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Chapter Text

“Beiyuan, for once in your fucking life, can you just leave it alone?” 

The air in the office is heavy with tension as Helian Yi, Director of Da Qing’s Ministry of Intelligence, faces off with his Chief Strategist.

Jing Beiyuan feels his lips twitch against the urge to smirk. Getting Helian Yi worked up enough to raise his voice is a petty victory, yes, but he’ll take it. 

“You know I wouldn’t ask you if there was anyone else,” Helian Yi sighs, after taking a moment to compose himself.

Jing Beiyuan rolls his eyes.“Then hire someone else, Director! That’s what normal people do, in these circumstances. I don’t have time to manage another agent right now! Zishu is enough of a headache as it is.”

Helian Yi rolls his eyes right back, mocking the look Jing Beiyuan is giving him across the heavy, mahogany desk. 

“Stop whining, you incorrigible brat,” he retorts in an irritated tone that calls to mind the early days of their friendship, back at boarding school, “you know perfectly well that all of the other strategists have at least three field agents under their purview at a time. Stop being so lazy! You know I can’t be seen playing favorites. How would it look if I gave you a lighter workload than everyone else? Zishu is already the best we have.”

“Exactly! Not to mention that none of the other strategists have an entire department to run, Director. I’m managing Zishu in addition to overseeing that circus of clowns, and Zishu and I still manage to routinely accomplish what it usually takes three field agents to do. I’m exhausted. He’s good, but he’s also a menace. He thinks he can get away with murder.”

Helian Yi stares at him incredulously. “He’s special ops, Beiyuan. It’s his job to get away with murder.”

Jing Beiyuan resolves to spike the Director’s next macchiato with something decidedly unpleasant-yet-not-life-threatening.

“I was speaking metaphorically, you bastard, stop twisting my words. And, regardless, I won’t do it! You can’t make me responsible for a brute like Wu Xi. Have you even read his dossier? He’s an absolute terror.”

“He’s a doctor, Beiyuan.”

“Yes, a terrifying doctor! A doctor with the highest kill count this agency has ever seen outside of the Tian Chuang division. He shoots almost as many people as he saves. Stop insulting me by lying to my face, Director. This isn’t about optics or making sure I have another agent so people think you don’t play favorites. You want me to babysit . No one else wants to work with Wu Xi because he’s an antisocial bastard.”

“So is Zishu!”

“Yes! This is precisely my point. You’re giving me all your problem children. Am I being punished?”

“Do you deserve to be punished?” Helian Yi gives him a smile like a shark.

Jing Beiyuan narrows his eyes.

“I’m being forced to play nanny to a bunch of overgrown bullies.”

“They respond best to their own kind.”

Jing Beiyuan scowls.

“You know Zhou Zishu is taking fewer and fewer missions since his promotion,” Helian Yi goes on to say. “Oversight of the Tian Chuang division involves a lot of desk work. You need someone else on your team to pick up the slack. Besides, Wu Xi has come a long way since he started training with us after his transfer. He’s grown a lot, which is why we’re moving him permanently to field agent status. His medical skills are superb, yes, but he’s also too good in a fight to keep him locked up in a lab all day. Better to have him out there with the rest of the lunatics and available to patch the others up when they’re full of holes.”

I’m better in a fight than two thirds of our agents but you’ve got no problem locking me up in a lab, Jing Beiyuan thinks bitterly. Everyone thinks I’m nothing but the boss’ pampered pet.

“Zishu doesn’t get full of holes,” he says drily instead of starting up that old fight again, “that’s why he’s got the best stats of anyone on staff.”

“Pride goes before the fall,” comes the pompous reply. 

Jing Beiyuan takes a moment to comfort himself with the fact that Helian Yi is hiding behind these infuriating adages because he’s not clever enough to be witty on his own. 

“He’s a good doctor, and a good agent,” Helian Yi continues, “so use him, and stop cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

Like hell I will.

*********

Jing Beiyuan does manage to wear Helian Yi down enough to table the issue that day using nothing but relentless tenacity, but in the end the choice is taken out of both their hands. The next assignment that crosses Jing Beiyuan’s desk requires someone who has actual medical expertise, not just a passing familiarity with anatomy and terminology; the role is too in depth for Zhou Zishu to fake. Jing Beiyuan knows he’s not just imagining the smug half smile on Helian Yi’s face as they sit around the table for their mission briefing. 

What a bastard. 

Zhou Zishu at least has the grace to sound sheepish for being unable to fulfill the mission parameters – they both know who the logical choice is to join their team, and Jing Beiyuan has complained about Wu Xi often enough during their after work happy hours that his disinclination to work with the man is no secret. But it isn’t Zhou Zishu’s fault he never went to medical school – and it’s not as though he was lazing about for half his life instead of applying himself in his studies. He speaks six languages fluently and has a tourist’s proficiency in three more. He has postgraduate degrees in computer science and political science, alongside a resume of impressive hacking skills (the latter being discreetly off the record, of course). All of this is in addition to his compulsory field agent coursework, like lock picking, stunt driving, hostage negotiation, explosives management, martial arts, rock climbing, and the like. One supposes he must be allowed to sleep at some point, right? 

It is what it is. And so Jing Beiyuan sets his jaw and nods his acceptance when he’s told that Wu Xi will be joining him first thing the following morning, then arranges his face in a bland, neutral smile as Helian Yi outlines their mission for them. 

The objective is to take out a kidnapping ring that is ostensibly responsible for at least sixteen recent disappearances, four of whom have been confirmed dead, and they will do this by securing proof that the rash of missing persons can all be linked back to Liao Zhendong, an oily bottom feeder of a criminal who runs a lab recently purchased from the government by the private sector. On paper Liao Labs runs tests on experimental medications to ensure they’re safe for public consumption. But if the Ministry’s sources can be trusted, Liao is apparently using human subjects for all of his experiments, which are largely concerned with genetics and, if you believe the rumors, eugenics. Liao Labs has never addressed such claims – their press insists they don’t even test on animals, touting themselves as ‘cruelty free,’ a detail which Jing Beiyuan would find charmingly ironic if he weren’t so irritated at the look on Helian Yi’s incredibly punchable face. 

This isn’t why you want to punch him, though, you idiot. You want to punch him every single time he manages to successfully tell you how to run your life. This is why you shouldn’t work for people when they’ve broken your heart.

Jing Beiyuan sighs. He needs to stop pretending his irritation is professional, or that he’s going to get over it. You never forget your first love, after all. 

Especially when you first love is such an self-satisfied fucking cunt. 

(He can be professional tomorrow.)

*********

Later that day Jing Beiyuan is scheduled for lunch with Zhou Zishu, to review the mission files together as they normally prefer to do after the initial briefing – hashing out the nitty gritty details of their itinerary over a nice lunch, preferably with a bottle (or two) of nice liquor between them. He makes his way down to the gym where he knows Zhou Zishu went to train and finds his favorite agent in the middle of a lively bout of Krav Maga… no, wait, not Krav Maga, exactly. It’s actually Zhou Zishu’s preferred, ‘anything goes’ patchwork of fighting styles, which lets him transition fluidly from one set of moves to the next based on his opponent’s strengths and other factors that come into play while he’s in the field, such as terrain, weather, and the ever-looming secondary objective to any mission: avoiding potentially disastrous collateral damage when possible. This eclectic, unpredictable style is Zhou Zishu’s signature specialty. It’s not easy to maintain concurrent fluency in so many different techniques, but his dedication to do so is what makes him so dangerous — and so good at staying alive.

For a moment Jing Beiyuan stops to enjoy the show, which he normally only has the opportunity to see on grainy CCTV footage with his heart in his throat. Today Zhou Zishu is particularly animated, graceful and agile, spinning and leaping like a dancer as he searches for weaknesses in his opponent.

What’s got him so energized today? Who is he fighting? Jing Beiyuan asks himself, trailing his eyes over Zhou Zishu’s sweaty, bare shoulder, where his opponent crouches obscured from view on the opposite side of the ring. Most of the time when Zhou Zishu is sparring with other agents he’s teaching them and barely manages to break a sweat, but today it looks like he’s really giving it his all. 

It’s rather satisfying, actually, to see Zhou Zishu working hard. Sometimes he’s so good at his job that Jing Beiyuanforgets he’s human.

The sense of satisfaction lasts approximately four seconds, which is exactly how long it takes the two fighting to size each other up and leap into motion.

Oh fuck, of course it’s him, the fucking menace himself. 

Wu Xi. 

When the hell did he get so hot? Who authorized this?

Helian Yi was right. Wu Xi has indeed grown since Jing Beiyuan last saw him, in some ways quite literally. The last of his baby fat and soft edges – which are definitely still present in the ID photo the agency has on file – taken several years earlier when Wu Xi was recruited to the program in his early twenties – have melted away following his transition from the medical wing to active field duty, and the subsequent compulsory training regimen. He seems to have put on fifteen pounds of pure muscle in that time. He’s also gotten a tan which suits him inconveniently well, most likely from the mission in Tunisia he was on two weeks ago, and just now his broad, dark shoulders and well-defined arms are covered in a distracting sheen of sweat from his exertions with Zhou Zishu. When he lifts up the hem of his tank top to wipe at the sweat on his brow Jing Beiyuan’s breath catches at the sight of his obliques rippling beneath his dark, olive skin. 

Well. That’s inconvenient. Fuck. Pull yourself together. 

Zhou Zishu doesn’t miss Jing Beiyuan’s pained facial expression, introducing him to Wu Xi with a knowing smirk as they congratulate each other on a successful training session. 

“Wu Xi, I believe you already know Jing Beiyuan, our Chief Strategist.” 

The bastard is too perceptive by half. Jing Beiyuan hates him for it. Jing Beiyuan narrows his eyes in annoyance, then turns his attention to their newest teammate.

Wu Xi’s face darkens a bit when he notices Jing Beiyuan approaching. 

“Yes, of course!” Jing Beiyuan calls, “It’s been positively ages, though. I see you’re learning the ropes today with Zishu, hm?”

Zhou Zishu replies with a self-effacing snort, saying, “The only thing he was learning was how it feels to squash a bug. I just got my ass handed to me, in case you didn’t notice.” 

He sounds entirely unbothered by this, actually, bordering on pleased. It’s not every day Zhou Zishu meets someone who has anything to teach him, after all, and he’s always eager to learn something new.

“You are an insufferable overachiever,” Jing Beiyuan comments affectionately. Zhou Zishu flips him off with a grin.

Wu Xi approaches quietly, looking uncomfortable with Zhou Zishu’s praise. He carries himself in a way that seems almost shy, which feels ludicrous given his profession. He greets Jing Beiyuan like a sullen teenager, monosyllabic and avoiding eye contact. Jing Beiyuan fights the urge to roll his own eyes. Zhou Zishu seems amused.

Well, he may have the body of a warrior god these days, Jing Beiyuan considers, but he still has the personality of a wet dish rag. Nice to know nothing has changed there. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep myself from getting distracted.

Still, If Wu Xi is here, they should probably include him in their lunch. Jing Beiyuan sighs, then puts on his most disarming smile and says, “Okay boys, let’s get you cleaned up and then go talk shop. It’s time to get to work.”

“What’s your problem with him, anyway?” Zhou Zishu asks when Wu Xi goes to change his clothes for lunch. “When he first started working here you were his biggest advocate, always talking about how people needed to give him a chance. Now you won’t even look at him.”

“Yes, well, that was before I learned how insufferable he is,” Jing Beiyuan says, flippant and airy. “Sometimes reality simply can’t live up to my innate sense of idealism, alas.” 

Zhou Zishu gives Jing Beiyuan a look that clearly says, ‘you’re full of shit,’ but Jing Beiyuan simply smiles brightly, refusing to elaborate.

The actual fact of the matter is that Wu Xi distanced himself intentionally, summarily spurning Jing Beiyuan’s overtures of friendship, but he’s not telling Zhou Zishu that.

Wu Xi is quite private and keeps to himself, for the most part, so this was not especially remarkable when it happened, but shortly afterwards Jing Beiyuan happened to see one of the evaluations he’d given of the Strategy Department following his basic training, and the notes he’d made bordered on scathing. 

Too much focus on gadgets and toys and not enough straightforward defense. We don’t need finicky, high tech equipment like fountain pens with short-range tranquilizer cartridges, we need reliable, simple weapons and tech equipment that isn’t delicate or prone to error. Too much talking. Too much joking. The atmosphere in the department feels unprofessional, and it’s clear the group is staffed by people who have never spent time in the field running for their lives. It’s unprofessional.

It was obvious that Wu Xi couldn’t stand him, hated the way he ran his department, and didn’t have much respect for the work they were doing to keep the agents safe. Who could read such a criticism of himself and continue to advocate for the person who’d written it? Jing Beiyuan is willing to bend low for his duty to his nation and even lower for Helian Yi, but he has more dignity than to put up with that. 

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to like me. And, despite what he thinks, I can be quite as professional as I need to be to prove it. We just need to get through this mission, and then I’ll speak with HR so he never has to work with me again.

