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kingofthe-egirls · 9 months

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BUTTERFLY: LUFFY x Y/N (modern au part 7)

modern au

(cw: mma!luffy, celebrity, dress shopping, flirty banter, food mention, interview w Teen Vogue reporter, reader is a camgirl)

(a/n: help)

Songs: “The Louvre” by Lorde

words: 1.4k

****

“I’m not askin’ what I look like,” Luffy drawls with a crooked smirk. His hands are loose in his pockets as he steps closer, space minimizing between his heated body and yours. “I’m askin’ if ya like whatcha see. Cmon, kitty, how’re the threads?”

He leers at you in his fitted black suit, paired with a deep red, satin button down the color of a dry cabaret sauvignon. A silver chain with a skull-and-crossbones hangs around his neck. It glitters between his exposed collarbones. You want to take it off with your teeth.

“Sexy.”

He snickers, and rushes back into the changing room. “Awesome,” is all he says as he finishes redressing.

You’re standing outside the velvet curtain holding the socks, tie, and pocket square that match the suit.

He adds a Rolex to the mix.

You both check out of the swanky menswear shop, and head down the sparkling strip to find you a dress.

****

You stand in the fitting room, obscured by a black door with a chalkboard sign that says “#2” in a curly, squiggly font.

You’d decided to hit one of the local thrift stores, decked out in miniature Calico Critter toys, porcelain tea sets, vintage dresses, and strange plants. Luffy seems comfortable enough, chatting with the elderly saleswoman at the counter.

You squirm.

You’re wearing a deep red velveteen dress with a gathered waist and a slit up the side. It’s heavy, and smells like mothballs. You shimmy out of it; the texture is abhorrent.

“How’s it goin’, dollface?”

Luffy asks you through the kitschy little door. His sandals scuff the uneven floorboards on the other side of the fitting room. You’re tangling your limbs in an emerald green

cocktail dress with too-tight sleeves.

“Struggling!”

You huff with an honest sigh.

“What’s wrong? Need my help?” He asks cheekily, and you snort.

“Not yet, Prince Charming.”

He laughs, but lays off the banter. It’s a sorta sweet balance that you two have found with each other.

Luffy knocks on the door.

“How’s this one? Saleslady said—,” he stops as you open the door, still half-dressed in a champagne gown. It’s pale pink with diamond shimmers. The sweetheart neckline dives between your breasts, tapered empire waistline revealing the goddess-like, Boticelli version of your pear-shaped body. The long, flowy skirt wraps around your legs in waves. There’s a subtle slit to your thigh, and you found a rose gold clutch to match.

You slowly turn, sweeping your hair to the side so he can zip the back of the slinky, incandescent gown.

His fingers are slow as he clips the zipper up your exposed back.

“What jewelry d’ya want?”

He asks, raspy.

****

You decide on a single, Swarovski swan pendent with a rose-quartz center. The wings of the silver swan are outstretched behind her, with a diamondesque eye sparkling at the center of her graceful face.

You spray Daisy by Marc Jacobs at your pulse points. You curl your hair. You apply eyeshadow, lip liner, and gloss. You contour and highlight: blush, false lashes, winged eyeliner, everything.

You stare at yourself in the mirror of Luffy’s luxurious bathroom.

Sparkling.

Glittering.

Insane.

****

The dinner lasts so long.

You find yourself picking at the fabric napkin in your lap: undoing scratchy threads as you fiddle.

There’s so much social labor.

You have no idea how your boyfriend does it. It’s so many hours of smiling, chatting, answering questions, social media marketing, and more.

Everything said is scrutinized. Laborious. Every single face you make has a chance to be photographed. Immortalized. Tweeted. Instagrammed.

Commented on.

You scrunch your nose to the side, staring down at your green tea sorbet. A dessert that is so light and refreshing actual tears spring to your eyes as you taste the light green ice.

The champagne is sweet.

Your stomach is sour.

Luffy is standing off to the side, doing an interview. The reporter is smiling, seemingly kind.

Luffy kicks ass at interviews.

The social media burnout seems to roll off his back. Like staring into flashing lights doesn’t dizzy his head. Like he can still focus through the humming buzz of food, conversation, drinks, and laughter.

You feel like a scared rabbit.

Someone bumps your elbow, and you squeak out a frozen gasp of terror. Someone laughs, and the tension leaves your body as you force yourself to breathe. You’re safe, here.

It’s just new, is all.

“Sorry bout that,” someone says, as they hover next to your seat. You force yourself to see past lights and sounds and system overload. Person. Individual. Someone is standing next to you and you must learn their name. “Is this seat taken?”

You shake your head, and shift so they have room to sit in Luffy’s vacant seat. They’re lovely: dressed in sky blue and silver accents.

“Maria.”

You smile wide at hearing her name, her pronouns, her career as a social media manager. She’s working at Teen Vogue, something you particularly respect. “Is it okay if I ask you some questions? It’s super interesting to see your social media presence as an egirl,” she smiles, “And I’d love to see what you have to say about it! It’s okay if you’re a little overwhelmed,” she allows. She had a gap between her front two teeth.

She is sparkling.

“Sure! I’m an open book, really. My social filter is all outta wack,” you admit, shyly. But you hope your open body language and softer voice help get the “friends” message across.

Expression. Communication.

Honesty.

Sweetness.

Swiftness.

She starts:

“So, how long has it been since you started camming?” She licks her lips, iPhone recording the conversation. She sets it on her knee, face up. She had a daisy-patterned pop socket.

“I started in 2020, once the pandemic started. I started an OnlyFans, and I haven’t really looked back since. Although, I take some breaks now and again.”

She smiles, “Breaks are healthy,” she assures you, as someone starts filming you over her shoulder. You scoop another bite of sorbet.

“So, what would you say is the most interesting thing about your career?”

“Mm!” You hum through a mouthful of green tea ice, “So many things! It’s so creatively expressive. I get to assign myself whatever roles I want,” you start bragging a little, “Since I choose whoever I wanna cosplay. It’s also so sweet to see what content people vibe with. Like, someone said they listen to my ASMR as they fall asleep! It’s amazing, seeing that someone sees you as their comfort content, y’know?” You smile, rambling a bit.

She smiles, though. She seems to enjoy listening. So you smile, too.

“Awesome, that’s super cool. What are some challenges about sex work?”

You nod, sober.

“The shame. People want to criticize me so much for showing my body onscreen, but burlesque has been around for centuries. The art of the striptease, the art of pornography, the skills of prostitution—it’s all so gorgeous. It’s got its shadow side, like everything, so when I speak about sex work as a career, I am always only ever speaking about consensual sex.”

She nods sagely, listening.

“So, um…ah—is it okay if I speak more on this?” You ask nervously. The napkin is scrunched into knots in your fists. The reporter—Maria—nods. She is smiling, and focused. Her eyes are deep brown, with fluffy eyelashes even without mascara.

She is not wearing makeup.

You smudge at your own lipstick, wishing you could swipe it off.

