Work Text:
The visual won’t leave Feng Xin’s brain.
A collision. A “shit,” muttered under his breath. The wetness of his drink all over his hand. Turning his head and seeing Mu Qing. A quick glimpse downward, and an eyeful of a drenched, translucent shirt sticking to Mu Qing’s front. The faint darkness of his nipples, and the outline of what appears to be piercings.
At the time, Feng Xin had just froze in place, just staring. He was fond of Mu Qing’s many piercings and teased his best friend about them often, but had never considered imagining if there were any concealed ones on Mu Qing’s body.
“Hey dumbass, are you just going to stand there? Did you forget how to walk?” Mu Qing scowled. He backed up, peeling his shirt off his skin.
Feng Xin was still frozen in place. “What is that,” he basically whispered, eyes still glued to Mu Qing’s chest. Mu Qing raised a pierced brow.
“Most public places require people to be clothed,” he started slowly, a smirk growing on his face, like a joke is being made and he’s the only one in on it. “So they wear these things called shirts . You’re wearing one too, except yours isn’t covered in some cheap, sticky cocktail.”
Before Feng Xin could get his brain caught up and make a retort, Mu Qing quickly turned away while muttering about dry cleaning costs and finding Shi Qingxuan. He was gone and out of sight by the time Feng Xin landed back in reality.
Which brings him to now, a full week later.
Whenever Feng Xin’s mind wanders, it wanders to Mu Qing and his wet blouse. It reminds him of the bars making their presence known through the shimmering, heather-gray fabric. And then it tries to imagine Mu Qing without the shirt, and what sort of face he might make if Feng Xin were to play with those piercings, whether it’s with his fingers or teeth or tongue or—
Feng Xin shakes his head. It’s been a week, and he has movie night with Mu Qing today. He has to get this out of his system before then. A quick glance at the corner of his screen shows he has a little under three hours. Three hours until he’ll see Mu Qing. Will he still have the bars through his nipples, or will he maybe have hoops instead? Will he wear a thin, tighter top or something looser? If it’s a loose shirt, what would it be like to slide his hands underneath, across his firm stomach and upwards to—
Feng Xin slams his laptop shut. He’s basically done with work anyways, and other matters have arisen. He makes his way to the bathroom to deal with the problem, hoping that literally getting it out of his system would let him leave these thoughts behind.
——————
Feng Xin stands at Mu Qing’s front door, waiting to be let in, more problems simmering under his skin compared to three hours ago. His “alone time” just jumbled his emotions up more, and has left him with mostly frustration and confusion.
These fly away when the door swings open. Mu Qing is wearing a loose muscle tank. Feng Xin’s mind goes blank.
A tank top. A fucking tank top. I didn’t consider that option, fuck.
“What’s taking you so long, you’re not a vampire, you don’t need to be invited in. Hurry up, you dimwit.” Mu Qing calls over his shoulder as he makes his way to the living room. Feng Xin quickly follows, trying to get his mind to focus on the important things. Close the door. Take shoes off. Time to eat. Act natural.
“Took you long enough,” Mu Qing mutters when Feng Xin reaches the living room and oh. Oh no. Mu Qing is leaning over the table, arranging the various snacks, and it makes his tank top hang at just the right angle to allow a glimpse. It is now an undeniable truth that has burned its image into Feng Xin’s memory forever: both of Mu Qing’s nipples are pierced, with a delicate silver bar running through each of them. It matches the industrial in his left ear.
Feng Xin is once again stuck in place as his brain rushes to process all this information. Mu Qing straightens up and frowns. “You’re allowed to just sit on the couch. What the fuck is up with you today? You don’t need my permission for every single action you take in my apartment.” His frown deepens. “Are you sick? If you are, get your ass home, your health is more important than movie night.” Mu Qing comes closer, and that’s enough to drag Feng Xin back to reality.
“I’m fine, just had some tricky clients today. It’s your turn to pick a movie, so what are we watching?” Feng Xin bolts to the sofa and plops down. He grabs a plate, piling it with food and stuffing his face. He needs the distraction. He feels the space beside him sink down with Mu Qing’s weight, who now leans over to grab the remote. Feng Xin tries not to choke or stare—succeeding with the former and absolutely failing the latter. He finally tears his eyes away and looks at the television. He pales at the title on the screen.
