Work Text:
The train is running only six minutes behind, but Feng Xin feels every one of those acutely. Maybe he’s felt every minute of the last two weeks in the same way, a hollow pain in his chest that he’ll never, ever tell Mu Qing about. Because Mu Qing has sounded so calm over the phone, so placid over video chat. His texts have been just as dry as usual, and the last thing Feng Xin wanted to hear was Mu Qing scoffing about how it was just Feng Xin’s instincts going haywire. So Feng Xin shoved down on the emptiness and tried to pretend that he hasn’t spent the time missing Mu Qing so sharply it was hard to breathe sometimes.
It was the biggest commission Mu Qing has ever had, an entire wedding party whose looks he’s been working on for months. The couple blended a number of traditions, old and new, and it was extravagant and moneyed as all hell. It was the kind of thing that’s too rich for both their blood, the kind of old money Xie Lian’s family had before everything went south. Mu Qing was too logical to turn it down, though, knowing all the doors it can open for him in the future.
Feng Xin had acted as a dress form several times, patiently standing still so he didn’t get pricked, and as a model for the proof of concept photos Mu Qing had exchanged with his clients. Mu Qing had complained about Feng Xin’s “overly large” muscles in the same breath as kissing him in thanks for his help.
Mu Qing traveled up a week and a half before the wedding for a slew of final fittings and adjustments, and then he’d stayed for the days full of festivities. He’d sent photos to Feng Xin of his luxurious hotel room, of the meals he’d eaten, of his plum suit with its asymmetrical lapel that hugged tight to his broad shoulders and slim waist. He’d looked beautiful and stunning and still so, so many kilometers away.
They’ve both spent so much time on someone else’s wedding at this point that Feng Xin can’t help but wonder if maybe, someday… Well. He can be patient. He wouldn’t even know where to start with so much as a fucking ring. Getting to claim Mu Qing as his, and to be claimed by him back, is more than enough.
It’s a late weekday train, but the crowd at the station is thick when everyone departs. Feng Xin spots Mu Qing easily, drawn to him like a magnet. He has a solid few seconds to watch him before he’s noticed, taking in his high ponytail and the sleek leather leggings clinging to his thighs. He has his jacket slung over the crook of his elbow despite the chill in the air.
When he sees Feng Xin, his mouth quirks into a smile before he gets his face back under control. His long legs eat up the space between them, and he indulges Feng Xin in a tight hug. He smells so good, even under the mix of stale train scents. Feng Xin can’t wait to take him home and wake up next to him tomorrow. He kisses Mu Qing’s temple, surprised to taste salt. Feng Xin can see the sweat along his hairline when he pulls back, and for a wild moment he worries that Mu Qing has gone into an early heat without telling him.
“Are you—?”
“I’m fine,” Mu Qing says, tapping at his phone. “I’m calling a car, I’m way too tired for another train.”
Feng Xin grins, pulls the keys out of his jacket pocket, and jingles them in Mu Qing’s face. “I can do you one better.”
Mu Qing squints at the butterfly keychain. “Please tell me he’s not here.”
“Nope, I just borrowed it.”
“Do we owe him our firstborn now?” Mu Qing asks. It’s sarcastic, not to mention biologically impossible, but Feng Xin’s stomach swoops regardless. It must show on his face because Mu Qing bumps Feng Xin’s hip with his own, hard. “Pervert,” he accuses. “Stop thinking of how to knock me up.”
“You can’t just say shit like that,” Feng Xin mutters, looking furtively around.
Mu Qing laughs. “Hey, it’s not my fault you get hard from a stiff breeze.”
“Only a stiff breeze from you.”
“That doesn’t even— you’re so dumb. Where’d you park?”
“Toward the back,” Feng Xin answers. “Sorry, the lot was packed.”
“No, that’s good,” Mu Qing says nonsensically. “Aren’t you going to take my bag like a good alpha boyfriend?”
Feng Xin grabs the handle of the suitcase and starts to walk in the direction of the car, trusting Mu Qing to follow. Mu Qing must really be tired if he’s playing into something so ridiculous. It’s hard for him to let Feng Xin do anything that remotely approaches caretaking, and Feng Xin has mostly learned to suppress the part of him that wants to. It’s not because of their presentations, it never has been, but he gets that things are different for Mu Qing.