“Okay, so…it’s a way for me to flirt with strangers on the internet. It’s like, a very fun thing to do for me,” you smile, honestly. “And that’s how I met Monkey D. Luffy! Oh, I hope that’s okay to say,” you suddenly fret, social filter glitching out. “It’s so hard to understand censorship,” you confess, “I’m an adult performer so like…all the stuff I say is gonna be, like, eighteen plus. Or like, how do you decide what’s private and what’s public? It’s all so discomfortable,” you huff.

She smiles, laughing softly.

“I understand. Is there anything else you wanna say?” She has her hands folded in front of her, with several silver rings on her slender, piano-player fingers.

“Don’t say he met me through my day job, please.”

She meets your eyes, scanning.

“Seriously.”

She nods, satisfied.

“Thanks so much for your time, Miss Hero Butterfly!” She smiles, and stands up. Her dress rustled around her. She has a butterfly pendant in her hair. You smile, and stand to shake her hand.

“I love your butterfly necklace,” you say, grinning.

She winks.

“I wore it for you.”

****

#holy shit fuck christ god #sgsggaba #dumpster dive #kitty speaks #modern au #luffy x y/n #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #luffy x you #one piece modern au #luffy modern au

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 years

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Far From An Imposition - AO3

@wincestielfttfwin asked for some A-Yao feels: may I humbly offer you 10k of kind-of plotty smut with feelings? This is another pre-’All Dreams Were Worth Keeping’ NieYao smut oneshot, a direct follow-up to my other pre-fic NieYao smut oneshot in this universe, ‘Seems Like A Good Thing’. I just really like them fucking and being shit at communication while they do it, okay? 😂

-//-

“Meng Yao.”

Meng Yao, currently up to his elbows in other people’s bullshit problems, doesn’t bother looking up at Nie Mingjue looming in his doorway.

“Yes?”

“You know it’s 6, don’t you?”

“Rest assured, Mingjue, I always know what time it is.” Meng Yao’s reply is perhaps a bit too tart, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem fazed by it. Rather he steps into the office fully and shuts the door behind himself with a quiet click. The office is likely emptying out quickly enough on the other side of it that the extra layer of privacy isn’t strictly necessary, but Meng Yao doesn’t mind. He simply makes a note of it in the background of everything else running through his mind and dismisses it just as easily. Whatever the reason for it, it doesn’t matter right now -

“A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue says, low under the furious tacking of Meng Yao’s keyboard, and Meng Yao freezes. Entirely without his permission, his near-perfect memory replays the moment Nie Mingjue had called him that in the dark of a hotel room, the pair of them finally daring to cross a line Meng Yao had never thought he’d see himself cross. Nie Mingjue’s good at that, inviting him to see ways of doing things, possibilities for his life, that he wouldn’t have bothered to think of without him. Whether that’s necessarily a good thing remains to be seen.

His breath hitches in his chest in the moment before he returns to typing, though he does at least look up from the screen to meet Nie Mingjue’s eyes only to find him looking…concerned. Concerned? For him?

“Mingjue,” he acknowledges with audible hesitation – this is as much uncharted territory as that night (that week) at the hotel had been, and he hates being caught off guard no matter how many times Nie Mingjue does it.

“Whatever you’re working on can wait. It’s Friday.”

Meng Yao blinks and, despite his best intentions, fails to see the point of this argument.

“Yes, it’s Friday…that means two days of leaving things unfinished and an extra workload for Monday morning, which I’d rather avoid.”

“What are you working on that’s so time sensitive?” Nie Mingjue asks then with the beginnings of a glare creeping across his unfairly handsome face. Meng Yao can never tell if he loves or hates that Nie Mingjue is just as attractive when he’s pissed as he is when he’s happy or – as Meng Yao’s brain is still unhelpfully replaying for him in exquisite detail despite the last example of this having happened weeks ago now – completely blissed (read: fucked) out.

“There was a scheduling error in accounting and a report that was meant to be sent out two days ago hasn’t even been started. I would have worked on it earlier but there were other things I needed to wrap up first, and I understand that overdue work should take priority but -“

“A-Yao, I’m not trying to interrogate you,” Nie Mingjue interrupts. “I trust that you did everything in the best way you could and that I would’ve done it the same way if I’d known. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I just wanted to know what it was – so you’re doing this report right now?”

Meng Yao has to blink a few times through the euphoria of being trusted to be competent. Just like that. No questions, no hesitation. Nie Mingjue trusts him, and Meng Yao still doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

“Yes, I started about half an hour ago. I expect it’ll take me another hour or two to sort through everything and get it all in place, and then I’ll have to spend some time double checking it all to make sure it’s correct, then I can…um..-“

Meng Yao trails off as Nie Mingjue’s expression sours further, definitely glaring now. “Literally none of this is in your job description,” Nie Mingjue frowns. “How did this end up with you?”

Meng Yao barely refrains from rolling his eyes sheerly out of self-preservation. The overwhelming number of things he does for this company that aren’t in his job description goes way beyond covering for the accounting department’s clerical fuck-ups, but he’s pretty sure if he says something to that effect his reputation amongst the others in the office will plummet even further when it makes them subject to Nie Mingjue’s irritation.

“I try my best to help solve any problem I can,” he demurs instead, but Nie Mingjue’s fierce expression doesn’t budge an inch.

“What do you have left to do today that is in your actual, normal job description in my office, not accounting or marketing or whoever else decided they need you this week?”

Meng Yao checks his mental list quickly, double checks it against the written list next to his computer, and says, “Nothing. Your schedule for next week is all in order, my inbox is cleared of everything urgent, I’ve returned all the necessary calls for the week, and the next project I’m expecting to need to handle won’t cross my desk until Wednesday at the earliest with the print delays in marketing for the rebranding needed before next month’s product launch expo.”

Nie Mingjue takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly with a shake of his head as if to clear it. “Yep. Good. You’ve done more than enough - send what you have so far back to accounting, tell them to fix their shit by Wednesday, and then come get dinner with me. We can talk about work if it’ll make you feel better about skipping out on time.”

Meng Yao stares first at Nie Mingjue and then at his monitors, one far too bright with a nearly-blank spreadsheet and the other sporting multiple open windows full of figures that he’s only just begun to make sense of, considering he doesn’t know much of anything about the intricacies of accounting yet.

“But-“

“I can buy you takeout to go home with if you don’t want to eat with me.”

“No, it’s not that! I just-“

“Do more than I would ever ask you to. Come on, A-Yao. I’m heading out, and I’m not leaving my office manager behind to do shit that isn’t even his job while I go home for the weekend. Send an email back to whoever it is that dumped this on you – use me as an excuse if you want, tell them you have to prioritize a project for me and they can sort out their own mistakes.”

God, what Meng Yao wouldn’t give to have that sort of easy authority. That unquestionable confidence in his own word having that much weight behind it. He doesn’t have it of course, and likely won’t for as long as he’s in this position, but for now he doesn’t have any qualms about borrowing Nie Mingjue’s with his explicit permission to do so.

Under the other man’s watchful eye he closes down everything but the spreadsheet and his inbox. He opens the email he’d received from accounting and attaches his meager beginnings to the message, along with a text body full of polite business-speak bullshit to the effect of what Nie Mingjue had told him to say. He doesn’t apologize, and he doesn’t offer to look it over again. It’s surprisingly heady to just wash his hands of the problem and tell the people responsible to actually take responsibility for their shit.

