Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The floor is packed, so Liu Sang stands on the mezzanine to do his work. Today, Kan Jian is his cover, warm and smelling sweetly of leather and warmth. He’ll keep guests away from them by sheer force of presence, and make sure he’s not jarred out of the zone. He doesn’t mind being leant on, doesn’t try to make conversation, and he’s probably the best cover that the Wushaju Club has assigned him yet. Liu Sang tucks his nose into the crook of his neck and closes his eyes to listen.

The man at table five... ah, that’s a business deal. Merger, they know about that one. He knocks out a ‘five, merger, December 9th’ and gets an acknowledgment buzzing in his wristband.

Table twelve is getting tense, ‘Support, 12, refills, bouncer.’

Kan Jian makes a soft noise of question against his hair, and Liu Sang shakes his head. It’s fine, they don’t need muscle like him yet. Liu Sang taps out ‘later, maybe’ against his waist, and turns his focus to the next tables. Kan Jian’s arms settle back around him, and he sways them gently to the music; it’s soothing, but also means no one nearby gives them a second glance.

For a while it’s dull. Clear.. Clear... nothing... too drunk to order, ha. He let’s xiao-Bai know about that one, they’ll need kicking out soon, or the floor guys will get it in the neck. Table three is the Boss, and Xiaoge-- Liu Sang flinches and tucks closer to his cover; Kan Jian is good at his job, and cups the back of his neck for stability. Liu Sang tears his focus away from that particular temptation, and finds some choice gossip about a young heir of the Huo family. Wu Xie will want to know all about that.

By the time he gets off shift and Ja Kezi replaces him, he’s tired and his ears ring but he’s also deeply pleased with his work. His handler, the Pangzi, gives him a thumbs up on the way past to the staff doors and slides a box of food along the counter for him. He also almost offers a fist bump but Liu Sang manages to put that off with a mild sneer.

Pangzi’s... fine. Wu-Laoban loves him, but Liu Sang isn’t quite sure yet if the snarling banter he and Liu Sang engage in is entirely friendly. In either direction. And Ouxiang-- Liu Sang snaps his thoughts back around; not thinking about him. Nope.

It’s bad enough plastering himself against the intensely muscular Kan Jian for the length of a shift. Thinking about Xiaoge is just asking for trouble that his uniform is explicitly designed not to hide.

The break room is blessedly, mind numbingly quiet; a large bowl in the middle holds a fountain and the white noise of the water falling soothes over any noises that make it through the gaps in the door. Kan Jian escorts him to the benches and pushes him down with a solid pat to one shoulder; he’s sweet. And quiet. He offers Liu Sang the box of food, and silently settles onto the bench to watch the water, vest stretching over his shoulders and heart languid.

Liu Sang picks at his food, slowly recovering from the listening daze, and eventually starts to taste it; a sure sign that the sensitive period is going.

"Ey, Kan Jian, I'm good; you can go." He points vaguely with his spoon.

Kan Jian sits back and smiles like the fucking sun coming out; he's blinding and too trusting and far too good for the other part of his job. Though he seems to enjoy the violence with the same sweet-hearted physicality as he does the occasional slow dance. "You got it, boss!"

He shoos him with a jerk of his chin, and shovels his food more vigorously into his mouth.

Kan Jian and Wu Xie almost bump into each other at the door, though, and Liu Sang frowns, unwilling to interrupt his dinner to make a report. Wu Xie waves him off and grabs himself a coffee, then sits opposite and raises an eyebrow at him.

"You like to watch, ah?" Liu Sang says between mouthfuls, sharp and grinning just enough to make it banter rather than insolence.

Wu Xie grins wide behind the edge of his coffee mug and raises it a tiny fraction, as though in salute. He does settle the fuck down, though, and stops letting his eyes comb over Liu Sang like he's looking for more secrets in the seams of his shirt.

Liu Sang doesn't make him wait too long; that's why he can get away with eating first. It's a work in progress, but he's absolutely going to train the bosses here into decent habits. The money is worth the effort.

"So, tell me. Xiuxiu?"

Liu Sang launches into his report, outlining the gossip in summary, then going word for word when Wu Xie wants more detail on certain point.

"Hoo, interesting. She'll be glad to know; there's a bonus for you in this one." He leans forwards, elbows on his knees, and smirks. "What do you want?"

Liu Sang sits back a little, straightening his spine. "A square ten, and a shift with the VIPs," he shoots back.

"Done. Choice of clients. But you take Kan Jian as escort."

"Acceptable."

Wu Xie makes a note on his phone, looking pleased with the deal, and then digs a small square of gold out of his breast pocket. Ten thousand yuan worth of gold weighs twenty five grams, and Wu Xie tosses it across the room, underhand.

"You're insane."

Wu Xie cracks into a mischievous grin. "Don't have to pay taxes on gold."

Liu Sang rolls his eyes, and tucks the gold away in his inside jacket pocket. He asked for it for the same reasons Wu Xie deals in it. It’s the throwing it across the room he objects to.

“Ey, why do you want a VIP shift? I’ll match the tips if you want to kick back.”

Liu Sang brushes his uniform into order as he stands, twitching the suit’s crisp creases into their places and adjusting his cuffs to show a perfect half-inch of white below the black sleeves. “I don’t want money, I want a good fuck,” Liu Sang murmurs, low enough to rumble in his throat and showing a flash of teeth.

Wu Xie’s pupils blow wide and his pulse jumps; he sways towards Liu Sang and there is a bare flash of tongue as he wets his lips. Liu Sang stalks towards him, head low and grin gone dark.

“You like that, Wu-Laoban?” he murmurs, once he’s close enough for the words to brush warm air against his cheek. “Shall I consider it a reward from you when I come?”

Wu Xie thumps against the wall, startling himself into a little gasp; Liu Sang presses the advantage by caging him in with a hand on the wall, but he doesn’t touch. Let him be hungry.

“You’ll look after me, won’t you, Laoban?” he purrs. “Watching on your little cameras.”

His lungs stutter rather than let him speak, but Wu Xie nods and plasters a serious face on over his scorching blush.

Liu Sang smiles and steps back, out of his airspace, but touches his lapels to ease him into the distance. They’re artfully mussed, his linen suit fine and delicate and creased by some unknown artist into a rumpled and unthreatening look that, somehow, manages to make Wu-Laoban edible. Liu Sang suspects attempts have been made to make him look less... ravishing, that this soft, academic look is a form of self defence, but it’s a shocking failure. The cream linen bounces clean, warm light onto his alabaster skin, and it’s soft drape hides the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles Liu Sang can feel under his palms. He looks delicate and bruisable, bullyable, but he’s nothing of the sort.

Liu Sang likes that, he loves that. He could set himself loose on this man and he would pull he leash tight long before Liu Sang did any damage.

“Oh you are *good*,” Wu Xie murmurs, relaxing against the wall and shoulders drooping into something thats more predatory than it has any right to be. “I’ll charge em double.”

Liu Sang lets his grin widen a little too far, teeth gleaming and eyes hooded. “Mn, I do love to be valued at work.” He pats Wu Xie on the chest, in appreciation, and finally steps away.

---

There are three ways to get onto the VIP floor. All of them require obscene amounts of money, of course.

The first is charm; if someone who works there wants you there.

Second; beauty, ditto. Wushanju embraces horn in all its facets.

The third and possibly most important is connections. The Wu family business thrives on knowing everything about everyone, it's why Liu Sang has a job, and if you're part of that network, whether or not you get upstairs depends on how many favours you're doing for them.

The first two rules keep the ViP floor full of pleasant company and intelligent conversation, while the third sprinkles dangerous people into the calm waters.

Liu Sang looks for the third kind, leaning at the bar with Kan Jian a subtle distance away. He’s far from the only one working the floor tonight; Lady Cui has the vaguely k-pop looking guys wrapped around her laugh, though only the leader of their little group is likely to be able to afford her attention. Wang Meng has hooked his regular, shocking.

The old bastard has him crowded into the dark shadows of a booth, whimpering. It’s cute, how Wang Meng’s tightly compressed and elegant violence has turned into flustered helplessness. Then he hears: “You’ll pay me a bonus, won’t you, Lao-Yu?” in a sly, breathless voice and rolls his eyes. Wow.

He turns back to the bar and opens his mouth to order, but its damn Pangzi rather than the nameless staff member he was expecting. Liu Sang squints suspiciously at him.

“Ah, that’s a face.”

Liu Sang rolls his eyes again, and takes a seat at the bar anyway. “Speak.”

Pangzi smirks, flipping a towel on to his shoulder and turning the tall glass in his hand right way up. “Got a target Tianzhen think’s you’ll like. If you think you can take it.”

Interest pricks at him enough to make him cock his head and raise an eyebrow.

“Huo Daofu, table C. One of the Family,” Pangzi tells him, shooting crystal ice into the glass; the VIP bar is a level above.

“And you think I’ll be interested why?” He asks, reaching out two long fingers and tapping three times, ‘no alcohol’. Pangzi winks back, and holds up two bottles, one yellow and the other plum-red; Liu Sang picks the plum.

“Hai! One red and sour, coming up!” The bottle spins over and Pangzi catches it just in time to direct the first drops of liquor into the glass, trailing over the ice and staining it crimson. It’d be showing off on anyone else, but Pangzi is effortlessly competent, it’s obnoxious. “He’s a quiet one, rude. You’ll get along great.”

Liu Sang’s hackles rise and his eyes narrow.

“Ey, no, no, slow down, slow down,” Pangzi scolds, hands moving fast over a cocktail shaker and copper measure flashing. “He’s a rope top. Give you a collar if you ask nice.”

Liu Sang feels his teeth show, before he recognises the heat in his chest. “Who’s askin,” he growls through a grin like a challenge.

“Ha! T-t-t-there it is! Fight-o, Sang-Bei’er!” Pangzi cheers, and pours out the rest of the cocktail into the glass, swirling yellow-gold coiling with the ruby red.

Liu Sang smirks wider, and leans over the bar to pick out a steel straw. It takes him into Pangzi’s airspace and the man isn’t *completely* immune; he sways towards Liu Sang with a matching smirk, close enough to murmur in his ear. “I’ll take the Peony room, mn?”

Pangzi blinks four times; going through his mental books, and his face creases along well-worn smile lines. “You you, you, ah, you always know where’s free, don’t you?”

Smug, Liu Sang sits back and tucks his straw into his drink, sending the ice spinning with a flick. Crimson and gold twirl together syrupy-slow. “What could be easier.”

“Ah, and we paid so much for the sound proofing...”

Liu Sang knocks a ‘thanks’ into the bartop, and saunters away with his glass held aloft, letting the music seep into his bones and basking in the muttered admiration he’s leaving behind. His heart thumps harder and he sets his feet a little harder, heel-toe, to the beat. Head up, shoulders lose.

He knows what he looks like. Hears people watching him, every murmur, and *here*, oh... oh it’s delicious. Wu Xie and Pangzi and Ouxiang like behemoths at the back of everyone working the floor, the thrill of fear in the clients when they show their faces-- Liu Sang’s skin tingles with goosebumps. Here, he can let loose.

Huo Daofu is impassive, when Liu Sang spots him. Marble faced and unaffected by the show on stage, or the drink in his hand, Liu Sang wants to crack him open until he snarls. Beautiful, as men go, severe and pristine and contained in a three piece suit in warm grey and buttoned with tortoiseshell. The watch on his wrist is thick, solid steel, with that lush blue tint to the metal that speaks of more money than gold. He checks it, just as Liu Sang begins his approach, and when he looks up from the piece, their eyes catch.

Liu Sang raises an eyebrow, smirking and cocking his head just a little. A question.

Huo Daofu sneers at him, eyes flicking over his body and eyes narrowing; a dare.

---

Liu Sang lets him take his suit jacket off, as courtesy. His shoulders are wide and sharp beneath it, and sleeve garters promise some strength in the biceps beneath the crisp white of his shirt. He starts on his cufflinks, eyes on Liu Sang, and thats enough courtesy.

Liu Sang takes a last draw of his violently red drink and lets the syrup paint his lips long enough to lick it off again; Huo Daofu’s eyes snap to it, and Liu Sang puts his drink down with a *click*.

“You know what you want?” Liu Sang asks, low and studying him through his eyelashes. The distance between them shrinks.

“I do.”

Liu Sang settles his feet, just a little wider than natural, and Huo Daofu notices, raising an eyebrow and tipping his head just enough to look Liu Sang in the eye over top of the frames.

“Want me to be a good little sub?” he murmurs, just barely touching Huo Daofu’s vest front with his fingertips.

“I do.” He twists one side of his mouth, lips still tight and severe.

Liu Sang leans in a little closer, fingers sliding over polished wool and between tortoiseshell buttons to find body heat beneath. “Then *make me*.”

---

It's a solid bet, after what he said in the break room, that Wu Xie hadn't actually been in the witness booth, but Liu Sang makes sure to wave at the friendly black lens of the camera anyway, once he's out of the good doctor's ropes but still truly filthy with sweat and lube. The light blinks once in acknowledgement, and Liu Sang goes back to ignoring it.

"Any aches?" Daofu asks, directly into the red mark that burns across Liu Sang's collarbone.

"Mn, only the good kind," he promises. "Kiss them better?"

A smile, hidden against his skin, and a gentle rain of open-mouthed kisses follows the lines of rope burn. "You were spectacular."

Liu Sang flushes a little, warm all over. "We're a good match," he murmurs back, patting him on the flank. "Ask for me again."

Huo Daofu huffs agreeably into the side of Liu Sang's neck, his breath fanning over cooling sweat and drawing goosebumps to the surface. "I hope you're as expensive as your performance deserves."

Liu Sang laughs, low and delighted. "Tell Wu Xie that, mn? You might get me a raise."

"I'm going to treat these," the doctor tells him, his fingers feeling pleasantly cool against the hot, red welts of the rope marks. "Allergies?"

"None. You don't have to--"

Huo Daofu shakes his head, finally pushing up off Liu Sang's body and swinging his legs off the bed. "I prefer it. Add it to my tab." This is half directed at the camera, which blinks again.

Liu Sang pushes up onto his elbows, hair sticking sweatily to the back of his neck and shoulder joints burning just enough to feel. "Caretaking as a Scene?" He asks, blearily squinting after the doctor.

"Yes. If you'll allow it."

Liu Sang flops back down and works his shoulders. "Sure, sounds nice." He groans, low and satisfied, as he stretches his abused body into new and delightful shapes. He's neck deep in endorphins, and the stretch across his shoulders feels fantastic. "No consent play this time?" He checks. They didn't work this out at the table, after all.

"No, I'll just stop if you--" he waves a hand over his shoulder, vaguely indicating all that. There's a silver case on the table in front of him, and Liu Sang watches his back flex deliciously as he opens it out. Shame he pulled his suit trousers back up, but he's nice to look at anyway, though a little blurry at this distance.

"Mn, I'm in your hands then, doctor."

Hou Daofu mumbles something, possibly meant to be just a comforting sound, but Liu Sang can hear every syllable and suppresses a snort of laughter at the nonsense words. He feels satisfied and worn out, warm all through from a hard night's work doing something he actually likes, and that, as much as the ropes and consent play, is keeping his subspace bubbling along pleasantly.

He could probably shake himself out of it safely enough, he thinks to himself as his ears catch footsteps passing the door, but fuckit. He closes his eyes and deliberately wallows in the feeling instead. He's on camera, he's safe.

The noises coming off Huo Daofu are familiar enough; packets and vials and the soft glugging of hot water from a flask. His heart beat is just audible under the rest, steadier and in the process of coming down to a very respectable 70bpm. He must exercise regularly... Remembering the feel of his thighs between his own, Liu Sang is going to guess he's a runner. Maybe long distance. Mmmm, maybe a night runner. He has that vibe, and he's pale as Wu Xie.

"Still awake?" The footsteps by the side of the bed ask.

Liu Sang makes a vague 'ok' gesture, without otherwise moving.

"Hmph. Kiss?"

Liu Sang turns towards the dent in the bed as Daofu sits down, and lifts his chin. Daofu kisses the corner of his mouth, then his lips, and then softly cups his cheek with hands that smell freshly of herbs and minerals. He hums, pleased, and nuzzles into his palm.

"Might sting a little, mn? Let me know if its too much."

Liu Sang nods into his hand, and is surprisingly disappointed when he pulls away. How dare he. Except water trickles musically back into a basin from some kind of cloth, and when Daofu's hands come back, they're hot and gentle and soothing as they wash away lube and sweat.

It's not the messiest he's been; Daofu didn't ask for bare-back so they're not slathered in come as well, but oh god it feels good to be clean. The cloth is steaming hot, smooth and firm over unmarked skin, then delicately dabbing over the rope burns. It does sting, but he's not entirely tapped out, so the little tingles mutate into something more delicious than pain.

"You fought hard," Daofu murmurs, and the next touch is definitely his lips. A warm ripple of pride and satisfaction turns Liu Sang into a limp puddle.

"I had fun," Liu Sang manages eventually, breathing deep and smelling the same soft herb scent in the steam coming off his body. He’d fought with almost everything he had; Huo Daofu had been just about faster, smarter, stronger, but only barely. He’d not kneed him in the dick, obviously, and he’d had a chance, but he hadn’t had to hold back anything else. His body is still humming with the strain of fighting against the looping ropes and there’s a deep ache in the small of his back, where Huo Daofu had had to kneel on him to get the chest harness in place.

Liu Sang smirks and squirms over onto his side, draping himself across Huo Daofu’s lap and rubbing his cheek on the soft warmth of his suit pants. The good doctor huffs at him, faintly impatient, but wipes the back of his neck with the hot cloth and that feels fantastic. Of course, a chest harness wasn’t enough to actually hold him; he’s got a fantastic set of deep pink marks across his thighs from the double loop of rope that he’d forced Daofu into using. They’re still welting up, hot and throbbing and perfect imprints of the twist of the rope.

A thumb sweeps over one of them, stark on the outside of his thigh, and Daofu lays the steaming cloth over them. “I can make them go away by morning,” he murmurs, finding another on Liu Sang’s ribs and stroking it with an almost ticklish lightness.

“Mn... you should look after your toys,” Liu Sang purrs into his thigh, since that would be... an amazing feat of medicine, actually. He slits one eye open and looks up at him through his eyelashes. Who’s the toy here, really? Daofu shudders delicately, almost invisibly, and leans down with his fist curling through the hair at the back of Liu Sang’s head.

“Kiss?” Liu Sang whispers, and whether he’s begging like a good boy or ordering him is...deliciously ambiguous. Daofu obeys anyway, and Liu Sang finds himself dragged up and into a kiss that steals his breath away.

They part once they’re both breathing heavily, and Daofu presses him back to the lush pillows with the kind of delicacy you might see in a jewellery store. Liu Sang sprawls, one thigh falling open to show the deepening pink of the rope lines that crisscross his inner thigh, and sighs happily.

“Or you could leave them,” he breathes. “Everyone I see for a week would know--”

Daofu surges up to his knees, straddling Liu Sang’s waist and leaning hard on his shoulders; Liu Sang has time to blink, but then he’s being kissed again, deep and hungry. “Fuck,” Daofu mutters into his throat after, eyelashes fluttering against Liu Sang’s cheek.

“No. I want to fix them. They’re... mine.”

Liu Sang drapes his arms over the man’s back, soothing and heavy, and slides one hand down his spine in a smooth slide. “You must have magic hands,” he says with just a tiny hint of disbelief.

That earns him a smirk that’s gone back into stern by the time Daofu sits back up. “I’m the best.”

There isn’t even a trace of a lie anywhere in his body, so Liu Sang believes it. “Hmm... prove it.”

Suspicion confirmed: Huo Daofu’s eyes go dark and Liu Sang grins right back, the little hint of a smirk reappearing. “Are you sure you can take it?” the doctor warns, abruptly half way across the room and stalking. “Good medicine tastes bad.”

“Can I have something sweet for after?” Liu Sang asks, as suggestively as possible. And that is... he’s naked except for the man’s own rope marks. It’s very suggestive.