Mu Qing slips his cool hand into Feng Xin’s free one, interlacing their fingers. He squeezes once. “Thanks.”
Feng Xin nods. “I can’t believe this is all you took for a two-week trip,” he says, because it’s easier to poke at Mu Qing than to mull over his soft gratefulness.
“You’re just jealous of my skills,” Mu Qing says with a smirk. He’s not wrong, but that’s not all of it, either.
Somehow, Mu Qing is the most efficient packer Feng Xin knows. The amount he can fit into a hard-shelled carry-on defies the laws of physics, and Feng Xin has seen the products, clothing, and shoes spill out of one from their perfectly Tetrised positions more than once. Last year, they spent the new year abroad with Xie Lian and Hua Cheng, and Mu Qing even fit an extra coat in his suitcase. A full-sized wool trench, “just in case” he wanted an alternative to the bomber-style parka he wore onto the plane. Feng Xin wishes he found Mu Qing less charming, wishes that the hypercompetent organization did absolutely nothing for him.
Mu Qing narrows his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not, shut up.” Feng Xin says. “Get in the car.”
Feng Xin expects Mu Qing to insist on driving. He loves it and rarely gets the chance since neither of them see the point in the extra expense of a car when they live in a city with decent public transit. Hua Cheng is extra like that, and the flashy BMW coupe with its cherry-red paint job proves it. Mu Qing opens the passenger door without another word, though, so Feng Xin pops the trunk and hefts Mu Qing’s suitcase into it. It’s all contained, sure, but it’s still fucking heavy.
He’s busy wondering if Mu Qing ate on the train or if they should stop somewhere on the way home when he climbs into the driver’s seat, and that’s the only excuse for why he doesn’t notice anything amiss when he puts on his seatbelt and starts the car.
“Are you stupid? Turn it off!” Mu Qing snaps, and Feng Xin’s brain shuts down when he looks over.
Mu Qing is halfway out of his leather leggings, which Feng Xin knows from experience fit like they’re painted on. Feng Xin loves the look of them, but he dreads trying to get them off Mu Qing’s body. He even got Mu Qing off while still wearing them once, too impatient to deal with the skintight fabric.
“Are you just going to stare?” Mu Qing gets one foot free and then the other. Feng Xin realizes his boots have already been kicked off. Mu Qing pushes his boxer briefs down next, and Feng Xin fights not to swallow his tongue.
“What are you doing?” Feng Xin asks, or tries to ask. It comes out more like a breathy groan than anything else.
“I want you,” Mu Qing says simply, and Feng Xin’s heart does at least two somersaults. “Now open your fucking pants.”
“We’re in public,” Feng Xin protests, but he’s already wrestling with his belt.
“The windows are tinted,” Mu Qing says, and he stretches across the center console to press the start button and kill the engine. “Plus you parked in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“I told you, there was nowhere else—”
“Shut up, I’m joking. It’s better this way. I don’t want anyone else seeing you.”
A flare of heat lights up Feng Xin’s gut, and he shoves his pants and underwear down enough to pull his cock out. It’s already half-hard. He glances up at Mu Qing in time to catch him licking his lips.
“Slide your seat back,” Mu Qing says, “and take off your seat belt.”
He’s in the middle of following Mu Qing’s orders when Mu Qing climbs into his lap, graceful even in the small space. His bare legs gleam in the low glow of the streetlights from outside the car, dimmed significantly by the windows. His back curves forward as he ducks to not hit his head, and his cock bobs between them, stiff and flushed. He ignores it to reach lower to wrap his fingers around Feng Xin’s cock, staring down as it hardens.
“Fuck, I missed you.”
Feng Xin startles. “Are you talking to my dick?”
“Of course not, don’t be crass,” Mu Qing says, his cheeks pink.
“It’s okay if you missed my—”
“Shut up, come on,” Mu Qing says, lifting up on his bare knees and lining up Feng Xin’s cock.
“Wait, honey, you can’t just— oh. Oh, are you—”
“Don’t be stupid, it’s months away,” Mu Qing says, but he sounds unsure all the same.