*********

They have a little over a month of lead time before the mission. The three of them spend it getting acclimated to working with each other – such team dynamics are vital when you’re under pressure in life threatening situations. Training doesn’t go horribly, actually, despite all of Jing Beiyuan’s earlier protests and continued reservations.

Zhou Zishu gets along well with Wu Xi from the start, and that respect seems to be mutual. Wu Xi is extremely competent and efficient, and the training missions come back with high marks on all statistics. It could be much worse.

The only truly unpleasant thing is having Wu Xi on the comms. Even though he rarely speaks a word he’s always lurking, too-serious and stormy, through all of their test runs and practice drills. To Jing Beiyuan that silence always feels heavy, judgemental, and it makes him self-conscious. The critiques from the evaluation paperwork are also playing on a constant loop in his mind, and as a result he finds himself unable to relax and enjoy his normal banter with Zhou Zishu over the comms. Sarcasm and dark humor have always been their best stress relief, but Wu Xi doesn’t appear to understand that, and it shows through in every awkward silence after one of Jing Beiyuan’s jokes. 

The sourpuss doesn’t even appear to have a sense of humor. It’s enough to make Jing Beiyuan want to scream. But on the other hand Wu Xi is strong, fast, and quick witted, decisive in the field despite his reticent demeanor. And it definitely doesn’t hurt that he’s so easy on the eyes. Watching Wu Xi and Zhou Zishu move together like a well-oiled machine Jing Beiyuan finds himself reluctantly impressed. He supposes it’s nice to know there will be someone so competent at Zhou Zishu’s back when Jing Beiyuan is trapped in a van or safe house running their mobile ops setup. Against his will he slowly starts to thaw – slow progress, yes, but still progress.

However. On the day before the mission that forward momentum is nowhere to be seen, and there’s no good will to be spared. They have been up since before dawn, traveling for hours, and after a series of increasingly frustrating delays they’re all finally on a commercial flight to the conference they’re infiltrating, which is to be held at a ski resort hotel in the mountains owned by the Liao family. A flight attendant with a gratifyingly muscular ass has just offered Jing Beiyuan a mimosa, and Wu Xi is being such a wet blanket Jing Beiyuan might die from the effort of restraining himself from picking a fight.

“Don’t touch that, you uncivilized barbarian,” he scolds when Wu Xi’s hand brushes against the motherboard of the cell phone he’s tinkering with as they wait for the plane to take off, “it’s delicate. Why are you breathing down my neck anyway, don’t you have someone to go and poison or something? It’s been a whole week since your last casualty.”

Wu Xi narrows his eyes and doesn’t rise to the bait.

“That was a bit uncalled for,” Zhou Zishu observes drily. 

“So was the death of that informant,” Jing Qi responds primly. 

“You’ve already had three cocktails,” Wu Xi comments with a judgemental crease between his eyebrows, “how delicate can it be, if you’re still handling it after that? Are you sure you two should be drinking on the job at all, at this hour?” 

He’s not even like a wet blanket. It’s more like… like he’s a slow-acting poison, or, wait, no -– an IV drip. He’s tied to me, and I have to drag him around behind me while he just lurks and infuses my blood with just enough toxin each day to keep me down without actually killing me. 

Jing Beiyuan turns to stare at Wu Xi with a completely blank facial expression, holding eye contact as he drinks down the entire glass.

“There’s no need to be childish,” Wu Xi says with a condescending huff.

Zhou Zishu laughs as they glare at each other.

“Fuck you,” Jing Beiyuan says to Zhou Zishu in Czech, a language he knows Wu Xi doesn’t speak.

“Stop pulling his pigtails like that, then,” Zhou Zishu replies in kind, obviously amused.

Jing Beiyuan scowls and steals Zhou Zishu’s mimosa out of his hand, draining the glass in one long gulp before popping a Valium. 

“You’re both insufferable, I’m going to sleep.” 

As he’s drifting off he hears Zhou Zishu admonishing Wu Xi. 

“You really should lighten up, you know. He thinks you hate his guts.”

Nice try Zishu. But it’s not necessary. We should be focused on doing our job. We don’t have to pretend to like each other, too.

*********

The mountain lodge is charmingly rustic – or at least what passes for “rustic” in a place where renting a room for a week costs about as much as the concierge’s annual salary. 

Upon arriving their first task is recon, double checking and confirming the accuracy of the intel they’ve gathered from the floor plans and network maps the Ministry has on file. Jing Beiyuan has built them all rich tourist personas, the blandest possible flavor of entitled jerk, and they’re pretending to shop for a bachelor party location for one of their friends. Disguise master Zhou Zishu works his magic to alter their features just enough that they won’t be recognized when they come back later for the mission itself. The trust-fund playboy cover allows them to ask obnoxiously invasive questions about all the features of the hotel in more detail than the average guest without raising any eyebrows — and it’s also grand fun for Jing Beiyuan, who doesn’t have to dig particularly deep for the character.

Just think back to grade school and ask yourself what the upperclassmen would have said.  

Wu Xi studies him throughout the day as Jing Beiyuan flits around acting like he owns the place while the general manager stumbles after him, eyes locked on the glittering black plastic of the credit card in his hand like a cat with a laser pointer.

“You’re good in the field,” he observes as the manager scurries off to find a pamphlet outlining all of the amenities in the spa in exhaustive detail. Jing Beiyuan subtly snaps photos of all the access control hardware and slides a small device into the magnetic locking mechanism of the office door, guaranteed to hack the eight digit key code in three hours or less. Cellular service is a joke in the mountains and the only computer in the whole complex that isn’t on the unsecured guest network is in that office – they may need to get in to use it, before the week is out.

Zhou Zishu snorts at the tone of Wu Xi’s voice.

“You don't have to sound so surprised.” Jing Beiyuan grouses, ignoring the flutter in his belly that comes with being recognized by any experienced, competent field agent. 

“Why… don’t you do it more?”

Zhou Zishu’s face goes conspicuously blank. 

Jing Beiyuan rolls his eyes, old bitterness sinking in. “I’m apparently indispensable, you know. Helian Yi loathes having me out in the middle of the action. He’s… protective. We grew up together.”

Wu Xi nods, as though that answer actually made logical sense. 

“It’s good that he tries to keep you safe. With your clearance levels you have unique, detailed knowledge of so many classified missions that your capture would be a matter of national security, and even aside from that, your field of work is highly specialized -– the potential drain on agency resources if something were to happen–-”

“No,” Jing Beiyuan interrupts, raising a hand as though preparing to physically staunch the flow of words, “not you, too. Stop that immediately. Fuck, the last thing I need in this world is another arrogant man smothering me in the name of personal safety and national security. I don’t want to punch you, but don’t think for a second I won’t.” 

“You could try,” Wu Xi says mildly, and his mouth quirks up in the hint of a smirk. 

Is he teasing me? Is this actually happening? Does the good doctor have a sense of humor after all? Incredible. 

“Better to sic Zishu on you. That’s what he’s for, after all. I wouldn’t want to damage my hands over something so… trivial.”

Wu Xi rolls his eyes, “I’m the surgeon, here.”

“Yes, Little Toxin, but surgeons are a dime a dozen. I’m the one who builds the bombs.”

*********

Things relax a bit after that – an armistice, if not a close camaraderie. It’s better. Their bickering continues, of course, but now it’s almost fun. 

It’s fun, that is, until Zhou Zishu gets clocked putting a bug in the light fixture in Liao Zhendong’s hotel room, because Jing Beiyuan and Wu Xi are arguing about his chosen camera placement and don’t see the bodyguard enter. 

Zhou Zishu gets away, but not before he gets shot. It’s nothing dangerous, just a graze along the muscle of his thigh, but it has disastrous implications for the mission. 

Despite his considerable training and experience he’s unavoidably limping, which means the pain is much worse than he’s letting on. Though the guard didn’t see his face, any man seen favoring his leg in that way would, naturally, be suspect number one and highly suspicious. 

“Fuck, Zishu, you can’t go in like this,” Jing Beiyuan states the obvious as he runs his hands over his face. Zishu is out of the game and it’s all due to Jing Beiyuan’s embarrassingly unprofessional behavior. Helian Yi is going to kill him.

“We should call it in, so they can send out a replacement,” Wu Xi says from where he sits bent over Zhou Zishu’s leg with his hair in a messy ponytail, disinfecting the gunshot wound. 

“They won’t, though,” Jing Beiyuan sighs, gritting his teeth in annoyance, “they’ll just write off the mission and call us back. Standard procedure.” 

Months of work, planning, resource allocation… gone. And for what? Just thinking about packing up and going home now is depressing. How many more innocent people will disappear before they get another opportunity this good? How many more people have to die in pain because Jing Beiyuan can’t stop flirting with a man who doesn’t even like him? Unless. 

“What if I went in, instead?”

“Seriously?” Zhou Zishu asks, looking up from the hole in his leg to meet Jing Beiyuan’s eyes. 

“Why not? We’re already offline for the duration of the operation, so we’re less traceable, except for the satellite phone to call in for backup. No one at HQ is actively monitoring anything aside from that frequency. They’ll never realize we’ve switched places unless we alert them.” 

Zhou Zishu knits his brows. “He would never agree to this.”

“I’m not asking him, I’m asking you. This mission is too important to scrap, and you both know it. Zishu, you’re great with computers, you’ll be just fine running ops.”

“But will you be fine in his place?” Wu Xi frowns, skeptical. “This is pretty far outside the parameters of your training and experience. And you were mentioning just yesterday that the Director doesn’t like putting you at risk in the open, with your head full of security codes and restricted data.”

“He’s right, Beiyuan,” Zhou Zishu agrees in a somber tone, “this isn’t anything like the intel gathering. You… you’d be trapped in there no matter how ugly it gets, and I wouldn’t be able to come in to help you.”

Jing Beiyuan wants to punch them both for talking to him as though he’s a small, sickly child and not the most accomplished strategist in the entire Ministry. When he gets home he’s gonna murder Helian Yi for infantilizing him to this degree. But for now…  

“Come now, you just said I’d be a great field agent, Wu Xi, not twenty four hours ago! Did you mean that or not? Not to mention, no one is worried Zishu is going to fuck up on comms pawing at my delicate machinery with those grubby, callused meat tenderizers he calls hands. Do either of you even know how hard my job usually is, the degree to which I have to keep my head under pressure? I swear you gun-happy cowboys must think we just sit there and watch you on CCTV all day like a television program, like we’re just lounging around with tea while you—“

“Beiyuan.”

Jing Beiyuan stops ranting as though someone flipped a switch when Wu Xi’s quiet voice cuts through his diatribe. Zhou Zishu looks amused, then intrigued. Then he smirks.

Fuck, Jing Beiyuan swears internally. That look is never a good thing.  

“I think,” Zhou Zishu drawls, “I am less concerned about you keeping your head under pressure, and more interested in whether you’ll be able to pull off being Wu Xi’s husband in any kind of convincing way. You do remember the dossier, don't you?” 

Oh. Right. That.

The mission plan was drawn up to send Wu Xi and Zhou Zishu undercover as a couple. This is actually a fairly typical arrangement on assignments of this type, since married couples enjoy the privilege of privacy in many situations where a pair of friends or colleagues would not, and it comes with a convenient excuse for a shared hotel suite. Can Jing Beiyuan manage to act like Wu Xi’s beloved spouse for several consecutive days? It’s a valid question. 

If it were Zhou Zishu playing his husband Jing Beiyuan wouldn’t be worried, but this is a much harder ask. He has been making great efforts thus far to conceal his unwanted attraction from Wi Xi and behave in a friendly and professional way. How can he pretend to be Wu Xi’s husband without giving away the fact that he simultaneously wants to lick him and punch him in the face?

Jing Beiyuan swallows hard.

“Kiss him,” Zhou Zishu says calmly, smiling like he knows exactly what Jing Beiyuan is thinking. (He probably does, the bastard.) “It has to feel natural, if it’s going to work. Sell it to me.”

Wu Xi blushes. Blushes! Intolerable. You’d think he’d never even been kissed. Jing Beiyuan knows that’s not the case -– he’s signed off personally on enough mission files that would have involved some kind of seduction element to be sure of that –- but there’s still somehow an element of untainted energy around him that makes Jing Beiyuan feel like his continued presence is enough to sully something pure. 

You’re being dramatic, he tells himself. Wu Xi is an accomplished spy, not an innocent flower, and this is their job. 

“We don’t need to—“ Wu Xi begins, but Jing Beiyuan cuts him off.

“It’s fine, Zishu is right. Come here?” 

It isn’t kind of Zhou Zishu, putting them on the spot like this, but what he’s saying is unfortunately true.

It feels like it takes an hour for Wu Xi to set down the needle he was using to stitch Zhou Zishu’s leg, and remove his nitrile gloves. Jing Beiyuan sighs at how unhappy he seems. Eventually they both stand and come to meet in the middle of the room.

Jing Beiyuan studies his face for a long moment, not knowing what he’s searching for. Wu Xi looks similarly uncertain as he takes Jing Beiyuan firmly by the shoulders. He looks like he’s been sentenced to death as he leans in and closes his eyes. Surely it can’t be that bad to share a simple kiss, even if Wu Xi doesn’t like him, right? 