Huo Daofu smirks and raises one eyebrow without looking away from his case, and the stone bowl he’s measuring ingredients into. “It’s topical, actually, but... of course you can.” Huo Daofu looks up with a spark in his eye and makes direct eye contact on his way back. “It’ll burn.”

Liu Sang hold’s the eye contact, undaunted, and spreads his hands.

Huo Daofu laughs at him, softer than his face should allow, and looks away to stir the mixture in his bowl with the tip of a long, white feather. How traditional.

Liu Sang makes space for him to sit at the edge of the bed again, and stretches out while the doctor carefully paints the glossy ointment along the deepest marks. It’s hot, from the very first touch; the heat of spice, not temperature. Like peppermint and ginger. He has to draw in a careful breath, blow it out just as cautiously.

“Good...good. Still.”

Liu Sang holds still, even while the feather trails along the crossed marks on the delicate skin of inner thigh and makes his breath stutter again. It’s--

It’s a lot. He sinks deeper into his body to deal with it, to feel how the burning isn’t a threat, isn’t hurting, squeezing his eyes closed and fisting his hand in the bedding to anchor himself. “Oh fuck.”

“Hmn. Bear it.”

“Wow, you bastard. Haaah!” It’s not pain, but it’s an overwhelming kind of burn, and Liu Sang knows all about burns. “Let me guess, stimulates blood flow?”

“Mn. Combined with an anti-inflammatory.”

Liu Sang switches his death grip from the bedding to the bastard’s trouser pocket, fingers hooked into the fabric and holding tight as his head swims with the wild excess of sensations. “Nhhgah.”

“Bear it... fifty seconds.”

Liu Sang presses his head back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut, and breathes with his whole body shuddering. The countdown helps, and near the end of it he realises he can’t feel the first welts to get the treatment. He lets go of Daofu, hand trembling a little from the sudden release of effort, and reaches to touch, but Daofu pins his hand to the bed.

Liu Sang blinks up at him, at his raised eyebrow and judgmental face. Ah. He turns his hand over in surrender, and earns his freedom again.

“You don’t want it anywhere it’s not needed. Don’t smudge it.” As if in demonstration, he drops the feather into the trash directly, and wrings out the washcloth again, to dab away excess.

The burning heat has faded into cool, painless bliss, and Liu Sang blinks unseeingly at the ceiling, impressed.

“There...” the doctor murmurs, sounding a little smug as he puts away the washcloth and runs the pads of his fingers over Liu Sang’s tingling skin. The welts don’t sting any more, thats for sure. They don’t look different yet, and the excess medication has been washed from his skin, but they tingle and throb and Liu Sang believes Huo Daofu’s claims in their entirety, now.

“What treat do you want?” Daofu asks idly, washing his hands in the basin and turned away a little.

“An apple,” Liu Sang mutters, mostly joking. “Keep you away for a little while.”

Daofu snorts. “If only. I’d send Wu Xie a crate every morning. But no, here I am.”

Liu Sang slithers to the edge of the bed and reaches off the side to run his fingertips over Daofu’s lower back. “I’ll distract you from his terrible, terrible behaviour any day.”

“Hmph. He really is terrible.” Daofu turns on his heel and pins Liu Sang to the bed again, lazy and heavy. “Don’t shower until the morning, drink plenty of fluids, and no alcohol for sixteen hours,” he orders, almost growling into Liu Sang’s jaw before kissing him on the column of his throat. And then he’s gone again, straight backed and proud.

“Alright,” Liu Sang says, waving casually and absolutely watching him get dressed. “What’s my treat?”

Daofu smirks, shirt on his shoulders but unbuttoned and loose around the wrists. He’s devastating like this, even more so once he takes his sweet, precision time putting his glasses back on, without fixing the elegantly debauched mess of his shirt. “An apple.”

Liu Sang flops back to the bed, grinning wide enough to make his face ache, and catches the rustling missile that Daofu throws across the room. “Hah! No wonder your heart thumped when I cracked that joke; how long have you had this waiting?”

The wrapped candy in his palm is bright red, with a green apple printed on the plastic, and he wiggles it in the air.

“No one will ever believe you,” Daofu says with a deeply pleased smirk that he then directs at the camera in the ceiling too, fingers flying over his buttons.

He’s probably right about that, too. Hah.

Liu Sang unwraps the candy, and pops it in his mouth with a click against his teeth. It’s sour, and fragrant, and Liu Sang smirks around it while he watches Daofu pack his beautiful body back away behind an equally beautiful three piece suit.

“Don’t be a stranger, Doctor Huo,” he mumbles around it, when the man stalks over to the bed, ready to leave.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He pulls Liu Sang up by the chin, and licks into his mouth one more time, stealing the taste of sour apples and kissing it right back onto Liu Sang’s tongue a moment later. When they break apart, their lips are red and shiny and sweet and smirking, and Liu Sang pats him twice on the chest.

“Let me know if you need me to bully Wu Xie, mn?” Liu Sang murmurs, glancing at the camera with his favourite evil smirk.

Huo Daofu raises an eyebrow, eyes laughing and face blank, but leaves without commenting, his silver case in one hand, and his suit jacket dangling from the other.

...wow.

Chapter Text

Liu Sang falls into an easy doze, his body exhausted by the really excellent scene and his brain by the full listening shift before that. He's still completely naked, though wrapped in blankets, when Kan Jian knocks some undefined time later. Liu Sang's body takes a faintly startled deeper breath, though knowing who it is immediately keeps the reaction mild; there's only one person who knows the trick of knocking with a fingertip instead of a knuckle.

"Mngbh-" he stops, runs his tongue over his teeth, and tries again. "C'm in!"

Kan Jian pops the door open and pokes his head inside, bright as a marigold and twice as soft. "Liu Sang! Drinks!"

He extracts an arm from his blankets and makes a grabby gesture; Kan Jian gets that self-satisfied look of his, and shoulders his way inside. Literally, since he's got a tray in his giant beefy hands. The door swings shut behind him, though not before he sees Xiao Bai stride past in the corridor; she waves brightly without pausing.

"You alright? What do you need?" Kan Jian asks cheerfully, pulling the side table over to the bed for the tray. He sets it all out with the clumsy precision of someone who does something often, but for whom it comes unnaturally.

"Glasses," Liu Sang says, blinking against the faint burn of his contact lenses.

Kan Jian nods like this is obvious, sliding Liu Sang's glasses case out of his chest pocket. "I'll get you a wash basin."

He bounces to the ensuite, god, his energy levels are offensive, and Liu Sang hauls himself to the edge of the bed to get himself a drink. The tray is full of the usual things; Liu Sang downs a bottle of water to start, then scrunches himself up against the headboard with a cup of honey and ginger tea.

"Sore throat?" Kan Jian asks on his way back, steaming bowl of water in his hands.

"I did a lot of growling," Liu Sang murmurs absently, putting his cup down to scrub his hands in the bowl so Kan Jian isn't stuck holding it for him for too long.

"Makes sense. Here." The bowl goes down on the floor once he's done, and Kan Jian holds out his glasses case. His contact lens case is inside, and he swaps them out quickly. It feels so good to rub the sleep gunk and leftover tears from around his eyes.

"That's it? 'makes sense'?" Liu Sang mutters in dismay. "You're a weirdo."

"Am not. Growling is very sexy," Kan Jian insists.

"That's true." Liu Sang retrieves his tea and curls his creaky body against the headboard again, glasses in place and the world slightly distorted, but in focus. "You've been here a while, huh?"

Kan Jian sits on the edge of the bed, broadly. Everything he does is broad, obviously, but when he leans forwards to put his elbows on his knees, it's extra apparent. "Yeah, boss. Since I was 16. Not good for--" he breaks into a fragile grin, the one that scrunches his eyes all the way shut. "Flunked school. So, eight years."

Liu Sang rotates his mug between his palms, warming his hands and thinking. "How am I doing, then, old man."

Kan Jian bubbles into genuine giggles, back of his hand over his mouth. "Dunno! I like you! And you're still older than me."

"Hmphm. How are you still waiting on whores and listeners, and bringing drinks, after eight years?" Liu Sang grumbles on his behalf. "You should at least be management by now."

"Hey, don't be... That's mean. I like you, I like my job, I don't wanna have to cook books..."

Liu Sang thinks he's about to cry; his eyes are pleading and shiny. "...did you also fail arithmetic?"

Yep. Big fat tears drip off the man's eyelashes and he hunches down. He's known the man for a month, he should have known better... He puts his cup down with a giant sigh.

"Ahh, come here, come here..." he murmurs, tugging on the back of Kan Jian's collar until the man flops over and Liu Sang can hug him. "I'm sorry... There's nothing wrong with not wanting to do accounting... I'm sorry."

A giant sniffle, and Kan Jian shoves his dense head against Liu Sang's breastbone. Ouch. But if he wants more contact, he can have more contact; Liu Sang squeezes him tighter.

"Don't call yourself a whore in that... That voice," the big puppy mumbles, miserable.

That's... Probably fair. "I like my job, don't worry."

Kan Jian sniffs, loudly. "Alright. And besides, what's wrong with bringing you nice things... I can guard you just as well with a tray as a knife."

Liu Sang laughs gently, and scritches his fingers through Kan Jian's fluffy hair. "Yeah, you can. Look at these guns, mn? You could be unarmed and I'd still bet on you."

Most of Kan Jian's torso is slumped across Liu Sang's body by this point, and the weight feels good. As does the hot patch his breath has made against Liu Sang's stomach through the blankets. It occurs to him, then, that the absolutely terrible working relationship he'd had with the first few covers-slash-guards Wushanju had assigned him had probably bumped him up to an 'expert handler'.

"Hey, you're really good at this," he whispers into Kan Jian's ear, pressing a gentle little kiss to the shell of it after. "I'm glad you didn't get promoted."

His lapful squirms, and his ear goes red. "I do get pay rises."

Liu Sang sits back a bit, and pats him on the shoulder. "That's important. I'm glad."

Kan Jian pops up, grinning and biceps doing That Thing. "And I really am good at kicking people out."

Liu Sang grins back. "Do what you love, ah?"

Kan Jian's expression gets mischievous and he shifts to sit on the edge of the bed again, apparently completely unbothered by Liu Sang being naked. Liu Sang pulls the blankets up a bit, and leans in with a questioning eyebrow raised.

"Huo Daofu? How was that?!" Kan Jian asked, in a gossipy hiss.

"God, he's a machine," Liu Sang whispers back. "Brilliant. ‘Put him on my regulars’ brilliant."

"I saw the extra scene note go up, outside the monitoring room," Kan Jian says with his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

"He wanted to treat my rope burns himself; possessive. Didn't want anyone else seeing them."

Kan Jian makes an impressed sound. "Wu Xie made him pay out the nose for unnegotiated play."

Oh that, that is very delicious. Liu Sang's eyebrows climb as he does the mental calculation; the square ten of gold, plus a VIP night wage, plus the extra scene-- he licks his lips slightly.

"I stood outside," Kan Jian continues. "And Jiale watched real careful for your safeword."

"It was fine," Liu Sang promises, reaching up to rub his hair again. "You worked hard."

Kan Jian attempts a smirk, but his face isn't built for it, so it comes off rather comical and shows off his eyeteeth. "You're the one who worked hard. Gonna get outta bed today?"

"Absolutely not. That man's cock is an easy nine out of ten."

"Want a back rub?" Kan Jian offers, sympathetic and practical as ever, head cocked to one side.

"Hei Xiazi's here?" Liu Sang asks, trying not to look too interested.

"Sorry, not tonight."

Liu Sang tries not to look too disappointed, either. "Then no, I'm fine. Daofu drugged me, a little; whatever he puts in his salve is impressive."

Kan Jian nods along. "He does clinic sometimes. His stitches are,” he makes a pinch gesture so small he’s basically pressing his fingers together. “Did you hook him?"

Liu Sang smirks and tips his head just enough to show his pride. "I'm going to guess once a month, but I wouldn't be surprised to see him in a week either."

Kan Jian does a fist pump, then hands Liu Sang his tea again. “Drink, drink. Want me to take you to a nest up top?”

Liu Sang takes a deep draught of the cooling honey and lemon, making an agreeing noise while his mouth’s still full. “Jokes aside, I’m fine to walk. Did you bring my off clothes?”

“Mn, just a second.”

Liu Sang crawls into the oversized clothes with only minor groaning and creaking, and tops it off with a thick cable knit cardigan that Pangzi shoved him into after his first evening with a client. He’s never giving it back; it gives him sweater paws. It’s also been three weeks and no one has asked, so. He has hope.

The ‘nest up top’ is a room the size of a sleeper train compartment, with a bed piled thickly with pillows and blankets; its aftercare space, essentially a place where they can be off the clock, without having to commute home to rest. There’s six of them, and as Kan Jian walks him slowly along the corridor to his, only three have heartbeats in tonight. The small area of floor that isn’t ‘nest’ has a table for refreshments, already stocked with water, juice and Pangzi’s unlabeled --but reliably delicious-- snacks.

His bag and phone are in there too, phone plugged in to charge and everything. “You set up before coming down, didn’t you?”

Kan Jian blushes and rubs the back of his head, shrugging.

“Mn, learning my preferences. Thank you.” He leans in, offering, and Kan Jian accepts by tilting his cheek. Liu Sang kisses him loudly, patting his other cheek with his palm. “It is a pleasure working with you, Kan Jian.”

“Any time, boss.”

Ah, his smile is dangerous.

---

He stays off the sex work for a few days after entertaining Huo Daofu; he’s pleasantly sore the first day, then plain old fucked out the day after. Satisfied.

Also; fifty grams of gold richer. He deposits it in his unnamed bank account by rinsing it through Wang Meng’s jewellery shop on his way home and mentally rolls around in the extra zeros. His legal wage really comfortably covers his living expenses so this is flush money, tax free and invisible on an audit.

He swings by the really good sushi place on his way home, because it’s cheap compared to what he’s made in a single month. One day, he’ll make it here during Omakase hours, he promises himself as he picks up his food at the counter. God, this is fucking insane.

His shitty little apartment, on floor 33 of 50, feels unfair now. If he could guarantee money like this every month, he’d move out in a heartbeat. ...He’s going to give it six months. Minimum. Assuming they keep him after ‘probation’ (no probes involved, which in this industry is -- ahem...) then he’s still got to keep up profits and if he has sensory overload too many times? Oof.

He unlocks his front door with a sharp twist, and a kick to the bottom left of the frame, to unstick the fucking thing.

If he hears something he shouldn’t-- if they handle it badly, he’s fucked. No. He’s not committing to a nice place with horrifying rent for a while.

Besides, moving house is awful; he kicks off his shoes without having to look, and his stuff is all exactly where it should be. He hates relearning a space, and particularly hates relearning the noises. Fridges are a nightmare.

So what if it's a bit small? It's just him anyway. And he can shower at work, so the bathroom 'situation' is less important than it was a month ago. The expensive sushi is just as delicious eaten at the counter as it would be at a dining table.

He does hate the squeaky bar stool though... that’s a good use for flush money.

He stares at his takeout box for a long second, thinking about the money and what he could do with that much if Wu Xie keeps it up. If Huo Daofu keeps it up.

He snorts to himself, licking a rice grain off his thumb: he really doubts Daofu needs any help 'keeping it up', but if he did, he'd have a lovely little salve or pill to fix it.

Wu Xie though... Idly, while he’s licking wasabi and soy sauce off the tip of a chopstick, he wonders if Wu Xie has ever done real sex work. Not the bullshit watered down version at Wushanju, where nothing happens unless you want it, and no one goes hungry if they don’t put out, but the real deal, the dirty knees and fake smiles kind. Maybe, maybe that’s why Wushanju is the way it is now. Maybe he hated it, fixed it.

But Liu Sang thinks probably not. Wushanju is an innocent’s dream, a fairy wonderland, and Er-shu is a very, very powerful man.

Chapter Text

By the time he picks up another shift in the VIP lounge, his rope marks are long gone. Unlike the main floor, the people up here all know exactly what his little black wristband means, and he lets himself be seen while he leans on the bar. Pangzi doesn’t have a specific target for him this time, but he does have a suggestion, and makes him a truly disgusting Moscow mule, with the vodka substituted for violently green absinthe.

He sips warily, and the burn tells him this is the only drink he should have tonight; you could light the surface of the drink on fire, there’s that much alcohol rising off it. He pulls a face and Pangzi gestures violently with his polishing cloth.

“Eey, no, the straw, the straw!”

Liu Sang takes a dubious sip from the straw, and discovers that the absinthe is floating on top of a violently spicy ginger ale; the drink as a whole isn’t that strong.

“...Not bad, Pang-ye, not bad.”

“You doubted? Hah! Sang-bei, you brat, see if I make you dinner, ah?”

Considering the shouting last time he heard Pangzi in the kitchen, he thinks that’s probably not a risk. “Did chef Piao forgive you?” he asks with a smirk, to prod the bruise.

Pangzi puts a hand over his heart with a dramatic wail. “I am wronged! I am innocent--”

“Aah, ah, I can hear the lie, si-Pangzi!”

He shifts gears and leans over the bar into Liu Sang’s space. “Family dinner is hot and sour pork tonight, mn? Made it yesterday, simmered it four hours.”

Liu Sang scowls at him, and takes a sip of his drink to fight off the sudden hunger. “Bastard.”

Pangzi winks, and nods out at the crowd. “Go get em, and I’ll make sure to save you some.” He flaps at him with his polishing rag, pointing him off towards a group of young men. “There’s a new lot on the floor, ah? Make an impression. Hei Xiazi's working them, should be interesting.” Interesting should mean trouble, but. The gleam in Pangzi’s eye says it’s the good kind of trouble

‘New’ in VIP means they’re freshly vetted, first timers on Wushanju’s brothel floor, but it just so happens that the group of flashy gangly young men are new to Liu Sang altogether. One of them must have some connection or other, a guarantor that he’s good for the cash-- or they paid in advance. He eyes the one in the suit, the eldest and a point of calm in the back of the booth, his eyes dark and smirk half hidden in a bottle of beer. He's the center of the group, the other young men have their eyes on him, and Hei Xiazi sits on the end of the booth bench, face turned towards him. There’s money there; the suit has the same perfect crispness as one of Xiaoge's, but the wearer doesn't know how to sit, or move, without it pulling at his throat. Not even perfect tailoring like that can excuse a slouch.

Xiazi sees him looking, and flashes a smile over the rim of his drink, sly. Liu Sang raises an eyebrow, glancing at the three bickering young men in an open question. The smile flickers to mischievous, then over into an overt innocence that wouldn't be convincing even if he hadn’t just let Liu Sang in on it.

“Li Cu, someone’s looking,” Xiazi says, and it is a very, very good voice. His drawl is a finely tended weapon and slick as honey. Liu Sang makes sure he’s looking at Li Cu when the kid looks up, and flashes his wristband at him with a smirk.

“Remember what that means?” Xiazi murmurs, gesturing with his glass.

Li Cu swallows visibly, then smirks and the nervousness wears away from behind it. Interesting. He looks right up at Liu Sang, and he may be young and wild, but his eyes are black as pitch and he knows what he's asking for. “Join us, let me get you a drink,” he tells Liu Sang, in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to anyone else. Huh.

Liu Sang cocks an eyebrow in question and slides through the crowd to join them. Flatteringly, Li Cu looks him up and down then mutters to Xiazi “Oi, Lao-Hei... You’re paying, right?”

“You couldn’t afford me otherwise,” Liu Sang confirms with a smirk, inserting himself between Li Cu and his young friend, who has his mouth open in starry-eyed shock. Hei Xiazi makes an exaggerated little moan of poverty on the other side of the booth, and a gesture like a moth flying out of his inside jacket pocket.

"Hey, hey! You promised!" Li Cu caws at Xiazi, pointing in his face.

"Oh, someone's paying, alright, and you caught the eye of quality goods, ah? Sang-bei'er is--" he makes a little kiss gesture with his fingertips, gratifyingly. "And he'll cheat you out of all your chips at the poker table."

