Familiar vibrations flow through Zitao’s body, a pineapple-shaped cup full of the house special in his hand and his eyes squinting through the haze of multi-colored flashing lights. He remembers when he used to love these places. He remembers thriving on the dance floor, surrounded by everyone else surrendering to the beat.
He’s older now, more used by the world, but this club brings back memories. He feels nineteen again - young and in love with the all the possibilities of the world. Those were blissful days when he could lose himself between the beats, between the sheets, and between the best thighs he’s ever had beneath his fingertips.
At the memory, Zitao brings his drink to his lips, taking several large swallows. There’s nothing tropical about the drink, but it doesn’t stop them from advertising it. He scrunches his nose, wondering when his taste changed so much. Probably after college, when he gave up drinking every weekend in favor of finding a steady job.
People brush by him, some seeing him and some not. He’s not here to meet anyone, so he doesn’t bother returning any interested looks. He’s here for - well, he doesn’t know why he’s really here. He’d been taken by a bit of nostalgia earlier on in the day after getting a surprise visit from Lu Han, a friend he’s known since college. Lu Han had been the oldest of them, but somehow always looked the youngest. Especially when he was drinking people under the table, then getting up early the next morning without a hangover, and with a perky attitude.
Zitao is only a little miffed that Lu Han still looks the same. The guy is nearing 27, but he could pass for ten years younger.
It was nice catching up. They’ve all gone their separate ways since graduation, but they make it a point to still talk. Their talk is what brought Zitao here. He lets out a deep exhale and shakes his head. This isn’t his scene anymore. The drinks are the same, the music is mostly the same. The sticky floors are the same. But the people are different. Zitao is different. And no amount of parading down memory lane is going to make this feel like it used to.
Zitao throws his drink away, disinterested. He slides his hands in his pockets, turning to leave, but a sudden pressure on his arm stops him. Fingers curl around his elbow, tugging him back and when Zitao stumbles toward the person holding him, he finds himself with a familiar view. His breath catches in his throat, pushing at the emotion now rushing through his chest.
Zitao hasn’t seen Sehun in almost two years. But here he stands, even more handsome than ever, and that’s wholly unfair. When Sehun gives Zitao a smile, his eyes curving and his pink lips shining under the tacky lighting, Zitao feels like he’s been hit by a car.
It’s like nothing has changed, like Zitao hasn’t avoided Sehun for two years when Sehun pulls him toward the dance floor, knowing Zitao is going to follow him. Because that’s what Zitao does. Sehun is Zitao’s sun and no matter how far out he drifts, that gravitational pull will never release him.
They don’t make it far into the dancing crowd. Sehun drapes his arms over Zitao’s shoulders, a satisfied curl settling on his mouth as he presses himself close and Zitao’s hands rest naturally on his slim hips. The music is fast, loud, some remix of a popular song Zitao vaguely recognizes. They move to it, one of Sehun’s legs between his own as Sehun’s fingers tip-toe up the back of Zitao’s neck, sliding into his hair.
This close, Sehun can probably feel how hard Zitao’s heart is beating, how his hands are trembling as he tightens his hold. He swallows, wishing he’d finished his drink.
The way Sehun touches him, moves with him, sets off an ache in Zitao’s chest. He should pull away from Sehun’s arms, but he can’t. He’s trapped, lured in by memories and the taste of a promise on Sehun’s lips. Sehun kisses him the same way he used to. His lips press hard to Zitao’s, but part easily for Zitao’s tongue, Sehun going lax against his chest as he moans softly. Zitao wraps his arms around Sehun, keeping him trapped even if Sehun has no intention of escaping.
Zitao has always been weak to Sehun. Too weak. For so long his entire world was Sehun. He lost himself, and it was so easy. Loving Sehun was so easy.
