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It was Jun's idea to stay in.
Duan had suggested it three times over the past week and been ignored all three times, so when Jun looked at the rain coming down outside and said *we're not going anywhere* Duan wisely said nothing and went to the couch before Jun could change his mind.
They'd eaten. Jun had made tea and not offered any and Duan had taken it anyway and Jun had let him. Now the television was on something that had been playing for forty minutes and neither of them had registered a single thing about it.
Duan picked up his phone.
"Watch something with me."
Jun didn't look up from his sketchbook. "We're already watching something."
"Something else." He turned the screen toward him.
Jun looked at it. At Duan. Back at the screen.
"No."
"It's just—"
"I know what that is."
Duan set the phone face up on the cushion between them. Jun did not look at it. Duan did not look at it. The television kept going.
"You're scared," Duan said.
Jun turned a page.
"You're genuinely scared to watch it with me."
"I'm not scared of anything."
"Prove it."
Jun picked up the phone, connected it to the television without a word, and sat back with his sketchbook and his tea like he'd just agreed to watch a documentary about tiles.
Duan settled into the cushions.
He was going to be fine.
---
He was not fine.
Twenty minutes in and the movie had escalated considerably and Duan was sitting very still with his hands pressed flat on his thighs thinking about structural engineering. Load bearing walls. The tensile properties of steel cable.
On the television a man had his face buried between another man's thighs and was being extremely thorough about it and the sounds coming through the speakers were not helping Duan think about anything structural.
Jun had not moved.
He was sketching. Actually sketching, pencil moving in slow unhurried strokes, completely unbothered, like the television was showing weather reports.
Duan shifted position.
Caught himself.
Shifted back.
Jun turned a page.
The man on the television had moved his partner onto his hands and knees and Duan fixed his eyes at a point somewhere above the screen and breathed slowly through his nose. Jun was two feet away from him. Jun who smelled like Duan's fabric softener and had a mouth Duan was very familiar with and thighs that were right there—
Jun closed his sketchbook.
Jun closed the sketchbook.
The television kept going—low, rhythmic sounds that filled the room without either of them really hearing. Duan stayed rigid, hands flat on his thighs, staring at a fixed point above the screen.
Jun's hand settled on his thigh.
Warm palm. Loose fingers. Then the thumb dragged inward—slow, deliberate.
Duan looked over.
Jun was already watching him. Eyes half-lidded. Lips parted just enough. No smirk. No challenge. Just quiet want, steady and deep, like it had been building under his skin for hours.
Duan swallowed.
Jun leaned in first. Kissed him soft—mouth open, tongue sliding slow. Duan kissed back, hand rising to cup Jun's jaw like it might break. Jun made a small sound—barely there—and shifted, swinging his leg over to straddle Duan's lap.
Chests pressed. Jun's hands slid into Duan's hair, holding gently. Duan wrapped both arms around his waist, pulled him flush until no space remained.
Jun broke the kiss to breathe against Duan's mouth.
"Bedroom."
Duan stood with Jun still wrapped around him. Legs stayed locked. Duan carried him down the hall, kicked the door shut, lowered him onto the mattress.
Jun lay back immediately. Hair spilling across the pillow. Eyes on Duan. Waiting.
Duan knelt between his legs, palms sliding up the outside of Jun's thighs.
"Can I?"
Jun nodded once.
Duan hooked his fingers in the waistband. Jun lifted his hips without prompting. Pants and underwear slid off together. Duan dropped them aside and looked at him.
Jun's chest rose and fell a little faster. Cock already half-hard against his stomach. He didn't cover himself. Just watched Duan watch.
Duan leaned down. Kissed him again—slow, deep. Jun's hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in lightly.
Duan kissed lower. Jaw. Throat. The soft spot below his ear that made Jun exhale sharply. Lower still—collarbone, sternum, ribs—while his hands spread Jun's thighs wider.
Jun let him.
Duan paused with his mouth against Jun's hipbone.
"Still good?"
Jun's hand came to Duan's hair. Resting there. Not pushing.
"Yeah."
Duan kissed the crease of his thigh. Then lower. Tongue flat against the underside of Jun's cock. Jun's hips twitched. A soft sound escaped—quiet, needy.
Duan took him into his mouth.
Slow. Careful. Tongue tracing, lips dragging. Hand wrapped around the base, stroking what he couldn't reach. Jun's breathing shifted—short, uneven. Fingers tightened in Duan's hair.
Duan took him deeper.
Jun's thighs fell open wider. A low moan slipped out—raw, unguarded. Hips rolled up once, small, helpless. Duan pressed them down gently with his forearm and kept going.