“Liu Sang, at your service," Liu Sang interjects, smirking broadly. Possibly slightly maliciously. He knows Xiazi's habits well enough by now to know it's time to head off some really embarrassing tall tale that may even be true. Li Cu has kept a certain amount of distance between them, almost unconsciously, so Liu Sang doesn’t crowd in too close, but he does slide in beside him. Just close enough that his body heat will seep across eventually and he's right there if Li Cu internalises that he's supposed to flirt. "I already have a drink, but I'm sure there's something else you could give me."

Li Cu goes deeply, profoundly red, and his cheeks puff up slightly while he processes that. One of the other two boys sputters violently into his drink, then downs what's left of it. Liu Sang finds it all rather cute, but he's being entirely honest and sincere that Li Cu could give him his dick and he would call it a night of 'doing what he loves', work wise.

"Are you really--?" Li Cu sputters eventually, his face twisting somewhere between fascinated, horrified and turned on.

"I'm offering, yeah," Liu Sang tells him, this time without too many overt flirty looks or sultry purrs. He smiles instead, copying one of Wu Xie's looks as best as his rounder face can manage.

"Hey, you wanna be in the Business," Xiazi adds, "you've gotta know this stuff, kid. Have fun, go wild, ask him a million questions."

Li Cu squarks in offence, making loud 'ey, ey' noises that tell Liu Sang he's a local.

Liu Sang raises an eyebrow at Xiazi while the poor guy is still stuttering, and sits back with his drink. "Bold to assume he'll have the presence of mind for speech. If you want him a teacher, take him back to school."

Xiazi spreads his hands innocently. "Message heard, he's all yours, Sang-bei'er."

Liu Sang takes a moment to consider it, turning towards Li Cu and looking him up and down, thoroughly. Li Cu initially shrinks away from his gaze, then lifts his chin with a look that’s intense enough to make the hair on the back of Liu Sang’s neck rise. Yeah. He can work with that. He smirks back.

“Follow me, and I’ll show you what that suit should really look like.” His tone leaves a lot to the imagination, and he watches every single filthy thought flicker past behind Li Cu’s eyes.

He doesn’t bother looking back once he’s walking away; he hears the stumbling, and the way Li Cu almost knocks his friend off his chair, and thats more than enough to track his progress across the floor.

In the darker warren of private rooms in the back, Liu Sang turns on Li Cu with fire in his eyes and backs the young man into a pillar, quick and fierce. He has to lean up, just barely, to kiss the gasp out of his mouth and oh he tastes sweet. Clumsy and inexperienced and hungry.

Fast learner too; he startles at the first hint of tongue, then surges forwards and kisses his way into Liu Sang’s mouth a moment after. His hands go wandering, hot and hard and determined to touch everything, like Liu Sang is going to be torn away from him at any second. Feeling the sharp bones under that suit, maybe that’s not unfounded, but it’s not how tonight is going to go.

Liu Sang shoves him back against the wall, reaching beyond him for the door and then dragging him into the bedroom. Li Cu kicks the door closed behind them, and returns the favour twice over, by shoving Liu Sang back up against it and kissing the air right out of his lungs. The body under Liu Sang’s hands is solid, but underweight; youth, maybe, but also the suit is new, the wealth is new. He’s all sharp angles that aren’t quite padded out as far as they should be; the kind of strength that comes from hard work and long hours and not enough.

Everyone has their own reasons for joining the Business. ...Liu Sang wants to knock them clean out of Li Cu's head and make his forget whatever it is that makes his hands clutch so hard.

He throws his arms over Li Cu’s shoulders and hitches himself up, half his weight on those strong shoulders and legs open so he can roll his hips against the hard muscle of his thigh. Li Cu groans, voice cracking and hands rough on Liu Sang’s ass with hunger; heat shoots through him. Liu Sang makes sure he feels his smirk, then bites his lip just enough to sting and make him gasp.

“What do you want, mn?” He purrs when Li Cu jerks his head away from the pain. He doesn’t go far, dipping his head to Liu Sang’s neck and biting him right back; Liu Sang winds his fingers into his hair and pulls before he can leave a mark. He grunts inelegantly, hot air washing over Liu Sang’s wrecked collar and shaking his head free of the grip like the pain doesn’t even register; and isn’t that a thrill?

“I want to *bankrupt* them,” he snarls, ducking back in and kissing wherever he can pull aside Liu Sang’s clothes, and he’s not shy about dragging them out of the way.

“Mn, I love a challenge," Liu Sang snarks, letting his eyes slip closed to enjoy all the hard body between his thighs. “Look at you... You've got stamina, haven't you--”

Li Cu snarls and draws back just enough to surge forwards again and kiss the praise out of his mouth. Jokes on him; Liu Sang digs both hands into his hair and takes control back. The rumble of a growl fills the space between them, strangled into something not quite recognisable as human by the tension in him. His grip turns harsh and he hauls Liu Sang up by his ass; Liu Sang wraps his legs around his hips and clings on with a low laugh.

“Cat got your tongue?” Li Cu snarks, the most obnoxiously smug expression on his face.

“Put your money where your mouth is, you little shit,” Liu Sang challenges with a grin that he knows shows teeth.

A cocky quirk of an eyebrow and an unfortunately attractive smirk. “It’s not my money, take what you like, hah.”

“Nnggh, that’s an unfairly fucking sexy way of putting it. Now shut up and fuck me already,” Liu Sang orders, getting two handfuls of shirt and tugging him in close for a kiss that strays just this side of violent.

When they tear apart from each other again, Li Cu is smirking again. “Sir, yes sir,” he murmurs in english, and lifts Liu Sang straight up and in the direction of the bed. They crash down onto it in a flurry of limbs and groping hands, pulling and clutching at each other with a mindless want that doesn’t have time for buttons or cufflinks. The grin on Liu Sang’s face, the flash of teeth, they’re genuine and he delights in shoving Li Cu’s shirt all the way up and biting him on the crest of his hip.

He works his fingers into the waistband of his pants, popping the button, while Li Cu strips out of the fancy suit with a displeased grunt.

“What’d the suit ever do to you?” Liu Sang asks, listening to it flutter to the floor in a heap.

“Cost far too fucking much. Get up here.”

Liu Sang crawls over him and sits on his lap, since that puts them at good kissing level and presses the hard line of Li Cu’s cock perfectly up against his ass. It makes Li Cu’s eyes cross, and his nose scrunch up in a way thats cuter than it is sexy; Liu Sang huffs rather than laugh at him, and rains kisses down all over his idiot face.

He does, it turns out, have to teach Li Cu a few things, but stamina is not one of them.

"What kind of Business are you--"

"Nnghah... Really, now?!"

Liu Sang smirks and sits down, flexing until Li Cu's eyes cross and his fingers dig into the meat of Liu Sang's thighs. "Interrogation under pressure, a-Li, can't you take it?"

Li Cu drags him down to kiss the words out of his mouth; good tactics, but Liu Sang can tell he's distracted trying to get his answer together. He magnanimously decides not to clench down or squirm until the man gets his breath back.

"Karaoke bar," he gasps as they break apart to breathe. "Wu Xie wants me to run the karaoke bar on Qingshui road."

Liu Sang rewards him by rising up on his thighs and sitting back down deliciously slowly. "Oooh... You are Wu Xie's man. I wondered. Mnnn..." He arches his back just enough to put Li Cu's cock where he wants it, and indulges himself for a moment while Li Cu groans and tips his head back and stretches out all that lovely bare chest for Liu Sang to enjoy. He's even more beautiful now that he's shining with sweat and flushed pink...

"Gambling ring?"

Li Cu nods, eyes scrunched closed. He can't be that close to coming, surely, he just--

"House always wins," he gasps out, grinning like a snake and dragging Liu Sang down to fuck into him properly.

Li Cu stares blindly at the ceiling, once Liu Sang is done with him. A hard, sharp edged body made soft with satisfaction and shining softly with sweat. Liu Sang isn’t much better off, to be fair; there are smears of...various kinds over most of his body by this point. He feels warm and mildly sore, and smug about it; he managed to extract some truly fascinating gossip and also a number of orgasms. What’s not to love?

“Ey, you awake?”

Li Cu grunts, and closes his eyes. “No.”

Liu Sang squirms closer, limp limbed and letting more of his weight drape over Li Cu than is probably polite. “Come visit again, mn?” he purrs, ducking his head to find an already-abused nipple. Li Cu flinches, skin skittering like a flea bitten horse, when Liu Sang licks it; he decides to have mercy and leaves it alone. He drags his lips up to find the crisp arch of collarbone instead, where there is still unmarked skin.

“Can’t afford you,” Li Cu moans, genuinely sad, and curls his arms around Liu Sang, hands interlocking at the small of his back. He’s going to make someone a fantastic boyfriend at some point; it’s very comfortable.

“Call it motivation to win at poker, hm? Hei-ye deserves whatever you can dish out.”

His ‘mattress’ shakes and a laugh ruffles his hair. “He cheats, I can’t win.”

Liu Sang lifts up on his elbows, so Li Cu can see his smirk. “He has a tell, everyone has a tell.” He leans forwards to bite Li Cu gently on the ear, then whispers into it. “Watch the bridge of his nose; the glasses slip, just barely.”

Li Cu groans, and headbuts Liu Sang away from his poor ear. “And what’s it mean, ah? It’s poker, not big-or-small.”

“Mn, that you will have to work out yourself,” he admits, since he relies on heartbeats to work it out. Cheating is standard practice against listeners, or no one else would ever win. Liu Sang would resent the lost winnings if it wasn’t vastly more entertaining than calling everyone’s bluffs. Last time, there had been five aces on the table at the end of the round and Wang Meng had been so pumped at managing to get a palmed card in without getting called out, that Liu Sang hadn’t been able to make head or tails of his heartbeat. “You worked out how he’s cheating yet?”

“Sleeve cards, counting, something else I can’t spot.”

“Ah... smoke screens. He’s the worst, isn’t he. Fight-o,” Liu Sang murmurs, distracted by the taste of Li Cu’s skin all over again. After a moment of possibly too many teeth, Li Cu pushes him away with a huff. Mouth freed up, Liu Sang continues; “Counting cards isn’t cheating, ah? It’s a skill.”

“Tell that to my empty wallet,” Li Cu groans. He also pins Liu Sangs shoulder down to the bed and leans over him for the kind of kiss that makes breathing irrelevant. Love a fast learner. “With his eyes... I don’t understand how he sees that much.”

Liu Sang hums consideringly, as Li Cu makes his way down his throat, slick tongue and sharp teeth. “I think he sees too much. Hey, can you go again?”

Li Cu groans, stops kissing --why-- and slumps down on Liu Sang’s chest like a bag of rocks. “I’m done.”

“Hah... alright. We should get up, mn? Let me put you back in that suit.”

“Five more minutes...”

When he returns Li Cu to the VIP floor, there’s no hiding the way he fits into the suit differently. He’s loose and relaxed and smug as a black cat in a sunbeam, and Liu Sang watches the moment his friends realise exactly what that smirk means; the rough one punches Li Cu in the shoulder, while the well-dressed but nervous one stutters out a sentence that never manages to contain any words.

The rich one must be Su Wan, the investor, which makes the other one Yang Hao; their muscle. Su Wan looks adorably out of his depth; he goes so immediately red that he shoots to his feet and flails his way over to Li Cu when one of the floor Hosts leans in to kiss him on the cheek. Yang Hao appears to be drunkenly interrogating Xiazi. Or possibly his dog tags, it's hard to tell.

Liu Sang catches Xiazi’s eye and smirks, nodding towards the bar in invitation; Xiazi flashes two fingers in the code for 'orgasm', by which he probably means 'coming', and Liu Sang rolls his eyes to the heavens for strength to endure creepy old bastards. He deliberately doesn't listen as Xiazi excuses himself, because Li Cu is being deliberately enigmatic and it's not cute, no matter what Liu Sang feels.

Xiao Bai is behind the bar as he settles on a stool, and she glances at his hands for just long enough for him to notice, then makes questioning eye contact. He shakes his head in a 'no thanks', thinking of Pangzi's slow cooked pork and whether he wants to end his shift there. People visiting on someone else's wallet don't exactly tip, but Li Cu made up for it in other ways, and Liu Sang is on the fence. Eat, nap, and enjoy his afterglow, or pick up another trick and beef up his earnings. Decisions, decisions.

"So, what do I owe you?" Xiazi whispers, unnecessarily close. Liu Sang turns his body just enough to welcome him into his personal space, like a trap.

"Wu Xie's paying, I got that much out of him."

Xiazi hisses in faux-sympathy. "Interrogating a man while his dicks wet; low blow."

Liu Sang smirks and leans in a little closer. "You wanted a learning experience? He's had a learning experience."

"Then I owe you a tip after all. Name it."

"Back massage. A real one."

"Ooo, instant response," Xiazi says with an impressed hiss, as though Liu Sang has asked him for a solid gold Maserati. He slides neatly out of Liu Sang's airspace, and onto the safer territory of a neighbouring stool. "Been thinking about that long, ah?"

"I hear all the gossip; I've heard what they say you can do." He smirks and leans in. "Wanna prove them right?"

"You have yourself a deal. Now?"

"Mn, no, I'm keeping that one in my back pocket. I'll let you know."

"Yes, boss, you got it." He smirks, mocking, and turns to the bar proper. "Xiao Bai! Refills for the Tin Triangle!"

Chapter Text

At the end of his first month at Wushanju, Liu Sang has a meeting with Wu Xie and he heads in to Wushanju at about midday, since Wu Xie has a terrible relationship with schedules and wouldn’t give him an actual time. He’s feeling pretty positive about his performance overall --Huo Daofu has booked him, booked! In advance! for an evening next week-- and the listening side is going smoothly now that Kan Jian is on him more or less permanently. He beats out Kezi by a wide margin because of his trained memory and spacial awareness, and he’s picked up the house codes in enough detail that he hasn’t hed to ask for a translation in a fortnight. Though, he muses as he lets himself into the service door at the back of the club, Kezi is no slouch, actually; as listeners go, he’s top of the range for stamina and he doesn’t mind the throbbing club music, so thats a big advantage.

When he gets into the club, via the staff entrance in the back, he weaves around an incoming delivery and the restaurant staff, trying to get in the way as little as possible. Xiao Bai waves violently energetically from behind a clipboard, and doesn’t pause her stream of good natured orders for even a second. He bobs a little bow back at her without interrupting the overall flow, and ducks into the back halls. Her voice sounds like her grin for a second, then flips back into relaxed and businesslike as she assigns someone to managing cold storage. PiaoPiao mentions lychee during a pause and he makes a mental note to see if he can make eyes at her at the right moment to get some for himself.

“No, come on, please...”

He stops in his tracks as the door between the admin corridor and the kitchens swings closed behind him, because that is Wu Xie’s voice, and there’s a buzzing noise that is almost but not exactly like the sound of a vibrator coming from his office. The cacophony from the kitchen isn’t quite enough to hide it and his hand shoots up to the controls on his earbuds, but this is the offices, he can’t be, right? Liu Sang pauses without turning the white noise up, blinking and frozen in place.

“Wang Meng, please, just make it work?” Wu Xie sounds actively desperate, huh. “I just really need--”

“Laoban, ah, you had better pay me for this, you know? This is overtime now.” Wang Meng, the gold launderer and occasional Host, sounds exasperated and amused and fond, and theres a click like a plastic button. The buzzing noise changes character, ramping up, and Wu Xie actually groans in relief. He even, it sounds like, knocks some of his papers off the table, because there’s a rustling flop and the distinct crackle of a piece of paper landing on edge on the floor.

“Wang Meng, your fingers are magic, you’re a blessing...” he groans with profound relief, as the buzzing stops. Did he just come?! Is that what Wu Xie sounds like when he comes? Underwhelming. Liu Sang stands there in the corridor with his eyebrows somewhere in his hairline and is forced to listen to Wang Meng demure.

“You just have to be a little coaxing, Laoban. You’re too impatient.”

Wu Xie groans again, and theres more rustling of papers, the tap-tap of someone straightening up a stack. They must be tidying up. “This old bastard, he only listens to you,” Wu Xie complains, half heartedly. He sounds mostly pleased about whatever just happened, and Liu Sang should fucking hope so. Wait, isn’t Old Bastard Wang Meng’s regular?!

Liu Sang’s eyebrows go back all the way up. He knew that the man was a sugar daddy, but did Wang Meng really share his toys?

The buzzing starts up again, and Wu Xie makes a triumphant ‘hah’ noise; Liu Sang wrinkles his nose. They have rooms for this kind of thing, does it have to be the office.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Wang Meng says, so smug that Liu Sang wastes precious seconds pulling a face, when he should be hightailing it out of the corridor so his boss doesn’t realise he was listening in. Instead of being safely back out in the kitchen section, Liu Sang is caught blinking in broad daylight at Wang Meng when he emerges from the office, with a stack of documents in one hand.

Wang Meng breaks into a smile, as if there is absolutely nothing going on, and holds the door open behind himself. “Boss! Sang-er is here!”

“Oh?” Wu Xie’s head pops into view around the edge of the door as he kicks his wheely chair over, and he’s pink and dishevelled and awfully, dreadfully perky. How many times would Liu Sang have to make him come before he calmed the fuck down-- Well that’s a dangerous thought. He turns his mind firmly away from that before he ends up indulging in his curiosity and actually saying something. “Liu Sang! Come in! I’m doing payroll! Wanna see some really sexy numbers?”

Unfortunately for Liu Sang, he really does.

He passes Wang Meng with a little bob of the head as thanks for holding the door, and the man heads off with a wave. Presumably leaving behind the remote control to whatever Wu Xie is wearing. Liu Sang doesn’t see one in his quick glance at the table, but then he is very and immediately distracted by Wu Xie’s knit sweater draping over the lumpy, hideously comfortable loveseat that lives in the back of the office. Liu Sang tries not to think about the reasons Wu Xie might have gotten overheated.

“Here’s you,” Wu Xie says, bright and unsuspecting. He should know by now that Liu Sang can hear everything-- “You took twenty listening shifts at six hours, love your stamina by the way, let us know if you ever need to take a half like the others though, and five VIP clients, including two Family contracts, so that’s extra--”

Liu Sang lets himself be drawn into what is, it turns out, an incredibly sexy spreadsheet printout of all the legal money he’s earned in his first month. Wu Xie is enthusiastic and genuine and it’s not entirely compatible with the though that he probably has a vibe somewhere under his clothes, but Liu Sang is willing to roll with it for now.

“You don’t record the square tens?” Liu Sang asks, curiously.

“Oh! No, yeah, I do, but I do it in seal script on paper. There’s only ah.. Four or five experts who can read that dialect, and you’ve already hooked one of them. The ‘or five’ is so old im not sure his eyes would let him read my calligraphy. It’s as safe as a tax haven, promise.”

Liu Sang has only hooked one actual repeat so far, and thats Huo Daofu, so he makes a quiet ‘huh’ sound. Why are rope doms always such pristine academics.

“Good work on that, by the way,” Wu Xie praises absently, shuffling through another stack of print-out’s so fresh that they’re still a single block of paper. “He’s ...a friend and a bastard and god knows if he’s getting his dick wet on the regular, he’s a nicer human being.”

Liu Sang holds in his first reaction to that way of putting it. “I look forwards to working with him,” he manages, in the most awkward tone of voice, because Huo Daofu gave him candy and made terrible jokes, and oh god, Wu Xie really wont believe him if he says anything, but this is hilarious; there is genuine caution in Wu Xie’s tone. Affectionate, but still.

“What happened between you two?” Liu Sang asks in horrified fascination.

“Oh, you know. I wasn’t always the boss here, I worked a few places. Life was complicated.”

“Fine, I’ll ask him--”

“Exes! We’re exes! Heavens, please do not bring me up with him-- oh, hang on..”

The buzzing is back. The buzzing that almost definitely sounds not quite exactly like a really high powered vibrator-- Liu Sang startles violently and instinctively looks down towards Wu Xie’s lap, but there’s not even the slightest hitch to Wu Xie’s heart beat, and isn’t the noise too clear for that anyway? And it’s--

Oh my god it’s the printer.