It’s worse than he expected. 

Wu Xi kisses too forcefully, hard enough to make Jing Beiyuan cut his lip on his own tooth. It’s as though the act of kissing is an enemy he’s trying to best in combat, using brute strength to end the confrontation as soon as possible. Jing Beiyuan stifles a sigh. He’s seen Wu Xi do much better than that on every training video at the Ministry. The problem, therefore, must be who he’s expected to kiss. 

Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes. “Seriously? That was pathetic. We’re doomed. Where’s the romance?”

As one, they turn to glare at him. This is, Jing Beiyuan notices in the back of his mind, the first time they’ve been in complete agreement since they arrived at the lodge.

Obviously there’s no romance! Normally agents have days or even weeks to get cover stories like this in place, to find a comfortable rhythm and the illusion of intimacy. They have eight hours. It will have to do.

Except that isn’t true, remarked a treacherous voice in the back of Jing Beiyuan’s mind, is it? You don’t have to fake an attraction to Wu Xi. You just have to swallow your pride enough to do what you have to. You tell yourself you’d rather die than let him know how you feel. Is that actually the case, though? Because you could very well die, if you don’t sell this.

Jing Beiyuan thinks of all the lives at stake, their own as well as the victims’. He thinks of his desire to succeed at salvaging this mission for his own professional pride, for concrete proof that he has the chops to pull it off. 

Wu Xi is starting to step away but Jing Beiyuan catches his hands.

“Wait.” 

We can do better.

Wu Xi freezes, standing unmoving with wide, quizzical eyes as Jing Beiyuan steps close and slides his hands into that mane of thick, glossy hair the way he’s been wanting to for days. 

“Beiyuan, what-–”

“Shh,” he admonishes playfully, deliberately letting his features soften into a smile as he pauses to enjoy a closer look at Wu Xi’s face, “I’m working.”  

Wu Xi lets out a huff of confused exasperation, but he doesn’t move. If anything, he looks vaguely amused. His features are softer when he isn't busy scowling. Standing here, close enough for Jing Beiyuan to see a small constellation of stray freckles across the bridge of his nose, he looks far less severe than usual, and it suits him. Jing Beiyuan swallows to squash the tender feeling threatening to well up inside him and smiles impishly.

“It’s a kiss, and it’s supposed to be fun,” he teases, looking up through his eyelashes with a coy smile he knows will soften the sting of his words. “You don’t need to maul me like a poorly trained puppy.”

Wu Xi opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but then closes it again quickly. 

Jing Beiyuan smiles and praises, “Good boy,” then dips his head forward to kiss him again, properly this time, before he has a chance to see Wu Xi’s reaction to that particular choice of words.

This kiss is more skillful than the last, slower and gentler, and more intense because this time Jing Beiyuan is in control, and he takes the time to savor it. 

Wu Xi makes a soft, urgent noise against his mouth and it ignites something in him. He clenches his fingers, pulling at Wu Xi’s scalp. Wu Xi hisses and Jing Beiyuan feels his strong, solid arms come up to hold him by the waist. 

Oh, it’s good. Fuck, it’s so good. 

Compared to the other kiss, this is night and day. It leaves Jing Beiyuan breathless and hard, and he’s unbelievably annoyed about it. He’s self-conscious when he steps back, willing Wu Xi not to look down and see what an obvious effect he has on him. The only thing that makes it slightly less horrible is that Wu Xi looks as disconcerted as he does, flushed and disoriented as they part.

At least I’ve still got some of my old charm.  

Zhou Zishu whistles low as Jing Beiyuan moves back to his seat. Wu Xi’s hands fall to his sides, his gaze falling to the ground as he goes about the work of cleaning up his first aid supplies.  

“Now, that’s more like it,” Zhou Zishu tells them as they awkwardly avoid each others’ eyes. “Damn. That one looked like you meant it.” 

Jing Beiyuan looks up just in time to see Wu Xi’s expression close off, gaze shuttering as he blushes with embarrassment. 

Of course he doesn’t mean it, idiot, he can barely stand to be in the same room as me.

Jing Beiyuan wants to stab Zhou Zishu. There’s no way Wu Xi is unaware that he’s interested, now. 

Whatever. Fine. 

It’s far from the first time an agent has had to sacrifice his personal dignity for a job. Jing Beiyuan is going to get dressed. 

*********

If he’s being perfectly honest, it isn’t as though the rich trophy husband look is that far off from Jing Beiyuan’s typical aesthetic, at least what it was back when he used to spend more time dancing until dawn under the influence of an ungodly cocktail of who-knows-what substances. But these days he spends far more time in cardigans and wire rimmed glasses tinted against eye strain, than in leather pants and heavy eyeliner. Nevertheless, he considers as he turns to assess his own backside in the mirror, he can still pull it off well enough.

He has paired the dark grey leather pants (which fit remarkably well for something off the rack, though he does long for the skin-tight, bespoke pair currently gathering dust in his closet) with an ice blue silk button down, and forced pearl and diamond stud earrings through holes in his ears that had long-since grown over from disuse. His earlobes are still hot and throbbing in protest as he tousles his hair. He ignores the discomfort and touches up his smokey eye with a shimmery highlighter borrowed from Zhou Zishu’s makeup kit along with a barely-there hint of rouge on his cheekbones and lips.

A knock on the door reveals Zhou Zishu, holding a box which can only contain the engagement ring he’d been given along with the mission dossier, hastily resized that afternoon to fit Jing Beiyuan’s slender fingers.

“What do you think? he asks, turning and striking a pose. “Will I suffice?”

Zhou Zishu gives him a long look-over, appraising. 

“Damn, Beiyuan, I’d fuck you myself if I were inclined to swing that way.”

Jing Beiyuan smirks, “Unlikely. I’ve been telling you for years, if it came to that, I’d be the one doing the fucking. You should really try me sometime. I have a feeling you’d be a natural – and I promise I’d be gentle with you, if you were nervous. Tender, even. Your ass is a work of art, darling, it should be worshiped.”

Zhou Zishu makes a disgusted noise and holds up his hands in protest. 

“No ass worshiping!”

“Mmmm. You have no idea what you’re missing.” 

Jing Beiyuan reaches forward to pluck the ring box from his fingers, taking the opportunity to pinch Zhou Zishu’s cheek with his other hand. Zhou Zishu huffs and swats at him with a glare like a wet cat.

“Don’t you dare muss my hair, you awful brat,” Jing Beiyuan chastises, “it took me twenty minutes to get it to look like this.”

“Like a mess?”

“I loathe you, you know.” 

“I know,” Zhou Zishu smiles brightly. “Drink?”

“God, yes.” 

As Zhou Zishu walks to the mini bar Jing Beiyuan flips open the box. The ring is a bit much — the band is crusted in so many tiny, glittering diamonds he can barely make out that it is made of platinum underneath — but it is finely made, and it fits perfectly. The weight of it on his finger makes him feel suddenly nostalgic, or, at least something similar. You can’t really be nostalgic for things that never happened, and he’d never been engaged. But he used to think about such things a lot more, once upon a time, back before everything between him and Helian Yi had gone so pear shaped. 

These days Jing Beiyuan is married to his work, so perhaps it’s fitting that work should be the one to provide him with a wedding ring. For just a moment he considers keeping it – they'd never notice, after all. He could claim it was a test item for one of his gadgets, a palm taser, perhaps. But no, that way lies madness. No sense dwelling in a fantasy of what-ifs and might-have-beens. 

He pulls himself out of his woolgathering to find Zhou Zishu staring at him with that too-perceptive look again. 

Bastard. 

“Where is Wu Xi?” Jing Beiyuan asks brightly, pretending not to notice the scrutiny.

“Already at the party. I came here to say he asked that you meet him downstairs.” 

“Well then, I suppose we shouldn’t keep the good doctor waiting. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

The ballroom is a kaleidoscope of designer suits, sequined ball gowns, and sparkling crystal highball glasses catching the light shining down from an ostentatious pair of chandeliers. 

Jing Beiyuan scans the crowd, looking for Wu Xi.

“He’s at your two o’clock,” Zhou Zishu comments helpfully.

Oh.

Jing Qi has been so preoccupied wondering what Wu Xi will think of his transformation, he completely forgot to expect Wu Xi’s. Before today he has only ever seen his momentary husband dressed up for work through the grainy lens of CCTV footage over an unreliable connection back at headquarters. He is unprepared for the sight that greets him when he enters the large ballroom where the welcome event for the conference is being held.

Wu Xi’s fine black suit is decidedly not off the rack, and it hugs the muscular curves of his body so well Jing Beiyuan is tempted to send a very expensive bottle of scotch to his tailor. The suit is paired with black snakeskin shoes and a dark, wine colored shirt, along with a black necktie pulled carelessly loose enough to reveal the divot at the top of his collarbones. He’s kept his accessories minimal, but the ones he has are incredibly eye-catching – a gorgeous wristwatch that looks like a vintage Breguet, if Jing Beiyuan can trust his eye, and a fine chain around his neck which holds his own temporary wedding ring (since as a surgeon he would take it off for work and needs a way to wear it without keeping it on his hand). His hair, always longer than Ministry regulations advise but usually pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail or braid, is loose, falling to frame his face in soft, glossy waves. Jing Beiyuan never noticed that before, how curly it is. 

“Ah, fuck, he’s hot,” he murmurs with something approaching despair. 

Zhou Zishu laughs through the comm. 

“Shut up. No one asked you,” Jing Beiyuan grouses.

“No one ever asks you either –- never stops you from chattering in my ear all day about god knows what, does it? Now stop drooling, I’m bringing him online now.”

Wu Xi hums an acknowledgement when Zhou Zishu adds him to their comm channel, but he is currently focused on their mark, Liao Zhendong, entering from across the room with his lovely young wife, so Jing Beiyuan has a moment to pick his jaw up off the ground before his dignity gets damaged truly beyond repair.

But it gets worse. When Jing Beiyuan catches his eye, Wu Xi stops and smiles – it’s the biggest smile Jing Beiyuan has ever seen on his face, and it takes his breath away. It’s the smile of a man in love, delighted to look up and find his husband staring back at him from across the room.

Wow, Jing Beiyuan thinks, swallowing against a sudden dryness in his throat, he’s a better actor than that kiss earlier led me to believe. 

“It’s showtime,” he murmurs, letting his voice shift into the kind of lazy, entitled drawl he used to effect back at boarding school.

“Behave,” Zhou Zishu warns.

“Oh, how the tables have turned. Serves you right, being on my side of the comms for once. You never behave. I make no promises.” 

Zhou Zishu laughs.

Jing Beiyuan saunters up to Wu Xi with the arrogant, slow gait of one who knows he is unquestionably the hottest man in the room. It’s not hard to do, actually. Jing Beiyuan has always known how to turn heads, how to leverage people’s attention for whatever ends he needs. It’s the exact opposite of the act he put on yesterday, trying to be one more tedious, unremarkable tourist blending into the crowd, notable for nothing except his credit limit. He’s gratified to notice people noticing him as he walks by. He’s even more satisfied to feel the intensity of Wu Xi’s gaze as he approaches.

“Husband,” he purrs, reaching for Wu Xi with a hint of a pout, smoothing a non-existent speck of lint from his lapel, “where have you been?”

The domestic familiarity makes Wu Xi blush again – a ridiculous quality in an agent with his track record and performance under pressure, but one that Jing Beiyuan finds undeniably charming. He’s cute when he’s flustered. 

But flustered isn’t what they need right now, Jing Beiyuan realizes. They need to be acting more like they’re married and less like they’re nervous on a first date. Wu Xi seems to have reached the same conclusion at the same time, hastily leaning in to hide the awkwardness they’re both feeling by gathering Jing Beiyuan into an apparently casual, affectionate embrace, kissing him softly on the cheek in a way that makes his heart flutter. 

Fuck, and he smells good, too, the jerk. How dare he?

“You knew this was a work trip,” Wu Xi admonishes softly. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, though.” 

When they part, Wu Xi keeps his arm draped across Jing Beiyuan’s shoulders. Jing Beiyuan sternly resolves to focus on their work, and not how good it feels to be tucked under that warm, muscular arm. 

Work is good. Work is safe.

Well, “safe,” except for the mortal peril, that is. 

At least mortal peril isn’t usually this embarrassing.

Their objective tonight is to get access to the files Liao Zhendong has stashed somewhere in his hotel suite – a thumb drive full of incriminating evidence like shipping manifests and rosters of test subjects (victims) they’re working with (torturing), as well as helpful intel like maps of his compound. Liao Zhendong always carries a laptop for any onsite business that never gets connected to any network except his own, personally secured one at his private lab. The firewall configuration for that network is truly impressive – even Jing Beiyuan and his entire team of strategists can’t hack it – so the only hope in hell they have to get the data they need is to get their hands on that machine, or else the backup drive Liao Zhendong always on hand in the event of hardware failure or data corruption on his primary drive. The backup is most likely in a safe in his hotel room. (Jing Beiyuan has already confirmed that the safe is his own, not the standard hotel safe. This was of course expected – those things are a joke.)