Jun's stomach tensed. Moans turned continuous—soft, desperate, rising. Hand in Duan's hair gripped harder.
Duan focused on the spot that made Jun shake.
Jun's breath hitched. "Duan—"
Duan hummed around him.
Jun came suddenly—hips stuttering, thighs pressing in, a broken sound tearing from his throat. He pulsed hot across Duan's tongue. Duan swallowed, worked him through it until Jun's grip yanked him up.
Jun was breathing hard. Eyes glassy. Cheeks flushed. He reached for Duan, fingers curling into his shirt.
Duan kissed him. Let him taste himself. Jun moaned into his mouth, soft and wrecked.
Duan pulled back just enough.
"I want to be inside you."
Jun nodded immediately. "Please."
Duan reached for the lube. Squeezed some onto his fingers, warmed it. Kissed Jun's knee while he circled his entrance—gentle, teasing, one finger pressing in slow.
Jun exhaled. Spread his legs wider.
Duan added a second. Scissored carefully. Curled them. Jun's breath hitched. Hips rolled down onto Duan's hand—small, needy movements.
"More," Jun whispered. Voice shaking.
Duan gave him more. Three fingers. Slow stretch. Kissing his inner thigh, murmuring against skin.
"You're doing so well."
Jun's head tipped back. Moans soft but constant now. Cock hard again, leaking against his stomach.
Duan withdrew his fingers. Slicked himself. Lined up. Pressed the head in slow.
Jun's breath caught. Legs wrapped around Duan's waist, pulling him closer.
Duan sank in inch by inch. When he bottomed out they stilled.
Jun's hands gripped Duan's arms hard. Eyes squeezed shut. Lips parted.
"Full," he breathed. Voice trembling.
Duan leaned down. Forehead to forehead. "Okay?"
Jun nodded. "Please move."
Duan moved.
Slow at first. Long, deep rolls. Pulling out halfway, sliding back in, grinding deep. Jun's breath came in quiet gasps. Fingers dug into Duan's shoulders. Moans soft, rising.
Duan kissed his throat. His jaw. Whispered against his ear.
"You feel so good. So perfect."
Jun moaned—low, broken. Hips lifted to meet each thrust, small helpless rolls. Duan kept the pace steady, deep, focused on that spot that made Jun's thighs tremble.
"There," Jun gasped. Voice cracking. "Please—there—"
Duan angled just right. Ground deep. Jun's back arched. A sound escaped—raw, needy, nothing held back.
Duan's hand wrapped around Jun's cock. Stroked slow, matching his thrusts.
"Come for me," Duan whispered. "Let me feel you."
Jun came quietly—body locking down, hole fluttering around Duan, spilling over his fist. Moans turned into soft whimpers, overwhelmed, wrecked.
Duan followed—burying deep, spilling inside with a low groan, hips stuttering through it.
They stayed connected. Breathing hard.
Duan pulled out gently. Jun whimpered at the loss. Duan dealt with the condom and came back and collapsed beside Jun and neither of them moved for a while.
The rain against the window. Their breathing slowing down.
Jun looked like something that had been very thoroughly taken apart. His hair was destroyed. There was a faint mark on his shoulder where Duan's mouth had been. He was staring at the ceiling with the expression of someone who had left their body for a while and was finding their way back.
Duan turned his head and watched him.
Jun felt it. "Stop."
"You have a mark on your shoulder."
Jun turned his head and looked at his own shoulder. Looked at Duan. His expression was flat but his ears had gone pink again.
"Sorry," Duan said. Not very convincingly.
Jun turned back to the ceiling. "No you're not."
"No," Duan agreed. "I'm really not."
Something moved in Jun's face that he didn't fully manage to suppress. His jaw tightened against it. Duan watched the fight and felt warmth bloom in his chest.
Jun's hand found his in the space between them.
Duan looked down at their joined hands.
Then back up at the ceiling.
"Jun," he said.
"Mm."
"I love you."
The room went quiet except for the rain.
Jun's fingers tightened around his. Not hard. Just once. Like something settling.
"I know," Jun said.
Duan waited.
Jun looked at the ceiling for a long moment. The particular stillness of someone sitting inside something enormous and deciding what to do with it.
Then he turned his head.
He looked at Duan and his expression was still quiet but underneath it — underneath all of it, under every cold shoulder and one-word answer and months of careful distance — something open. Something that had been there for a while and had finally decided it was done hiding.
"I know," Jun said again. Softer. The second way.
Duan understood.
He turned back to the ceiling and closed his eyes and held Jun's hand and listened to the rain come down and felt, in the simplest and most complete way he had ever felt anything, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.