A shitty, ancient printer that lives under the desk is creaking and buzzing in a decidedly fatal sounding way, and spitting pages out into Wu Xie’s hand. He makes that same little grunting noise of triumph and Liu Sang almost loses it completely when he brandishes the papers in victory.

He plasters his hand over his mouth and tries not to make that one awful donkey noise that his body thinks is a laugh.

Luckily, Wu Xie remains completely oblivious.

Chapter Text

The club is heaving with drunk and nearly-drunk people on Liu Sang’s next late listening shift, and the music has swollen to that intoxicating chest-thumping volume that keeps drunk people dancing. Liu Sang has to tease out individual conversations in booths on the other side of the dance floor, and he's supposed to catch if anyone is injured or about to start a fight and there's upward of three hundred people in the neon-swelter of the main hall.

It is, long story short, a waking nightmare.

'badtouch, male, back corner go go go go --'

And he's just sent Kan Jian to deal with a sexual harassment case, half way across the club. It's so busy that they're having trouble using the knocking language, even with the vibrating wristband, and they're relying on Xiao Bai and her green laser lights to get messages around the staff.

Liu Sang wades through the crowd towards the bar to report a broken nose just off the dance floor, and lingers there once someone's dispatched. Without Kan Jian, he can't keep his place in the crowds without getting felt up or kissed or talked to. Xiao Bai passes him a water bottle with an apologetic grimace, and he puts his back to the wall to drink deep. It's fucking hot, too. He wants out of his uniform and into a shower, fuck.

The music pounds against his lungs and the lightshow sweeps a violet flickering over his face; god damn fuck, what a night. There isn't a single important conversation happening in this bullshit, and even if there were, he’s occupied with keeping wandering hands from turning into genuine crimes.

...he listens to the now painfully sober sounding voice that he'd sent Kan Jian over to, and shivers. She knew her attacker, of course, and never expected him to be like that, and he's drunk off his fucking face, so it's not that bad, right? Liu Sang grits his teeth and tears himself out of that hyperfocus; Kan Jian's dumb face will either convince her to kick the guy to the kerb or it won't, nothing to do with Liu Sang now. There's nothing suspicious elsewhere just then, but listening in on one thing is a sure-fire way to jinx it and get himself fired for missing something important.

Hah! Sure e-fucking-nough, one of the after-work parties has gone quiet and tense as the two bosses start in on a disagreement about some bullshit detail of their under-the-table unwritten contract.

Liu Sang really does let himself hyperfocus on that; he wants every word.

He'd really like some heartbeats to tell him which of the bastards is lying, because that is a guarantee with the way the conversation is going. One of them contradicts his own previous statement, so he’s almost certainly lying about either the state of the goods or the delivery time--

...ugh, it's smuggling. Lui Sang feels his lip curl in disgust; it's a tax dodging scheme moving huge amounts of tobacco across international lines. They hadn't given that away earlier, so that's worth hard cash. He drifts closer, swaying to the beat and tucking himself into the edge of the dance crowd. Without a cover, he has to fall back on the tactics he’d developed at his old job, and dances near a group of appropriately drunk office workers until they draw him into the press of their bodies. Thats better; he lets himself loose, safe in the mindless rhythm and giggling gossips. Someone presses up against his front, her hands sneaking around his hips to pull him against her chest, and she sounds happy and relaxed and full of laughter; he lets her enjoy his body while he listens.

He gets an address from the smugglers, then a bank account number and some double-talk that might give them a date once they have a chance to cross reference. Haaah, it’s satisfying.

He’s warm and buzzing all over, and the group of office workers are affectionate and appreciative; they touch him gently and admiringly, and he feels wanted. He’s not sure if he’s for sale --theres a fuzzy haze to his head that says he probably shouldn’t be-- but the hands that wander up his shirt front sure are asking.

The smugglers finish their deal and drift away, and he lets himself dance without listening to anything but the women with their hands on him.

“You on your break, Xiao-gege?” One of them asks, bold with her hand on his chest.

The name throws him, a little startle of adrenalin rushing through his body and his ears pricking for that metronome-steady heartbeat, but of course the music wipes out that level of detail, and she was talking to him, not to Ouxiang.

Liu Sang craves him, in that moment of confusion, craves the intensity of having those eyes on him.

“Ah, I-- no, I’m still on shift,” Liu Sang manages, when her touch wanders over his nipple and startles him back into his body. “Why, you want something, beautiful?”

She looks disappointed; was his flirting voice still too rough and startled? He gives himself a mental shake and actually looks at her. She’s beautiful; dark and tall, with wide hips and scorching hands. Her hair is cropped short to her scalp and so, so fuzzy; he wants to touch it.

But her voice is cold, and her hands leave his body. “Not if it’s for sale. Excuse me.”

His body goes cold too, and she turns away with a blank expression that twists his heart. The others follow her lead, regretful and arguing about host club rules and whether she's being rude, but not actually coming back.

His fist shakes for a second, but the feeling in his chest isn’t quite the incandescent rage that it would take to drive him to say something. Or actually hit someone. It’s too fragile for that, ready to shatter into a thousand razor sharp pieces to stick between his teeth.

He’s alone on the little corner of the dancefloor; he’s gone still, not even pretending to move with the music, so other dancers leave him a little bit of space. He can feel their eyes on him, feel the way the crowd finds him weird and uncomfortable. A piece of grit in an oyster’s flesh.

“Liu Sang.”

The spell breaks. He shivers like a hollow bell struck with a hammer, and turns away. That voice is to be obeyed, a pull like gravity or magnetism that drags him off the dance floor. He goes blindly.

There's a ringing in his ears now, and every sound feels like it arrives twice. Once hitting his ears then again hitting him between the eyes. Every conversation in the club swells into a heaving morass of senseless noise.

A deep well of silence drags him closer, shade in the desert or shelter from a storm-sea, and he finds his hands weak and trembling but still reaching out. Garbled words around them resolve into known voices, Jiale, Kezi, Kan Jian, Xiao Bai-- but the words don't make any sense, broken syllables piled on top of each other dismantled like Lego.

A tiny, barely audible intake of breath, then a cold hand lands on the back of his neck. Relief flows down his spine, fluid and cleansing. The hot, intoxicated air of the club is cut away, and Liu Sang sways into the touch to find a place to balance from.

His reaching fingers meet warm, buttery leather and cold stainless steel then find body heat beneath and the world shrinks back down into 'real' and 'here'.

"Ouxiang--"

The grip on his neck tightens and a cold thumb pushes his chin up until he's blinking slowly at the scattering and scintillating of the club's lightshow. The world swims and tilts and the lights fracture into millions of shards that move with his head instead of the music. Someone plucks his glasses from his face and he blinks dazedly at how little difference it makes.

"Ah..." Liu Sang breathes. "I... Table four, smugglers, tobacco. Ocean route."

The dark shape half hidden in the visual noise draws closer, and the grip on his neck guides his head down. Liu Sang closes his eyes in relief and lets it fall all the way to Xiaoge's shoulder. There, it's dark and still. The stiff cotton of Xiaoge's hood is cold and damp with rain, smelling fresh, and the leather jacket is shiny with droplets that smear over Liu Sang's cheek. He can feel himself slipping over into a weird place, detaching from reality. Xiaoge is the safest place in the world to be, and his legs threaten to just give out under him and drop him to his knees.

Xiaoge’s grip shifts to his shoulder, then his back, and it wouldn’t matter if he stumbled now; Xiaoge’s strength is iron.

He’s brought outside air in with him; the smell of night rain and wet roads drifts from the shelter of his hood, and Liu Sang draws a deep breath of it. Like the wash of ice water down a parched throat. Noises that he can’t make sense of surround him, but Xiaoge is so, so quiet. A breath, and a heartbeat, and the predatory stillness of a body in complete control of itself.

“They’re moving the goods on friday,” Liu Sang manages. “Early--”

“Quiet.”

Liu Sang goes quiet. He’ll remember. He can report another time. Ouxiang’s hand returns to his neck, lifting his head away from his comfortable resting place, and oh... Ouxiang’s looking right at him, eyes black as ink in the shadows of his hood, and reflecting the green flare of Xiao Bai’s lasers. Liu Sang tries to divine some instruction from the look on that face, but the glint of eyeshine fractures away into pieces that won't return to their proper places no matter how he blinks them away.

This isn’t right... A frown creases his forehead, an ache of concentration, but he can’t make the thought come clear-- He takes a deep breath, finding the edges of his body again, and the pain ploughs into him in one singular rush.

He’s having a migraine.

He feels himself crumple, distantly, in the harsh pressure of Xiaoge’s hands against his shoulders, and the swinging strangeness of the world tilting. It swoops and heaves dangerously, taking his stomach along for the ride.

A hot body shoves itself-- himself under his shoulder. Kan Jian, smelling of coconut rum, expensive cologne, and cheap perfume. On his other side, the steel-bar strength of Xiaoge. He keeps his feet beneath him, barely, and they haul him away from the head-splitting noise.

The firedoor slams behind them and Liu Sang’s whole body cringes at that boom, but the noise level drops; Liu Sang can breathe again. He gets his knees back under control and shoves himself stubbornly upright, away from Kan Jian’s scorching body heat. The cold hand at the juncture of shoulder and neck is harder to give up; Xiaoge steadies and steers him by it, keeping him from slamming into a very appealingly solid wall. He has to brace himself and stand straight, stable, for a long breath before Xiaoge will relent.

The hall is far from silent; at one end, the kitchens heave with metallic clangs and shouting voices, roaring gas burners. At the other, the firedoor barely clings on against the booming throb of club music at two am. Worse, somehow, than either, is the piercing throb of fluorescent lighting overhead. Blindingly bright and cold, green tinged and fragmenting into many-faceted shards as the migraine sweeps across his vision and chews at spacetime.

“...fuck.”

He staggers, pressing a hand over his eyes and sending something metallic clattering to the floor before Kan Jian catches him and pushes him up against that lovely, solid stable wall. He struggles violently against the need to heave up his stomach, teeth gritted hard enough that lights splinter across his vision despite the dark behind his hand.

“Liu Sang, boss, whats going on? What do you need?” Kan Jian has his shit, Kan Jian has his locker key--

“Migraine, --bad,” Liu Sang manages. “Drugs in--” he takes a sharp breath as the world swoops vertiginously around him, and snatches his hand off his face, eyes wide to try and fix the world in place. “Make-up bag. Locker.”

Kan Jian vanishes, the sweaty heat of him dissipating and leaving Liu Sang shivering. The wall keeps him upright, but it’s freezing cold compared to the sticky heat of his body; he loves it and hates it in equal measure. Xiaoge remains, a dark and restful place to put his eyes while his brain is trying to liquidise itself. He feels vague flickers of humiliation, to the point of stomach churning dread for one awful, compounding moment, but there isn’t much space for thinking and feeling and being a human being when the pain reaches a certain point.

He thinks he probably swept past that point an hour ago, dragged deep into the listening daze.

“Xiaoge? What’s going on?” Wu Xie appears out of the crunching, folding mess of the migraine aura; Liu Sang is effectively blind on that side, the effect is so large. His stomach roils.

Xiaoge says nothing, but his hands flicker through the sign language so fast that it’s gone in a blink. ...though maybe his blinks are longer than usual.

“Ah, that's shit. Kan Jian blew past me a second ago, mn? He’ll be back soon.”

Liu Sang drops his head back against the wall, every muscle in his body on strike but none of them agreeing on their demands. “Nngn.”

“I know, I know. Let’s get you to a room, alright?”

He lets Wu Xie pull his arm across his shoulders, Xiaoge takes his other side, and what he manages could, if you were feeling generous, be called walking. It’s too late for the quiet to stop anything, but god, the relief that douses him when the doors close is glorious. His ears ring and he barely notices being lowered onto a bed, registering it more by the change in angle than anything else; his head spins sideways instead of round and round.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Liu Sang gasps, arching his back into the bed when the world swoops violently past him; he’s going to fall, he’s going to fall, he’s-- His fingers twist into the bedding until the fabric bites into the skin and he holds on with all his strength. His brain wants to say he's tumbling over and over-- Xiaoge presses cool hands to his collarbones and gently but uncompromisingly flattens him to the bed. He lets the pressure squash stale air from his lungs, and gains a little clarity when it lets off again and he takes in a huge, gasping breath of fresh. He looks around compulsively, where are they, where is he, feeling like the world is too hard and somehow shifting around all over the place anyway, and Xiaoge is still and dark and quiet. Watching intently, hand on Liu Sang's sternum.

Wu Xie is at his shoulder, one hand tucked under his opposite arm and the other tapping at his lips like he's trying not to bite his nails; worried.

"I'm fine, I'll be fine," he hisses. Fuck, this is his boss, as well as a soft hearted idiot; he's fucked up and they're watching him crumble into fractured pieces and holy shit the light is painful. He screws his eyes closed, with a grunt.

“Light sensitive?” Wu Xie asks, thank fuck. Liu Sang nods and even though it sends nausea right through the center of him, it’s worth it when the lights flick off.

God, it’s as good as it gets for a second there; he groans in gratitude and flaps a hand over Xiaoge's, to thank the steady heartbeat at his side for being so so listenable. Here, on the right side of some sound proofing, he can hear that steady thumping and it's so effortless to let his ears narrow in on that, dragged in like a comet towards the sun.

The man grips his wrist and puts his hand back on the bed with a little pat, then returns to touching-- oh, he's feeling Liu Sang's heart beat right back. The shot of adrenaline through him at the thought makes his heart actively skip, and Xiaoge leans in a little closer, a little more attentive. Shudders travel from the soles of Liu Sang’s feet to the crown of his head, where they try and make his hair stand on end; this is a lot, this is too much--

“--labelled. One.”

“Water?”

“Here.”

There’s the sound of a pill bottle opening and Liu Sang reaches blindly into space for it, anything to make that slight uptick in Xiaoge's heartbeat go away. His wrist is captured again, pinned against the bed next to a weight that dents the mattress, and the pill touches his mouth directly instead. It’s violently bitter but he swallows it anyway; the pain is making him drool and the swallowing is becoming compulsive.

A light touch taps at his shoulder; the word ‘water’, along with a comforting squeeze. He tries to shove himself up onto his elbows and someone helps enough that he’s not sure he did anything but suffer through being moved. The water is ice cold and perfect and washes away the bitter sting of the pill.

As much as he loves the drug for its brutal efficiency, it tastes absolutely awful.

He thumps back down to the bed and checks out of his body; he has to hold on for twenty minutes. Just twenty.

There’s the hissing staccato of a whispered conversation that Liu Sang tries not to perceive, then the door slides quietly closed and cuts that off too, leaving him alone with a single, quiet heartbeat. With it there, he can block out anything else, but even so; the dead quiet is a relief.

“Nghhhuh...”

“Drink.”

He takes another pull of water when it’s offered, wanting to down the whole bottle in the vague hope that it’ll stop the mad churn of his stomach. It’s not successful in the short term:

“...I’m gonna--”

The heaving is violent, painful, and by that point, unstoppable. Liu Sang makes it over onto his side, and throws up the medication, the water, and half his soul into the trash can beside the bed. Xiaoge holds him steady as the world reels around him, hair tucked back and a blissfully cold palm over his forehead

Fuck.

“I-- pill, pass me the--” he gasps out, reaching into the dark but then flinching back when he hits a hard surface at an awkward angle. Xiaoge makes him lie back, insisting on propping him up on a pillow despite Liu Sang's desperate desire to lie completely flat. It helps, air coming cleaner and easier, but god fuck, the world turns and shudders.

He flinches away from the noise of pills against plastic, too, but he has to, he really does have to. He takes the second pill, drinks, and curls up into a miserable, bow-string tight ball to try and keep it down, grateful for the pillows now. Xiaoge stays put on the edge of the bed, unmoving in the dark while Liu Sang's shivering and harshly deliberate breathing makes enough noise that the room is pricked out in terrible echoing detail. He tries to fall down the rabbit hole of listening to his Ouxiangs heart beat again, thump, thump, smooth as chocolate--

He fails.

The second bout of throwing up ends with a strange floating sensation, distant swearing, and more immediate pain, all rushing into his head together.

He doesn’t try again.

When Xiaoge --and it could only be him, but why does it have to be him, gratitude and humiliation fight it out and Liu Sang the looser-- when Xiaoge takes out another pill to offer him, Liu Sang turns his head away and clenches his jaw closed until he hears the pill rattle back into the pot with it’s fellows.

“I-- Give me... twenty minutes. Just. Wait,” he gasps out, winded from retching and doing his best to go limp on the bed, to not fight it. He needs to stay still and calm, he has to.

A hand touches his forehead, lightly, then slides over his eyes to block them out completely, and Liu Sang really does go still, mostly out of confusion. Then, he hears the very tiny tap noises of Xiaoge typing on his phone and understands; the phone screen would be...bright. Awful. He reaches up shakily and presses Xiaoge’s hand firmly over his eyes; it helps, amongst all the snarled mess of pain, it’s something that’s not pain, to focus on.

He braces to wait out his self imposed time limit, praying that his stomach will calm down, and wonders if he can survive this without the little bitter pills if it doesn't. He can barely think, his whole brain rammed full of pain and nausea: this is what it must feel like to be an animal, crushed down into stimulus response with no way out but through.

Eventually, something changes outside the door. There's a new voice, a worried squeaking from Wu Xie, a rattling clatter-

He braces himself for light and sound, breathing very carefully, but the throbbing pain that crashes into him when the door does open isn't something you can really brace for.

"Liu Sang; Huo Daofu," Xiaoge supplies, his hand sealing closer over his eyes and his voice so quiet that Liu Sang can't be sure Daofu can hear it.

"Hi," he croaks; proof of life.

"What have you taken?" The doctor asks, less skilled at being quiet and stabbing Liu Sang in the ear with his voice, with the sound of the latches on his apothecary box.

"...'triptan." He flails a hand out, in the direction of the last rattle of the pills, and Xiaoge picks up the bottle. Daofu makes a quietly approving sound.

"Didn't stay down though." A soft hum, and the doctor takes the bottle. "Within minutes?"

Liu Sang nods, then groans when the world becomes unmoored.

"You won't have gotten any of the drug then. That is good news. I'm going to blindfold you now. I need light."

It is? God, if he has something stronger, Liu Sang is going to cry. "...got it."

The blindfold is something wet and heavy, blissfully cold. Momentary relief washes through him, repeated when Xiaoge settles his hand over top of it to hold it, him, steady. When the lightswitch clicks, he sees nothing and the flash of anticipatory tension drains back out of him.

"...'s good."

"You have regular migraines. This isn't unusual?"

He shakes his head, and turns his wrist when he feels fingertips digging in for a pulse. "It happens. The pills work but..." He trails off to breathe through a rush of nausea; his body doesn't even want to swallow, which is a problem because he's drooling. Because he's nauseous. Brief but intense rage sweeps through him and he forces his body to swallow before he fucking chokes.

"You missed the window," Daofu finishes for him. "Alright. I'm putting in an IV. Don't pull it out."

His brisk, cold touch is easier to focus on than anything else in the sensory hell that the migraine has turned his body into, and they strip his jacket and shirt off without any help from him. The cool air is a blessing for a second, then a curse as goosebumps race over his skin; he can’t tell if he’s hot or freezing, and the sweat on his body feels like droplets of ice. Someone pulls a blanket thats softer than sin over his bare chest, and he groans, digging his fingers into it and clinging as though it might stop the world from spinning out from under him.

Huo Daofu pries his right fist open, brisk and uncompromising, but letting Liu Sang grip his hand instead after. The needle goes in easy and he briefly wonders how expensive this is going to be, but he remembers the tiny squares of gold in his safe at home and thinks; fuck it, he should be able to afford it. He hasn’t got a huge amount of choice. Tape rips and cold tubing gets stuck down to his arm, and he tries and fails to make his fingers let go of the Doctor’s hand.