Zitao is falling again, tripping and stumbling into old habits he just can’t break. It’s been ages since Zitao’s had Sehun on his back, Sehun’s long legs wrapped around his waist as Sehun babbles for more, but it’s still the same. He couldn’t say no when Sehun asked Zitao to take him home, and Zitao knew it was his chance to escape. He didn’t have the strength to say no. Not when he’s been craving Sehun’s touch like an addict.
Sehun is stunning in the moonlight, head tipped back and mouth open as Zitao pushes into him slowly. The sheets beneath Sehun are blue, twisted in Sehun’s fingers as he rocks down, seeking his own pleasure. Zitao falls over Sehun, hands on the backs of Sehun’s thighs as Sehun draws him in for a kiss.
Zitao takes all Sehun offers him, greedily marking Sehun for everyone to see. He sucks on Sehun’s neck, nips at the edge of his jaw as Sehun whines, calls out Zitao’s name in ecstasy. Zitao is filled with pure adoration, selfishly wanting to fuck Sehun so good no one else will ever compare. He wants to leave his brand on Sehun’s skin, carve his name on Sehun’s heart to claim as his own.
Sehun uses his legs to roll them over, sitting on Zitao’s cock as he rocks his hips. Zitao’s fingers drag up his thighs and Sehun spreads them further, inviting. Zitao takes. Sehun raises and Zitao’s thrusts up, filling Sehun over and over, watching as a pink flush spreads down from Sehun’s cheeks to his chest.
He’s ethereal. Zitao can’t take his eyes off him. Or his hands. Sehun curves over Zitao, and Zitao’s palms slide around to settle on Sehun’s ass. He squeezes and Sehun moans, rocking back on Zitao’s cock harder, faster. There’s a hint of desperation in his movements, and it looks good on him.
Sehun’s always craved attention, always demanded his indulgences be satisfied, and Zitao has always always wanted to be the person to fulfill Sehun’s every desire. He makes Sehun moan so loud his voice cracks. Zitao’s chest swells with pride at how Sehun clenches around him, like he’s afraid Zitao is going to stop. Sehun kisses him again, his mouth so soft, so hot and wet and eager as Zitao fucks into Sehun sloppily.
The rhythm is lost and so is Sehun. He’s sucking on Zitao’s tongue when he comes, slamming his ass down on Zitao’s cock and grinding. Zitao groans, eyes opening if only to watch the way Sehun’s face pinches, then relaxes between each spurt of come that dirties Zitao’s stomach.
Zitao holds him, pets down his back until Sehun starts moving again. He’s so pliant, so easy to guide. Sehun clings, soft noises falling from his lips that encourage Zitao to keep going. And he does. He drives into Sehun over and over with long thrusts that have his skin buzzing, and his heart racing.
Sehun’s lips find Zitao’s neck. He should stop him, but when he feels the sharpness of Sehun’s teeth skim just beneath his ear, Zitao gives up all hesitation. Sehun bites and sucks at the skin, and the idea of Sehun’s mark staining his skin is what has Zitao’s hips stuttering, a moan of Sehun’s name slipping through when he comes.
Sehun makes a soft, whining noise, his mouth now seeking Zitao’s to drink down his moans. Zitao indulges himself in the taste of Sehun, in the weight of him pressing him into the bed. It’s almost right out of a dream. Zitao pushes his nose to Sehun’s hair, keeps him held tight, afraid to let him go.
Zitao has been aching for this moment for so long, aching for a moment he never knew would happen. And now that it’s here, he doesn’t want to give it up. Sehun nuzzles against him in the soft, irresistible way he does, and Zitao feels his eyes closing, just for a moment.
He soon falls asleep, Sehun still in his arms.
Zitao slips out early in the morning, a lump of regret in his throat and the fresh burn of heartache eating away at his chest. He knows it’s the right thing to do, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. If he wants to live his life for himself and not for someone else, he has to leave. And he can’t ever see Sehun again. It’s too easy to give in.
Zitao leaves, knowing the coming days will be hard, but he will be fine. Maybe not today, or next week, but one day. He’ll be just fine.
You're up listea.