“Mu Qing. What the fuck. I thought we agreed on no horror.”
The fucking bitch rolls his eyes. “We never agreed on that. And it’s still my turn to choose. So we’re watching The Conjuring .”
Feng Xin leans back onto the cushion and grabs a pillow. “Fine then. It’s your fault if you can’t sleep even more than usual tonight.”
Mu Qing starts the movie, and Feng Xin focuses on eating so he won’t be as badly affected by the horror. As long as his whole attention isn’t on the film, he won’t have nightmares.
——————
Feng Xin is definitely distracted from the movie, which is a good thing. However, it seems more and more likely he will be in danger every minute they continue watching.
The film is scary from the get-go, but they start off fine. Around mid-way through, though, Mu Qing decides to clutch onto Feng Xin’s arm. His nails dig into the skin, leaving small indentations. Little daggers in his biceps are not comfortable. Feng Xin adjusts the way he’s sitting, and softly whispers, “Your nails hurt” to Mu Qing. His grip softens. His hands hover uncertainly, almost indecisive on whether to latch onto Feng Xin’s arm or not.
And then there’s a jumpscare.
Both of them jump, but for different reasons. Mu Qing tightly wraps his arms around Feng Xin’s bicep, and Feng Xin’s heart races to his throat. It’s not like they don’t share their personal space during movie nights and sit close together, as good buddies do, but they’ve never had this much physical contact, and Feng Xin has never felt Mu Qing’s nipple piercing pressed to his arm like this. The intimacy of both the arm-clutching and the piercing-pressing is making Feng Xin’s thoughts run all over the place. He risks a glance at Mu Qing’s face pressed up against his shoulder. Despite being spooked he still watches the film intently. Gods, he’s gorgeous.
The thought scares Feng Xin more than anything that has happened in the movie. Sure, he’s always been aware of how beautiful Mu Qing is, but he’s never allowed himself to indulge in that thought. Seeing Mu Qing’s beauty as more than just an undeniable fact of life would require him to examine where these thoughts and feelings lead, and Feng Xin isn’t ready for that. Giving these a name would make it real, and Feng Xin can’t hide from something real. The risk of losing Mu Qing is the greatest fear of all—his rival, his best friend, the person who has, for better or worse, been an integral part of Feng Xin’s life for as long as he can remember. If keeping Mu Qing in his life means keeping all these layers of introspection and questioning in a locked box in a deep corner of his consciousness, Feng Xin can live with that.
Mu Qing hugs Feng Xin’s arm more tightly. Feng Xin disguises his quick gasp as a reaction to what’s happening on screen.
The world keeps challenging the box’s ability to keep everything contained.
The more Mu Qing shifts around, the more aware Feng Xin is of the thin piece of cotton fabric separating the piercing from direct contact with his skin. He presses the cushion he nabbed into his lap, and tries to focus on the film no matter how terrifying it is. Anything to keep the little box from bursting.
The film eventually ends while Feng Xin is internally having a complete crisis. At some point during the climax, Mu Qing had settled comfortably on the couch, still hanging onto Feng Xin’s arm, head resting on his shoulder. Feng Xin has no idea why he’s being like this. Did he have a bad day? Is he dehydrated? Could someone become clingy due to a lack of water?
“Hey, I’m gonna grab us more water,” Feng Xin says once the credits begin. Mu Qing nods and sits up, slightly loosening his hold. Feng Xin feels the piercing drag against his arm as he stands, and it nearly drives him insane. Either the small groan he hears is part of the endroll music, or he really is starting to have auditory hallucinations. He hurries to the kitchen, in much need of much water.
However, the universe is not on Feng Xin’s side today. He walks back to the living room, a cup of water in each hand, trips over the edge of the rug, and, in a desperate attempt to catch himself despite having both hands occupied, throws one of the cups.
Which promptly splashes all over Mu Qing, soaking him and his tank top.
“SHIT, oh gods, fuck, I’m— I’ll go grab some paper towels, and— SHIT ,” Feng Xin panics, realizing in the middle of his half-assed apology that the other cup he didn’t send flying still spilled all over himself and the rug. He tries not to look at Mu Qing, because he knows that he won’t be able to look him in the eye for more than one reason.