The plan is for Jing Beiyuan to get noticed, to distract Liao Zhendong and his wife, be friendly and make them relax, and to look for any opportunity they might have for one of them to slip in and obtain the files without violence. If a mission can be accomplished without collateral damage, that’s how it should always be approached.

Jing Beiyuan itches for his screens.

“What are you seeing right now?” he murmurs to Zhou Zishu over the comm device. “It’s driving me crazy not being there. How do you live like this, blind on the ground? Do you even understand the readings you’re looking at, Zishu?”

“Stop worrying about me,” Zhou Zishu grouses. “Stay in character.” 

He opens his mouth to retaliate and then shuts it again. Wu Xi is guiding him by the waist over to meet Liao Zhendong and his wife, then stepping away to sweep the room again, under the guise of fetching them drinks. 

Jing Beiyuan is now the closest he’s ever been to one of the villains they hunt. He was expecting to feel more nervous, more… afraid. But this doesn’t seem like a cruel, amoral kidnapper and a ruthless, money grabbing opportunist. He seems like a pathetic, little man with a too-young, too-pretty wife who only loves him for his money. It’s strangely galvanizing, seeing how small and insignificant his presence feels in the large room.

Wu Xi comes back and slips a gimlet into Jing Beiyuan’s hand, leaning in to brush his lips softly against his cheek. Jing Beiyuan murmurs a brief thank you and takes a sip to cover for the butterflies in his stomach. 

Typical. You can look a murderous mad scientist in the face without batting an eye, but a kiss from a cute boy has you melting. You don’t have the sense you were born with.

As they continue talking, Jing Beiyuan takes his cues from the lovely young Mrs Liao and plays dumb arm candy while Wu Xi does the bulk of the speaking. 

I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak so many words in a row, in my life, actually. He has a lovely voice. 

Liao Zhendong apparently takes Jing Beiyuan’s quiet as reticence and goes out of his way to ask questions about him, their stay so far, how they’ve been enjoying their trip. 

Oh my god, Jing Beiyuan realizes suddenly, the old bastard is flirting with me.

It comes as a surprise. Nothing in the mission dossier had mentioned he might be queer. It is probably something he considers to be unseemly or inappropriate, in his circles which makes his current advances even grosser… but also potentially useful.

Disgusting. I’m sure he squires his wife around just to show her off like a prize poodle, keeps her weighed down with enough diamonds that she stays put while he’s screwing his PA on the side. Just like–- Jing Beiyuan cuts himself off abruptly. 

Nope. Not thinking about that. 

No sense in dwelling on things that happened a lifetime ago. 

Besides, he can’t get lost in his thoughts, he apparently has to defend himself. 

Liao Zhendong has stepped away with Wu Xi to introduce him to another visiting surgeon, but now apparently the wife has taken up his banner and is doing her best to seduce Jing Beiyuan.

“My god, her too?” Zhou Zishu can’t keep the amusement out of his voice, flipping to a private channel for a moment so that Wu Xi won’t be too distracted. “That’s what you get, dressing half your age like that, You’re a unicorn hunter’s catnip.”

“That’s victim blaming! You shut your mouth,” Jing Beiyuan hisses when the woman is momentarily distracted by a friend’s arrival, then, more seriously he adds, “I’m really not sure I can do this.”

Even if he could pretend to like girls long enough to sleep with the pair of them, which he isn’t at all certain he can, he makes a point only to fuck people who take a very strong stance against using other human beings for nefarious genetic testing, eugenics, and all other horrible, non-consensual, biological experimentation. He just can’t keep it up under those circumstances, alas.

He smiles at her, sweet and conspiratorial. 

“I don’t think you’ll need to,” Zhou Zishu assures him. “Just be friendly. I’ll send your husband in to protect your virtue. Hold on, I’m switching to his channel for a second, I’ll be back.”

Mrs. Liao won’t take any of his subtle hints, so eventually he does end up having to say, “I’m so sorry, darling, you’re absolutely gorgeous, and I’m flattered, but I’m afraid my husband doesn’t like to share.”

As if on cue (and most likely it was), Wu Xi returns. 

Oh thank god he has another drink. He can be trained. 

“Thank you, love, you read my mind,” Jing Beiyuan purrs. He accepts the cocktail with a grateful smile, enjoying the pleased look he gets in return before melting back against Wu Xi, enjoying the muscular warmth of his chest against his back.

The wife looks at them both hungrily. She’s clearly decided that if having one of them is out of the question, having both of them would be quite agreeable.

Ughhhhhhh. 

Jing Beiyuan finds himself unaccountably annoyed that she’d even think about laying a hand on Wu Xi. He may not be mine, but he certainly is not yours. He’s better than that. It is time for us to get out of this conversation.

“Shall we dance?” Jing Beiyuan asks Wu Xi sweetly, “I haven’t seen you all day. I know you’re busy working, but I miss you.”

With a slightly quizzical look, Wu Xi complies. 

“Thanks,” Jing Beiyuan says when they’re in the comparatively private space of the dance floor, “I needed to get out of there. We both did.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“We’re supposed to get close to them. Was there danger?”

“Only danger to my tattered virtue. And yours, apparently. Were you listening to any of that?” 

“What?”

Jing Beiyuan rolls his eyes. “She wants to sleep with us. Together.”

“O–oh.” 

Jing Beiyuan would pay anything to bottle the expression on Wu Xi’s face right now.

“Aren’t you a spy?” he laughs, genuinely charmed. “How are you such a naive little… oh, nevermind. Dance with me?”

He gives his best rakish grin, and for a moment he lets himself imagine what it might be like to approach Wu Xi at a bar, out in public. The thought is strangely pleasing. He isn’t the type Jing Beiyuan usually goes for -– far too buttoned up and sullen for his tastes, but the draw he feels towards the man is undeniable. What if work had nothing to do with it? What if they were just two strangers, looking to enjoy a dance?

With a polite nod and a flourish Jing Beiyuan’s old ballroom dance teacher would swoon over, Wu Xi bows and moves to take Jing Beiyuan in his arms.

Oh… 

Wu Xi has absolutely beautiful eyes, deep and intense, the sort of eyes poets write about drowning in. An involuntary shiver runs up his spine. It’s subtle, but he knows Wu Xi notices when his eyes darken ever so slightly and his lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk. Jing Beiyuan is mortified. Wu Xi is enjoying this. 

He knows I’m into him and he’s toying with me. Oh god, that shouldn’t make me hotter for him. What the fuck is wrong with me.

Jing Beiyuan takes a moment to hate himself and his own libido. And then he realizes how he’s being held.

Oh shit, he wants to lead. 

Jing Beiyuan swallows thickly. He hasn’t followed a partner in a dance since…  

Ah well, it’s like riding a bike, right?

It is nothing like riding a bike. 

Dancing with Helian Yi had always been effortless, like the two of them had been of one mind. With Wu Xi, Jing Beiyuan can’t get himself properly in step, can’t relax. He feels trapped, and he’s having a hard time acting like he’s having fun. 

Wu Xi’s face is impassive, even though he’s been stepped on twice. 

“I’ll follow you instead,” he offers, turning Jing Beiyuan once, gracefully, before dropping his arms and bringing them up the other way.

It’s like night and day. Wu Xi is evidently content to be led, follows attentively, entirely unbothered by the idea of appearing less masculine, less in control.

It’s very sexy. Jing Beiyuan is in trouble now, he knows. The list of things he finds sexy or charming about Wu Xi is starting to outweigh the list of things he finds annoying and intolerable. But for the moment, it’s good. For now it’s achieving their goal of being noticed, making an impression. Before long his smile stops feeling fake. 

By the time they’re done, he’s got a plan.

“I need you to dance with his wife so I can speak to him alone.”

“We should cultivate their interest, Beiyuan, and flirt back with them. It’s good if they’re interested; it’s best if we can get into their room without bloodshed.”  

“We shall do no such thing,” Jing Beiyuan sniffed primly. “I’ve got a better idea. Dance with her. Buy me five minutes, but tell her to keep her filthy paws off my husband. I won’t be made a cuckold by the likes of her.”

Wu Xi laughs –- an actual, real laugh. It takes Jing Beiyuan’s breath away. 

Unable to contain the impulse, and realizing it would be completely in character, Jing Beiyuan leans in and kisses him lightly on the lips. Wu Xi startles, and his ears turn red again. 

Idiot, Jing Beiyuan thinks fondly. 

Returning Jing Beiyuan to the dubious company of Liao Zhendong, Wu Xi dutifully takes the lady out onto the floor, guiding her in a spirited foxtrot. 

Jing Beiyuan walks slowly back to the edge of the floor, discreetly whispering a short list of instructions to Zhou Zishu, then drapes his arm around Liao Zhendong’s shoulder. With his free hand, he clicks a small button on the side of his phone.

“How lovely they are! We’re both fortunate men.” 

Liao Zhendong hums appreciatively and brings a hand up to loop around Jing Beiyuan’s hips, entirely lower than polite or necessary. He grits his teeth and allows it, choking back the vitriolic words fighting to escape his throat. He can do this for five minutes, for the mission. And the closer he is, the easier his job will be.

“Got it,” Zhou Zishu confirms after a long, tense moment. 

Jing Beiyuan bites the inside of his cheek to keep the victorious grin off his face.

The wife comes back at the end of the song flushed and flustered, edging towards giddy. “More champagne!” she demands, and her husband takes her to comply.

Wu Xi approaches Jing Beiyuan more quietly. 

“Who’s your favorite husband?” Jing Beiyuan asks in a loud stage whisper.

Zhou Zishu snorts in his ear. 

Wu Xi looks baffled.

Jing Beiyuan pulls a key card out of his sleeve.

“Zishu helped me clone this key while the mark was ogling your ass. I just had to get within a few inches of his pocket. For the rest of the weekend, anywhere he can access, we can too.”

“I didn’t realize you could do that, without an adapter or a cable.”

“You can’t – but I can. This is a prototype I’ve been working on, and I thought it might be useful to bring along, just in case. Worked like a charm” 

Wu Xi grins. It’s lethal. “That’s brilliant, Beiyuan.”

Jing Beiyuan tamps down a grin of his own, refusing to look pleased in front of the bastard. He hasn’t earned the satisfaction yet. (Yet.)

“It rather was, wasn’t it? Now, be a dear and fetch me another cocktail?”

Wu Xi rolls his eyes and says, “fetch it yourself, you lush,” but offers his arm, anyway. 

They walk over to the bartender together.

*********

They head back to the room after several more cocktails and too many more dances. 

Jing Beiyuan sits down on the end of the bed with a groan and toes off his shoes, looking up to find Wu Xi staring at him.

“I was wrong about you,” Wu Xi says softly, leaning close to his ear, like a secret. “You spout so much nonsense all the time, I thought you were just some kind of vapid socialite playing at being a spy. But you do that on purpose, don’t you? You want people to underestimate you.”

Jing Beiyuan studies his face. “Are you drunk?”

Wu Xi snorts. “You’re always drunk,” he observes, this time at full volume, “why should that matter one way or another?”

“It sounds like you’re apologizing to me, but that isn’t like you. You never talk this much. You are drunk.” 

“I always apologize, when there's a cause to. But I don’t want to talk about me.” Wu Xi is studying him like it’s part of the mission. “You always act like you don’t care about anything. Why is that? People don’t act like that unless they’ve got a reason. Who hurt you? I’ll kill them.” 

Jing Beiyuan feels a shiver of arousal run through himself at the threatening tone of Wu Xi’s voice. He hates it. He isn’t some kind of damsel in distress! He shouldn’t find that so attractive. 

“You can’t say that, it’s treason,” he quips under his breath to cover the flutter in his chest, then regrets it immediately because fuck, Wu Xi knows Helian Yi’s connections as well as anyone else, and it’s not like they hang around with that much other royalty, is it? 

“Him?” Wu Xi looks incredulous for a moment and then scoffs. 

Jing Beiyuan feels something approaching actual shame, for a moment. 

He already thought I was an unprofessional layabout. Now he thinks I’m the boss’ whore, too.

He closes his eyes for a moment to gather himself, bracing for impact, and when it doesn’t come he opens them again. Wu Xi is now peering at him so close he’s almost cross-eyed, leaning in enough that Jing Beiyuan can smell his expensive aftershave. 

“You deserve better,” he murmurs. 

Jing Beiyuan finds himself touched by the apparent sincerity of the words. He is also struggling to maintain his composure with Wu Xi standing so close against him; it’s hard to tell whether he’s intentionally trying to get a reaction out of him or is just tipsy and unaware of the effect he’s having on him. It’s probably some combination of the two. Whatever the reason, it is certainly having an effect. Jing Beiyuan feels an uncharacteristically animalistic urge to reach over and grab him by the hair, to bite his neck hard enough to leave a mark. 

He’s not yours, though, he reminds himself sternly, though his cock is half hard now and doing its best to make him forget. You’re only pretending to be together, and he’s been drinking. You may not do this.