The fingers Feng Xin reached back with are already growing wet, and when he prods Mu Qing’s hole, he finds it slick and loose. Mu Qing gets wet outside of his heats, but not usually like this. Not unless Feng Xin has spent a lot of time and effort on foreplay. That’s also the only way he ever gets this loose, this accommodating.
“What did you do?” Feng Xin asks, pushing two fingers inside Mu Qing, reveling in the heat.
Mu Qing’s voice is strained. “I— it’s not a big deal, I just— ah, there, there, you— fuck, Feng Xin.”
Feng Xin leans forward to drag his lips down Mu Qing’s throat. Mu Qing shivers. “Were you this wet on the train?” Feng Xin thrusts his fingers deeper, and Mu Qing moans. “Were you, baby?”
“Ye-yes, yeah, I— fuck me, you have to—”
“Did you soak through your pants?” Feng Xin asks, breathless. He thinks of Mu Qing desperate and squirming on the train in his tight leggings. “Were you all wet and wanting and—”
“I opened myself up in the bathroom,” Mu Qing says in a rush. “I’m not in— in heat or anything, I just… it’s been.” Mu Qing’s mouth closes with a hard click of his teeth and he watches Feng Xin warily.
“It’s been a long two weeks,” Feng Xin says, and he kisses Mu Qing’s mouth for the first time in that two weeks. Mu Qing melts into him, his hands winding around Feng Xin’s neck. Feng Xin thinks of Mu Qing in the cramped train bathroom and he’d swear he gets even harder somehow.
“It has,” Mu Qing says, sounding miserable. “So will you just— fuck, fuck just like that, yes, I—”
“I know, I know. I’ve got you,” Feng Xin says, the head of his cock sinking in, enveloped by the tight warmth that makes him grit his teeth against coming right away. His hands are big on Mu Qing’s hips, but he stays still, no matter how much he wants to pull Mu Qing down, to bury himself inside and hear the sound Mu Qing will make.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Mu Qing gasps, because he always, always knows what Feng Xin wants.
“Take your time,” Feng Xin says in a strained voice.
Mu Qing huffs a laugh and pushes down, taking more of Feng Xin’s thick cock inside him. He groans and his nails dig into Feng Xin’s shoulders. He keeps pushing, rocking up and down, his head bowed above Feng Xin. Feng Xin releases his hip with one hand to grip the back of his neck. He pulls Mu Qing down so his forehead rests against Feng Xin’s. Mu Qing sinks down the rest of the way like that, sharing breath.
“You feel incredible,” Feng Xin says, kissing him for good measure.
Mu Qing kisses back with deep, thorough swipes of his tongue, his teeth scraping against Feng Xin’s bottom lip. He’s kissing with a desperate hunger he rarely lets Feng Xin see, his body clinging so, so tight to Feng Xin’s cock. He’s clenching, keeping Feng Xin inside, trying to get as close as possible to him in the way he always does when he’s on the precipice. When Feng Xin shifts his hips, Mu Qing whines into his mouth. It’s an open, needful sound, and Feng Xin can’t help but thrust up when he hears it, feels it. He can’t get far, Mu Qing is warm and solid in his lap, but Mu Qing clutches him closer all the same, moving with Feng Xin’s hips.
“Okay, okay,” Mu Qing mutters, and then he’s lifting himself, leaving wetness in his wake so the slide back down is easy.
He may be slow to start riding Feng Xin’s cock, but once he gets going the pace is brutal. The sound of their skin slapping together echoes loud in the car, a shameless, torrid rhythm that makes Feng Xin worry he won’t last long at all.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Feng Xin gasps. “We’re fucking in—”
“If you say his name I swear I will climb straight off your co— ah! Fuck!” Mu Qing cries out, silenced by Feng Xin shoving up inside of him. Mu Qing falls forward, slumping against his chest.
“Will you?” Feng Xin says, but he can’t even smirk with how hard he’s breathing. It doesn’t matter, Mu Qing only whines in response.
Feng Xin can feel his knot firming up, and he tries to tamp down on it. He needs to get ahold of himself. His job here is to give Mu Qing what he needs so then he can get them home. It’s been two weeks, and all Feng Xin wants is to get Mu Qing’s scent back on their sheets. He wants to give Mu Qing a good night of sleep in their own bed, and all the comfort that comes along with it.