By the time he shuts the computer down Nie Mingjue’s frown has faded into something vaguely smug, and he stands up from where he’d sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, his hands tucked into his pockets with his thumbs sticking out of the too-tight fabric. (Meng Yao knows from careful research that his ass looks absolutely indecent when he does that, and he thinks again of that week and how many times Nie Mingjue had let him fuck him with a sort of wistfulness that nearly knocks him breathless.)

“Do you want to go out somewhere for dinner or do you want to come to mine?” Nie Mingjue asks as they head for the elevator together through the dimmed office. He offers a nod and a smile to the cleaning staff they pass in the hall and Meng Yao wants to climb him like a fucking tree.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Neither option is an imposition or else I wouldn’t have offered, A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue huffs, but he sounds a little amused at least. “Seriously. Just tell me where you want to go and we’ll go.”

Meng Yao very very quickly weighs the pros and cons of both choices against each other, and in the end it’s not even a competition. “Yours, then,” he says as nonchalantly as he can, like the deciding factor wasn’t the likelihood of getting Nie Mingjue in bed being so much higher in the man’s own house than if they go out.

“You got it.”

The elevator opens again then and they stride across the main lobby in step, both of them offering a nod to the evening security guard behind the desk. Nie Mingjue thankfully doesn’t live too far from the office, his house tucked away in one of the older neighborhoods in town, old enough to have weathered the corporatization of the city around it intact, at least for now. Meng Yao steps down out of Nie Mingjue’s SUV and tries not to be too obvious about glancing around the bit of the street he can see, but Nie Mingjue isn’t looking at him anyway.

“There you are, da-ge, what in the world took you so long?” Nie Huaisang calls from the front door and Meng Yao stiffens. He’d completely forgotten about Nie Huaisang’s existence, let alone his presence in the Nie house – they don’t really interact too much at work considering Meng Yao’s hectic schedule and Nie Huaisang’s aversion to anything resembling even a token effort at productivity, but that’s no excuse for Meng Yao to have forgotten he’d be here.

“I had to force Meng Yao to leave, it took some convincing,” Nie Mingjue snorts as he strides up the walk. “If you’re that hungry you should’ve just ordered something.”

“And miss out on your cooking? Not a chance,” Nie Huaisang sniffs. Meng Yao follows behind Nie Mingjue and tries not to think too hard about the man’s constant fussing over him to eat and take care of himself in the context of apparently doing the same to Nie Huaisang, albeit apparently a little less nicely than he does it for Meng Yao which is…something.

A Thing.

He’s not thinking about it.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Nie Mingjue tells him when they step over the threshold. As if this isn’t one of the more surreal moments of Meng Yao’s life; as if this is a completely normal Friday evening; as if they do this.

He comforts himself at least with the knowledge that Nie Huaisang seems just as uncomfortable with his unexpected presence, eyes darting around like he’s nervous Meng Yao is going to ask him to do something work-related out of hours and in his own house.

“So. Um. Hi,” Nie Huaisang eventually titters.

“Hello Huaisang,” he replies politely, because if he doesn’t retain the basic social skills Meng Shi drilled into him as a boy then he has nothing left in this life at all. “I apologize for interrupting your evening, I hope you won’t mind.”

“No no no, not at all, not at all. Da-ge can invite whoever he wants over, of course-”

“It’s just dinner, A-Sang,” Nie Mingjue calls from somewhere in the depths of the house – most likely the kitchen, seeing as it’s punctuated with a pot being set down a little too hard on a ceramic cooktop. “Don’t make it weird, you’ll freak him out except he’ll be too polite to say so.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable, Mingjue,” Meng Yao lies through his best customer service smile. Nie Huaisang seems to study him for a moment before he shrugs and flounces off into the house after his brother, leaving Meng Yao free to slip off his shoes and carefully place his bag down just so right beside them, attempting to take up as little space as possible in the Nie home.

He heads down the short hallway when he’s finished to find that it opens out into the living room directly, stairs to the second floor straight ahead and a shadowed hallway tucked just to the left of them. Directly to his left is the kitchen, currently more brightly lit than the lamps in the living room can provide, and he turns to find Nie Mingjue has already shrugged out of his suit jacket and is rolling his sleeves up his ridiculously muscular forearms – a feature Meng Yao has never felt all that strongly about one way or the other…right up until he’d gotten to see Nie Mingjue’s up close and personal on that Fucking Work Retreat (as he’s officially dubbed it for his mental filing purposes), and now he’s discovered that so long as Nie Mingjue’s are the forearms in question, he’s…intrigued.

“Want anything to drink?” Nie Mingjue offers without looking up from the knife he’s sharpening with casual expertise, quick and fluid. “We’ve got white or red wine, whiskey, water, juice, I think A-Sang’s got some of that weird kombucha stuff stashed at the back of the fridge becoming sentient..”

“Wine would be lovely. Whichever you think will go best with dinner,” Meng Yao is quick to assure before he’s subjected any further to Nie Mingjue being casually thoughtful in a way that has no right to make him as flustered as it does. Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to think anything amiss, just nods and fetches a glass down from the top shelf of the cabinet in front of him (with an ease that just isn’t fair, the fucking giant). Nie Huaisang snags a bottle of red from the fridge – Meng Yao can’t see the label from where he’s hovering uncertainly in the doorway to know if it’s any good or not – and within moments Nie Huaisang is ferrying the glass from the counter at Nie Mingjue’s elbow to Meng Yao’s waiting hands.

This is too damn weird, but Meng Yao is in too deep now, and Meng Shi didn’t raise a quitter. If the Nie brothers want to act like this isn’t definitely the weirdest meal they’ll ever have then fine, Meng Yao can play that game too. Definitely.

He’s halfway through his glass of wine and reeling a little bit from watching the brothers interact in their own element, without the structure of the office to guide their behavior, when Nie Huaisang suddenly looks over from where he’s poking at Nie Mingjue’s cheek while he cooks to instead lock his sights on Meng Yao. He stiffens a bit in anticipation of being drawn into their easy banter – something he’s not sure he could ever manage even with serious effort – but Nie Huaisang just gives him a wide smile and dramatically declares to the room at large,

“House tour!! I love giving house tours, come with me!”

Meng Yao, amused despite his best intentions to remain neutral, simply transfers his wine safely to one hand just in time for Nie Huaisang to grab his arm and loop his own through it as casually as if they’re not just (slightly uneasy) workplace acquaintances. Nie Huaisang uses their linked elbows to drag him out of the kitchen trailed by the sound of Nie Mingjue calling out, “Dinner’s in 20 minutes, A-Sang!”

“Okay da-ge!”

The next few minutes pass in a blur of cheerful, slightly absent-minded chatter about the interesting spots around the house that Nie Huaisang shows him to – the den just off the living room; the sunroom down the hall, currently full to bursting with potted plants under various soft yellow grow lights; the garden out the back, though there’s not much to be seen in the dark like this besides the koi pond glittering in the light spilling from the living room windows. Nie Huaisang also points out the dim, hulking form of a prefabricated wooden shed tucked away on the opposite side of the garden from the pond and explains that it’s Nie Mingjue’s studio for his leatherworking projects, the idea of which is so thoroughly distracting Meng Yao barely notices it as they return inside and head upstairs.