Besides, the longer they spend together the more Jing Beiyuan realizes that Wu Xi was right to be leery. He’s gruff and usually about as charismatic as an ogre, yes, but it’s because underneath all that he’s so honest and kind and truly sincere he’d be flayed alive if he didn’t stay on the defensive. He doesn’t need someone as bitter and jaded as Jing Beiyuan around, tainting him.

"I really don’t. Now I know you're drunk,” he dismisses Wu Xi with a roll of his eyes, playing up his irritation to hide his own desire. He steps away and goes to sit on the end of the bed across the room.

"No! I think so all the time. You just don’t pay attention."

Fuck, you can’t just go around telling me things like that. 

Undeterred, Wu Xi comes to sit next to him, close enough that Jing Beiyuan can feel the heat of his thighs. He wants to reach out and run a hand along the muscle. He sees Wu Xi’s hand twitch toward his.

Fuck, no, I can’t do this. No more.

He gets up and runs away. 

*********

Jing Beiyuan hides out in the hotel bar until it’s time to sneak into Liao Zhendong’s suite that night to retrieve the files. 

This isn’t the first time he has run away from Wu Xi. The first time was much worse, actually, and involved Wu Xi catching him drunk as a skunk in his private office one night, in the hours following the fallout of the infamous Jiang Operation earlier that year.  

The mission had been a success, technically, but the casualties were tragically high; a truly upsetting number of innocents had died, whole families including small children. The cost of their success had been unbelievably dear – too dear, in the opinion of many involved, most notably Liang Jiuxiao, junior agent and Zhou Zishu’s foster brother. 

Jiuxiao had been assigned as a bodyguard for one of the dead families and had gotten too close to them sometime during his months-long undercover stint. He couldn’t see the big picture, national security, the countless future lives they’d managed to save during the bloody sting operation. All he could see was the broken body of a four year old girl that he’d been playing with the day before, lying cold on the ground. 

Jiuxiao’s merciless excoriation had shaken Zhou Zishu to the core. Children should be sticky with ice cream, after all, not blood. 

In the end Zhou Zishu, realizing that his own judgment was hopelessly compromised, came to the Strategy Department seeking help. Jing Beiyuan had never seen tears in his agent’s eyes before that night. It made something ugly twist inside his heart, made him wonder for the first time whether it was actually worth it, the violent work they did. 

But Jing Beiyuan shoved his doubts aside and handled the situation, making the necessary threats to keep Jiuxiao’s mouth shut, quietly desperate to make him understand. If he didn’t stop threatening to leak the details, to go to the press, they’d have to kill him, and Jing Beiyuan couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted to do less than ordering the death of Zhou Zishu’s brother. So he made his threats and prayed to whoever might be listening that they were enough, then offered what comfort he could to Zhou Zishu before sending him home with Ping’an in tow to make sure he arrived safely. 

It was twenty minutes later that Wu Xi found him sprawled drunk and exhausted across his own desk and silently capped his whisky bottle.

For a while he just stood there, staring. Well, if he’s going to be a judgemental prick, Jing Beiyuan had thought bitterly at the time, I suppose it’s high time I gave him something to be legitimately judgemental about. 

He braced himself for it: drunk on the clock, consuming liquids around sensitive electronics and tech projects, failure to submit a timely mission report, whatever it could be. But Wu Xi didn’t scold. 

“Let me bring you home with me,” was what he finally said, after a long silence. “I think you shouldn’t be alone right now.” 

Jing Beiyuan was too deep in his cups at the time to find the offer strange. But he didn’t want kindness right then. 

“No,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

Wu Xi sighed, and it sounded sad.

“Okay,” he conceded softly. “I’ll drive you to your place, then. I saw Ping’an on his way out. He asked me to tell you that The Director was looking for you, and that, ‘neither of you will be happy if he finds you like this.’”

Ping’an, you idiot. You could have sent literally any other agent and it would have been better than this. He already thinks I’m an unprofessional mess, you’re just making things worse. 

Still, the reproach never came. Without another word, Wu Xi brought him home, saw him inside, and left. They had never mentioned that evening again.

*********

When Jing Beiyuan finally returns to the room Wu Xi is mercifully sober and as tight-lipped as normal once again. Jing Beiyuan might even think he had hallucinated their entire heart to heart, if it weren’t for the small, worried frown lingering between Wu Xi’s eyebrows -– worried for their new and delicate professional rapport, as well as for Jing Beiyuan’s safety. 

Good. This can just be one more thing we don’t talk about.

“It should be me, going in,” Wu Xi says quietly as he tightens the straps on Jing Beiyuan’s bullet proof vest.

But despite Wu Xi’s fretting, Jing Beiyuan has to be the one to infiltrate because they only have a five minute window between security sweeps, and Jing Beiyuan is the only one of them who can crack a safe of this caliber in that time.

Unfortunately, though, Wu Xi’s worries are grounded in reality. In the end, Jing Beiyuan is not stealthy enough to get in and out without being noticed, and clumsily trips a silent alarm during his hasty retreat. It isn’t really his fault; he simply isn’t trained for this.

Fuck. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? Jing Beiyuan thinks in the back of his mind as he stands frozen like a deer in headlights while Zhou Zishu tries to find him a path out that won’t get him shot in the head. He forgot to account for adrenaline, in all his careful plans. Getting into the safe with the backup drive should have been a piece of cake for someone with his level of expertise, but with shaking hands and a thundering pulse, it had simply taken too long. 

And now he’s trapped. 

Compounding the issue, Zhou Zishu isn't able to intercede fast enough to keep Liao Zhendong’s security team from coming to investigate. Neither of them are performing their typical duties today, and unfortunately, it shows.

“Get me out of here, Zishu,” Jing Beiyuan urges softly, heart in his throat as he hears the ‘cleaning staff’ rattling the outer door. This particular cleaning staff is heavily armed. 

Suddenly the door to the adjoining suite opens. Jing Beiyuan gasps in alarm verging on panic as he’s hauled inside. He falls into a defensive stance, arms up by his face, fully expecting to be punched, shot, or otherwise impaired. He is not expecting what actually happens, which is to be thrown against the wall and soundly kissed before the doors of each side of the suite even have time to swing shut behind him. 

It’s Wu Xi, he processes slowly as his mind catches up with reality. But… how? Why? 

His mind is reeling. It’s not just a kiss, either. Wu Xi is dragging his shirt tails out of his trousers, tangling fingers in his hair, and bodily hauling him up to pin him against the wall. He drags Jing Beiyuan’s thighs up, urging him to wrap his legs around Wu Xi’s powerful, muscular waist – a waist which is hot to the touch, because the man is apparently a living furnace, and his own shirt is partially unbuttoned, riding up enough that Jing Beiyuan’s legs are wrapped around his bare skin.

Jing Beiyuan slides his hands across Wu Xi’s back to pull him closer, feeling the muscles of his shoulders ripple under his palms as they move. He takes a second to be furiously annoyed at Wu Xi’s bullet proof vest, for getting in the way of his exploration.

Fuck. Bullet proof vest. He’s… this is a cover, Jing Beiyuan realizes more slowly than he should, he’s making sure they don’t find who broke in. It’s not real. It’s a distraction.

To his body, though, which hasn’t been manhandled like this in a while – possibly ever, it feels real enough. Too real.

Wu Xi puts his hands under Jing Beiyuan’s thighs and lifts him higher, leaning down to mouth at his jaw and throat. Jing Beiyuan lets his head loll back against the cool wall and moans, which he would normally find mortifying. But lost in the moment he doesn’t even notice until it’s out of his mouth, and once it happens he can’t actually find the will to care. Wu Xi lets out a breathless snarl of a noise before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh along the side of Jing Beiyuan’s neck.

Jing Beiyuan hisses more in shock than pain, then grabs Wu Xi by the scalp with one hand, dragging his head up to stare into his dark eyes.

“Down, puppy,” he growls back.

Wu Xi’s eyes flash in challenge and the simmering arousal in the pit of Jing Beiyuan’s belly ignites like a grease fire. He closes the space between them in a kiss before he can hear whatever infuriating retort the disagreeable bastard might have. They both moan into each other's mouths as they lean into another wet, messy kiss.

Liao Zhendong’s security team bursts into the room moments later and finds what certainly appears to be the occupants of the suite tangled in an extremely intimate, passionate embrace. They have no immediate way of knowing they aren’t the right occupants, and whoever is staying here certainly has enough money to ruin their lives for this intrusion, so as soon as they take in the scene they retreat with extreme haste. 

Fucking amateurs.

If he were their boss Jing Beiyuan would eviscerate the entire team for fleeing the scene before getting positive visual confirmation that he and Wu Xi weren’t who they were looking for. But they’re not his men, they’re the enemy, and their incompetence means that he and Wu Xi are safe for the moment, at least comparatively. But Jing Beiyuan’s heart is still in his throat. This was too close a call, in more ways than one.

Wu Xi slowly, gently, lets Jing Beiyuan slide down the wall until his feet touch the ground, legs trembling.

Over the comm, Zhou Zishu lets out a low, appreciative whistle.

They’re panting against each other, Jing Beiyuan is sure Wu Xi can feel how hard he is. He feels a fresh rush of desire when he realizes Wu Xi is no better off. 

I guess we’ve moved past him hating me, at least. He may think I’m unprofessional, but at least he can think I'm unprofessional and also hot.

Jing Beiyuan’s mouth waters with an urgent desire to see Wu Xi’s cock, to know if it’s as thick and sturdy as it feels, and as well put together as the rest of him. He’s going to die from arousal and embarrassment. 

Wu Xi pulls himself together first, stepping back slowly and sheepishly buttoning his shirt again. He reaches out to correct the mess he’s made of Jing Beiyuan’s hair with a shy grimace.

“Thank you,” Jing Beiyuan smiles, sincerely this time. Wu Xi smiles back. 

At least they achieved the objective. He’s cloned the backup drive onto a thumb drive of his own, which he stashes in a special clip compartment on the back of his belt buckle as they hastily retreat back to their room. He thought this particular device to be absolutely absurd when Ping’an created it, and remembers being a bit of an imperious dick about it. 

“Remind me to give Ping’an a raise.” 

“What?

“Nevermind.”

Wu Xi takes a deep, steadying breath. “Are you ready?”

Jing Beiyuan nods.

They have to go back out to the party, make sure to be seen as guests and engage with other partygoers to avoid suspicion. They leave themselves a little mussed -– if they do need an additional alibi for their whereabouts this evening, it’s as plausible a reason as any that they slipped away for a clandestine fuck. 

Slowly, Jing Beiyuan’s heart rate slows, and his breathing returns to normal. He finishes another gimlet before reaching out to Zhou Zishu to take stock of the situation.

But there’s no answer. The comms are silent. 

Jing Beiyuan curses under his breath. He’d been hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Wu Xi takes a moment to discreetly test his own earpiece, then reaches out and gives Jing Beiyuan’s hand a quick light series of taps in morse code: No signal. 

He’s figured it out too.

They walk back to the bar, listening and piecing together what has happened from the rest of the gossiping guests: there was a break-in… it’s not certain what was stolen… highly classified information… locked down until they have answers… stay downstairs while upstairs is checked for any unsavory types… safety of their guests is the highest priority… free champagne and refunds for all those inconvenienced… 

It appears that Wu Xi and Jing Beiyuan’s identities are safe, but since the disturbance has not gone unnoticed the hotel has been locked down according to Liao Zhendong’s standard security protocols: no people in or out, no cellular signal in or out, not a damn thing –- physical or digital -– is allowed to leave the property that isn’t via the front door or the hotel’s (extremely insecure, highly monitored) wireless network. Their surveillance equipment will be useless now. The lockdown also means Zhou Zishu is out for the duration, since all wireless signals have been cut off.

They’ve all been asked to stay in the ballroom until the security sweep is done, so Jing Beiyuan spends the rest of the evening draped on Wu Xi’s arm like it’s his job (well, today it literally is), a boneless, frivolous twink – a trophy husband. Flying under the radar just got ten times more important, after all. And if Jing Beiyuan has other reasons for wanting to keep a big, strong, protective agent close by, no one else has to know that.

He can’t stop thinking about the kiss. And the everything else.

Wu Xi seems amused and vaguely annoyed at his vapid chattering, asking, “Do you have to talk so much nonsense all the damn time?” 

His lips are still swollen from… yeah. 

“No, not all the time.” 

Only when he’s scared out of his mind and wants to fuck so bad he can’t think straight. 

*********

The end of the evening still doesn’t bring relief. Their hotel room is almost certainly bugged and monitored now. It’s what Jing Beiyuan would do, if his people were here on the defensive side of the operation and all of the suspects had been occupied in a ballroom for multiple hours for a security sweep. So before they’ve even toed off their shoes he drags Wu Xi by his tie to the bathroom to talk. He curses under his breath when he notifies a camera there too.

The perverts.  

He signals discreetly to Wu Xi that they’ve got eyes on them and have to stay in character. He turns on the shower to better mask the noise of their whispers.

Quietly, murmuring like lovers they check in, forming plans in between caresses and nibbles and gentle kisses along their throats. It’s enough to drive a man insane. 