A small, selfish part of him wonders if, by doing that, he can convince Mu Qing not to leave again for a while. He’ll show Mu Qing how perfect their home is, how good Feng Xin can make it for him, and then Mu Qing will want to stay forever.
“Is this what you were hoping for?” Feng Xin asks, trailing kisses over Mu Qing’s jaw when he throws his head back. “When you were opening yourself up the train, is this what you were thinking of?”
“Of you— your big cock?” Mu Qing stutters out. He’s shivering under Feng Xin’s hands, on top of his body.
“It’s okay,” Feng Xin soothes. He rubs his hand down Mu Qing’s back, rucking up his shirt so he can feel his smooth, hot skin. “I know your fingers are all pretty and slim. It can’t have been the same.”
Mu Qing punches his shoulder. “Ass.”
“Your ass,” Feng Xin mutters, thrusting up in a powerful motion that throws Mu Qing back against the steering wheel at the exact right angle that his elbow hits the horn. The sound is a loud, shocking blare.
They both freeze, and then Mu Qing starts laughing so hard he’s shaking with that instead of with pleasure. “You fucking brute, I can’t believe—”
“You’re the one who wanted to fuck in—”
“It’s a car! It’s not that wei—”
“Who actually fucks in a car?” Feng Xin argues. “That’s the kind of shit they do in movies, no one—”
“I made enough this weekend I can pay to get this stupid car detailed one-hundred times over,” Mu Qing says, gasping for breath between his laughter. “Don’t be such a prude.”
Feng Xin doesn’t snort at Mu Qing calling anyone else a prude, because he values his life and his happiness. “Can we get back to it then?” he asks sullenly.
Mu Qing’s laughter is dying down, and he grins back at Feng Xin, all reckless and bright. “I’m still hard, I’m pretty sure we never stopped.”
“Fucking— fine,” Feng Xin says, dragging Mu Qing up and letting him fall back down, savoring the punched-out sound he makes. “What do you need, baby? How do you wanna come?”
Mu Qing rocks back and forth, leaning back while he grips Feng Xin’s jacket. He lifts up and pushes back down, and Feng Xin watches, entranced, as he keeps going, trying to find the right angle. Finally, Mu Qing’s eyes flutter closed and he groans. Feng Xin takes his cue, holding Mu Qing in place as he pushes up, trying to hit that place inside him again, to feel the way Mu Qing goes all tight as he moans and whines.
“So beautiful, you’re so beautiful. I want to see you come. Will you come for me?” Feng Xin pants out. He needs to get Mu Qing over the finish line before he gives in, but it’s a battle.
“You should— I want— ah, ah, Feng Xin, you feel…”
“What is it?” Feng Xin kisses the side of his face and tugs at his ponytail until Mu Qing looks at him. “What do you want?”
“You should knot me,” Mu Qing says, his voice soft, eyes uncertain.
Feng Xin almost comes then and there. “Are you sure? This isn’t really the best—”
“Feng Xin,” Mu Qing says seriously. His eyes are so dark. “Knot me. Now.”
Feng Xin groans and kisses him, gathering him in close as his knot swells larger and larger. It’s rare that Mu Qing wants this, that he asks for it. In his heats, Mu Qing refuses to be knotted. He’ll let Feng Xin fuck him for hours, for days, will let Feng Xin feed him and wash his hair and wrap him in the coziest of blankets, but he won’t abide a knot even when he’s out of his mind with pleasure and want.
Outside of his heats, sometimes, he demands it. It has to be about control, about agency, but they never talk about it. It’s hardly his place to grill Mu Qing on his body and how he wants to treat it, especially when it’s all steeped in his presentation as an omega. It’s a touchy subject at the best of times, and anything Feng Xin may want comes secondary.
He doesn’t need to knot Mu Qing during a heat to be secure in their relationship. He doesn’t need to knot him at all. Mu Qing could decide tomorrow that he never wants any sort of sex again, and Feng Xin could be happy to keep him near in any and every other way. It’s not that it doesn’t feel good, because it feels fucking amazing, but it’s not the be-all and end-all. Mu Qing is the only essential part of this equation, and Feng Xin will sacrifice anything he can to see him smile.
