The table was too small for both of them, but Sima Li had made it fit — one hand hooked behind Louis's knee, the other braced on the wood by his hip, candlelight throwing their shadows long across the plates.
The wine stood half-drunk, the steak barely touched, and Louis had known the moment Sima Li's mouth found his that the dinner was over.
Louis had meant to push him away. He'd meant to say no, not here, not you. Instead his hands went to Sima Li's shoulders and held on.
Sima Li kissed like he was keeping score, a low sound against Louis's mouth that made his cock thicken before he could stop it. Louis's back hit the table and the silverware jumped, a fork clattering to the floor, and Sima Li laughed against his throat and kissed lower, undoing Louis's belt with the kind of patience that made it worse.
Buttons went one by one. Cool air on his stomach, then Sima Li's mouth, hot and open, dragging down his sternum, his ribs, the sharp line of his hip.
"Wait," Louis said, and his voice came out wrong. "Sima—"
"You said you'd have dinner with me." Sima Li's teeth grazed his hipbone. His hand closed around Louis's cock through his briefs, and Louis's hips came off the table. "This is the main course louis."
Louis didn't say anything at all. He stared at the water stain in the corner while Sima Li worked his briefs down his thighs and took him into his mouth. The heat of it was a shock — wet, tight, wrong — and his body arched into it anyway, a sound punched out of him he'd never made before. He closed his eyes.
How did it get here? He'd only agreed to dinner. One dinner, one bottle of wine together, and now his cock was down Sima Li's throat on a table set for two, candlelight flickering over the good china.
Fuck my life
Louis pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He could hear himself, small hitched breaths he couldn't stop, and Sima Li's low hum of approval vibrating up his spine. "Hngh—Sima Li, wait"
Louis raised his head. He didn't mean to. But he looked down the length of his own body and saw Sima Li between his thighs, green haired hair bent, mouth stretched around him, one hand working the base of Louis's cock in time with his mouth — and the sight of it sent a flush up Louis's neck so hot it burned. His face was on fire.
He looked back up at the ceiling, jaw tight, and let his head fall back against the wood with a thunk.
Oh damn me a million times, this shouldn't be happening. What happened to dinner.
Sima Li took his time. He drew it out until Louis was trembling, until his hips made small aborted thrusts he couldn't control, and then he pulled off with a wet sound and sat back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You okay?" Sima Li asked
Louis's chest heaved. He shook his head — no, that was wrong — he shook his head again, a jerky thing, and Sima Li's mouth curved.
"Uncomfortable?" Sima Li asked, and Louis shook his head faster, because that was the truth, that was the worst part. It wasn't uncomfortable at all.
Sima Li smiled. He took Louis by the hip and turned him over, and Louis let himself be rolled onto his stomach across the table, face turned against the linen.
Plates rattled. A wineglass tipped and spilled a red arc across the cloth. Sima Li's body came down over his back, and his teeth closed on the back of Louis's neck, hard enough to make him gasp, and the sound Louis made was not a protest.
"Good," Sima Li breathed against his skin, working his own belt one-handed, the clink of it loud in the quiet. "I did tell you, you know. That you wouldn't regret it."
Louis heard his pants being dragged down his thighs, then Sima Li's hands, spreading him, and the blunt pressure of Sima Li's cock against him made his whole body go tight.
"Sima—"
"Shh." Sima Li's voice was rough, close to his ear. "You're going to going to love this, and you're going to hate how much you love it, while I watch every second of it."
Louis opened his mouth to argue. Then Sima Li pushed in, and the argument came out as a noise he'd never heard himself make — high and broken and shameless — and he shoved his fist against his mouth, but it was too late, the sound was already out.
"Fuck, Louwee." Sima Li sounded pleased as he drawled his name with that accent, which should have been infuriating, and it was, but Louis was also hard as a rock and pressing back against him without meaning to. "That's it. Take all of it."
Louis's knuckles were white on the table edge. "Ngh—Hey slow... slow down you brat" He could feel every inch — the drag of Sima Li pulling out, the thick press of him pushing back in — and his body made these wet sounds he couldn't stop, couldn't stop any of it. His own cock dragged against the linen with every thrust, leaking a dark spot into the cloth.
"Look at you louwee." Sima Li's voice was wrecked, low, right against Louis's ear as he started to move in earnest. "So tight. So good — all that pride gone to pieces on my table—"
"Shut up... fuck," Louis gasped. It came out a moan. "Shut—Ah—up, shut up—"
"Make me." Sima Li's hand fisted in his hair, yanked his head back, and the angle changed, and Louis saw stars, saw the ceiling, saw the candle flames blur as Sima Li drove into him. "Go on, tell me to shut up again. I love the way you lie to me while you're dripping for it."
Louis's mouth was open but nothing came out but a moan — lewd and loud and completely beyond his control — and he was ashamed, he was so ashamed, and he was also pushing back against Sima Li's hips like he'd die without it.
"Please," he heard himself say, and didn't know what he was begging for. "Please, I—"
"Please what?" Sima Li's hand tightened in his hair. "Use your words, louwee. Tell me what you want."
The table was digging into Louis's hip. The wine had soaked through the sleeve of his shirt. He was going to come like this — with Sima Li's cock buried in him and Sima Li's voice in his ear and his own hand fisted in the ruined tablecloth.
The thought should have horrified him. It did horrify him. It was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.
"I want—" Louis broke off on a cry as Sima Li hit the spot that made his vision go white. "There, there, please, right there— "
"Yeah?" Sima Li's voice was a growl. He didn't slow down, just kept pounding into him at that exact angle, merciless and precise. "That's it. Take it, take all of it, want you to walk out of here and feel me in you for a week—"
Since when was Sima Li this lewd? Did people usually act different during sex?
"Sima—" Louis sobbed it, face buried in the table, whole body shaking. "Please, I can't, I'm going to—"
"Come," Sima Li said, and bit down on the back of his neck.
And Louis came. He came hard, sobbing, his whole body convulsing against the table as he spilled over his own fist and the ruined linen, and Sima Li kept talking, low and filthy, right in his ear, telling him how good he was, how perfect, how he'd known — and the words undid him, pushed him through it and past it until he was trembling and oversensitive and Sima Li was finally letting go with a rough, bitten-off groan, buried deep inside him.
For a long moment there was nothing but breathing.
The candle flames steadied. Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed loudly.
Sima Li pulled out slowly, and Louis felt the loss of it like a physical thing. He stayed where he was, face pressed to the table, shaking.
"Louis." Sima Li's hand landed warm on his back. "You okay?"
Louis laughed — a raw, broken sound that came out more like a sob. He turned his head just enough to look at the ruined table, the spilled wine, the smeared cream of his own come across the linen, and then up at Sima Li, who watched him with those crazed, satisfied eyes.
"I'm older than you" Louis said.
Sima Li smiled, slow, and leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I know."