“Thank god you grabbed the plastic cups.” He hears Mu Qing sigh. “You better not make a fucking habit out of getting your drinks all over me.”
Mu Qing walks past Feng Xin, probably to grab something to clean the mess with. Feng Xin’s wet shirt is uncomfortable. He really put Mu Qing through this twice in the span of a week. How this hasn’t exploded into a bigger argument yet is beyond him.
While Feng Xin sits on the ground dejectedly, Mu Qing has tossed a simple hand towel into his lap for drying purposes. A larger towel is draped over the wet spot on the rug. Feng Xin pats at his wet shirt when he hears some rustling above him. He just about dies when he sees Mu Qing pulling off his tank top, leaving his torso absolutely bare, except for the nipple piercings, as he plops down beside Feng Xin.
It spills out of his mouth before he can control it. “Are you doing all this on purpose?”
Mu Qing tilts his head and blinks. “Doing what,” he asks innocently enough that it almost seems genuine. Feng Xin knows he’s not, and no matter how hard he tries, Mu Qing can’t hide the growing red flush across his cheeks. His scowl grows as his eyes wander back down to the piercings. If Mu Qing is going to fucking flaunt them and show them off like this, then Feng Xin is going to stare at them as much as he likes.
“My eyes are up here, dumbass,” Mu Qing chides, a ghost of a smile on his face. He leans back on his arms, baring his toned chest even more. His gaze wanders to the front of Feng Xin’s soaked shirt. “Do you want to take that off?”
Feng Xin takes his time peeling off his t-shirt, and looks Mu Qing in the eye while he does it. He isn’t reading the situation wrong, is he? He flexes his arms and catches Mu Qing subtly biting his lip, his flush spreading. This is him showing interest, right? Could everything tonight, leading up to now, all been Mu Qing flirting? Is Feng Xin allowed to let the box explode?
Mu Qing’s still staring. Feng Xin scoots closer, until their knees are touching.
“Can I,” he whispers and leans in. Mu Qing’s eyes flick to Feng Xin’s lips. He does the smallest of nods as he tilts his face and closes his eyes. Feng Xin’s little locked box dissolves into nothing, and their lips finally meet.
There’s a rushing relief to finally allowing himself to let go and follow his instincts after holding back for so long. Feng Xin pushes further into the kiss, and Mu Qing lets out a small whimper. Their vertical position gradually turns more and more horizontal, until Mu Qing is lying on the ground, arms wrapped around Feng Xin’s shoulders and neck, pulling him closer and closer. There’s barely any space between them.
Feng Xin tentatively skirts his hands along Mu Qing’s waist, which causes him to gasp. Feng Xin takes this opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting Mu Qing’s. With newfound bravery, curiosity, and eagerness, Feng Xin slowly moves his hands upwards, and finally brushes his fingers against the nipples—and the nipple piercings—that have taunted him this entire week. Mu Qing writhes underneath him and moans, a full “hrghughrhhghhhh” that vibrates against Feng Xin and also causes him to release a breathless chuckle. He moves his mouth to Mu Qing’s ear, kissing along his many piercings and eliciting more needy noises from him.
Mu Qing’s hands slip to Feng Xin’s shoulders, pushing them up. There’s a sharp pinprick of hurt before Feng Xin realizes that Mu Qing’s soft exhales are words. “Not here,” he murmurs. “Bedroom,” he breathes as he rises, locking hands with Feng Xin and pulling him to his feet. “Now.”
And how could Feng Xin ever deny an honest request from Mu Qing?
—————
“I’m so damn lucky you’re easy to read when you’re flustered.” Mu Qing cuddles further into Feng Xin’s arms. They’re lying on the bed and have calmed down, their kisses not as relentless, but still seeking constant contact and comfort from one another.
Feng Xin frowns. “What do you… wait, so you were doing it all on purpose then?”
He feels the huffs of laughter against his neck. “You spilled a drink on me and looked like a deer caught in headlights, if my nipples were headlights. I had to know if your interest was just simple curiosity, or… or m-more.” Another dry laugh. “Thank fucking gods I was right.”