“That’s da-ge’s side of the house to the left, and mine is over here to the right,” Nie Huaisang gestures, oblivious to Meng Yao’s distraction. “Da-ge’s got a home gym and that’s his bedroom right at the end of the hall, and then here’s mine!” Nie Huaisang flings the door open with a dramatic flourish that leads Meng Yao to suspect that this is the entire goal of this little ‘house tour’.

A hunch that turns out to be entirely correct, as far as he can tell, as he’s immediately cajoled into helping Nie Huaisang choose an outfit to wear out clubbing after dinner. It’s a small mercy that Nie Huaisang doesn’t really want his opinion other than to approve the choices he’s already made, since his mind is full of pleasant static created by the knowledge that post-dinner it’ll just be him and Nie Mingjue alone in the house and his tentative hopes might not be dashed after all.

Dinner, when they head back downstairs in response to Nie Mingjue’s call, is..noisier than Meng Yao would have expected. Nie Huaisang pouts and jokes and teases his brother just as much as he had while he was watching Nie Mingjue cook, and Nie Mingjue takes it in stride with just enough mildly-snappish retorts that Nie Huaisang doesn’t take anything too far towards genuinely irritating. Meng Yao is, thankfully, left mostly to his own devices to eat and observe them interacting together like a behavioral scientist, fascinated by the dynamic of two such different people. Nie Huaisang ropes him into the conversation enough that he doesn’t feel left out, but also doesn’t attempt to get him to tease Nie Mingjue with him, leaving him free to maintain at least some semblance of professional distance without ending up too isolated.

It’s an extremely delicate balance, and Nie Huaisang handles it masterfully. Meng Yao puts a tick mark or two on his mental list of how many reasons he can spot to perhaps try to get a little bit closer to Nie Huaisang.

When their plates are empty Nie Huaisang jumps to his feet to clear the table, and Meng Yao raises an eyebrow at the surprising display of industriousness as Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes.

“He can’t leave to go out until he helps me clean up,” Nie Mingjue explains with a sigh. “And just dumping the dishes in the sink unfortunately counts as ‘helping’ in the loosest sense of the word. It’s not worth debating it with him, believe me.”

“Done, da-ge!” Nie Huaisang chirps and practically flies out of the kitchen to hurry upstairs and, presumably, get changed into the outfit Meng Yao had ‘helped’ him pick out by making appreciative noises at all the right times.

“Is that a house rule or simply a rule for Nie Huaisang?” Meng Yao asks around the rim of his nearly empty water glass. He’s supremely glad he’s not predisposed to blushing, as he has every reason to be embarrassed about his obvious attempt at fishing to extend his stay long enough that he won’t be expected to leave when Nie Huaisang does. “Am I also forbidden to leave until I help you clean up?”

Nie Mingjue snorts at that and downs the last dreg of his after-dinner whiskey (which reminds Meng Yao way too much of the fact that he’d also ordered a whiskey for himself after that first dinner as well on the Fucking Work Retreat a mere hour and a half before he’d let Meng Yao fuck him senseless) but, and this is crucial, he doesn’t say no.

“Normally I’d say a guest isn’t allowed to help, but something tells me you’d really hate sitting around not doing anything while I take care of things in here,” Nie Mingjue says, and it’s teasing and snarky and relaxed in a way Meng Yao wants to hear so much more of.

“Correct.”

“Alright. Then yes, you’re forbidden from leaving until we’ve cleaned up.”

“Perfect, I’ll get started then,” he says in his best ‘I’m-just-the-most-helpful-man-you’ve-ever-met’ voice that he uses exclusively at work. Nie Mingjue laughs at that, his extremely rare belly-laugh, and this time Meng Yao does blush just a tiny bit on the back of his neck as he stands up to gather up the last few dishes – his water glass, Nie Mingjue’s empty whiskey glass, a random handful of unused cutlery – and take them over to the sink.

They’re halfway through washing the dishes side by side at the sink when Nie Huaisang swans past the doorway to the kitchen in a froth of lace and glitter and far more skin showing than anything that would be permitted in the office. Meng Yao smiles a little to himself as he hears Nie Mingjue sigh heavily, but he keeps whatever comment he likely has in mind behind his teeth.

“Don’t wait up for me, da-ge! We’re doing breakfast out tomorrow before training so I’ll just stay with Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang calls and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s sweeping out the door and pulling it firmly shut behind him, the electronic lock humming and clicking over a second later.

“Training?” Meng Yao asks, both out of genuine curiosity as well as in an attempt to keep their abrupt solitude from becoming awkward.

“Martial arts. He’s friends with some other business family kids in the area – well they’re not kids anymore, but you know – and they all go to the same gym in town to work out on Saturdays. I’ve been trying to get A-Sang to actually train while he’s there, but I haven’t had the time to go with him since our dad died, and no one else bothers to make him. He just goes to hang out, and then they all go out again together Saturday night.”

“Ah, I see,” Meng Yao hums and keeps the flood of further questions at bay. Nie Mingjue isn’t the most forthcoming man – not that Meng Yao has any room to talk, he knows – so the details of his personal life are more than a little lacking in Meng Yao’s mental files about him. This seems like a better chance than any he’s had so far to get Nie Mingjue to open up and satisfy some of his curiosity, but considering Meng Yao has…other possibilities in mind for the evening, it’s probably a better idea to appear as polite and unassuming as possible to avoid ruffling feathers.

They lapse into a comfortable, companionable silence as they work, Meng Yao washing and rinsing each dish before he hands them off to Nie Mingue to dry and put back where they belong. He navigates the kitchen with ease and confidence, which Meng Yao knows is only to be expected since it’s his kitchen, but it’s still unfairly attractive to see him not only in his element but also..comfortable. Casual. His sleeves are still rolled up from when he’d gotten them out of his way to start cooking, and Meng Yao finds the hand drawing wide, soapy circles around one of their plates slowing down as he gets a bit distracted thinking of how nice they look – and how much nicer they’d look on either side of his head while Nie Mingjue pins him down.

Without Nie Huaisang here for a buffer, Meng Yao finally has no choice but to confront his own motivations for accepting the invitation into Nie Mingjue’s home. It leaves him feeling strangely squirmy, the slick curl of anticipation escaping him a bit and slipping dangerously close to anxiety before he reins it back in.

They finish washing the rest of the dishes as Meng Yao makes his peace with his own selfishness and the ways it’ll probably come to bite him in the ass later, and when he looks up from drying his hands one final time it’s to find Nie Mingjue already watching him, a bit of tension in his shoulders and the hard line between his brows.

“A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue starts with an effort. “I know we didn’t really ah…talk about what happened before…you know, at the hotel when we-“ Nie Mingjue clears his throat and seems to be forcing himself when he meets Meng Yao’s gaze again- “but I mean..if you want-“

Fuck it, Meng Yao thinks somewhat savagely and throws caution to the wind.