“This is fluids,” Huo Daofu explains as a chill starts in the back of his hand, amongst the burning of the needle stick. “I’m going to do dexamethasone, prochlorperazine and more ‘triptan.”

Liu Sang grimaces under the blindfold and squeezes his hand. “I don’... just do it. ‘Nd shhh...”

“Awfully trusting.”

“I’ve let you...do worse.”

The doctor huffs and squeezes Liu Sang’s hand back. “Tell me that again after they start to work.” He flips a section of blanket open, fingers cold against Liu Sang’s stomach, and prods and pokes, then walks his fingers up Liu Sang's ribs. “You need to put some weight on,” he mutters absently. “I'm going to give you point five. Qiling, hang the bag please.”

Xiaoge’s hand lifts off the blindfold slowly, and Liu Sang replaces it with his free hand, vaguely desperate and pressing rather harder than he had. Water squeezes from the cloth and drips down to the corner of his jaw in a lukewarm, ticklish trickle.

“Little pinch,” Huo Daofu lies, measuring along his chest with two fingers, and then pushing a fine needle in. It burns vibrantly for a second, then relief blooms-- no, flows, no, burns-- spreading like ink from the accupoint. Huo Daofu presses down over the spot, needle whisked away and tinkling into a bowl somewhere nearby. Another, a few inches lower, and the strange pain-not-pain feeling of him twisting the needle in the skin, then gone again, replaced by the blunt ache of a finger pressing over the miniscule wound.

“Oh...” The two bright points of pain are easier to focus on than the strange swampy violence of the migraine, better somehow.

“Eloquent. Breathe, please.”

“...fuck you.” He breathes deep, and the nausea is blessedly dimming.

“Mm, not tonight,”

Liu Sang tries not to crush his hand, decides why the fuck shouldn’t he, and squeezes as hard as he damn well wants. He also tries to keep breathing.

“I’m going to need that,” the doctor drawls, but he also returns the grip good and tight. Anchoring.

“Let me.”

The shock of that quiet, low voice startles Liu Sang’s hand open, and Xiaoge takes it firmly from Huo Daofu. Carefully, precisely, he curls their hands together, then sets them on something warm, maybe his thigh, and lets Liu Sang hold on for dear life. God, Liu Sang can smell him, leather and steel and exercise-sweat. It’s intoxicating. Why is he here, why would he stay through the vomiting and the--

“Five minutes until the IV ‘triptan hits.”

Thank fuck.

Huo Daofu goes quiet, just breathing and a heartbeat and the rustles of his clothes. Xiaoge is almost silent; a heartbeat in a still void. The small noises of vials of drugs and the little twitches of the IV line say the doctor is doing what he said he’d do, and Liu Sang thinks he feels the drugs start to make a difference almost as soon as the last vial drops into the bowl with the others.

He drifts through a haze for a while, breathing and blank inside.

There's noise, distantly and on the other side of a door he trusts, and as the aura fades from the dark behind the blindfold, the crunchy broken-glass edge on everything he can hear begins to fade too.

Fumbling and weak --the drugs halt the migraine in its tracks, but he'd left it so long that the hangover is going to be brutal-- he reaches up and tugs lightly at the hand over the blindfold. Xiaoge, so patiently holding it in place, pulls it away very gradually, and Liu Sang wipes at his face beneath it. The wet cloth was nice, the cold vitally important, but his skin is clammy and sticky and his eyes feel strange and gritty.

He hears the lights go off, and the dim side lamp goes on, and he risks a peek through the gaps between his fingers. The warm yellow glow is blurred into obscurity by his slotted fingers, but light is light, and while his head doesn't split open, it does throb. The right side of his vision splinters into triangles, refracting the light like broken mirror glass.

He groans, low and weak but unable to close his teeth over it.

Xiaoge pulls his hand away and covers his eyes again, gently but practically. This cloth is dry, some soft towel that must have been by the heater; it's warm and soothing and just barely lets him open his eyes beneath it. There's a faint rim of light at the edges of his vision, and he blinks so, so slowly that he spends as long with his eyes closed as he does with them open.

The aura doesn't spike him again, and he shakily lets out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding, while tension flows out of him like sand from a jar. His body feels like a weightless, formless thing, unfamiliar and distant. Unimportant now that it doesn't hurt.

“Yeah...” he murmurs. “Okay.”

“I’ll leave you to sleep it off,” Huo Daofu tells him, the quiet rattle of his case charting his movements. “Yaba-Zhang; minimum stimulus, and eight hours sleep. I’ll talk with Wu Xie.”

Xiaoge agrees in the soft, clear tones he uses on stage. So so much quieter, but the same self-possessed certainty. Liu Sang shivers to hear it, fingertips twitching and even their low voices feeling like someone pressing on the soft spots of his skull, like his brain is an old pumpkin starting to sag. Xiaoge notices, his hand returning to press gently on the blindfold, and Liu Sang realises that he’s still holding the man’s hand, his idol’s hand, because he adjusts his grip and anchors him in place.

When Huo Daofu leaves, Xiaoge stays, solid and placid and absolute.

The brief wash of unfiltered sound hurts, but he catches a snatch of the club’s music, and bits of voices, then Huo Daofu’s patent leather footsteps and Wu Xie’s voice tense with something he doesn’t have long enough to parse. The door swings shut with a gentle thump against the sound-deadening pads in the frame, and it all blurs away again.

“Go to sleep."

Chapter Text

"Boss? Are you waking up? Hi... Hello...".

Kan Jian sounds happy about it, so Liu Sang drags his eyes open. The light is soft yellow again and low enough that Kan Jian is a rough shape; pale arms against black jacket, square jaw under bright eyes.

"Yeah, I'm 'wake. Hey, puppy."

Kan Jian blinks at him with his mouth a little 'o' of surprise, then looks pleased about something. Liu Sang isn't awake enough to work out what. "Time's it?"

"Eight am, I'm to get you ready to go home, okay?"

Liu Sang flaps a hand out of the blankets in vague agreement. His head feels tender, but not enough that he can't travel. Home sounds ...fine.

"How much 'f my shift did I miss?" He mumbles, eyes stubbornly sliding closed again.

"None, it's fine. Technically you did ten minutes overtime."

Liu Sang grunts appreciatively. It's a relief; the medical bill could be a hefty chunk, he'll have to get the details from Wu Xie.

"Okay... we've got...sweater. Sweatpants. Your locker bag, glasses..."

Liu Sang can't go back to sleep with Kan Jian narrating like that, so he finally drags his slow body up off the bed. It aches less than usual, probably thanks to the IV hydration and the various medications that Daofu had dosed him with through it. For once, his mouth doesn't feel like it's been growing mushrooms, either.

Kan Jian hands him clothes and glasses and a bottle of water like it's any other day this week, but Liu Sang doesn’t just feel baffled by the special treatment; he’s actually undeserving. He fucked up, didn't take his meds on time, and caused just. A huge, steaming pile of trouble for himself.

"Can you call me a cab, puppy?" He asks once he's dressed but before he manages to get to his feet. Kan Jian makes that face again, and this time Liu Sang is awake enough to catch what he just said and feel deeply, deeply embarrassed about it. "Shit. Sorry. Kan Jian."

"No, no, xiao-gou is fine! Please! Nicknames are great. Pangzi is driving you home, if that's alright."

"You're sweet," Liu Sang tells him, trying not to slur it. His head is lagging a few seconds behind his mouth and it's fucking him up. He'd take a legitimate hangover over this post-drome crap any day. "Wait. Pangzi?"

Kan Jian nods, still quietly packing Liu Sang's things for him. "He already knows your address, from your paperwork, so that way no one breaks confidentiality."

Liu Sang groans, and plucks his bag from Kan Jian's grasp; he's not on shift, he shouldn't be doing Liu Sang's chores. "I am in no way ready to be confronted with that... I don't mind you knowing where I live."

Kan Jian looks so touched that his eyes well up with tears, and he touches the fingertips of his right hand to his vest, right over his heart. God, he's terrible. Liu Sang pats him on the shoulder, only missing his target by about an inch and since Kan Jian's shoulders are wide enough to take it, he decides not to care.

"Anyway, I don't have a car," Kan Jian finishes once he's over it. A K.O with a smile.

Liu Sang would like to flop over in despair, but he doesn't have that kind of energy. "Argh."

Kan Jian pats his hand, still planted on his shoulder. "It's okay, he volunteered."

"Fucking migraine, fucking nausea. I can't believe I let it get that bad-- of all the stupid fucking things..." Kan Jian looks vaguely devastated again, so Liu Sang shuts his teeth over further self-recriminations and takes a deep breath. "Sorry. Sorry. I just wish they didn't happen."

"I shouldn't have left you alone on the floor," Kan Jian tells him with a wobbling lip and eyes downcast. It doesn't hide the tears, exactly. "We'll do better."

"Right. Yeah, we'll carry my medication, somehow," Liu Sang agrees, nervously tapping at Kan Jian's shoulder and fingertips straying to the hot, silky skin just inside his vest collar. "And I'll stay at the bar maybe, if you have to go and... But they can't be prevented completely, you know that right?" He interrupts himself to say.

Kan Jian gets a mulish set to his jaw, and he scrubs a hand over his eyes without actually having let any tears fall. "That's-- it's from listening too much, isn't it?"

Liu Sang gapes for a second, not sure how to respond to that. This is his job, he doesn't want to say 'yes' to that question! "No, uh, I mean. Kind of. I'd get them anyway, even without going into the listening daze."

He can tell Kan Jian doesn't believe him but the look on his face is possibly guilt? What? Why? "P--puppy?" Oh god, using a cute name on purpose is humiliating.

"Don't lie about health shit!" Kan Jian scolds him, definitely upset but softening a little at the name. His shoulders droop a fraction, and he leans forward towards Liu Sang's knee. "Let me look after you, okay? It'll be fine."

"'Look after' how? You can't really defend me from my own brain."

This seems to stump him completely, and he hugs Liu Sang's leg instead of answering. There is a low grumble against his thigh, that someone else might mistake for inaudible words, but Liu Sang can identify as genuine nonsense. He sighs and runs his fingers through Kan Jian's spiked hair, turning it back into a fuzzy halo and breaking up the gel.

"I'll try and lean on you, okay? I'll get you some of my pills to carry around, we'll do better."

"Alright..."

"Come on, we've been working together all of a month, can't be perfect right away."

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because Kan Jian gets an intensely stubborn set to his face. He does finally get up off his knees though, muttering about doing better. Liu Sang manages a tight smile for him, and slowly levers himself to his feet.

Outside the little break room, the club is in the swing of a Sunday morning. There's the hum of the floor buffer going out on the dance floor, someone is vacuuming in the guest rooms, and other hosts are chattering and gossiping over breakfast. It is, simply put, loud. Xiao Bai does at least have the music off, thankfully, but that won’t last; The restaurant opens for brunch on the weekends, and it’ll be all go again.

Liu Sang doesn't even make it to the corridor before his head is throbbing again. He sighs, resigned, and Kan Jian curls an arm around his back to herd him away. He lets his eyes droop mostly closed against the bright overhead lights, ignores the other staff noticing them passing, and keeps his head down.

Pangzi's voice filters up to them through the kitchen, and Liu Sang taps Kan Jian to head in the right direction, but it probably isn't necessary; Kan Jian covers his hand and holds it in place on his arm. His thumb strokes the back of Liu Sang's knuckles gently and it's a good thing to focus on, in the strange drifting sensation of his postdrome.

A hand on his shoulder stops him just as they leave the building and Liu Sang takes a vaguely startles breath of the chilly morning. He didn’t hear anyone approach, which is as good as a fingerprint;

“Ouxiang,” he murmurs, blinking into the depths of Xiaoge’s hood. Amongst the harsh shadows that cut across his face, his gaze is a diamond gleam of reflected dawn sky.

It is, frankly, unfair.

Everything else is blurred and smudged, hazy through side effects and hangover, but not him.

“Alright?” he asks, lips barely moving, so quiet that the sound might not even leave his throat.

Liu Sang hears it clearly.

“I’m fine,” he says, truthfully. This is familiar, this is better than familiar. His body is soft and well cared for, the throbbing in his head never quite rising to pain. Smiling feels unnecessarily hard, but he manages one anyway, because it’s Xiaoge, because it’s silence when he couldn’t bear any sound, it’s a metronome heartbeat when the world was spinning.

His body jolts before he really registers the touch, but then it’s everything. Fingers pocket-warm from the front of his hoodie, palm covered by soft, worn sleeve cuff, cupping the side of his face and holding him still. Stabilising. The rest of the world comes into gentle focus, and he finds he really wasn’t lying; he really is okay.

“Mn.”

He must pass muster, because Xiaoge’s eyes soften, then disappear into the shadows as he turns away and the touch drops away from his face. Liu Sang watches him go, off into the morning bustle of the entertainment district. Delivery vans, people with trolleys and baskets of supplies, they fold Xiaoge into their chaos and he vanishes between one blink and the next.

Beside him, Kan Jian makes a quiet sound of sympathy, a sigh and a little tut. “He stayed, you know. All night. Only went to get change when I arrived, not sure he would have let anyone else into that room.”

Liu Sang’s heart doesn’t stop; thats a metaphor that he can hear through too clearly to use, but it really does feel like it. He’d like to say he’s touched, but the emotion that swamps his poor rattled brain is more like anxiety. He’s never gonna be able to stay if he keeps using up resources like this, using up their kindness like this, and he really does want... want to stay.

“You sure I can’t take a cab?” He asks Kan Jian, helplessly, vaguely aware that he’s swaying in place.

Kan Jian pats him on the shoulder, and settles the same hand in the small of his back afterwards. “Ride’s this way.”

The ‘ride’ he’s being offered is the ancient grey van that Pangzi drives to and from the farmers market on a daily basis, usually with Xiao Bai in the passenger seat. It smells vaguely like oranges this morning, and Kan Jian posts him unceremoniously into the passenger side.

“Ah, and Kezi sent these,” Kan Jian says, reappearing from ...somewhere. Oh, he really is tired out, isn’t he? ‘These’ are a pair of noise cancelling headphones of the type they all use now and then. He puts them on without a fuss, and Kan Jian tucks his bag in beside his legs. Why is he moving so fast...

Liu Sang takes a steadying breath and shuts his eyes; he knows why, it’s Liu Sang that’s slow. And he’ll be able to sleep it off soon.

Kan Jian taps out ‘see you later’ on his knee, and there’s the thump of the van door closing, so Liu Sang levers his eyes open and waves, just two fingers.

“Ah, right. Morning, Sang-bei’er...”

Pangzi talks, quietly and mostly to himself, for most of the journey. There isn’t a noise-cancelling system in the world that can close Liu Sang’s ears to a voice at this range, but... it’s fine. Really.

“Mn, so I said to them; there’s a waiting list, you’ll have to see if we’ve got a space for that, but ahhhh they didn’t like it, so. No more waiting list for them, ah? Mn. Serves them right.” He drums on the steering wheel sometimes, humming snatches of songs, and Liu Sang slowly, slowly wakes up a little more.

“Now, Xiaoge, he can tell me three weeks in advance, and he-- well. If he can, anyone else can. So I’m not booking the stage anything less than that. Even if its open, ah? We have to have boundaries. There’s a musician next week, mm. And a rope expo-- Ah, Sang-bei, do you want in? The bonus is the usual.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, and keeps on rambling, but Liu Sang is definitely awake now. A spot on Xiaoge’s rope display team would be... he’d do it for free. Xiaoge is...

“Hey, Pangzi, left here; there’s a--”

“Oh, the gate at the back? Alright, alright, lets see...” Pangzi takes the shortcut like he was always planning to, the van smooth as a fish under his hands. Its...comfortable. Bastard.

“Ask me about the rope expo when I’m sober,” Liu Sang tells him, to show he’s interested as the man is pulling into a gap at the side of the alley. His building doesn’t have a parking lot, it has a bus stop.

“Eyy, alright, hah! Here we go... you need a hand up?” Pangzi scrunches his head out of his window; awkward manoeuvre for such a big guy. “This place have an elevator?”

“We have an elevator,” Liu Sang confirms, though he can’t promise it’ll be working. Nine times out of ten, it’s fine. “Here’s fine.”

He doesn’t get up though. Not...just yet. “Hey, ah... sorry. This is unprofessional--”

“Ey? I can’t hear you? Did you say something? I’m deaf, can’t hear a thing. Come on, up. I packed up your breakfast, let me carry it up for you.”

The van rocks as he clambers out, disorienting Liu Sang enough that he’s still blinking at the early morning dinge of the back of his building when Pangzi opens the door beside him. He looks expectant, and smug, what a bastard.

Liu Sang clambers to his feet without embarrassing himself. “How much did calling out Huo Daofu cost me?” he asks rather than arguing. Man like Pangzi, you have to pick your battles.

“Hah! The usual. He likes you; came without fuss when Xiaoge texted. What did you do for him? --more than likes you,” Pangzi’s shoulder slap almost knocks him off his feet, but his hand stays where it lands, and holds him mostly upright.

Liu Sang hides his relieved expression in his bag while he rummages for the key to the communal doors. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he lies, funding his keys in the same pocket as his bottle of pills. If Pangzi really needs to know, there's records in the observation room; it wasn't exactly a complicated night.

This early in the morning, the lock is stiff with cold; Pangzi swipes the keyring and goes to battle with it for him. “Take it from my wage, okay? Save me the tax.”

“Hey, hey, no,” Pangzi crows as Liu Sang pushes past him to call the elevator.

“What? Does he only take gold?” Liu Sang huffs, hitting the button the requisite seven to ten times before the light will come on. The smell of bleach and the garbage makes his stomach rebel and he wants his shitty little flat and its air purifier and ozone generator.

“No, no, it’s on us. You were on shift, first aid, ah? Did you read your contract-- you should, you know--”

The doors slide open, and he hurries inside to escape the funk of the foyer, and hopefully this conversation. “I read it. Doctor visits with--” he tries to think through the fuzz for a second, then gives up. “At least two prescription medications, that’s not first aid.”

“Ah, ah, don’t argue! Tianzhen would make that face!”

Liu Sang makes a face of his own at the wobbly reflection of Pangzi in the doors.

“Ey, not that one. Ah, you can’t do it, impossible, impossible. Don’t argue, alright?”

Liu Sang shrugs his shoulders, more to relieve an itch between them than anything else. “I’ll be checking my contract. You can’t hold this over me, si-Pangzi.”

“Yes, yes, we know. We wouldn’t, mn.” He mutters something rude under his breath, but the utterance is missing too many important words, like pronouns and conjunctions and nouns, to make any sense. “Where have you been working that you think this-”

“You’re the weird ones, Wushanju,” Liu Sang snaps back, bristling. “No one provides--” The elevator judders as it reaches his floor, and he pauses to make sure there’s no one in the corridor before he finishes. The awful green lino is empty, luckily. “No one provides healthcare for whores.”

Pangzi takes a deep breath, riffles through Liu Sangs keys, and shuffles to the door Liu Sang points at. “Not no one, not any more. We do. And it’s got us you, ah? Maybe it’ll let us keep you.”

Liu Sang gapes at him, at his sloping shoulders, and the quiet sadness in what he can see of his face through the curly hair that this big soft idiot hides behind. “You’re idiots.”

The softness breaks into a grin that digs deep lines into Pangzi’s cheeks, and he comes back to life. “Sang-bei’er, Sang-bie, you! Hah! It’s good that you know, hahha...”

Liu Sang hisses vaguely, head empty of anything to say to that, and shoves at him until he goes into the apartment. “This won't be the last time,” he snaps, recklessly. “I’m useless like this regularly. You ask me for just a little too much, this is what you get, are you prepared for that? Ah?!”

Pangzi saunters into the apartment, shoes in a jumble behind him. “Ears like yours? We’re prepared. Huo Xiuxiu says thank you, you know.” He has a bag in his off hand, and produces a take out box from it, already finding his way to the kitchen.

... they’re insane. He knew this. But fuck.

“...fine. It’s your profit margin,” he grumbles, finally getting around to taking his own shoes off. The world isn’t quite solid enough to give it less than his full attention.