Protocol says Zhou Zishu will infiltrate with reinforcements in 24 hours, unless he gets word not to. He’s probably already coordinating the team. 

So, for their part, the best thing to do is play along as though nothing is amiss until they get sprung. Try to fly under the radar and keep their cover stories intact. With a little luck they can hopefully also gather more usable information between now and then.  

“So we keep doing this,” Jing Beiyuan whispers into the shell of Wu Xi’s ear, trailing a teasing finger down the column of his neck.

Wu Xi nods, wide eyed and flushed from the attention. Fuck, it’s adorable. Jing Beiyuan kisses him. (For the cameras. Obviously.)

“You go ahead and shower. I’ll go to bed,” Wu Xi murmurs softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair out of Jing Beiyuan’s face.

At least he’s the one to run away this time. Jing Beiyuan finds that imminently satisfying; he’s tired of feeling wrong footed. 

For a few minutes he paces back and forth like a caged animal, then sighs heavily. He’s wound as tight as a bow string, shaking a little with adrenaline and nerves and unsatisfied arousal. He really should do something about it before he loses his mind.

He gets in the shower (no cameras in there, at least) and finally stops denying himself. 

He takes his cock in hand, squeezing it firmly at the base while a collage of fragmented fantasies of Wu Xi dance across the backs of his eyelids. The images range in tone from in-character and frighteningly domestic, to the nearly violent hate sex of combative coworkers. That doesn’t surprise him – the “fucking” and “fighting” wires have always been a bit crossed, in his brain.

His erection is so hard it hurts. He feels like it’s been hard all day as he begins to move his hand in tight, twisting strokes, eyes closed and brows knit together. The flesh is hot to the touch, red and swollen in anger being so long denied. He fantasizes about whether Wu Xi has ever been fucked before. About how it would be to take him, for his first time. His body thrills at the idea, imagining the shocked look of outrage on his face at Jing Beiyuan’s audacity. He wants to feel Wu Xi’s nails digging into his back, drawing blood as he sinks into the heat of his body, filling him up with the hard, throbbing cock that was now leaking precum over the edges of his fingers.

Jing Beiyuan takes in a shuddering breath, shocked at how quickly he feels the tingling approach of his orgasm on the horizon of his awareness. What sends him over the edge, surrendering to the earth-shattering impact of a shuddering climax, is the image of Wu Xi impaled on his cock, head thrown back, crying out, flushed and lost to sensation as he spasms and pulses around Jing Beiyuan’s hard, swollen length.

Jing Beiyuan comes with a desperate moan muffled only by hastily shoving a white-knuckled fist against his gaping mouth. He erupts over his own fist and white ribbons of cum splattered against the glistening, wet tiles of the shower wall.

Fucking hell. I’m in so much trouble.

Chapter Text

Wu Xi’s resume (only about 30% embellished, actually) greatly impresses Liao Zhendong, so he gets invited to discuss the terms of employment with Liao Labs and take a closer look at their operations “to see if it’s a good fit.” Jing Beiyuan outfits him with glasses containing a camera to snap photos using a pocket-sized remote control (disguised as a cigarette lighter), and instructs him that he’ll need to stay still for a whole second to capture a non-blurry image. 

Jing Beiyuan tries not to fret, sending Wu Xi out into the field with no backup in his ear, to a facility more than an hour away on unmarked roads. He treats himself to a massage and a sauna. The day still goes by at a snail’s pace.

Wu Xi comes back to the place at the end of the day looking exhausted, with a full data card of photos on the glasses. Careful to mind the security cameras that are watching, Jing Beiyuan takes the frames off Wu Xi’s face and lightly kisses his nose, setting the frames aside on top of their discreet charging pad, which is programmed to pull the data onto his nearby tablet.

They curl up together on the bed like they’re watching a movie on the tablet, whispering observations into each others’ ears. 

The grim expression on Wu Xi’s face only gets darker as they start parsing out what the glimpses of data he’s gathered from carelessly attended computer displays and clipboards actually mean. He is tense, struggling to stay in character as he growls in Jing Beiyuan’s ear, “You can’t feed this cocktail of chemicals to a human being! You can’t dress that up as an experiment, it’s torture. If this is any indication of the work they’re doing, the people he’s taken aren’t even being treated as well as lab rats.”

His skin is grey. He looks broken, a bit.

“What is the end game?” Jing Beiyuan asks, unsure how to navigate this black mood. He reaches up to card his fingers through Wu Xi’s hair and tells himself it’s for the cameras.

“No ends could justify these means,” Wu Xi says bitterly, closing his eyes and leaning slightly into Jing Beiyuan’s touch.

Jing Beiyuan rolls his eyes. 

How did you become a government spy and an assassin and manage to stay this naïve?

“You’d be surprised what people are willing to do if it saves the lives of enough children,” he says, unable to keep the weariness from his own tone now. Their own Ministry has done quite a lot of grey hat work over the years, in the name of the greater good. 

Wu Xi blinks and looks terribly sad, then goes cold again. 

“This work isn’t helping anyone,” he sighs. “This is a for-profit venture, and if everything I’m inferring here is right, it’s military -– biological warfare.”

Jing Beiyuan gives a wolfish grin and leans in to kiss an incongruously gentle kiss on Wu Xi’s forehead. “Then it’s good we’re here to burn this place to the ground.”

Wu Xi startles a little at the kiss, then smiles. It’s yet another new, different smile, cruel and vicious. “Let’s get the bastards,” he purrs, like a jungle cat. 

Of all Wu Xi’s smiles, Jing Beiyuan might like this one best of all.

*********

At some point later in the evening Wu Xi mentions that the lab he was in has a network closet, and Jing Beiyuan stops him. 

“What? That wasn’t on the schematics.”

He gestures discreetly at the screen. 

“This door. The one with the access control scanner. Isn’t this storage for chemicals? Our notes said cold storage.”

Wu Xi shakes his head, eyes going a bit far away as he backtracks through his day. 

“No, there are two other storage units for that. We accessed them both, they were bragging about the state-of-the-art climate control capabilities. And this space isn’t refrigerated, it’s just a room.”

“You’re right. The blueprints are marked up for extra ventilation and cooling here. It definitely looks like a network closet. What if… what if we were being too literal when we did recon the first time? What if ‘cold storage’ just means archived data?”

After a little digging they confirm that there is indeed an additional server, one not networked to the rest of the facility. It can only be accessed in this particular lab, which only has one door in or out.

Jing Beiyuan gets excited despite himself. Archives of all past projects could be extremely valuable, highly incriminating. 

“It will be nearly impossible to gain access without being noticed,” Jing Beiyuan concedes, “and we’ll have to go tonight, after hours, if we want to take care of this before Zishu comes to pick us up. It’s reckless. The timeline doesn’t leave us enough time to properly plan, but… I really want to take these bastards out.” 

Wu Xi’s eyes flash as he agrees. “Let’s do it.”

After a quick room service dinner, they suit up in dark sweaters and jeans, chatting idly for the surveillance about how nice the hotel bar is and how much Jing Beiyuan wants to taste their new seasonal menu. He rambles amiably as he copies all the files they’ve gathered onto a small hard drive which he pockets as he wipes his computer. They won’t be coming back here, most likely. 

By the time they’re shoving ski masks and gloves in their sweater pockets. Jing Beiyuan is feeling nervous, but looking at Wu Xi’s back muscles ripple as he changes into a black turtleneck, he can’t help but feel a little excited, too. This is real field work, after all. This is what he’s been wanting to do for years. And it turns out that field work with Wu Xi is sort of wonderful, actually. Who could have seen that coming?

They’ve been monitoring the security patrol patterns for long enough that it’s relatively easy to slip into a service hallway with patchy CCTV coverage, and from there into the hotel’s garage.

Wu Xi deftly hotwires a motorcycle belonging to one of the other conference guests rather than going to their own car – the more they can throw security off their scent and confuse things, the better.

Jing Beiyuan hasn’t been on a motorcycle in nearly a decade, and he forgot how exhilarating it can be. He’s a little disappointed that the tense, life threatening situation they’re in is preventing him from enjoying it more – the rush of the wind past his ears, chapping his cheeks and rustling the hairs that have managed to escape the confines of his knit cap. And then, of course, there’s the warm, solid body he’s holding. Wu Xi’s heat is a delicious contrast to the chill of the mountain air, Jing Beiyuan can feel it radiating through all of their layers. He tries and fails not to think of Wu Xi’s toned, muscular thighs as his own legs cling to them, and of how good it feels to have him pulled so close, arms wrapped tight around his waist.

“Hold on,” Wu Xi calls over his shoulder as they approach a particularly treacherous turn. Jing Beiyuan is more than happy to oblige, sliding his arms tighter and hooking his chin over Wu Xi’s shoulder. He sighs happily, letting his face relax into a smile as they clear the turn and Wu Xi accelerates again.

He must be absolutely insane, considering the circumstances. But for one long, beautiful moment, driving fast through the gorgeous, snowy mountains, wrapped around the solid body of a beautiful, deadly man, Jing Beiyuan feels completely and utterly at peace.

*********

They get into the lab easily, which is unfortunately a red flag rather than a sign of good luck. 

“If it’s this easy to get in the front door, there’s bound to be a silent alarm,” Wu Xi frets. “They already know we’re here.”

“I’m not a trainee, you know,” Jing Beiyuan huffs at him to hide his own nerves, “you don’t need to spell it out for me like I’m an idiot.”

“Mmm,” Wu Xi hums noncommittally as they walk through the darkened halls in search of the correct room. ”Of course you’re right. Anyone as smart as you would find that obvious.” 

The words sound pretty but entirely insincere, bordering on dismissive. Jing Beiyuan narrows his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, wait. Did you just, ‘yes dear,’ me?”

Wu Xi turns to meet his eyes. “I’ve heard it’s the best way to deal with an angry wife,” he deadpans.

Jing Beiyuan exclaims, “Wife?! I swear to you I’ll—“

“Shh,” Wu Xi cuts him off. “We’re here. Get to work.”

Jing Beiyuan glares, but complies, disabling the mag lock and slipping inside the lab. He does the same to override the code to the network closet door while Wu Xi stands guard in the hallway. 

They manage to download all the information in record time thanks to a prototype Jing Beiyuan’s department recently invented for file transfers, but they aren’t able to pack up and leave before security comes in. 

Wu Xi fights off four of the six men with relative ease, mostly because they’re in the lab. With this many volatile substances in the vicinity they’re hesitant to shoot, and Wu Xi’s specialty is hand to hand. By the time he grabs Jing Beiyuan’s arm and they make a break for the door, they only have two more guards in pursuit.

Jing Beiyuan neutralizes one of the remaining brutes (with a hastily grabbed stapler thrown at his head hard enough to fell him), but gets shot in the process. A searing bolt of white heat lances through his left shoulder, punching the air out of him. His face contorts around a silent scream.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I forgot how bad that hurts.

Out of nowhere, Wu Xi lets out an animalistic roar and rushes at the final guard, pinning him to the ground and snapping his neck with a sickening crack. He grabs Jing Beiyuan’s good arm and gestures at the door. Without pausing for breath they run to the main exit, where they enjoy a moment of relative calm before reinforcements arrive. 

Wu Xi immediately starts fretting and tries to make Jing Beiyuan sit down to let him assess the injury, but Jing Beiyuan shakes him off. 

His shoulder stings like fire, but even he can tell it isn’t bad enough to take priority over their escape.

“It isn’t serious, leave it for now,” he says, swatting at Wu Xi like a fly with his good hand, “and get that door unlocked.”

Wu Xi, the mother hen, won’t be deterred. He insists on confirming that the shot is through and through and slapping a temporary field dressing on it. 

Of course he’s the kind of man to carry disinfectant spray and bandages with him everywhere he goes, Jing Beiyuan thinks, amused. He’s grateful for it, though, and even more grateful for the injection of pain killers Wu Xi gives him to reduce the throbbing.

When Wu Xi finally gets to work on the door, he makes quick work of it. When he’s done he taps the wall and says, “Let’s move, we have to get out before they ID your blood.” 

“That takes time, they’ll need to send it away.”

“This is a genetic testing lab, Beiyuan.”

Fuck. He’s right. 

Then they’re running again, making a mad dash to a nearby storage shed a few miles away, designated on their original mission file as the official emergency point of egress. The shed is a dilapidated wreck but inside there’s an old Jeep, most likely for a former groundskeeper to maintain the property. When the initial recon team came by, three months ago they had found the jeep and confirmed it still ran, then stashed a large duffel bag in a far corner of the shed in an old storage locker. The bag is full of MRE’s, a first aid kit, a nine millimeter Glock, an AR 7 semi automatic rifle, magazines for each -– a standard go-bag for missions gone wrong. Jing Beiyuan has stashed so many of these for his agents over the years he’s lost count, but he never thought he’d be so relieved to see one himself.

“I hope this heap can move fast enough to keep our distance,” Wu Xi says, brows knit, inspecting the dusty old vehicle.

“At least it isn’t a golf cart. Do you remember back in Lithuania–”

“Not now. Would you rather drive or shoot?”