“Mingjue if you don’t kiss me in the next ten seconds I’m actually going to castrate you,” he snaps to put them both out of their misery, and he’s pleased to startle a genuine laugh out of Nie Mingjue. He braces himself against the counter as Nie Mingjue crowds him against it, and then he’s being wrapped up tightly in stupid big, strong arms against Nie Mingjue’s chest, and he’s helpless to do anything but melt into the hungry press of Nie Mingjue’s mouth against his.

That first night, he’d thought it would no doubt be a one-time thing. It had been fun, the slow buildup over the afternoon, driving Nie Mingjue insane at dinner, waiting to hear if he would do anything about it once they were back in their room. It had been so freeing to let himself want, to be wanted right back. He hadn’t thought he’d get more than that – but then Nie Mingjue had asked for him again, and again, and so Meng Yao had happily fucked him every single night they’d spent at that damn conference. It’s the only thing that had made all the schmoozing and corporate chatter truly worth it, if he’s being honest. And when that had ended he’d thought for sure that would be the end of the line. He’s nothing if not realistic.

Except now, right there in Nie Mingjue’s own kitchen, the man slides a hand into the back pocket of his trousers to grope his ass while he tries to fuck Meng Yao’s throat with his tongue and Meng Yao is very abruptly a live wire from head to toe, without much room left in his brain to be very realistic about this at all. He releases his death grip on the edge of the counter pressing into the small of his back in favor of wrapping his arms tightly around Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulders and he digs in with his nails when it just makes the man hold him even tighter.

“Can’t believe I almost picked a finance spreadsheet over this,” he mumbles when Nie Mingjue lets him breathe, ducking down to nip at his neck a couple times in quick succession before he just stays there, face buried against his throat and breathing slightly ragged.

“What do you want, A-Yao?” he finally asks, his lips hot and wet against his skin in just the right way. “We can do anything you want, just tell me.”

Meng Yao tips his head back to thunk against the bottom couple inches of the cabinet behind him and forces down the first few thoughts that crowd into the front of his mind – things that he wants that no one has been willing to give him, things he doesn’t feel like he’s ready to ask for, things that would require more time than the few hours he has until the last train of the night runs, or more energy and stamina than either of them likely have at the moment.

But that still leaves – “I want you to fuck me.” He bites down the urge to ask for a back massage while they’re at it and just leaves it at that, but it’s more than enough.

Nie Mingjue shivers against him with a little hum in the back of his throat, teeth teasing and scraping at the side of Meng Yao’s neck just firmly enough to make him gasp but not enough to mark him. He suddenly, desperately wants to be marked, to be kissed so greedily it lingers for days, a delicious ache he can dig his fingers into to keep feeling it until it fades. But how is he meant to ask for that? How can he tell Nie Mingjue he wants to walk away from this with irrefutable evidence of what they’ve done when he already knows that no one else can ever be allowed to know about this?

“Right now,” he breathes instead. “I want you to fuck me right now. Mingjue-“

“Okay,” he agrees easily, like it isn’t one of the most selfish things Meng Yao has ever asked for. “Okay yeah, definitely, fuck.”

Meng Yao exhales sharply in the split second before Nie Mingjue kisses him again, all tongue and teeth in a way that satisfies at least a small part of him that wants this to hurt. He slings his legs around Nie Mingjue’s waist when the man lifts him up with broad hands under his thighs and refuses to stop kissing him long enough to take Meng Yao upstairs. It means Nie Mingjue getting worked up enough to slam him up against the closest wall a few separate times to grip his thighs tight enough to bruise (he desperately hopes it’ll bruise) as he rolls their hips together with a juddering, anxious rhythm – which means it’s perfect.

They make it there eventually, though, and Meng Yao forces himself not to cling to Nie Mingjue when the man leans down to set him carefully on the edge of his mattress. He feels like he’s being torn in half when Nie Mingjue steps back and leaves him cold and bereft there on his loosely-made king sized bed, and so he distracts himself with scooting backwards onto it properly and getting comfortable on the mountain of pillows while Nie Mingjue does something in what he assumes is the en-suite on the other side of the room.

“Lights on or off?” he asks when he emerges shirtless, foil condom packet, lube, and a washcloth in hand. When they’d fucked around in the hotel each time it had been in the dark, groping hands and fumbling kisses, exploring each other with trembling fingertips and the sweat-slick glide of skin on skin.

“On,” Meng Yao says, though he leans over to click on the bedside lamp so Nie Mingjue turns off the overheads again before he finally comes back to him. Meng Yao, despite how much he’s itching to yank Nie Mingjue down on top of him, takes a deep breath in to try to calm down as he admires the sight of Nie Mingjue lit rather dramatically from the side with a warm yellow glow as he slips out of his trousers to leave them in a puddle of fabric on the floor. He sets his spoils down on the nightstand and then, finally, the bed dips under his weight and Meng Yao is allowed a bit of relief from the desire to claw and cling to any good thing he can get his hands on.

Nie Mingjue sprawls out on top of him, pins him down to the mattress with his bulk without making him feel like he’s suffocating, and Meng Yao exhales slowly, eyes drifting shut as he relaxes utterly involuntarily. Nie Mingjue props his weight up on one elbow and curls his hand under Meng Yao’s shoulder to dig his fingertips into the tension at the top of it while he skims his free hand up and down his chest a few times, trading kisses back and forth as easily as breathing. Meng Yao settles further then when Nie Mingjue starts working deftly at his shirt buttons, popping each one free with quick twitches of his fingertips and slipping his hand under his fabric when he has enough room to just press his palm flat against his chest, thumb brushing back and forth over his sternum.

Meng Yao’s hands gradually still and loosen where they’ve been clutched around Nie Mingjue’s shoulder and the back of his neck, and only when he’s completely relaxed does Nie Mingjue continue, still kissing him like they have all the time in the world as he finishes getting his shirt open to push it away to either side.

The press of Nie Mingjue’s too-warm bare chest against his is like heaven, a relief and sweet torture all at once.

He’s fairly sure, because this is Nie Mingjue, that he’d taken the request to fuck him at face value. Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao has learned, is…uncomplicated. Straightforward, with his black and white views on just about everything and his habit of taking most things he hears fairly literally, without much deeper thought unless it’s openly encouraged. There’s little chance that he sees Meng Yao’s request as anything more complex than his own desires had been on that ridiculous work trip – an itch to scratch, a fun way to spend an evening (or a week of evenings).

As far as Meng Yao is concerned, that's absolutely fine, as the truth involves far more vulnerability than he’s willing to show.

Nie Mingjue, always a surprise, rattles him out of his anxious spiraling with nothing more than a slow, dragging caress up the outside of his thigh and Meng Yao shivers through it ever so slightly, lips parting to gasp around the heavy press of Nie Mingjue’s tongue against his. The sensation is muted a little by his trousers, which Nie Mingjue seems to realize at the same moment if the unhappy little noise in the back of his throat and his sudden pawing at Meng Yao’s belt are anything to go by. He hurries to help the other man strip him properly – and slips a finger under the waistband of Nie Mingjue’s underwear to tug at them until he gets the point and slides those down too – until there’s nothing but miles of warm skin and soft sheets and Meng Yao thinks he could die happy just like this.