“Che... what is this...” Pangzi mutters from the kitchen end of his living space; Liu Sang decides he can do what he wants, and pours himself into the couch. He’s a foodie, he’s not going to fuck up that mess any more than it already is.

“It’s a kitchen,” he yells. “I hear you’re banned from them!”

“Oi! Piaopiao and I have an agreement.”

Liu Sang rolls his eyes and shoves himself more comfortably into the back of the couch.

“Besides, this, ah. Barely counts. What is this...”

“Few more weeks with Daofu and I’ll upgrade,” Liu Sang mumbles, mostly to himself. Like a promise.

“Ey, ey! Take it easy for a bit, would you.”

Liu Sang shorts derisively. “I could have sex in my sleep, and I’d still be better than...” he trails off, frowning at the clatter Pangzi makes in his sink, and promptly losing the will to make up a bullshit statistic. “Hey, you break it you bought it!”

“You should come to Friday lunch,” Pangzi calls back, over the sound of water running. Liu Sang levers off the sound dampening headphones to listen more clearly; he’s washing up.

“...The staff meeting?” Friday lunch is the sit-down where the roster is hammered out, and Wu Xie might not call it a staff meeting, but that's what it is. Bizarre to see corporate bullshit in a brothel, but Liu Sang has to admit that Wushanju is on a scale to need it.

“Staff--? Ah, whatever, you should come, we go over all the weird shit. There’s good money in people who want to book certain things in advance, ah? You get my meaning.”

Liu Sang drags one of his pillows onto his stomach and hugs it, contemplating the ceiling. “Yeah... yeah. I do. I’ll think about it.”

“Thats my boy.”

Liu Sang wrinkles his nose and contemplates hurling the pillow at his head.

Pangzi looks down at the stick of a man sprawled on the couch and contemplates whether he can pick up someone that long and still fit through the narrow doorways of Sang’bei’s tiny apartment. Probably not. If it was Tianzhen, who wouldn’t fight, it’d be fine, but Sang’bei is like a scruffed kitten when he’s awake.

He huffs a laugh, and drags a blanket over him instead. For someone who trusts no one, he sure is sleeping peacefully. And he grabs hold of the puppy with both hands, doesn’t he? Though, who can resist Kan Jian.

Pangzi shakes his head in amusement, and quietly puts Sang’bei’s keys on the coffee table, where they’ll be visible right away. Prickly little shit that he is, Pangzi doesn’t dare do anything else; who knows where there’s some boundary Pangzi might trample all over. But that's fine. There’s time to learn. Liu Sang’s a keeper.

...Assuming his shitty apartment doesn’t kill him first. He shivers at the thought of using the doddery elevator again. Not to mention that the walls groan! Whether it’s the wind through a ventilation system, or the building moving with the day warming up, it’s fucking creepy; he can't imagine what it sounds like to Liu Sang.

Finally, food tucked in the fridge and Liu Sang tucked in the couch, he heads out, carefully pulling the front door behind him until he’s sure the bolt has actually slid home. In the elevator, he hits speed dial two on his phone, so someone will know what got him if it falls out from under him.

“Ey, Tianzhen. Job done. On my way back-- mn, yep... haah, you wouldn't believe where he lives. ...mnn, worse.”

Setting Tianzhen on Liu Sang might be a little bit unfair, but... Pangzi never claims to play fair.

Chapter Text

He makes it back to work in time for the 'family lunch' staff meeting, just about. The migraine has lingered in post-drome for far too long and he had to decline listening shifts both the two days after, but it's dwindling now. He feels like his head is half a second behind where it actually is, rather than a full minute, for example.

He takes a taxi in.

Friday mid morning is a quiet time in the entertainment district; the usually pedestrianised streets are open to delivery vans, taxis and buses, and the amount of foot traffic dwindles to almost nothing as a result. The only places open are the food stands that can tempt working people over, and they are busy; delivery people in high visibility vests are a large segment, but there's also the backstage people, cleaners and cooks and the occasional suspiciously pretty young thing like him.

He has the taxi pull up right outside Wushanju, tips well as an apology for needing the radio off, and scoots inside before the smell of the food stands can tempt him away. Wu Xie puts on lunch, he's told, and if Pangzi has anything to do with it, it'll be delicious.

His earbuds are on full muffle, so the first thing he notices is the ladder in the middle of the dance floor, reaching all the way up to the dangly lighting rig over head. Xiao Bai is draped over the top of it in a bright orange safety harness, waving vigorously.

"Liu Sang! Good morning!"

He waves back with a little more restraint, blinking at the festoons of cables.

"Oh! It's time for waterfall lights. Gotta keep things fresh!” She makes jazz hands, stabilising herself with one ankle hooked around her ladder. “Jiale, give him a preview!"

Jiale waves in agreement and hits a switch, over in the booth above and behind the bar, and the lighting rig blinks into life, glowing initially bright white, then switching to a blue that 'drips' down along each strand.

"Looks great!" He calls back politely. He's not particularly familiar with her yet, but he does really appreciate the communication system she runs with her lasers, so.

"You don't like it!" She moans, shifting sideways and hanging despondently from her rope as she swishes down to ground level.

"I don't have an opinion on it," he corrects gently, scratching the back of his head sheepishly as she lands with a tippy-tap of tiny feet. She barely reaches his shoulder.

"Oh! Well, I suppose you do close your eyes a lot," she allows him, thoughtfully. "Are you feeling better? Kan Jian missed you!"

"I'm fine, thank you," he demurs, feeling his cheeks heat and a curdle in his stomach. He really wanted to be reliable, this time.

“The young lady pressed charges,” she whispers, serious for a moment. “You did good, thank you for sticking out the shift.” Then, she pulls back, beams at him brightly, and scoots back up the ladder, safety rope zinging through it’s loop on her waist. He blinks up after her, dismayed; how is she so fast.

He leaves them to it. Through the staff doors, the back of house is as busy as usual; people are resetting rooms, and the kitchen is heaving with food prep. The rattle of bottles in a sack truck makes it through his muffling earphones, as someone wheels them past him to the bar. It’s nothing compared to this place during work hours, though, and he even relaxes a little on his way back to the VIP events lounge.

Pangzi pops up just behind him, as he passes one of the kitchen service hatches. “Ey! Sang-bei! Come back, come back, hey, look-”

He does, against all his natural inclinations, go back. “Mhn?”

“Take this with you, ah? The meeting will start soon, nibble on this for now!” He plonks one of the catering trays on the counter, and it’s full of sliced mango, strawberries and dragon fruit. Liu Sang bites back his usual sarcastic reply, and turns on the charm instead. “Lao Pang-ye, you’ll spoil me, this looks delicious.” He even bats his eyelashes, in case Pangzi misses the sway of his hips because the counter is in the way. “I’m starving--” he makes sure to look at Pangzi while he says it, so he sees the moment when Pangzi cottons on to his tricks and pulls the best face.

“Oi, stop that! Stop it! You’re off duty! Don’t you--” he waves a pair of plating tongs threateningly. “Don’t you use your wiles on me!”

Liu Sang pouts, draping himself on the counter such that, if he had breasts, they’d be pushed up. Its an objectively hilarious move, and Pangzi almost chokes on his tongue. “But Yeye, you got me lunch! I should pay you back...”

Pangzi, reduced to hiccuping laughter, adds a jar of some kind of sauce to the tray, then a cup filed with delicate antipasti forks. “You, you, you, go on, off you go, I’ll be there in a bit and you’d better not be flirting with Wu Xie! We need to actually have a meeting!”

“Now there's an idea,” Liu Sang smirks.

“No! Hey! HEY!”

“Too late, Pang-ye! Thank you for the snacks!” He takes the tray and stalks off, enjoying the sputters of outrage behind him.

The ViP lounge is a modestly sized room, with a conference table up against one wall that may once have been used for actual meetings but now seems to have bedded in place as a sideboard. It houses an array of leftovers, steaming fresh dishes, and an impressive stack of vegetarian sushi. The only thing the various genres and nationalities of foods have in common is that they’re light, easy pickings, perfect for someone who might be doing intense physical activity in the near future.

The couches and armchairs are already dotted with various kinds of coworker in various stages of lunch and distraction. Cui Mama is holding court over a circle of ageless women in traditional hanfu, a-Tou amongst them, Luo Que is sprawled limblessly over a couch, in a sheer silver gown over black yoga pants, and Bai She is standing beside the buffet in slouch pants and an oversize hoodie. All of them have the faintly dazed look of people with only part of their brains available for new information. Liu Sang doesn’t blame them; he is very deliberately not looking over at the stage.

Bai She seems to have gotten distracted part way between the stack of sushi and a platter of some kind of white fish in chilli sauce, standing there with a spoon in hand and an empty bowl. Liu Sang puts Pangzi’s tray of fruit down in an open spot, snags a bowl, and immediately fills it with the fruit anyway. The sauce, it turns out, is a thick, creamy custard, and Liu Sang part-fills his bowl with it, until the fruit is at risk of drowning.

“Just take both, Bai She,” he murmurs on the way past. "And close your mouth.”

Wu Xie and Wang Meng are at the far end of the room, the former perched on the edge of the low stage, and the latter flicking through an iPad and trying to get Wu Xie to pay attention to something that isn’t Ouxiang.

Hopeless endeavour, really, no one else is managing.

Liu Sang kicks an arm chair until its facing the stage, steps up onto the seat, and coils his body down into the overstuffed cushions, bowl kept perfectly level the entire time. Only then does he let himself join in.

Zhang Qiling is using the pole mounted in the center of the stage to do something to the ceiling, and as any pole dancer will tell you, you can’t climb stainless steel with your clothes on. Ouxiang has stripped down to a pair of shorts, and his legs are wrapped around the pole in a very tidy knot. He finishes whatever finicky thing he was fixing in the ceiling --almost certainly a suspension point, Liu Sang thinks-- and drops his torso into an elegant arc, so his shoulder comes to rest on the pole, just below his pointed toes. His tattoo is stretched out by the pose, the qiling’s mouth is a little distorted where it extends over the border between pectoral muscle and breastbone, and it looks all the more alive for it.

Smoothly, as though he pole dances every day, Ouxiang winds his arm around the steel, unhooks one leg from above and rolls his body down, pivoting on that anchored shoulder. The raw strength it takes to execute a move like that with that much control, that slowly, isn’t lost on anyone in the room.

He is finished though, and once his foot touches the stage, Ouxiang lets go of the pole and flows upright, sharply defined muscles going soft as he relaxes. He’s not even sweating, not so much as a gleam.

“Ah, so it’s like that. Of course it is,” Pang-ye mutters, somewhere by the door. His words are irritated, but his tone is warm and affectionate; Liu Sang snorts into his fruit, and finally gets around to putting some in his mouth.

Wu Xie hops up onto the stage fully, and hands Xiaoge a robe; apparently it is a heart attack day, where Xiaoge can only barely be convinced to wear clothing. Liu Sang braces himself, mentally, for the awful intimacy of watching Xiaoge walk around with bare feet. And of course it’s the silk gown, because Wu Xie is a well known masochist, and gets off on self denial. It’s going to be a dangerous meeting, assuming he can be coaxed into starting it at all.

With Ouxiang done being deeply and mercilessly beautiful, a vague susurrus of conversation restarts, and Wu Xie finally pays attention to what Wang Meng is diligently trying to brief him on. Liu Sang hears the word ‘budget’ and immediately tunes it out in favour of watching Ouxiang pick out his own lunch. The robe brushes the tops of his feet, just barely touching the floor, and it’s long sleeves make the cuffs slip up his forearms as he reaches for things; Liu Sang does not notice what he picks out, because forearms, but he hopes he took some fruit; it’s really very delicious.

“Ah, and some of this,” Pang-ye tells Ouxiang, joining him at the buffet and scooping some kind of sticky, soy glazed meat into his bowl for him. Ouxiang leans in and kisses him on the cheek as thanks, and Liu Sang is not the only one to make a soft noise at that. They’re a classically beautiful ‘Crane and the turtle’ combination, and the adoration on Pangzi’s face really-- Liu Sang suppresses an embarrassing noise, and stuffs a piece of mango into his mouth instead. Pang-ye can never know.

"Okay! First point of business!" Wu Xie calls from the edge of the stage, and everyone, more or less reluctantly, turns to pay attention. "Day off for everyone on the sixteenth; the national holiday will make the fourteenth and fifteenth ridiculously busy, so I'm going to shut shop while we all recover from that. I'll give the reset crew the Tuesday after to make up the time, so expect some disruption there, but the house staff will pick up the slack for a bonus--"

Wu Xie is not terrible at running a business, Liu Sang muses as he listens. Wang Meng has his work cut out keeping him from skipping over important points, but Wu Xie definitely has the schedule on lock. It's almost irrelevant to Liu Sang, since the paper version will be up on the noticeboard and in his email, but he soon realises the point of going over it anyway:

"Boss," Bai She interrupts, as they're going over next week and Wu Xie is assigning shifts. "I've got a family birthday--?"

Wu Xie lights up. "Oh! Congrats, congrats, you want to take the Thursday off? It'd give you at a three day weekend."

Their weekend is ludicrously busy, so Wu Xie is talking about the Tuesday-Wednesday break, Wushanju's 'weekend'.

Bai She agrees with an awkward nod, and then Cui mama has a series of similar requests from her department. The ladies are managed by her semi-separately from Liu Sang and the other male presenting sex workers, and Wu Xie spends a few minutes hammering out cover for one of the girls to have a trip to the country. It's all pre-approved, Liu Sang realises; she's not asking for permission to give her girl the time off, she's just working out the schedule.

It's wildly different to working at Liu Sang's previous brothel, where weekends didn't exist and the other 'girls' were all the family you were allowed to acknowledge.

No wonder this place is so stable; who would ever quit on such good terms? Liu Sang is deeply lucky that Pangzi was the one who found him when he got fired. A shiver runs through him at the memory, and he tips his bowl to drink down big gulps of his custard.

"Ey, Yabba, morning."

Liu Sang turns his head just enough to glance at the new voice, and Hei Yanjing slouches in, in an outfit that combines sex appeal directly with 'disaster'. The leather is supple and buttery, expensive, but worn and old. Like the man himself.

Ouxiang doesn't reply to the greeting, but he does flick his wrist. A grape smacks into Xiazi's palm and Liu Sang tucks that observation away to think about later.

"Okay, next up! Special requests and advance bookings," Wu Xie announces, rifling through a stack of printed out emails. "First up, we have another food kink request, this evening. Wet and messy, two hosts, women or mixed gender. Pangzi has the menu already-- thank you Xiao Rong. Will your-- of course she will. Enjoy!"

Xiao Rong lowers her hand, and she and her partner accept the request print-out.

"Okay....next is a cuckold. Married couple, wanting a male host on Sunday afternoon --Xiazi, put your hand down, Xiao Hua's in town."

Xiazi's hand snaps back to his side so fast that the rivets on his jacket clatter.

"Bai She, thank you for taking that. Check the details and make sure you're okay with part two. You'll have to scuttle with no after-scene."

Bai She reads diligently and nods. "No problem."

Wu Xie claps him on the shoulder, and moves on down the list. There's impact play, an adult-baby client, and a younger woman who wants a spotter for some autoerotic asphyxiation. That's cute; Liu Sang almost puts his hand up, but he hasn't got any experience and Wu Xie makes it clear she's a first timer. A-Tou takes it, looking unusually serious, and he decides that is for the best. Maybe he can ask to watch the tapes, and get a feel for it. He likes the idea of keeping an ear on someone's heart rate, and keeping them safe through something where the danger is part of the appeal.

After that, one of Cui Mama's girls takes a foot fetish request, laughingly pulling up her hem to show off a fresh pedicure. It is very nice, a deep crimson polish.

Liu Sang's stomach is full and warm, and he's somewhat sleepy, but he perks up when Wu Xie pitches a tummy-bulge kinkster, and puts his hand up.

"Thank you, Liu Sang, here you go. Prices are still to be negotiated, let me know if you want a hand with that."

"Sure," he mumbles, attention already on the request slip Wu Xie handed over. It's vague, but Liu Sang has done fake cumflation before, and it was vaguely hilarious, so. He's willing to at least enter negotiations.

Nothing else after that makes him want to put his hand up, not in the folder of requests, but there's other things on the agenda:

"Okay, moving on to the week's stage shows... Pangzi's playing in the lounge on Friday, I want at least three or four hosts circulating. No obligation to take a client, drinks, flirting and flattering territory."

Liu Sang volunteers for that, since it'll be an easy start to the weekend, and a direct way of supporting the bosses. He's listening Thursday evening, but Friday is Jiale's turn. Three people from Cui Mama's group join him, and he smiles a little nervously across at them, waving his spoon. They seem welcoming enough, and Wu Xie makes approving noises over the gender balance; "Pangzi always brings in middle aged bachelors, I leave them in your good hands, ladies, and Liu Sang can take the horny lesbians."

He makes a face and opens his mouth, but Wu Xie waves him away. "They never hire anyone, the regulars I'm thinking of, but they love a beautiful creature."

Liu Sang's mouth clicks shut and he can feel his face go red. Fine! Fine. Whatever. People are diverse and complex, and he loves being looked at. He can work with this.

"Okay, last order of business! Xiaoge has decided on his roster for the rope expo on Sunday. Not this Sunday, next week, and he needs three endurance models for the suspension. He's banned me from joining in," Wu Xie says, laughing at himself despite looking a little pouty about it.

"I'm in," Xiazi calls from the back. Liu Sang twists to see Ouxiangs reaction, and he thinks that's probably acceptance.

Xiazi's fine to work with, Liu Sang thinks, and decides not to wait and see who else volunteers. "I'd like to," he says, hand an awkward half-way in the air. He can't be brazen like Xiazi, that's just too embarrassing.

Ouxiang makes spine-chilling eye contact, and nods just barely.

"Great! Welcome to the team, Liu Sang. Anyone else-- ah, A-Tou, yep, of course. I can shuffle the asphyxiation client to make it fit! Great, that's sorted then..."

He goes on, rambling about which rooms need how many hosts and gender balances, and so forth, and wanders about handing out slips of paper. Liu Sang's contains the details of the rope expo; times, rehearsal, and payout. It's the same baseline bonus as a shift in the ViP room, assuming you don't get a client, and then a percentage of proceeds from the show. Scribbled on the bottom is the number of tickets sold so far, and what that equates to in terms of a bonus already. And there's a week left for more of the tickets to sell. It's substantial money.

It feels unimportant next to actually getting to work with Zhang Qiling, but it isn't. It really isn't. It would pay for half the deposit on a new flat. One show a month like this and he'd never have to worry about rent again. But also his brain is presenting him with the simple genius of the way Ouxiang curls a rope, the deliberation with which he uses his body, and he can't actually think about his finances in any more detail than that, through the white noise.

As the meeting winds to a close, Ouxiang appears on Liu Sang's horizon like the Evergarden. Liu Sang blinks up at him, mouth hanging open slightly, from his ungainly coil in the armchair; why, why didn't he sit properly, why is he now crammed into an awkward (very comfortable) tangle and unable to get up and Ouxiang is not actually taller than him, but it always feels like he is.

Ouxiang reaches out and pats him on the head, twice. "Thank you."

Liu Sang swallows, throat dry enough that it clicks, and starts to squirm his way out of the armchair, head down so he doesn't have to watch them perceive him.

"Yaba, Yaba, Xiaoge, what's the plan, eh?" Xiazi saunters over, rubbing his hands together in enthusiasm. A-Tou is not far behind, Liu Sang tracks her by the sound of gum snapping.

"I have sketches. Come."

They follow him, the untied belt on his robe dangling almost to the floor and shimmering fluidly. In contrast, Liu Sang feels like he has too many knees and his wrist bones are too long. It's disorienting.

He doesn't even realise he's still carrying his empty bowl, or that he left his bag by his chair, until Pangzi jogs to meet them at the door and quickly sorts him out. The bowl is plucked from his fingers, and Pangzi hangs the bag from his shoulder. He also cops a feel, hands brushing over Liu Sang's shoulders and twitching his sweater into place.