“I thought I was more subtle,” Feng Xin grumbles, but he still lays a soft peck to Mu Qing’s forehead. He reaches to flick a nipple piercing, causing Mu Qing to squirm. “When did you get these?”
They linger in the silence, for once. Feng Xin allows Mu Qing to better gather his thoughts before starting.
“It was— back when… that time I got that new job after Xianle corporations went down, and you and Xie Lian still hadn’t found something new. So it’s been a while.” Mu Qing takes a deep breath and pulls slightly away. “Maybe a month after I had last talked to you two? I was drinking with a coworker—Hua Cheng, actually—and he dared me when we walked by a tattoo parlor. They accepted walk-ins, so I used my first paycheck from this company I just joined to get some shitty piercings.” He pushes himself up to sit against the headboard, looking down at Feng Xin. “I stopped wearing them as often once we all made up and became friends again, but I don’t want them to close up, you know? They just… serve as a reminder.” He shrugs. “You really just chose the right night to ruin my shirt, otherwise I would’ve never told you.”
Feng Xin gazes at this beautiful man. Perhaps he got the piercings as a punishment, as a way to permanently mark onto his body a moment in his life that, as Mu Qing once drunkenly admitted to Feng Xin, he secretly regrets, though he doesn’t regret his decisions. All these piercings he didn’t have before… were they all a reminder for something? Feng Xin reaches upwards to caress Mu Qing’s ear and its many piercings, but Mu Qing leans just out of reach. In fact, he’s climbing out of the bed.
Feng Xin grasps MuQing’s wrist before he’s out of reach. “Where are you going?”
Mu Qing doesn’t meet his eyes. “Just. We left that mess in the living room. I have to clean it up.”
“Can’t it wait till later? Or wait, lemme borrow a shirt and I can he–”
“It’s fine,” Mu Qing cuts him off. “You can just sleep there and stay over tonight. Once I’m done cleaning, I’ll take the couch.”
He tries to shake Feng Xin’s hand away, but he tightens his grip. “Mu Qing.” He pulls on the arm. “Look at me.” He doesn’t. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mu Qing immediately clips out, despite clearly having a shift in attitude sometime during the past minute or so.
Feng Xin rises and sits facing toward Mu Qing’s back. “I won’t know unless you tell me, Mu Qing,” he softly says. His thumb strokes Mu Qing’s wrist. “Talk to me.” He welcomes the quiet, as long as he’ll get an answer.
“W-we can’t do anything further than what we’ve already done,” bursts out of Mu Qing’s mouth. His words rush out. “Keeping it casual isn’t an option for me, so this is it. We can p-pretend this never happened and move on, just stay friends. No one has to know. If it’ll help, I… I can stop wearing my piercings as often, or I can just leave only a few in at a time, or avoid tighter clothing whenever you’re around. Or all of those. It’s not a b-b-big deal. If you’re interested, I know a couple people who can help you find someone you can see, no strings attached.”
Feng Xin blinks at his rambling. It takes a moment for pieces to slot together in his mind. “Mu Qing… it’s not like I have a piercing kink.” Mu Qing trails off. Feng Xin slides his hand down so that his fingers are laced between Mu Qing’s. “Like yeah, I definitely think they’re sexy, but I think that because it’s you. I’m not interested in just anyone because they have piercings or something.” He tugs on his hand, and Mu Qing finally turns toward him. “I didn’t kiss you earlier because your nipple piercings have an undeniable magnetism. They do, a little bit,”—this earns him a soft laugh—“but more than that, I’ve been in love with you. Probably for years, I don’t really know for how long. I never let myself consider it. I didn’t want to lose you, or our friendship, especially if you didn’t… want the same thing, or me.”
Mu Qing stares at him with wide eyes and his mouth slightly open. Possibly somewhat unconsciously, the corners of his mouth are pulling upwards. “Who wouldn’t want you,” he says breathlessly, and before Feng Xin has the chance to respond, he’s surrounded by Mu Qing, his arms full of Mu Qing and his mouth linking together with Mu Qing’s again and the two of them falling back onto Mu Qing’s bed. The only thoughts in his head are Mu Qing, Mu Qing, Mu Qing , as he tightly embraces his most important person as closely as possible. And everything else in the world can wait.