Jing Beiyuan considers this for a moment. He’s pretty good with stunt driving, but worried about the old stick shift given his injury; it’s hard to drive a manual with only one hand. On the other hand, his shooting is on par with Zhou Zishu and all the other top agents’ scores, but only on the range. He’s never been in a position to use those skills in action. 

A sudden shooting pain through his wounded shoulder makes the decision for him, in the end. “Hand me the guns.”

He realizes as he’s loading the ammunition into his rifle that he’s never actually killed anyone before. Not like this, up close and personal. He’s done far worse, of course. The fellow inside with the head wound from that stapler surely won’t have anything nice to say about him tomorrow, if he lives through the night. And he’s dispassionately pushed buttons that did far more damage in the span of ten seconds than a tactical rifle could ever hope to match. But this feels more personal, somehow. Scarier. More human. 

He prays briefly to any deity that might be listening that he won’t balk when it comes time to pull the trigger, that he won’t get them both killed. 

It takes about four minutes for their assailants to catch up with them. 

It turns out killing people is shockingly easy when they’re trying to kill you right back.

Jing Beiyuan lets out a litany of expletives, heart pounding as a rain of gunshot hits the car, peppering the back windscreen with white spots. He takes out the driver of the pursuing vehicle, choking back a scream when the kickback from the shot digs the butt of the rifle right into his shoulder. He realizes he can’t do that again, then drops the rifle in favor of the pistol he’s tucked into his belt. He won’t have the same range as he would with a long distance weapon, but if he hits his bad shoulder again he’s worried he might pass out.

They keep driving.

They’re safe for a few moments, but then two more cars come careening down the hillside towards them.

“Fucking hell,” Jing Beiyuan growls, turning to Wu Xi as he checks the clip in the pistol, teeth clashing together as they plow through the rocky, snowy forest floor in search of the nearest road, “Is this what your missions are always like?” He’s a little dizzy. Hopefully, he thinks, from the knowledge that he’s been shot and the insane adrenaline levels he’s been sustaining, and not due to blood loss. 

“About average, I suppose,” Wu Xi answers, cool as a cucumber, swerving as the car hits a patch of ice and threatens for just a moment to hydroplane out of control. 

Jing Beiyuan slams into the wall of the car with his hip and hisses in pain. 

That’s gonna bruise. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a seatbelt?” Wu Xi scolds, earning himself a glare. 

“I’ve been a little preoccupied!” Jing Beiyuan retorts. “You could at least try to drive a bit less like a hooligan? Don’t you know anything about defensive driving?”

“The priority is keeping us out of killing range. What’s more defensive than that?”

That is perhaps a good point.

They keep driving.

Jing Beiyuan identifies a garage nearby where there should be a faster, safer car they can commandeer to get out of town. On the way there they manage to run one of their pursuers off the road and Jing Beiyuan successfully shoots the other. This time he can see the windscreen splattered in red, and he feels a bit sick. 

That nausea might also be a symptom of his own blood loss, actually. 

Hm. Not thinking about that.

Wu Xi pulls off the road as the car is about to run out of gas, and sets an explosive from the duffel bag under it, rigged to go off in 15 minutes once activated — it will draw everyone’s attention, giving them time to get out unnoticed. 

It’s starting to snow heavily now. This will make walking more challenging but it’s good, because it will cover their footprints. That, combined with the fact that the sun is setting, means the search for them won’t be able to begin in earnest until the following day. 

Jing Beiyuan, adrenaline spent, collapses embarrassingly to his knees. They only need to walk another half mile to get to the hotel, but he’s suddenly sure he can’t manage. He chokes back a frustrated groan. Why won’t his body just do what he needs it to do for a little longer? 

Maybe he’s right. You’re not cut out to be a field agent.

Wu Xi comes over to him, concerned. 

“Can you walk?”

“Why?” Jing Beiyuan asks bitterly, on the defensive from a combination of exhaustion and embarrassment, “are you going to shoot me like a lame horse?”

Wu Xi sighs, the fatigue evident in his voice, too. “Is everything that comes out of your mouth always bullshit, or is that just when you talk to me?”

Jing Beiyuan huffs and turns away, and then yelps in shock as Wu Xi picks him up bridal-style, paying careful attention to his wounded shoulder. Without another word, he starts walking towards the hotel.

“Good work today, Beiyuan,” he says softly. Like a secret. “We got the intel – and it’s more evidence than we could have ever hoped for. Also, I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”

“Well,” Jing Beiyuan huffs to cover the warm flutter in his belly, then clicks the trigger to start the timer on the bomb Wu Xi set under the car, “I guess someone has to.”

As a grown man and, technically speaking, Wu Xi’s superior at the Ministry, Jing Beiyuan should perhaps have been mortified to find himself carried like in Wu Xi’s arms through the snow and the underbrush. The pain makes him care less. It also makes him ramble. 

“What is this?” he demands after they’ve been walking for a long while. “Are you planning to carry me across the threshold like this? I’ll expect a proper wedding night, you know, if you keep treating me like some kind of blushing bride.”

He’s making a joke, or perhaps trying to get a rise out of Wu Xi, who is usually easy to torment. He is therefore unprepared for Wu Xi’s huff of amusement. 

“That can be arranged if you’re in any condition to enjoy it.”

Jing Beiyuan is spared from having to look Wu Xi in the face and form a reply to that by the sound of the bomb exploding in the distance. Aghast to find himself somehow feeling like the wrong-footed one, he falls silent. Weary and dizzy from blood loss, he lets his head drop onto the comfort of Wu Xi’s collarbone and tries to focus on how good his skin smells, instead of the pain shooting through his injured shoulder.

The walk is long, and it can’t be easy, but Wu Xi manages to carry him the whole way, only setting him down at the tree line when the lights of the hotel are just a few yards away.

Once Jing Beiyuan is on his feet and Wu Xi is satisfied that he’s not swaying too obviously, they take a quick moment to wipe the worst of the grime off of their faces, to straighten their clothes the best they can. Thankfully, everything they're wearing is black, and no one is bleeding from their face or hands. At first glance they look rumpled, but not necessarily battered.

Wu Xi gently removes Jing Beiyuan’s ruined jacket and discards it, then drapes Jing Beiyuan in his own coat instead.

“Walk slowly and hold onto me,” he instructs. “You only need to make it into the lobby and then you can sit again. If you feel dizzy, just pretend you’re drunk. You’ve got plenty of practice, after all.” 

Jing Beiyuan starts to be vocally affronted at the jab, but as he starts to walk the world lurches and all that comes out of his mouth is a helpless whimper. He stumbles into Wu Xi, pathetically grateful for the warm, strong arm that comes to circle around his waist, pulling him tight against his body. He throws his good arm over Wu Xi’s shoulders and follows instructions without another word, letting his head list and doing his best to smile like he’s over-indulged and needs to get to bed. 

This hotel was selected as their safehouse for the mission due to its relative proximity to the conference. It isn’t as opulent as the one they were staying in for the conference, but it’s comfortable enough, and the staff is warm and friendly, eager to help two young newlyweds get situated. At the desk, a suitcase is waiting for them under the name of Wu Xi’s secondary alias, with clothes, a new alias for Jing Beiyuan, and new phones. A porter assists with the bag while Wu Xi helps Jing Beiyuan to their room. 

Their new phones have a pair of incoming messages already waiting when they’re powered up. Helian Yi’s reports that the ministry will be onsite tomorrow to clean up at the conference, and that their flight home is in four days on a commercial airline. 

Zhou Zishu’s message assures them he’s safely out of harm’s way and asks them to confirm the same, before following up for any additional intel they can share.

Wu Xi is typing out a response to Zhou Zishu when Jing Beiyuan says, “I think I need to lie down.”

“Beiyuan?!”

Don’t worry , he wants to say, but the words catch in the back of his throat like they’re too thick, making his head swim. He thinks he hears Wu Xi make a distressed sound next to him.

The world goes black.

*********

Jing Beiyuan awakens slowly, disoriented. His head is pounding, but he opens his eyes and finds himself greeted by the sight of Wu Xi looming over him, wide eyed with worry. 

“You can’t die,” Wu Xi whispers softly. He looks so young it’s almost disturbing. “Not now.”

“Okay,” Jing Beiyuan agrees softly, placating. What else can he say? It’s not like it’s up to him.

“You passed out -– there was so much blood. I-–” 

Jing Beiyuan reaches out a hand, Wu Xi holds it hard enough to bruise.

“I’m fine, Wu Xi. I just got knocked around, maybe a little perforated –- there’s no need to be upset. You should save your tears for someone you actually like.”

It is an admittedly poor attempt at self-deprecating humor, but Jing Beiyuan thinks the circumstances are understandable. He is unprepared for how Wu Xi’s eyes flash with something close to rage.

“What are you saying? I can’t take more of your bullshit right now. Why is it so shocking that your death would upset me? Why do you think so little of me?” Wu Xi asks, as though there’s a dam breaking somewhere inside him, sending the words rushing out of his mouth.

“Besides your brutish tendency for destruction, violence, and scathing judgment?” Jing Beiyuan tries and fails to keep his voice light and flippant. Then he sighs. He’s actually had too long of a day to handle keeping up his carefree act. “You’ve always disliked me. It’s only natural that I’d be a bit defensive, isn’t it?”

“What?” Wu Xi looks completely confused.

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” Jing Beiyuan asks, unsure where the disconnect is happening here. “Come on, we’re both adults. I know you could barely stand me before this week. It’s fine. It doesn’t have to affect our professional relationship. I feel like we’ve done well this week, actually. We’ve been able to move through some of it.” 

Wu Xi shakes his head in disbelief, lets out a huff that sounds almost like a laugh. “You’re so smart, how are you being so stupid right now? Is this an effect of the blood loss?”

“Look, I -–” Jing Beiyuan cuts himself off. Something in Wu Xi’s eyes makes him pause and reconsider. “You don’t hate me,” he says after a long moment. It’s not really a question. 

“I don’t hate you,” Wu Xi confirms. “I’d love to strangle you. But I don’t hate you.

“Get in line! I’m very annoying. Everyone wants to strangle me.”

“Not everyone. Only the people who care.” 

“... Oh.”

He’d never expected Wu Xi to be on the list of people who cared. Especially after…

“I saw the review you gave of my department when you transferred in,” he says aloud, meeting Wu Xi’s eyes again cautiously. “I couldn’t figure it out… what was I supposed to think?”

“Oh.” It’s Wu Xi’s turn to look embarrassed. He pauses and takes a deep breath, then says softly, “Snap judgements are good in the field. They’re necessary in surgery. They’re not always good for office politics. I did say those things. I was wrong though, you’re brilliant and your gadgets are incredible. It’s just… I’m a doctor, a biologist, and a martial artist, but I’m not used to all that, all the high tech equipment and automation. I was intimidated, and I’ve never really trusted that tech will be there for me when I need it, that I can make it all work properly. So I made it clear I didn’t think I needed it.”

“You could just ask for a lesson.”

Wu Xi has the grace to look sheepish. “But then you’d think I was stupid. I wanted to impress you.” 

Oh god, he’s an idiot . Jing Beiyuan’s heart is in his throat. We’re both complete idiots, actually.

“And now?” he asks softly, feeling almost shy.

“Now I have…” Wu Xi clears his throat and looks away, a charming blush warming just the tips of his ears. “Now I have reassessed the intel. I’ve reexamined the evidence. I don’t hate you. After investigation, I think you don’t hate me either. Can you… review the mission files and confirm?”

Jing Beiyuan gives him a soft, indulgent look.

“Your intel is good, agent.”

Wu Xi smiles, and no, this one – this smile is the most beautiful thing Jing Beiyuan has ever seen.

Wu Xi sits there perfectly still for a long, long moment. Jing Beiyuan’s pulse is racing and there’s a tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with his injury. He feels frozen to the spot. Scrutinized. Flayed open to be examined under a microscope. 

“Say something…” Wu Xi whispers, voice shaky. “Please.”

“Tell me again,” Jing Beiyuan demands softly.

“I don’t hate you,” Wu Xi replies immediately, eyes sparking. 

Jing Beiyuan pulls himself to sit up so that he can meet Wu Xi’s eyes properly. He takes a deep breath, preparing to speak, but he’s still working on the first syllable when Wu Xi reaches for him, cradling his face between those strong, callused hands like something precious or a particularly rare specimen in his lab. 

Jing Beiyuan feels his face flush under the scrutiny as one of Wu Xi’s hands moves to brush his hair away from his eyes. The other hand slides down to his jaw and tightens, just a little. Wu Xi doesn’t miss the hitch in Jing Beiyuan’s breath when he does that. 

Nervous, impatient, Jing Beiyuan licks his lips. Wu Xi’s eyes flicker down, and he seems utterly riveted by the small movement. Jing Beiyuan feels like he might die if the tension doesn’t break soon.

“What are you wait—“

Quick as a cobra, Wu Xi darts forward and kisses him. Jing Beiyuan leans into it, melting against him with a soft moan, stretching up to reach for Wu Xi’s shoulders, pulling him down to the level of the bed. 

