheng heard the cap of a bottle being opened, felt the movements of Lu Bixing's body. Twitched anyway as slick fingers rubbed against his perineum. He had forgotten, almost, how it felt to be touched there. An echo came back to him only once it was already happening. He wrestled his way slightly irritably out of his shirt and reached up, searching for part of Lu Bixing to hold onto—found his shoulder, and dug his fingers in as Lu Bixing massaged him down there, and then around his hole. Then inside, a fingertip pressing slowly against tense muscle.
Jingheng closed his eyes, took deliberately even breaths. One finger was easy, physically speaking, but it was also somehow dizzying.
Lu Bixing slid it all the way in, and just let his hand rest like that, the heel of his palm against Jingheng's balls. He kissed Jingheng again, bit his lip hard, panted into his mouth. There really was something vicious to him now, barely contained, but it wasn't frightening. It might be cute—or something.
Jingheng shifted his hips, pushed down into the cradle of Lu Bixing's hand. Lu Bixing let him for a while, curled his finger slightly so that the back-and-forth drag of it felt more intense—then, too soon, pulled his hand away. Jingheng cursed, thumped the heel of his palm against Lu Bixing's shoulder in frustration.
"I'm just gonna do it," Lu Bixing said. He shifted to kneel between Jingheng's legs, undid his belt and opened his trousers. There was the slick sound of him stroking himself, either getting himself hard enough or getting his skin used to tight pressure.
"Bastard," Jingheng said. But he knew he could take it. He'd taken it the first time, and they'd really—really had no idea what they were doing.
Lu Bixing did it. A relentless pressure, his hands on Jingheng's thighs keeping him from moving. Jingheng took a deep breath, tipped his head back. He was terrible at relaxing, usually just faked a relaxed posture when it was appropriate and sometimes managed to fool himself, but he could force his body into compliance for a few minutes at a time. Clench and relax. He got his legs to go slack in Lu Bixing's hold, got his abdominal muscles to soften. The tip of Lu Bixing's cock slid in.
It felt bigger than it was. Jingheng's breath shuddered and caught in his throat.
"Are you mine?" Lu Bixing asked.
"Who the fuck else's," Jingheng said, needled by the question when he had already said so much about his feelings tonight—hissed as he was yanked down onto Lu Bixing's cock, forced suddenly open around it. His legs clamped around Lu Bixing's hips. He panted and panted. It wasn't that it hurt too much—he did know how to take it, and Lu Bixing did know how to give. How to push at Jingheng's limits until it felt intense enough. So it wasn't that.
"Okay," Lu Bixing said. The fabric of his trousers felt rough against Jingheng's skin. He was panting too. Holding on tight. He curled his body in over Jingheng, dropped his forehead heavily onto Jingheng's sternum.
One of his hands wandered, traveled up Jingheng's flank and across his chest. His thumb pressed briefly into the hollow of Jingheng's throat, seemingly unintentionally, and something opened up inside Jingheng that he had never felt before. Press down, he thought. It was the only thought in him, everything around it drowned in static.
Lu Bixing's hand slid away, coming to rest on the back of Jingheng's neck. Sparks gradually stopped dancing in front of Jingheng's eyes, leaving him lying there in the grey-black room again, without stars. To have the nape of his neck squeezed was manageable. Didn't make him feel like he was going to pass out from desire, only turned him on.
Lu Bixing seemed somehow scaldingly hot inside him. He still seemed huge, as though he'd pushed himself all the way up into Jingheng's stomach—stupid. Biochip aside, his body was still his body, the same as ever, just with a few years added. It was only Jingheng's nerves that were miscalibrated.
He wasn't given much time to adjust. Lu Bixing was eager, or desperate. His harsh movements were sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes electrically good. Jingheng held onto the discomfort; it was sweetly familiar. It felt like really being wanted, and that feeling spilled over into pleasure, so that it was all good, every part of it.
The bed was quiet, even with the force of their movements. It didn't creak, or thud against the wall. It added to the suspended feeling which the dark room had created, forming itself to Jingheng's body, holding him securely as Lu Bixing took his legs and folded them up against his chest and thrust in deeper.
Jingheng was going to come really fast, with this angle, this heavy pressure on his prostate—but hopefully Lu Bixing wasn't going to stop if he did. He touched his fingers to his own cock, then curled them around it, not to jerk himself off as much as to soothe the stinging ache that was building in it. He was wet—obviously he was wet—the whole thing was so—
Lu Bixing bit him—bit his calf, hard and unexpected—Jingheng's mind stuttered as he started to come. He kicked at Lu Bixing's shoulder, all reflex—clutched his cock too hard as it pulsed. He didn't know what sound he was making. He definitely cursed when Lu Bixing pulled out, feeling a furious and petty sense of betrayal—and then he was flipped roughly over onto his front, lifted until he had to get on his elbows and knees. Filled again, abrupt, no warning.