Nie Mingjue runs a broad, warm hand down the side of his thigh again and this time he’s nearly hypersensitive to it, tracking every millimeter of dry, slightly calloused scratching against his bare skin. By the time Nie Mingjue curls his fingers under his knee and carefully guides it up and back a bit Meng Yao is more than happy to comply and he eases into the stretch with a little sigh, hands tangled in the long part of Nie Mingjue’s undercut and his mouth too easy, too soft, too pliant but he’s unwilling to force himself to stop being goaded into giving in. Nie Mingjue pushes his knee back a little further, and then a little further still – and then suddenly he’s pulling back enough to look down between them so Meng Yao blinks his eyes open, thoroughly confused as to why he’d stopped when they’d been doing so nicely a moment ago.

“Mingjue?”

Nie Mingjue responds by propping himself up further on his elbow and pushing Meng Yao’s knee even further back towards his chest, an unfairly adorable frown puckering between his brows — not unlike that first night in the hotel when he’d seemed completely unable to understand why Meng Yao had been startled to find multiple condom sizes in his bag, why Meng Yao might be surprised to learn that someone like Nie Mingjue not only isn’t aggressively a top himself, but also doesn’t just assume that anyone smaller than him is a bottom. (The bar is criminally low, Meng Yao knows.)

“How far back does your leg go?” Nie Mingjue suddenly asks with another bit of hesitant pressure against his knee, like he’s almost afraid of finding out.

“Oh, that,” Meng Yao dismisses the question breezily to hide the little surge of smug pride that flashes through him. He saves them both some time and curls a hand over his shin to apply enough pressure to bring his leg all the way back, further even than his chest until the top of his knee is pressed to the bed beside his arm, his thigh tilted just a bit to the side to accommodate the necessary angle. “Problem, Mingjue?”

Meng Yao stays still as Nie Mingjue runs his hand down from his knee to his ankle in a reverent sweep, and a smirk steals across his lips when Nie Mingjue curls a massive hand around the fine bones of his ankle to coax it up, up, until his leg is half extended and Nie Mingjue only has to turn his head to be able to press a flurry of kisses along his calf.

“How the fuck are you this flexible?”

“It’s a long and very boring story. Would you like to stop and listen to it, or would you like me to throw my leg over my head while you fuck me?”

“Are those my only choices?”

Against his will, Meng Yao snorts at that and can’t quite keep himself from smiling in amusement, despite the fact that he doesn’t laugh during sex. That’s not allowed, and so he schools his features as quickly as possible in the moment of distraction while he does just what he’d said and extends his leg fully until Nie Mingjue is pressing his ankle into the mattress above and behind his head.

“They aren’t the only options, no, but are you going to attempt to claim that you’re not interested in it when I can feel the evidence otherwise?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Nie Mingjue sounds properly chastened so Meng Yao just smirks and reaches up to coax his fingers away from where they’re clenched tightly around his leg to instead prop his ankle up on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. He guides their linked fingers down the outside of his leg then, a slow, exploring drag from calf to knee to thigh and then down between their hips pressed so tightly together. He hitches his other knee up just enough to press against Nie Mingjue’s ribs, opening himself up fully and without any question at all as to his intentions, and thankfully that’s really all it takes to get Nie Mingjue firmly with the program again.

Nie Mingjue isn’t necessarily violent, that’s too strong of a word, but he’s definitely not tender either, which Meng Yao appreciates. He’s already on edge from daring to ask for something so selfish when he already knows firsthand how much Nie Mingjue likes to bottom for him, it wouldn’t do to push his luck any further by asking for tenderness as well (nor does he exactly feel prepared to offer it himself in return anyway). It doesn’t necessarily hurt when Nie Mingjue shoves a lube-slick finger inside him, far enough in one fell swoop that the rest of his knuckles grind too hard against the sensitive skin around his entrance, but it’s definitely not comfortable, and the groan that punches out of his chest is a mixture of pleasure and protest that he hopes will go unheeded. He can take it a little rough, likes it that way even, and it’s a relief that Nie Mingjue seems to like it as well without them having to actually talk about it.

Nie Mingjue is merciless. Meng Yao does his best to encourage more of it with anxious rolls of his hips and tight, grasping hands in Nie Mingjue’s hair that make the other man gasp in between heavy kisses, each following exhale shuddering on the way back out against the crook of Meng Yao’s neck damp with sweat already, and they’ve barely even gotten started.

A whine, utterly involuntary and humiliating, escapes his throat when Nie Mingjue not only withdraws his hand but also sits up and back, resting his weight on his calves to kneel between Meng Yao’s legs. Meng Yao shivers as he’s suddenly bereft, untouched save for where his ankle is still hooked over Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, and Nie Mingjue thankfully turns his head enough to smear a kiss to his calf in apology as he fumbles for the condom he’d brought from the bathroom.

“Sorry A-Yao,” he hums and his voice is wrecked already. “Just two seconds, I promise-”

Meng Yao tucks the wounded animal whining in his chest away to lie through his teeth and say, “It’s fine, Mingjue,” because the alternative is to beg for Nie Mingjue to come back, and that’s just…not even remotely an option.

Nie Mingjue keeps to his word, at least; Meng Yao is fairly sure he’s never seen someone roll a condom on as quickly as Nie Mingjue does with an impatient jerk of his fist down his shaft, and the desperation with which Nie Mingjue hurries to come back to him is both flattering and comforting. At least he isn’t alone in his wanting, though he’s not exactly comfortable enough to say that.

He relaxes again when Nie Mingjue lays out over him, when his heat and weight and the subtle, masculine scent of his cologne – deepened and muskier than usual after a day of work – become the only things worth paying attention to to Meng Yao’s sex-addled brain. He groans in relief when Nie Mingjue presses two fingers against him, pressing and testing for a long moment before he slides them inside in an almost perfunctory check to make sure he’s ready. He is, of course – Meng Yao typically prefers to top but there’s plenty of topping one can do while getting split in half, after all – but it’s sort of sweet that Nie Mingjue wants to double check, even if he does it roughly.

“Hips still feeling okay?” Nie Mingjue asks as he withdraws his fingers again and audibly begins slicking himself up, rhythmic and wet down between them.

“Mhm. Don’t worry, I’m more than bendy enough to keep this up at least until you come.”

“Well don’t make it sound like it’s only going to take me 30 seconds,” Nie Mingjue huffs, playfully irritated. Meng Yao smirks and turns his head enough to catch Nie Mingjue’s eye at the same moment he gives his hair a little yank and rolls his hips up to press his leaking cock to the back of the other man’s hand still wrapped around his own erection.

“I don’t think it’s that inaccurate of an estimate.”

Nie Mingjue’s breathless laugh and subsequent, “Go fuck yourself,” are both so fondly amused that Meng Yao doesn’t worry at all that he really means it.

His extra polite work voice is back when he replies, “Apologies, I was under the impression you were going to handle that for me.”

Meng Yao startles just a little when Nie Mingjue swats him on the outside of his thigh for that (lightly) but he doesn’t have much of an opportunity to attempt to categorize how getting hit in bed, even playfully, makes him feel before he’s suddenly extremely distracted by the feeling of Nie Mingjue pressing into him, just too hard and too fast enough for the stretch of it to burn just right.