"Sang-bei, ah, Sang-bei," he mutters, a tone that is now so familiar that it puts Liu Sang's back up, and makes his stomach warm. Terrible. "Wakey wakey, comrade! Do you need Kan Jian? He's around, running errands, I can fetch him--"

"I'm fine!" He snaps, aghast. He knows his face is red, now, and Hei Xiazi is laughing. "Are you a chicken? Stop clucking!"

Pangzi raises his hands in innocence, and Liu Sang shoves his bag strap further up his shoulder, his daze replaced with seething warmth that he can't, genuinely, identify. He chooses to believe it's anger, for now.

Ouxiang leads them to one of the larger rooms, it's bed unmade and naked while the reset staff are busy with cleaning, and they occupy the couches like a pride of well fed lions. Xiazi in particular drapes himself across 95% of the couch opposite Liu Sang, leathers stretching obscenely over the crotch and one boot dangling over the arm. A-Tou and Liu Sang share a glance; they don't know each other well, but Xiazi's ...everything, doesn't need a strong bond to identify as ridiculous.

Ouxiang has a similar vibe. His gown makes a bare gesture at covering his nudity; the silk is thin and flowing, it slides happily off one shoulder to pool in the crook of his elbow, and doesn't particularly attempt to cling to his legs. It just billows out behind him.

Liu Sang is fine, really.

Ouxiang's sketches are beautifully simple gesture drawings of various poses; he spreads them out over the coffee table between the two couches, then retreats to the armchair to let them look.

Liu Sang picks one up to examine more closely, mouth dry. The sub's pose is dynamic, a sketch from the middle of the struggle to pin him down.

"Ouxiang..." Liu Sang murmurs, his body just starting to vibrate. His eyes fixate on the sketch, even as he turns his head towards Xiaoge, and it's not until he has to blink that he's able to look away. Xiaoge is staring back at him, eyes black and fathomless.

He nods.

Liu Sang covers his shifts that week in a daze, head full of rope and thinking of nothing else.

Pangzi's Friday set in the VIP room goes incredibly well, but Liu Sang is lucky that he's assigned to Pangzi's very queer female fans, because he has less than zero game that night.

They laugh at him, and buy him drinks, and make him fall over his tongue more times than he can count, but they don't want more than a pretty face to flirt with. They spend most of the evening talking about the music, and Liu Sang falls into the easy rhythm of topping off drinks and being the token guy at a women's gathering.

Possibly the token gay? He's not sure, since they do flirt with him, but either way is fine with him.

He drifts into a daze at one point, listening to Pangzi croon about love and yearning; his voice is a husky baritone that comes out rough but goes down smooth, reminiscent of whiskey on the rocks.

One of his customers leans more or less drunkenly on his shoulder and waist, very quietly; "Bro, bro... He's just--!"

Liu Sang reshuffles her so she has a more comfortable place to slump than his bony shoulder, and can't help but agree.

He's...really something.

It's weird; the usual Pangzi is still there, in the way he cares so much about the person tangled up in those lyrics, but there's this presence to him that's arresting. He's so laid back and sanguine so much of the time that seeing him like this is a shock. There's a simmering rage in him too, but god, not for a second does Liu Sang feel anything but righteous, like the deep notes and crooning are an invitation to fight your way free from something.

...he's not a musician, Liu Sang knows. He hears so much all the time, that music is the last thing he needs. He doesn't know the first thing about how Pangzi is doing the things he's doing, how he's dragging these emotions out of Liu Sang and everyone else in the room too, but god it works. By the end of the mid-set climax, Liu Sang's table is a riot of raised glasses and gleeful queer rage, and by the end of the set, Liu Sang has tears streaming down his face and has to go find Kan Jian.

Rehearsal the next day is in the quiet down-time in between the cleaning team finishing up, and Xiao Bai turning on the music for the evening. Liu Sang arrives at the stage just as Xiaoge is hanging upside down from the rigging bars --gigantic bamboo poles, slung from an unseen attachment point higher up-- and tying a leader line.

Xiazi, on the stage, is lounging decadently on the crash mat, and waving a stick of sausage at Xiaoge and making Terrible Mouth Noises.

“I don’t want to wear a shirt--” Xiaoge barely moves, but Xiazi takes it as a blow to the heart. “So cruel! Mean! Evil! Restricting my artistic expression!” he cries, clutching at his pecs as though they’re breasts. Xiaoge huffs like this is funny, and slips down off the pole, holding the leader line to control the fall. He lands in a crouch, straddling Xiazi’s waist with his hands planted on his shoulders. Xiazi is slammed to the mat, air whooshing out of his lungs, and Xiaoge grins with all teeth before stepping delicately away, unaffected. Liu Sang tries not to hyperventilate at the precision of it all, and Xiazi stays, dazed, on the mat.

“Hnghuh,” Xiazi tells the ceiling. Understandable, in Liu Sang’s opinion.

When he has his brain scooped back into his skull, Liu Sang dumps his bag on the edge of the stage and strips his shirt off, down to his lycras; they’ll keep his skin from taking any marks while they practise, so he doesn’t need too much makeup tomorrow. Behind him, a low whistle signals the arrival of their fourth member, and a-Tou compliments him on his legs. It makes him incredibly self conscious, because coworkers are not the same as clients, so he turns to face her with his biggest smirk and spreads his hands in invitation to look. He’s never been keen on behaving as shy as he feels. She’s wearing a dressing gown over her gear, another dangerous silk thing, and he admires the cut of her waist, the curve of bare shoulder.

She’ll make Ouxiang’s ropes look good, that's certain; the sleekness of her muscles smooths and streamlines her body's form and he tells her so.

“Oi, don’t I get compliments? This is discrimination,” Xiazi groans, rolling off the mat and crawling on his elbows to the edge of the stage. He’s still in what counts as street clothes, if you’re …him, so the movement is accompanied by an entire orchestra of jingling fasteners and creaking boot leather.

“Hmm?” Liu Sang murmurs, deliberately looking back at a-Tou to ignore him. “You look lovely.” “Not even looking,” he bitches, predictably, and a-Tou smirks back at Liu Sang.

“Poor Hei-ye...ageing out,” she mocks with a little faux sympathetic pout, which turns into a snap of her gum a moment later. Liu Sang manages not to flinch, and recalibrates to expect the pops and snaps; he’ll be fine now he’s expecting them.

“Ah, you’re too beautiful to be so violent,” Xiazi moans, slithering over onto his back and hanging his head off the stage to oogle.

Liu Sang shuffles away, just to be awkward and put himself in a spot that Xiazi can’t easily perv on without twisting his neck right off. Then he gets back to business and steps on the heel of his shoe to kick them off. His leggings have heel straps, to keep them from riding up and bunching under the rope, so he crouches and goes into a few stretches to settle them better against his skin. Getting undressed usually musses them a little.

“So, him first?” a-Tou asks, facing upstage. Liu Sang pops back upright in time to catch Ouxiang’s nod. Xiazi twitches into movement, knees and elbows flying everywhere. “What? Why me? Don’t you want my expert help catching these two?”

Ouxiang’s rope snaps into order against the floor, the long coil of it slithering to touch Xiazi’s boot. “Shoes.”

Xiazi scrambles to get them off. “Bossy bossy, you know, you’d be cuter if you smiled more! Cheekbones like that, such a waste.” The next snap of the rope lands a solid blow to Xiazi’s shoulders, and Liu Sang hear’s his heart crank up a notch. “OooOoooH It’s like that is it,” Xiazi says, twisting off the stage floor and rushing Xiaoge playfully. “Want it to look real, Yaba? I can make it look real.”

“Yes. Not too fast.” Xiazi moves like a martial artist, so ‘too fast’ means ‘invisible’, and they’re a stage show after all. Liu Sang steps backwards away from the stage, then sideways a few steps as he gets a feel for the space and the viewing angles. Ouxiang will be in charge of that and he’s incredibly good at it; Liu Sang has been to every one of his rope expo’s that he could afford, and then all the rest once he landed this job and started getting in for free. So it’s not just that Liu Sang wants to be able to help, it’s that he wants to learn how Ouxiang does what he does. Xiazi’s next feint is a low scramble, one hand on the floor and his knees bent but he doesn’t look completely ridiculous because his hips are flexy enough that his ass isn’t all the way in the air as he launches himself with a cackle right at Ouxiang’s middle. Ouxiang pivots out of the way, brings the rope down on Xiazi’s back as he passes, and has another loop snatched around Xiazi’s ankle before he’s out of reach again. Xiazi slithers out of it, then freezes. “Oh, uh, did you want that?” Ouxiang laughs, just in his throat. “Yes. If it takes multiple attempts, okay.” “I mean, I can not worm out of it?” Xiazi offers. “Ah the boring bit,” A-Tou murmurs from Liu Sang’s side of the room. “You’re making me cold just lookin atcha. Blanket.” She throws it over him, rather than passing it, and Liu Sang has to flail against the incredibly soft fleece so it doesn’t steal his glasses right off his face. He gets it settled over his shoulders though, and sits next to her on one of the couches. The fabric pulls tight around him as his weight settles, and he can acknowledge that it feels really good actually.

He leans over to the side table, which has their snacks on a neat little cake tree, and fetches it for her.

"Hah! Thanks babe. Fairs fair?"

He nods; this is thanks for the blanket, and she takes her gum out to eat a candied almond. He does not let his relief at the lack of gum snaps in his near future show. That'd be rude.

On stage, Xiazi and Ouxiang have finished the weird dance they do where Xiazi talks a lot and Xiaoge blinks at significant moments, and Xiazi is limbering up his hands for another go.

Liu Sang takes a little handful of nuts himself, and coils into a comfortable pretzel to watch them work out their performance. Xiazi spends a lot of time down low, hands on the stage or crouching, but in the opposite of submission; his thighs bunch and his feet stay planted, because he's on the attack. Ouxiang's rope, when it does tangle on Xiazi's ankle again, snaps taught and cinches down. When Xiazi tries to get away, Ouxiang pulls the foot out from under him and drops him to the ground. Xiazi lands on his hands, biceps bunching, and his grin turns feral. After all, a leash only stops someone from *leaving*, it can't stop them from coming right at your knees.

Xiazi is strong and fast, precise where it matters, and lax, chaotic where it doesn't, and Ouxiang is a point of stillness at the center of that energy. The rope shortens steadily, Xiazi loses ground, loses the space to manoeuvre, and the hank winds around Ouxiang's forearm as he reels Xiazi in. Another inversion; the rigger wrapped in lines rather than the bunny.

Liu Sang wants to applaud, even. He eats hazelnuts with salted caramel instead, and calls out; "Looking great!"

Xiazi startles at the praise and goes still long enough to look over at Liu Sang and gawp a little, but then he's yanked off his feet by Ouxiang's rope, and they're back in focus. Xiazi twists from his back to his knees, the full force of his thick thighs kicking back on the rope to buy himself space, but Ouxiang sways elegantly with the force and borrows it to close the last of the gap between them instead.

Then, finally, the rope is too short for Xiazi to manoeuvre and he crashes to the mat with a hysterical howl and a lot of writhing. Ouxiang tosses the coil of rope lightly over the rigging bars, and leans his weight on it when he catches it again; Xiazi is hauled bodily up off the mat again, and the rope has somehow become tangled around his torso in their dance; somehow during that chaos, Xiaoge has managed to harness Xiazi with an X across his chest, and two single column ties. One under his pecs, and one above them. His own weight resting in the ropes pins his arms to his side, and the first line from his ankle pulls tight, stretching him into an arc that would, if he wasn't still wiggling, be quite pretty. It really makes his muscles stand out, almost breast-like, because Xiazi has an unusually rounded chest and shoulders. It’s not quite boody-builder, it’s more casual than that, plump and less defined.

Ouxiang takes Xiazi's entire weight for about half a minute, just standing and watching, and Liu Sang appreciates the chance to really appreciate, then he lets Xiazi down to the mat and Xiazi goes limp.

It was a strain, that pose; Liu Sang hears that in the way Xiazi's heart thumps, sees it in the relieved stretch Xiazi arches into before he’s even untied. Liu Sang wipes his hands off fastidiously --snacks are important around rope work, but that doesn’t mean you take sticky hands onto stage with you-- and hops up to join them. Why waste an opportunity to get a good look at his Ouxiang’s knots? And Xiazi can’t stay in this one for long. Xiaoge acknowledges him with a nod, and picks up Xiazi’s top half by the cross point of the harness, then puts him back down on his ass once Xiazi has his legs untangled. Just like that. Straight arm, thighs bunching, but just like that. The strength is insane.

He hears a-Tou stifle a laugh, behind him, but she can put a sock in it, Xiaoge is just really that good. Xiazi has gone quiet, so Liu Sang stays quiet, and keeps out of the way as Xiaoge takes off the ankle noose then starts on the harness. Top loops first, the ones that run over his pecs and tie at the level of his shoulder blades. Xiazi has his head hanging low, back curved, and it must make the knot even tighter, at that angle, but Xiaoge pulls and slides the tail through anyway, and Xiazi finally makes a noise. A low groan of release, like someone stretching a stiff muscle. Xiaoge notices too, and slows right down. The loops must have been holding some weight, in the knots down the middle of his spine, because Xiazi slumps even further forwards. He’s a flexible guy, he could face plant his knees if he wanted to--

“Xia.” Xiazi breathes deep, chest growing an obscene amount and straining against the ropes before he lets it out again. “Hi...” “Okay?” “...’m good, yeah, of course... I think you kinkily unkinked my entire spine...”

Xiaoge smiles-- well no, his lips don't move, but his eyes soften and he goes back to untying the ropes.

Watching how Xiazi is soft and pliable, Liu Sang leans sideways far enough to grab one of the blankets. It's plush and fleecy, but it's got a pleasant weight to it when he flicks it out.

Xiaoge makes a pleased noise and rather than take it off him, points eloquently to Xiazi's broad, bowed back.

Liu Sang slips easily to his knees beside him, and draws the blanket around his shoulders, sliding it over skin rather than surprising Xiazi with it. It's so soft. Xiazi breathes deep anyway, not quite startled but definitely not his usual self, and Liu Sang draws the fabric tight around his ridiculous shoulders. With Xiazi's head bowed so far, Liu Sang can't read the little tells that make it out past his sunglasses, but Xiazi sways towards him and he thinks he understands the gesture without them.

He shuffles his knees out from under his ass, and sits down properly, more stable, more long term, and guides Xiazi's collapse into his body, however he wants to land.

Xiazi's murmured 'thanks' is a brush of hot air against Liu Sang's collarbone, and it's followed by most of the man's weight. Understanding his own limits, Liu Sang controls their trajectory, and lets Xiazi bear him slowly to the mat. He's heavy, and large. Long legs, wide shoulders, but dainty hips, and he sprawls half over Liu Sang, the blanket a silky fuzz trapping in the sauna heat of fighting Xiaoge for as long as he had. Xiazi will cool down fast as this limp, sleepy creature, but for now he's a furnace.

Xiaoge appears over the horizon of blanketed shoulders, blinking once and tipping his head to one side.

Liu Sang gives him a thumbs up, and Xiaoge steps close enough to pet Liu Sang's hair back with a small smile, then tuck the blanket securely around Xiazi, who mumbles something like "Yaba" but doesn't quite succeed at hitting the 'b'.

He's struck by the intensity of their familiarity with each other, by the way Xiaoge knew Liu Sang would be helpful to Xiazi here and like this, by the way Xiazi trusts that Xiaoge has everything sorted.

He stays there while Xiaoge and a-Tou work out their performance, blinking slowly and listening rather than watching. They're doing something that involves a hanfu, and using the silk sashes as ties; using flat fabric rather than rope is difficult, because the width of the pressure is more variable. The fabric can twist into a narrow rope in a concave spot like an elbow or waist, constricting, or it can lay flat and open over a convex surface, like a thigh. Their conversation becomes highly technical very quickly; though a-Tou does most of the talking, every word that does come out of Ouxiang's mouth is the name of a knot or technique. Half of them are in Japanese, and a third of what's left are English, leaving Liu Sang only understanding a fraction.

He doesn't need to know, of course, he's never been into the art side of the ties and harnesses themselves, but it's nice to hear Ouxiang's voice. And, incidentally, a reminder of why he's quiet. Very dangerous voice, that one. Low and rich. Chocolatey.

He has a job to do, though, so a lot of his attention is on the slow cadence of Xiazi's heart and the tiny movements against Liu Sang's flank that might mean he's coming awake or might mean he's uncomfortable in whatever way. Liu Sang can feel the slow thump of Xiazi's heart starting to affect his own, too. He's very fit, resting heart rate all the way down in the sixties, and Liu Sang's shitty body hangs out at more like ninety to a hundred so it's soporific, in a nice way, as it slows down to match.

He's not unfit, exactly, but there's something dicky about his heart. Maybe it's his own fault, slowing it down artificially for listening, or maybe it's the same bullshit as his migraines. Maybe he'll finally get that electrocardiogram now he's earning good money, see if there's something he should be doing about it.

Xiazi snuffles against his neck, ticklish, and there's a tiny whine in the back of his throat, so Liu Sang pulls him closer, arms tight across his shoulders. Xiazi's uncoordinated squirm tangles their legs together, and poor guy is hard inside his pants, but he doesn't rut against Liu Sang's thigh or shiver or anything, so Liu Sang doesn't do anything either. Bodies are just Like That sometimes, if Xiazi wants relief they'll work it out when he's verbal.

Which, might be any minute; his breathing deepens and the little unconscious movements of a man getting comfortable have stopped. He's either actually asleep or now waking up, either would be fine.

Which: good timing because a-Tou is strung up like a butterfly in a cobweb and Xiaoge is standing back while she pulls and twists inside the tie. She's not pretending to be subbed out at all, she's alert and businesslike, commenting on where her weight is resting and how the hanfu is working for her. On the day, she'll be playing a particular character, Liu Sang gathers, but she doesn't seem to feel the need to practise that part.

"Okay, I've got it," she says eventually, and Xiaoge returns to the ropes to start pulling them apart. It's a very complicated, cerebral tie, it takes time to undo, and a-Tou remains patient and alert throughout. Liu Sang respects that a lot, it is their business! It's all well and good getting into the role like Xiazi has, that's genuine and appealing and the audience will love it, but it's got its down sides and the recovery process is one of them. Liu Sang is enjoying the cuddles, don't get him wrong, and he's sure he'll be needing something similar, but it's a vulnerable time for anyone and saving it for off stage is a good idea.

a-Tou kept her head the whole time, gave feedback, engaged in technical discussion, amazing. Xiaoge was listening and responding, adjusting, so they were developing the tie pattern together and Liu Sang is absolutely sure it’s a better tie technically speaking, as a result.

He is envious, he supposes.

A-Tou still needs help getting down; her legs were quite tightly tied because of the way her weight needed to be distributed. Xiaoge carefully lowers her to the ground with his own weight as counterbalance, she's enough shorter than him that he has plenty of mechanical advantage, and she folds neatly down onto the mat with a sigh.

From his spot, with Xiazi's shoulder in the way, all he sees as she stretches are the tips of her pointed toes. Then, Xiaoge kneels beside her, his face blankly satisfied, and he goes into standby mode.

Not, Liu Sang would like it known, his own choice of term. Wu Xie is to blame for this one, he used it quietly to Pangzi once, when Xiaoge was ...making sure Liu Sang was alright. Early on, when they first met. He'd been out of it, bloody and battered, but the concept had stuck and Xiaoge settles into this ...quietly attentive state of contentment often enough that it really does deserve its own nickname.

A-Tou laughs at him for it, and prods at his shoulder with her toes. “Hey, handsome, thanks for the tie.”

Xiaoge nods a little, eyes hooded as he watches her. If he cranes his neck, Liu Sang can just about see the indecent sprawl she's flopped into. It's artful.

Unfortunately, this disturbs Xiazi, and the man snorts awake with a noise that would have suited a snub nosed pug.