He let his head hang, let his throat make whatever jagged-edged noises it liked as his awareness blurred, mind whiting out, staticky. Let Lu Bixing grab his hair, and found one thought: what it would feel like if he pulled it harder—
It wasn't until Jingheng had come for a second time that Lu Bixing remembered he could take his own clothes off. Jingheng lay on his stomach on the bed, on the wet sheets, and listened to him—sighed as Lu Bixing settled over him again. The expanse of bare skin against his own settled something in his head, made everything quieter.
"Come on," he said. Sighed as Lu Bixing entered him again. He felt simultaneously peaceful and overstimulated. It kind of hurt, even though Lu Bixing was being gentle now—because he hadn't been before.
This kid really has too much stamina tonight, Jingheng thought—thought it as though things were normal, forgetting for a pleasant aching moment all the years between them. Lu Bixing liked to do it like this, lying heavily on top of him, grinding down into him. Uncomplicatedly clingy. Rubbing his face against Jingheng's skin, laughing as he dropped messy kisses everywhere he could. Naming parts of Jingheng's body that he liked—being sweet and embarrassing and perfect and horrible. Then the sting of memory—
Jingheng reached behind him to find something to touch—found and dug his fingers into Lu Bixing's hair. Lu Bixing's scalp was hot and damp against the backs of his fingers. Lu Bixing mouthed at the back of Jingheng's neck, and Jingheng held him there, close, until Lu Bixing's teeth and lips turned hungry enough to hurt. Maybe bleed.
"Fuck," Jingheng said, and Lu Bixing moaned shakily in a way which seemed like agreement. Jingheng said: "Are you ever going to—uhh—"
"Maybe," Lu Bixing said. "Keep doing that."
Jingheng pulled his hair roughly, and Lu Bixing's whole body shuddered. Maybe they were both real and both alive—anchored together like this, fucking like this. Jingheng's toes curled, his body tensing with each wave of pleasure. He was consumed from the centre out, until he came with a violent jolt, forehead slamming down into the yielding mattress, legs trying desperately and entirely without his permission to kick—then, also without his permission, going slack. Lu Bixing really didn't stop this time. He fucked into Jingheng's tired body with quick sharp thrusts, gasping in time with them, until he too jolted and shook and came, deep inside.
Jingheng's fingers uncurled slowly. He stroked Lu Bixing's head, ran his fingers more gently through his hair.
He knew why Lu Bixing's shoulders were still shaking, but he didn't know what to do about it. Lu Bixing wasn't letting him roll over, so Jingheng couldn't hold him; he had already poured out all his words, and couldn't find any good ones to say. He kept moving his hand gently. Scratched his nails lightly against the back of Lu Bixing's neck, contact to mirror the throbbing bite Lu Bixing had given him.
Everything was sticky. The smell of sex clung to them, filled the air around them. Jingheng was still lying on top of the sheets he'd come all over. If he sat up, the insides of his thighs would eventually become a mess too. Lu Bixing hadn't pulled out. Jingheng hissed in discomfort as Lu Bixing moved inside him.
Then he was empty—more or less. Not stretched open, at least. It felt like Lu Bixing had come a lot. Lu Bixing said, "Not done with you—"
"Sure," Jingheng said. "I'm imprisoned. You can—"
So Lu Bixing, still clingy, fit his cock between Jingheng's thighs. Time passed hazily, difficult to measure. At length, Lu Bixing made a choked noise, and shoved his way hurriedly back inside Jingheng just to be able to come like that again.
He seemed exhausted, but he pushed a hand under Jingheng anyway, touching his cock experimentally—but Jingheng had been completely spent for a while now, and Lu Bixing found him soft.
"Okay?" Lu Bixing asked.
"Mm," Jingheng said. "Good. Tired."
"Alright," Lu Bixing mumbled.
Jingheng did feel good, in a bleary kind of way. Didn't need to try and come again. Residual feeling was enough.
They rearranged themselves, and Jingheng stayed in bed with his arm draped around Lu Bixing until Lu Bixing had fallen deeply asleep—only then got up to go to the bathroom on unsteady legs, and sat on the toilet for a long time with his eyes closed, seeing the slow turning of the stars in his head. Time stretched out and also twisted in on itself around him.
The night, the unfamiliar room, the hours, the years.
He washed his face and the insides of his thighs and his stomach with a cloth, and went back to the bed where Lu Bixing waited in a messy bundle of blankets without showering.