Nie Mingjue swallows down the gasp that Meng Yao is absolutely helpless to stop, but the whimper that follows goes humiliatingly unmuffled. Meng Yao shivers with embarrassment but thankfully Nie Mingjue either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he just keeps pressing in, in, in, leaving Meng Yao to scrabble at his back and tug at his hair as he attempts to find some way to deal with suddenly finding himself so full.

“Relax,” Nie Mingjue rumbles against his jaw when he’s finally bottomed out, though he doesn’t stop hitching his hips forward just a little every few seconds as if testing to see if he’s actually as far in as he can get. “Breathe, A-Yao, you’re going to make me come if you don’t loosen up.”

“And you were so confident it would take longer than 30 seconds,” Meng Yao teases in a rush, his head falling back down onto the bed as he trembles and tries his best to listen to Nie Mingjue’s objectively good advice. “It’s not my fault you’re such a light touch-”

“It is absolutely your fault. I’ve been thinking about you for weeks, I’ve been half-hard for you all goddamn day, why wouldn’t I be easy for you now?”

Well that’s just. That’s. Something.

Anyway…Moving on.

“Fuck me then, you don’t have to wait,” Meng Yao grumbles to hide how that Does Things – unacceptably mushy things – to his heart that apparently doesn’t remember all the men who have hurt him in the past when he’s pinned under the one man who hasn’t yet. “I want to…” Meng Yao trails off, takes a deep, shuddering breath in, and admits in an embarrassed rush, “I want to feel it tomorrow, and Sunday too if at all possible.”

Nie Mingjue grunts something that vaguely resembles a heartfelt, “Fuck,” and jerks his hips back only to snap them forward again after just a couple inches. It’s a potent mix of friction and keeping him feeling full and Meng Yao can’t stop the whimper that manages to escape his iron control. Thankfully (unexpectedly), this newest whimper seems to do the trick because Nie Mingjue starts fucking into him like he’s trying to make sure they’ll never be able to separate again.

That marks the end of them attempting to talk to each other, which Meng Yao finds he can only be grateful for. The more he’s reminded that this is Nie Mingjue he’s fucking — his boss who’s rigid but fair and ultimately a good man if a little rough around the edges — and the more the man makes him laugh, puts him at ease, the harder he knows it’ll be to remember that this doesn’t mean anything, that he’s little more than a convenient fuck. Much better, then, to have nothing to listen to but the sound of skin on skin and groans through ragged breathing in between the slick-soft release of their mouths each time they break apart.

Meng Yao actually isn’t sure how long they’ve been going at it like that by the time he’s abruptly and painfully empty, and Nie Mingjue pulls away from his mouth just in time for Meng Yao to be unable to stop the whimpering, “No,” that tumbles from his half-numb lips, hands already grasping to try to drag Nie Mingjue back in, just for a little longer.

As he’d done before, Nie Mingjue smears his lips and tongue against the part of Meng Yao’s leg nearest his face in apology, a clumsy approximation of a kiss. But since that isn’t even close to everything Meng Yao wants he still forces himself to open his eyes long enough to glare up at the other man.

“Shh sorry, come here,” Nie Mingjue mumbles, hazy and nonsensical. He carefully nudges Meng Yao’s leg down off his shoulder and Meng Yao begins to panic that they’re done, that Nie Mingjue had come somehow without him realizing it and is on the verge of telling him to get dressed, grab his things, and go. The panic is enough to shock him out of the sort-of-hazy place he’d been happily floating through and he feels it the instant he tightens up again, eyes sharp as he braces himself to be hurt, and not in the way he wants to be.

Nie Mingjue’s hands on his hips are strong and inescapable as the man helps guide him into flipping over onto his stomach, and then he’s lifting his hips up for him enough to slide a firm pillow beneath them and the snarling thing chewing on his diaphragm pauses in its anxious gnawing. Nie Mingjue wastes no time pressing inside of him again the moment the angle is right and Meng Yao is forced to muffle his groan of pure relief in the mattress beneath him, arms up and curled backward over the top his head so he can grab his own hair for an anchor.

Not getting kicked out, then. Just a change in position. Meng Yao breathes through the fading spark of adrenaline making room again for pleasure, and when Nie Mingjue leans down to wrap an arm tightly around his chest and surround him with warmth and his comforting bulky weight Meng Yao is glad he can hide his face to let a couple of overwhelmed tears slip free to immediately soak into the sheets. He releases one hand from clutching at his own hair to reach further back and clutch at Nie Mingjue’s hair again instead, sinking his fingers deep into the long part of his undercut without bothering to care that he’s tugging a braid or two loose with his grasping fingers. For his part, Nie Mingjue just hitches him a little closer and buries a few scratchy kisses into his neck and hair as he resumes fucking into him, so Meng Yao just holds on tighter and sinks away again properly into pleasure.

It takes some long, hazy minutes of just-shy-of-too-hard fucking before the little noises escaping unbidden from somewhere deep in Meng Yao’s chest manage to condense enough to turn into broken calls of Nie Mingjue’s name, soft whimpers that tumble clumsily from his lips to be smushed into the mattress, his arms. They escalate quickly from whimpers to moans, though, as Nie Mingjue starts fucking him somehow even harder, panting harshly against his shoulder and slamming into him hard enough to ache even after he pulls back, to smack their hips together noisily, and when Nie Mingjue slides his hand down his chest, his stomach, to manage to wrap it around his cock for a few rough tugs Meng Yao is powerless to stop the sensation from tipping him over the edge.

He muffles himself at the last moment in the crook of his own elbow as his entire body strains, pleasured and aching and tired but not wanting the ecstasy of his orgasm to fade. Nie Mingjue fucks him through it, slower now but still not gentle, still not tender, still rough enough for Meng Yao to feel like he can sink his teeth into whatever they have, whatever they’re doing, and keep it.

“Fuck, A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue finally grunts against his neck and Meng Yao finds enough muscle coordination to pull Nie Mingjue’s hair and tighten up around him as Nie Mingjue comes, hips hitching in desperate little shoves forward like before as his nails bite into Meng Yao’s hip (Meng Yao has enough pleasure-soaked brain cells left to be glad Nie Mingjue had let go of his softening cock before being overcome by his own orgasm).

When it’s over, Meng Yao settles happily enough with a little hum to let Nie Mingjue know he’s perfectly happy with the way the other man has collapsed on top of him, solid and heavy and real. It’s grounding, centering, and Meng Yao doesn’t even care that he can only breathe shallowly or that he’s way too hot despite the way their sweat is trapped clammy and slick between his back and Nie Mingjue’s chest. There’s the faint scratch of sparse chest hair against his shoulder blades and Nie Mingjue’s thundering heart drumming against his skin and his cock going soft buried deep in his ass and their legs tangled together in a messy heap and Nie Mingjue’s cheek resting against the side of his head and —

“Already back to thinking too much, hm? I can fuckin’ hear it,” Nie Mingjue mutters in his ear, punctuates it with a sloppy kiss just below it that makes him shiver.

“Always,” Meng Yao mumbles, cheek still smushed against the bed beneath him.

“Should I be offended that wasn’t enough to tire you out so much you stop thinking for five minutes?”