“You’re sure,” Feng Xin says. It’s not a question, more of a prompt. He just — needs to be sure.
For once, Mu Qing doesn’t tease him. He kisses him hard and fast before pulling back, holding eye contact. “Yes. Do it. You have to, I— I need you to.”
Feng Xin pushes Mu Qing’s loose hair behind his ears and cups his face. “I will, I will. I promise, okay? I’ll— fuck, fuck, you feel so good. It’s not gonna be long.”
“Good,” Mu Qing says emphatically. “Fucking give it to me, you have to, plea— do it. Do it already. Fucking fill me up, just— oh, oh, yes, just like that. So big, you’re so—”
“I know, honey, I know,” Feng Xin pants.
His knot has swelled unmistakably, and it keeps catching on Mu Qing’s rim. He can’t think of anything but being inside, of locking himself with Mu Qing. He shifts, trying to get a better angle to make that happen, maybe even a more comfortable position, but then Mu Qing is working himself down, forcing his body to swallow Feng Xin’s knot. Feng Xin feels himself get bigger as he comes, emptying into Mu Qing where he’s locked close and tight and perfect.
“Fuck, you feel— feel so good,” Mu Qing gasps, and then he’s coming between them. He’s probably staining both of their shirts, but Feng Xin doesn’t have a care in the world. At this moment, he’s Mu Qing’s and only Mu Qing’s, the claim evident. Everything else fades into the background, a problem for another day.
Mu Qing collapses into him, shoving his face into Feng Xin’s throat. He mouths lazily at Feng Xin’s hammering pulse, and Feng Xin wraps both arms around him to keep him there. They breathe together, fogging the tinted windows as they come down.
“This might have been a bad idea,” Feng Xin mumbles to the top of Mu Qing’s head. “I definitely can’t drive us home like this.”
Mu Qing pulls back to look at him, one side of his mouth ticking up into a smile. “If you can get it to go down in under twenty minutes, I’ll let you do it again when we’re home.”
“That’s not the way it works,” Feng Xin groans, but he can’t help but imagine it.
Mu Qing kisses his nose. “But you can do it, right? You can do it for me?” He’s fluttering his fucking eyelashes and everything. It shouldn’t work on Feng Xin at all. It really shouldn’t.
“You’re a monster,” Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing laughs, and it makes him clench around Feng Xin in a way that makes them both moan. He settles more comfortably against Feng Xin’s chest, and Feng Xin can’t help but wish they were fully undressed, skin to skin in the afterglow.
“So,” Feng Xin asks, “how was the wedding?”
Mu Qing laughs again. “Seriously? Right now?”
“I can maybe do under twenty, but I can’t do under fifteen.”
“Underachiever,” Mu Qing says to his shoulder. “It was good. It was… nice.”
Feng Xin’s ears perk up at Mu Qing’s considering tone. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Mu Qing warns. “Focus on your knot, you dumb alpha beast.”
“Talking about this might not be the trick to get it to go down,” Feng Xin says honestly, glad Mu Qing can’t see his face.
Mu Qing is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Feng Xin’s mouth starts to taste sour, but then, softly: “Emerald cut.”
Feng Xin freezes. “What?”
“Shut up, you heard me. Ethically sourced, too.”
Feng Xin sighs, and Mu Qing’s bangs rustle with his breath. “I have a feeling you’re still going to want to pick it out.”
Mu Qing sits back enough to look him in the eye. His ponytail is starting to slip, and his exhaustion is starting to show. Feng Xin needs to get a handle on himself so he can get them both to bed already, with or without a second round.
Mu Qing grabs one of Feng Xin’s hands between both of his. “Do I get to pick it out for you, too?”
Feng Xin smiles, sudden and automatic. “Anything you want.”
“Don’t say that, you’ll dig yourself way too deep of a hole,” Mu Qing says, eyes narrowed.
Feng Xin leans forward to kiss him. “I’m not afraid of your holes.”
Mu Qing slaps his chest with both hands, but he’s laughing, too. His ass is constricting around Feng Xin’s softening knot and his hands sting even through Feng Xin’s shirt, but his whole face is lit up with his smile. He looks so beautiful, so perfect. Beautiful and perfect, and Feng Xin might just get to keep him.