“Hgshnszlfgh.”

Liu Sang pat's him on the back, sympathetically. “Hi. Thank you for the hugs.”

Xiazi's blurred, slow blinks are only barely visible through his close fitting sunglasses, but Liu Sang knows better than to take them off. No one keeps glasses on like this out of choice, not during rope. Instead, Liu Sang nudges them back straight, and runs his thumbs over Xiazi's cheeks. He needs to not collapse back down onto Liu Sang, since it's Liu Sang's turn.

“...hi,” Xiazi mumbles eventually.

“A-Tou is finished, I have to get up and go warm up.”

Xiazi twists to look, and most of his weight lifts up; Liu Sang misses it even before the cool air has time to leech the warmth out from between them, but then Xiazi collapses dramatically back down and Liu Sang takes it all back, thanks.

“Nooo, I missed it! Nooo!” Xiazi wails, slithering off Liu Sang and flopping to the stage with all the drama his ridiculous, muscular frame can contain.

A-Tou laughs like a smoker, husky. Liu Sang likes it, but he's glad she stopped smoking when she did; her lungs are clear. “You'll get another chance tomorrow,” she promises.

Liu Sang starts his stretches right there, half draped in Xiazi's blanket, while the man banters with her. He's fine, bouncing back and mellowed out, and Liu Sang is borrowing some of that energy, he can feel it. They're a good group, for this. Good match.

“Okay, I'm ready.”

Waiting in the wings for his turn is more nerve wracking than he'd expected. The routine is familiar; Xiazi goes in biting and snarling, leathers flapping until Xiaoge rips them off his arms during a kiss that's got teeth. A-Tou’s story arc goes off without a hitch too, once Xiazi is safely guided into the arms of his little flower.

Xiaoge is magnificent, obviously; his black cowl neck shirt is shapeless but clinging, flowing around him and showing flashes of pale skin at the throat that seem like they'll show more if you just watch long enough.

And that's without mentioning the way he moves, of one mind with the ropes in his hands and always one step ahead.

It's almost silent in Liu Sang's head; high grade headphones that cancel out most things and cover what's left with a soft rustle of rain against leaves. But more than that, he's keyed up and focused, ready to crack himself open on the role they've worked out.

The tattoo feels great, it's almost imperceptible under his fingertips and he can't feel it on his skin directly at all, except where it strays closest to his lips, the sharp, smoke-like swirls that reach from cheekbones to the corner of his mouth and the dagger-fangs that drip from his mouth to his chin.

A-Tou smirks at it on her way off stage and pinches him on the cheek; one guess who did the design work. He wouldn't have come up with it if the team for tonight hadn't included her, with her hip to nape sprawl of corpse-flowers and strangler figs. He snaps his teeth playfully at her fingers, and she laughs outright as she dances back a step. He presses a bottle of juice into her hand with a feeling of a conspiracy fizzing in his chest and his grin is all teeth.

She drinks deep, throat bobbing in the half-shadow of the side stage, and he steps away to give her space to come down off the high.

He should pay attention to his own work.

His costume is nothing special; a black cross front shirt that's held on by a belt and some good wishes, and the trousers are the same charcoal shade. They end just below the knee, in a billow of extra fabric caught into a cuff around the top of his calf. He has all the movement you could ask for, and he'll blend into the stage dressing right up until he doesn't. He likes the footwear too; black bandages under the arches of his feet and crossed smoothly over his ankles and up his calves. His toes and heels are free, flashes of white in the dark that will give him away just enough.

He bounces leisurely on the balls of his feet while Kan Jian clears the stage; Ouxiang is working his ropes back into hanks just beyond the puppy, and Liu Sang is so ready that he's vibrating.

Then the lights change, shifting into an unusual jumble of bright spots and deep shadows. Xiaoge, his Ouxiang, stays in the light, rope hanging from his belt and the suspension bars overhead in deep shadow. Kan Jian scuttles off stage, the last of a-Tou’s discarded hanfu in his arms, and bumps his shoulder against Liu Sang on the way past.

“Good luck!” He whispers, gleaming all over with excitement and possibly body glitter.

“I won't need it,” Liu Sang grins with a wink, center of gravity dropping as he waits for his cue.

The crowd quietens with a round of hissing whispers, and then the music drops to nothing, taking the rest of the conversation with it into dead silence.

Ouxiang is a statue, head down and shoulders soft, and Liu Sang steps out of the shelter of the curtains and into a patch of deep shadow. Body weight held low, knees bent to cushion his footsteps, he creeps forwards through the dark. The audience ripple, people noticing, not sure if he's the show or the stage hands, and he creeps forwards.

Lower....lower.... His thighs burn and his fingertips rest on the stage, just outside a circle of light. Beyond it, Ouxiang is a tempting slash of white nape between collar and hair.

Then he turns, a diamond sharp glint of eyeshine just visible, and Liu Sang springs back, out of the light spill and out of sight. His feet strike the stage with a thump, and he runs three paces into deep shadow before stopping, holding, even his breathing tense and still in his chest. His heart is thundering, and he can feel air on his teeth through his grin.

Ouxiang turns again, and steps towards the sound of Liu Sang's feet, but he's already moving again, silent and in the opposite direction. He passes through a patch of light while Ouxiang is looking a different way, and someone in the audience gasps. Someone else has a grip on a leather arm rest and it creaks with tension.

Liu Sang's grin gets wider, and he settles back onto his heels in a hidden spot. His outline is broken up, barely human, ink and fabric fracturing him into disconnected pieces. He makes it even worse by leaning forwards into a crouch, one hand out for purchase on the stage.

Ouxiang turns towards him again, and settles his stance wider. The rope on his hip is looser now, it's first loop draping through Ouxiangs fingers and swaying temptingly in and out of his shadow.

Then Ouxiang turns his back, vulnerable and open, thinking Liu Sang is on the other side of the stage. He sets his feet and leaps forwards, three steps then a surge upwards.

But Liu Sang's teeth close on air, his lunge caught on a doubled length of rope stretching from collarbone to hip and coiled firmly around Ouxiang’s fists. Their faces are only inches apart, and the snap of Liu Sang's teeth closing is still bouncing back to him when Ouxiang shoves and sends Liu Sang springing backwards.

But now Ouxiang has him in his sights, he doesn't let Liu Sang out of them again; he keeps distance, feet dancing over the stage and rope singing along in his wake. Liu Sang goes with the momentum of the initial shove, sliding it sideways to reach a deeper shadow, but Ouxiang follows, a folded bite of rope hissing through the air to land across Liu Sang's shoulders with a sharp smack!

The heat blooms across his back, it's edges tingling, and Liu Sang lurches back into close quarters teeth first. Ouxiang is ungodly fast, slipping out of Liu Sang's path and halting his charge with a fistful of Liu Sang's robe. The belt breaks free with a satisfying ‘snap’ just as Ouxiang swings the rope around to catch Liu Sang in its loops; Liu Sang is freed to duck out of the loose sleeves and leave the rope behind.

The lights rise subtly and his skin is stark white and black; he can't hide now. He makes distance, just beyond the flickering tail of Ouxiang's rope, and shakes his wrists out.

The temporary ink that flows down his throat mingles with the real qilin on his chest, and distantly he knows that the audience are making appreciative noises. More immediately, though, Ouxiang's gaze is the calm insistence of a persistence predator. Liu Sang feels the goosebumps rise on his arms and knows he can't run, can't hide. His teeth feel sharp, enormous in his mouth, and his blood fizzes.

He waits, stepping aside when Ouxiang circles, keeping the distance...watching...

He doesn't even blink, his Ouxiang, there isn't even a blink to give Liu Sang the slimmest advantage. He can't wait any longer, though, and he lurches forwards with a snarl.

This time, the rope lands on his bicep with a bright flare of pain, and Liu Sang's teeth snap close on a hiss of indrawn breath. His momentum carries him to Ouxiang's feet, crouched like a animal and looking up into the soft smile on Ouxiang's face. It's so small, no wonder no one ever notices it. So tiny... Liu Sang wants to bite it. His head swims, warm and fuzzing in and out, and there's no reason to hold back, no chance he'll ever draw blood, so he surges forwards with reckless, wild abandon.

Ouxiang catches his wrist, turning on the ball of his foot to shed Liu Sang's momentum off into the void and the rope lands another stinging blow across his back. The white hot pain is melting him away, everything is so simple now. The need to bite and rip and hurt boils up in Liu Sang's chest and his teeth feel sharp and bloody, but when he lurches forwards, he's caught again, rope curling tight across his collarbones.

His own momentum snaps it tight, and somehow the loop has wrapped around his wrist too, and pulls it hard to the small of his back. Another loop catches his upper arms and then he feels Ouxiang's hands, strong and fast and certain in the ropes, pulling an end through to form an actual knot.

No, he's not done!

He drops his weight to the floor, boneless and suddenly leaving Ouxiang with half a knot in hand and a line too tight to tie it. In the same breath, Liu Sang twists his long legs and plants his bare heel on the rope, the arch of his other foot twisting it tighter, and tries to drag it out of Ouxiang’s hands.

Ouxiang is stronger, faster, but even he struggles to hold on; the half ready knot disintegrates as he readjusts and pulls hard on the line Liu Sang has taken control of. Triumph swells in his chest and when Ouxiang reaches out to catch him by the harness building on his chest, Liu Sang twists his knees back under him and tries to bury his teeth in Ouxiang's neck.

The harness disintegrates into loops of slithering rope as Ouxiang catches him by the throat in one hand, and snatches his wrist out of the dark with the other.

Liu Sang snaps his teeth on empty air, twisting against the hold and stuck, held, trapped in a way that really lets him set loose. Snarls and thrashing feel so good, burning in his muscles and turning into laughter in his throat. His next lunge is completely mindless, dangerously unplanned, but of course Ouxiang catches that too, and sends him scrambling across the stage.

He drops into a crouch near the edge of the light, and wipes his wrist across his jaw, watching, chest heaving, poised.

Between them, in the bright glow of a spotlight, the rope slithers back to its master, leisurely as Ouxiang reels it back in, eyes hooded and gleaming. It purrs through his hands as he coils it, settles obediently into a hank across his forearm.

Liu Sang prowls forwards after it, snatching the end before it can wriggle back to him, and the line snaps taught between them. Liu Sang can feel Ouxiang's strength in the humming tension, can feel the ebb and flow of his breathing, and feels greedy with it.

Then Ouxiang lets it spool out, limp and boring between them again; Liu Sang drops it and stalks the edge of the stage instead. Creeping closer with each pass. Ouxiang's hands are mesmerising on the rope, coiling it against his skin and Liu Sang wants to taste them, or own them.

This time, when Ouxiang turns his back, Liu Sang knows it's a trap. The steely glint of Ouxiang's gaze dips cleanly away from him, exaggerated nonchalance, a shoulder softened and a spine gone gentle. He resists, vibrating, for a single breath, but oh, the nape of neck and the steady coiling rope-- He slips sideways, slips into the gracefully prepared blindspot and leaps forwards.

Ouxiang turns into the lunge, eyes locking unerringly onto Liu Sang's as soon as he does; like he knew exactly where Liu Sang would be. There's the hissing crack of rope becoming whip and a line of fire blooms across Liu Sang's back; if he hadn't lunged exactly here, exactly now, that lash wouldn't have landed, but it did, perfectly timed. He's stunned, mind blank but for white light and a ringing note.

Ouxiang takes full opportunity.

This time, the rope that falls around his wrist is already tied; it snaps tight around his bird-bones and the knot locks with a hiss of friction. This time, when Ouxiang pulls him in close, there's no wriggling loose and his wrist is pulled to the small of his back with a burning drag of rope around his waist.

He surges in closer instead, teeth first and utterly trusting; when he bites, Xiaoge already has rope in the way, Ouxiang's skin safely out of his reach, and his teeth close on polished hemp.

He bites down, head thrashing to the side in gleeful violence, and the rope pulls tight, looping across the nape of his neck.

He reaches up to claw it free and then Ouxiang has that hand too, fingers clamped over his wrist and already twisting, until he has it pinned to the small of Liu Sang's back. The next turn of the rope lashes around his waist to secure them both in place.

The rope digs in at the corner of his mouth when he struggles, pulling tight against the root of his tongue. He strains, molars creaking against the hemp and wrists burning, but the knot at the back of his neck holds tight, and the lines between it and his wrists don't budge.

The rope is thick enough and hard enough that he can't close his teeth, but he can breathe deep and clear. Ouxiang is a solid line of heat at his side, working the ropes and locking him in place; he twists and thrashes against the harness, but Ouxiang is far stronger than he is, and his feet don't even twitch.

He even drops to his knees, his full weight dragging, but Ouxiang holds perfect form, and the next knot pulls tight at his spine.

He kicks out, his whole body twisting with the curl of the rope, but Ouxiang is faster; a doubled loop smacks across his thighs, bright and stinging. The deep gasp he pulls in response loses him the time to kick out, and the second loop of rope pulls his calf close to his thigh, hobbling him into a kneel.

His chest heaves in the stillness afterwards, head hanging down and hair hiding his face. Behind him, Ouxiang is as solid and inexorable as the mountain, and another knot swishes tight against his ribs.

He sinks lower, his back bowed and soft, but when Ouxiang steps to the front, he lunges forwards with all the slack left in the harness.

He gets close enough to taste Ouxiang's sweat, but the rope between his teeth creaks and holds. He feels his own breath bounce back from Ouxiang's throat, feels the bright points of Ouxiang's knuckles under the ropes across his chest, then Ouxiang wrenches him away from his face and thrusts him to his knees.

His other leg is lashed down in seconds, and three turns around his thighs pin him firmly in place.

He strains and heaves against the restraints, ropes creaking and heart thundering. It rubs the corners of his mouth, and knots dig into his spine, and he snarls against what give he has left.

But Ouxiang makes a soft little click in the back of his mouth, and Liu Sang's vision blurrs as he gathers up his hair in one hand and ties it into the rope with the other.

He feels his eyes blow wide.

His back goes soft, and his knees drift apart under his weight. His hands hang limply in the harness, and his head is held arched back, throat drawn up and naked.

Slowly, one finger at a time, Ouxiang covers his neck, as light as a feather. Body warmth takes a second to build between their skin, but when it does, Liu Sang's eyes fall closed. Air flows out of him, softened and muffled by the rope between his teeth, and the lights fade down around them.

The audience cheers. There's clapping, Liu Sang likes clapping, it has a white-noise adjacent acoustic profile, and in the dark behind his eyelids he knows he's done good.

With the lights down, the distance between him and Ouxiang vanishes. His perfect posture slips down until his cheek rests on the back of Liu Sang's neck and his hand trails down from Liu Sang's throat to his opposite shoulder. The rope knotted with his hair falls slack, and he lets his head sink forwards. Ouxiang makes a subvocal humm against his spine and Liu Sang's whole body trembles at the slide of cheek against his skin. Then Ouxiang laces his fingers together on his shoulder and rests, Liu Sang trapped and muzzled and kept warm by his arms.

Distantly, Liu Sang registers the rise and fall of the crowd's applause, and Pangzi talking to them about ...things. He's not paid to care about that part and his whole body is warm and molten. Xiaoge is breathing against his shoulder, and the thump of his heart is the perfect metronome to match to.

Xiao Bai is quiet and quick, darting over to them while it's still dark, but Liu Sang still registers her approach in the sound of her shoes. “Hi, hello,” she whispers, crouched in front of him and squished into an improbably small bean shape. “Photos?”

Xiaoge's head lifts, leaving a cool patch of skin behind, and Liu Sang hears him blink, but there's nothing positive or negative about it, he doesn't care at all.

And Liu Sang is gagged, with his hands tied.

...

Xiao Bai clicks her tongue after a second and squishes her hands against her face. “Liu Saaang,” she whines, voice extra tiny and eyes extra large.

He hums and winks, and she huffs like he's funny but also the Worst then darts in to fix some little detail of his hair. “Okay, lights up in thirty seconds,” she whispers to him, close enough for him to smell coffee beans and chocolate on her hands, then she's gone again.

He's floating, he nailed it, Ouxiang is amazing and they pulled it off and now there will be pictures.

He doesn't even have to pose.

Ouxiang doesn't either; he stays curled around Liu Sang like a human version of his black jacket. The lights come up, dramatic and raking so their shadows slice across the stage, and Wu Xie makes appreciative noises at Xiao Bai, and starts taking pictures. His camera makes a fluttery clicking sound as the shutter flies across the sensor and the humm of the lights changes when he has Xiao Bai adjust them.

Liu Sang tries to block out the murmured praise Wu Xie has for their tableau, but he feels his cheeks get red anyway.

Outside of the lights, their audience are watching, standing around with drinks and making conversation and Liu Sang doesn't have to listen to any of them at all, so he lets it wash over him. They liked it, Pangzi liked it, and Wu Xie is making excitable noises about his Xiaoge's ‘eccentric habits’.

And then there is a blanket.

Liu Sang blinks awake, or alert, from whatever you call the in-between place that rope puts you in, and Kan Jian is there with a blanket, and the stage lights are fading down, while the house lights come up. He smiles giddily at Kan Jian, throat clicking, and almost before he's noticed it's still there, Xiaoge is easing the rope out from his mouth. His lips are sore, and he has to swallow twice before he can lick them, but Ouxiang's hands stay gently on his face until he does.

“That looked amazing,” Kan Jian whispers to him, unfolding the blanket and looking very sunshine. “Xiaoge! You're so fast!!”

Ouxiang's throat moves, but whatever it was he thought of saying, he doesn't bother actually speaking out loud. His hands are busy on Liu Sang's thighs, and the rope releasing feels euphoric. Heat rushes through the big muscles of his leg, and he slumps, blinking, to the side. Kan Jian catches him effortlessly, which was probably always the plan, and Ouxiang pulls the rope back up his spine; the loops holding his wrists and crossing his chest slither loose one by one until he's held only by the weight of them resting on his thighs.

Then the blanket wraps over his shoulders, and Kan Jian’s cheerfulness replaces the ropes completely. He misses them for barely a heartbeat before Ouxiang takes Kan Jian's big, friendly arms and tucks them tighter over the blanket. Then, Liu Sang doesn't mind.

He might not mind anything ever again.

Kan Jian giggles against the top of his head, and Ouxiang pats him, on the arch of his foot.

He turns his hot face into the shelter of Kan Jian's grin and hides, chest bubbling and warm.

“That was great, Xiaoge,” Wu Xie says from somewhere above him, and Liu Sang makes a quiet little hiss that turns into an equally little giggle when he can't keep up the act; someone pats him again and it's very nice thanks.

Wu Xie keeps talking though, and he's saying all sorts of nice things like ‘on the door ticket sales’ and ‘tip jar’ which make Liu Sang happy enough to stick a hand out of his blanket and make a ‘peace’ sign. And then giggle again.

Pangzi wanders over too, and puts something nut-shaped but shiny into his exposed hand. On retrieval and inspection, it is a chocolate covered something that smells like coffee. If Xiao Bai liked them then they're probably good! So he eats it, and it's a coffee bean inside; bitter and toasty and sweet and salty.

He leaves his hand out of the blanket just in case there are any more.

Pangzi grumbles and groans, but he does dole out a few more. Enough that Liu Sang feeds one to Kan Jian before eating the remainder. Good puppies get treats.

He lifts his head blearily to check if Ouxiang has had some, and then flops back against Kan Jian when he sees Ouxiang being Xiaoge over by Wu Xie and A-Tou. He has a mug between his palms, and he's looking doe-eyed over the rim at some audience member with lots of questions. A-Tou answers most of them smoothly, glancing at Ouxiang the whole time, and Wu Xie answers the rest, but the audience member keeps asking Ouxiang specifically, hmph.

“I'll go rescue him, SangSang,” Pangzi tells him out of the side of his mouth, “here.” And then he hands over his bag of snacks!

Amazing.

When Ouxiang sneaks back, the hand he puts on Liu Sang's face is warm from whatever is in his mug, and he accepts some chocolate from the bag, so Liu Sang is satisfied.