Meng Yao smiles a little, sleepy and sated and therefore thoroughly willing to delude himself into thinking he’s allowed to have post-coital teasing.

“Maybe you’ll just have to try harder next time.” The sleepy warmth suffusing him abruptly disappears at his own words – his presumption that he’ll get to sleep with Nie Mingjue again, and that if they do that Nie Mingjue will want to top for him again. He braces himself for the let-down, for Nie Mingjue to tell him this was a one-time deal in that blunt way that he approaches everything. It’s so refreshing in every aspect of the non-sexual sides of their relationship to never have to doubt what Nie Mingjue’s thinking or feeling, but right now he thinks that if Nie Mingjue were to reject him before they’ve even stopped basking in the afterglow it would absolutely crush him.

“Deal,” Nie Mingjue agrees easily with a noisy kiss to the back of his shoulder. “Only fair after you fucked me so well last week, ah?”

Meng Yao blinks a little at the easy acceptance of it – maybe one day he won’t be startled by how easily Nie Mingjue accepts his space in his life in such a casual way, but it’s doubtful. But if Nie Mingjue wants to see this as a trade – a tit for tat – then Meng Yao isn’t above taking advantage of a more..transactional approach than anything approaching actual vulnerability. Actually that sounds like a nice bonus.

“Only fair,” he agrees and starts a little when Nie Mingjue suddenly ducks down closer to kiss the corner of his mouth clumsily as if to seal the deal. Meng Yao turns his head enough to get a proper kiss and then they settle down again into comfortable silence for a few minutes as heartbeats slow and sweat (and the mess under Meng Yao’s hips) becomes too cold and unpleasant for hanging out together like this to be feasible anymore.

“Okay, gross. Off,” Meng Yao mutters with a hand thrown out blindly behind himself to smack weakly at Nie Mingjue’s thigh and the man groans a little as he sits up enough to hold onto the base of the condom and pull out, Meng Yao shivering hard as he’s left empty and cold. He hides his face fully in his arms for a long moment of necessary privacy to get himself back under control, tucking away the biting loneliness with the ease of many years of practice while Nie Mingjue rolls to his feet and starts cleaning up.

“Do you want to take a shower or anything?” Nie Mingjue offers as he chucks the used condom in the trash and steps back into the bathroom to run the tap for a moment. Meng Yao chances a glance up at him out of the corner of his eye when he returns and it’s to find he’s wet the washcloth he grabbed earlier and is returning to bed with it. In the interest of maintaining some shred of his dignity, Meng Yao forces himself to sit up and take it from Nie Mingjue’s outstretched hand to take care of a perfunctory clean up on his own.

“No, I’d better head home, I’ll just take one there,” he forces his slightly numb, kiss-bruised mouth to say.

“Suit yourself. Want a ride?”

Meng Yao would fucking love a ride instead of having to sit on the train with a (pleasantly) sore ass and probably very clearly having just gotten fucked within an inch of his life, but with the post-orgasm glow officially gone reality is creeping in cold and harsh from the sidelines. He doesn’t get rides home from hookups, just like he doesn’t use their showers or let them hold him for longer than it takes the buzz to fade. It’s too much – too much to ask for, too much to reveal of himself, too intimate for people who are just going to hurt him sooner or later.

“I’m alright,” he says with a smile to temper the second rejection. “I’m not far, don’t trouble yourself. Just relax.”

Nie Mingjue looks at him in silence for a long moment before he shrugs and offers an easy, “Suit yourself.” Meng Yao lets out a silent sigh of relief once Nie Mingjue’s back is turned so he can tug on a pair of sweatpants out of his dresser. And nothing else. God Meng Yao needs to go home or he’s going to do something stupid like ask to stay the night so he can get fucked again as soon as physically possible. There should be a law somewhere that anyone with a dick as nice as Nie Mingjue’s isn’t allowed to wear gray hip-hugging sweatpants, especially while going fucking commando.

Instead of begging to stay, he stands and gets dressed, though he doesn’t bother buttoning his shirt all the way up or combing his fingers through his hair to make sure it’s laying flat – none of it will help him look less sex-drunk so what’s the point?

When they’re both relatively presentable, Nie Mingjue walks him downstairs and leans against the wall of the front hallway with his arms crossed over his bare chest, expression inscrutable as he watches Meng Yao bend over to tie his shoes.

“D’you want to come over again next week?” he asks abruptly, like he’d been meaning to keep it back but gave up. “A-Sang and I have dinner together every Friday night but he always goes out after we’re done, so it’s just me hanging around here by myself.”

Meng Yao takes a deep breath in and straightens, messenger bag on his shoulder (the strap digs into a bruise Nie Mingjue had left at some point on his collarbone and his breath hitches traitorously in his chest with a little zing of pleasure. He hadn’t even had to ask for it after all).

“You don’t think Huaisang would mind me intruding again?”

Nie Mingjue shrugs and Meng Yao very pointedly does not watch all those stupid big fucking muscles of his shift under tanned skin. “I already told you earlier it’s not an intrusion, but even if it were I wouldn’t really care if he minds. He barely stays long enough to eat before he’s running out to go clubbing anyway, if it bothers him he can just eat out with his friends instead.”

As wildly uncomfortable as Meng Yao is with the idea of forcing Nie Huaisang away from the routine dinners he has with his brother in their own home, the prospect of turning this into something regular – at least until Nie Mingjue has paid him back for the week of evenings he’d spent fucking him – is too much of a siren call to ignore.

“Then yes, I’d like that.”

Nie Mingjue shoots him a crooked smile, one that makes a dimple pop in his cheek, and Meng Yao very quickly worries for the integrity of all the rules he sets for himself around hookups. He’s so busy shoring up his defenses again, in fact, that he completely misses that Nie Mingjue is leaning in until he feels soft, warm lips and the scratch of his mustache pressed firmly against his cheek.

“I’ll see you Monday morning, then?” he asks quietly, still far too close for anything remotely resembling ‘professional work relationship’.

“Mhm!” It’s not a squeak but by god is it close.

“Good. If you can’t still feel this by Sunday feel free let me know then and I’ll spend the whole week thinking up how I can do better next weekend.”

Meng Yao does not blush, he does not blush.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good. See you Monday, then. Get some sleep.”

“Mm.” Meng Yao hesitates for one long moment before he goes up on his toes to kiss Nie Mingjue’s cheek quickly, chastely, and then he’s out the door without a second glance to see how that was received, he doesn’t want to know. He heads down the street at his usual fast clip and lets thoughts of planning his route home using various public transportation networks distract him from how his cheeks are burning as he leaves the Nie house behind.

For now.

#the untamed fanfic #NieYao #Meng Yao #Nie Mingjue #Nie Huaisang #Modern AU #Far From An Imposition #Pre-fic for #All Dreams Were Worth Keeping #and something of a sequel to #Seems Like A Good Thing #Also the gray sweatpants NMJ puts on at the end are absolutely Lan Xichen's #which is why they sit too tight on his hips #MY: Do /not/ fall in love with the good good dick and absolutely do not act like this is anything other than a quick fuck #NMJ: holy shit I think I might really really like this guy oopsies #Time to be Totally Normal about it

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