He licks urgently at Wu Xi’s bottom lip, asking permission. Let me in. Wu Xi does with a soft moan, the hand he’d used a moment ago to straighten Jing Beiyuan’s hair now makes a mess of it, fingers tangled against his scalp. Jing Beiyuan can’t keep in his whimper as his body responds, tingling and urgent. Wu Xi hums his pleasure as Jing Beiyuan explores his mouth, slowly, gently. Then takes his own turn to do the same. 

Jing Beiyuan’s body is warm and restless. He wants more. He wants .

Pressing forward slowly, exploring, he tries to deepen the kiss. 

Wu Xi shakes his head, pulling back. “You’re in no shape for that.” His voice is gratifyingly hoarse, filled with regret. 

Jing Beiyuan whines in protest.

Wu Xi makes a frustrated noise, but he is unyielding. “I don’t want to hurt you… your shoulder. We shouldn’t go to the hospital but will you at least let me look you over? It needs to be treated properly.”

“Are you telling me you want to play doctor?” Jing Beiyuan leers, raising an eyebrow suggestively. 

Wu Xi rolls his eyes. “You and your nonsense. Shirt off.”

Jing Beiyuan undresses slowly, and he’d like to say it’s because he's being seductive but the reality is that the painkillers Wu Xi gave him back at the lab are wearing off and even the motion of shrugging his shirt off his shoulders is almost unbearable. Wu xi makes a disapproving noise at Jing Beiyuan’s hiss of discomfort and comes to his assistance. His proximity as he carefully, gently removes the shirt and undershirt makes Jing Beiyuan’s pulse flutter in spite of the pain. 

“Sit,” Wu Xi instructs, gesturing towards the bed. He seems totally professional, except for a glimmer of anticipation in his dark eyes.

Jing Beiyuan complies, his breathing harder than it should be. He feels unaccountably nervous, and embarrassed for being flustered. He’s always hated being perceived as weak.

Wu Xi’s first touch makes him forget all that.

He begins at the base of Jing Beiyuan’s throat, where a contusion is forming, most likely from the kickback of that rifle. It doesn’t hurt much yet, but it’s tender, and Wu Xi’s gentle fingers make him shiver. For a minute he thinks Wu Xi might kiss him again and he wants it so badly it makes his breath catch. He closes his eyes and swallows, lips parting on a soft gasp, but there’s no kiss forthcoming, and Wu Xi’s caress moves down his chest instead, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He removes the hastily applied field dressing and applies disinfectant and a clean bandage, so gently Jing Beiyuan doesn’t even flinch from discomfort. 

“What’s the prognosis doctor?” he asks when he’s handed a fist full of pills and a glass of water. His own voice is low and heated.

“Hard to say. I haven’t finished my research.” He kneels on the ground between Jing Beiyuan’s knees and trails fingers along his ribs, stopping to rub a topical analgesic into every mark and bruise he finds along the way.

When he gets to Jing Beiyuan’s waistband he pauses, looking up for permission, which he receives with an enthusiastic nod.

Jing Beiyuan is breathless with anticipation as Wu Xi helps slide his pants under his hips and down his legs, resuming his careful examination of the exposed skin. As Wu Xi massages the pain reliever into the bruise on his thigh, he lets out a shaky breath. He’s hard now, and there’s no hope of hiding it. Not that he wants to.

“How’s your research coming along?” he purrs, aiming for a teasing lilt rather than the breathless nervousness he’s feeling and almost, almost achieving it.

“Results inconclusive,” Wu Xi says with a tiny, mischievous smile, gazing up at him with dark, hungry eyes. “I need to keep the patient for observation.” 

“For how long?”

“For as long as he’ll have me.”

Oh.

Something clicks in Jing Beiyuan’s head. Wu Xi seems so vulnerable right now, for the first time. He looks beautiful like this. 

Then he’s reaching for Wu Xi, dragging him up for a kiss with his good arm, then pawing at him clumsily, moaning into his mouth. He’s scrabbling to liberate his shirt from his trousers, increasingly desperate for the feeling of skin on skin when he hears the click of an epipen, followed by a quick sting on the back of his neck. 

That isn’t an epipen. 

Jing Beiyuan reels back, unable to keep the shock and betrayal off his face. “You bastard. Did you just tranq me?!? I designed that pen! You hated that pen! I’ve been attacked by a weapon i fucking designed, that you swore was useless.”

He tries to glare but he’s already too woozy.

Wu Xi smirks. “Rest. I’ll still be here when you wake.”

I’ll kill you when I wake, you bastard, he thinks, but he doesn’t get the words out before sleep pulls him under.

Chapter Text

Jing Beiyuan floats back to consciousness slowly. At first he is only aware that he is warm, and that he feels safe. He’s happy, disinclined to rouse himself the rest of the way to consciousness. Why would he ever want to move, when he’s so cozy? But then he feels a hand touch his face.

“Wake up, Beiyuan.”

Oh. Right.

The warm happiness is abruptly tainted by the memory of how he’d come to be asleep in the first place.

Wu Xi steps away briefly, returning with a stethoscope and a glass of water. 

Jing Beiyuan scowls at him through half-opened eyes. “You’re a bastard.” 

“You like that in a man,” Wu Xi replies mildly. His words are blithe but he does have the good sense to look a little guilty as Jing Beiyuan gulps down the water, glaring daggers the whole time.

“But seriously,” Jing Beiyuan pressed, “what the hell was that for?”

“It was for your own good.”

“That is not for you to decide!”

“Is it not?” Wu Xi cocks his head, inquisitive. Jing Beiyuan finds himself unaccountably flustered. His pulse speeds up. He should be offended by this entitled, presumptuous behavior. But he’s had a lifetime to learn that pretty much all of his kinks are problematic. Why should this feel any different? 

Wu Xi moves closer to check his vitals. The stethoscope is cold, but his fingertips are hot. The butterflies pick up their activity in Jing Beiyuan’s belly.

The whole experience is tenser and more charged than it has any business being. And it’s not just him. Wu Xi honest-to-god blushes when he slides the thermometer into Jing Beiyuan’s waiting mouth.

When he tries to take Jing Beiyuan’s blood pressure, Jing Beiyuan pushes him away. 

“Don’t bother, Doctor, we both know the readings won’t be accurate.” He can feel his own heart pounding, after all. 

Wu Xi looks pleased, the jerk.

Over a simple breakfast of tea, congee, and sliced fruit, Wu Xi fills him in on what he’s missed.

They’re here for four days, and Jing Beiyuan has been asleep for two. Zhou Zishu got in touch yesterday. He’s home safe, and his leg is getting stronger every day. 

Jing Beiyuan’s shoulder is in great shape. The bullet was small caliber and didn’t tear through anything except skin and muscle. He’ll be sore for a while and will need to work with a physical therapist to make sure he recovers his full range of motion, but it’s not infected and the wound is well on its way to being healed over. 

The mission was an unqualified success; they saved eleven of the twelve missing persons, and two more who hadn’t yet been reported. Only two of those found were in need of serious medical attention.

The additional intel they got that last day took out not only Liao Zhendong but also the entire ring of kidnappers, and they have enough dirt to get warrants for five out of their seven biggest clients.

Jing Beiyuan should feel elated, but now that he’s hydrated and well-rested and fed, all he can think about is the shape of Wu Xi’s mouth.

Pull yourself together. Or… you know what? Actually, no. Enough of this. Time to take matters into your own hands.

“I want a shower,” he decides aloud, standing up from the table.

Wu Xi stands too, checking to make sure Jing Beiyuan is steady on his feet before he gestures to the bathroom, as if to say, go ahead.

Jing Beiyuan looks Wu Xi up and down carefully, before articulating very pointedly, “I think you should come, too. For medical observation. In case I overexert myself.”

He’s seen Wu Xi walk into bunkers full of angry, armed revolutionaries with less trepidation than he’s currently got plastered across his face.

“Beiyuan, I -–” 

“Please,” Jing Beiyuan interrupts softly, taking a single step forward to decrease the distance between them. He will only ask once. He will not beg.

Wu Xi looks pained. “I can’t -– this isn’t casual for me, Beiyuan. I can’t be one of your boys, a notch in your bedpost.” 

“It isn’t casual for me either, idiot,” Jing Beiyuan spits out, more harshly than he intended.

Wu Xi swallows hard. “Oh.”

“You’re not a notch on my bedpost,” Jing Beiyuan reiterates, and Wu Xi nods, silent, staring at him like a starving man. The air between them feels thick and electric.

A spark of desire ignites in Jing Beiyuan’s belly and heats him all over. It’s more intense this time because it’s not just his own need he’s feeling; he can see the answering heat written all over Wu Xi’s handsome face. He likes it. A lot. There’s power in being wanted like that and it goes straight to stoke the fire inside of him, but there’s an unexpected tenderness between them as well. Something scary and irrational bubbles up and swells in his heart, fed by that soft, delicate feeling. 

Jing Beiyuan realizes all at once he wants to be the one Wu Xi comes to when things fall apart, wants Wu Xi to be the one he trusts to either talk or fuck the stress and worries out of him, depending on what he needs in the moment. He’s dying to see what Wu Xi looks like when he comes, can’t wait to hear the feel of their bodies moving together, the frantic sound of his breathing. He wants to know what he looks like before he wakes up in the mornings. He wants to keep him.

“I want to give you whatever you need,” he murmurs, half to himself. It feels like he’s falling off a cliff. Wu Xi’s eyes widen.

“Yeah?” he breathes, a little incredulous. Jing Beiyuan nods and swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah. You can have whatever you want from me. Just… I want you to ask. I need you to ask.”

Wu Xi stands there frozen for a long moment, long enough for Jing Beiyuan to start to feel self conscious. He swallows thickly, and he’s about to step away entirely when Wu Xi reaches for him and gives him a kiss intense enough to make him forget his own name. 

When they finally break for air, Jing Beiyuan is dizzy with emotion. “So,” he asks, feeling drunk, “What do you want? From me?”  

Wu Xi smiles back at him, eyes full of mirth, saying, “I don’t know. I never imagined getting this far.”  

It’s so earnest, Jing Beiyuan can’t hold back a soft smile. 

Idiot.

“Pick something,” he says aloud. Wu Xi’s hesitancy is endearing, but the last time Jing Beiyuan had felt anything close to this, had wanted to share his heart with another person, had surrendered to his desires… The last time, he was wrong. He’d misjudged the situation. He can’t do that again.

Something of his worries must show on his face because Wu Xi’s face softens even more. “Okay. First, let’s get you in the shower,” he suggests.

Jing Beiyuan wants to protest, wants him to ask for something personal, wants to finish the conversation, but after spending a day on the run and two days unconscious, the lure of hot water and decent shampoo is too great to resist. 

Wu Xi follows, apparently now unwilling to let Jing Beiyuan out of his sight. 

“Come wash my back?” Jing Beiyuan asks with a sly smile, walking away slowly as he pulls the drawstring on his sleep pants and shamelessly lets them fall to the ground. He turns over one shoulder to flash Wu Xi his most devastating smile. The line of his contrapposto is marred slightly by the garish white bandage still wrapped around his shoulder, but from Wu Xi’s momentarily slack jawed expression Jing Beiyuan feels like he might be doing just fine, all things considered.

He wiggles his ass just a little, teasing, and Wu Xi predictably rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when he pulls his own t-shirt over his head. And he holds Jing Beiyuan’s gaze as he drops his own sweatpants and steps out of them, stalking forward like a leopard, eyebrows raised in a challenge of his own. 

Jing Beiyuan takes a moment to take in the sight of Wu Xi’s naked body for the first time. 

He’s built like a god, muscular and tanned, with thighs like tree trunks and abs Jing Beiyuan would have loved to drink vodka shots off of back in college. Unlike a god, his skin is littered with scars, easily visible in the harsh bathroom lights. Jing Beiyuan wants to lick them all. Scars are good. Scars are beautiful, because survivors have scars. Scars mean you tend to come home. 

Jing Beiyuan swallows hard at the sight of Wu Xi’s cock. He wants it badly enough that he has to remind himself not to drop to his knees right there, standing paralyzed with desire instead, heart pounding and unsure of what to do next.  

“Get in,” Wu Xi suggests softly, nodding towards the shower with a knowing smile, and Jing Beiyuan wills himself not to blush. He’s not sure if he succeeds. 

He turns on the water and gets in, and… oh, hot water is incredible, actually. He suddenly can’t remember the last time he had a proper shower. His spa day at the conference feels like it was weeks ago, at this point. 

“Mind the bandages,” Wu Xi cautions as he steps into the shower stall behind him. “It’s okay if they get damp but you should try not to soak them.” 

Wu Xi waits until Jing Beiyuan’s hair is wet before reaching for the shampoo. He washes Jing Beiyuan’s hair and it makes his scalp tingle, shivers running down his spine and swirling down to stoke the heat building in his belly. Jing Beiyuan doesn’t even try to hold back the soft whimper that escapes him when Wu Xi steps away. 

No, don’t leave.

Wu Xi looks amused, then leans in to give Jing Beiyuan a soft kiss. It’s gentle, almost chaste except for the look in his eyes and the hint of teeth worrying Jing Beiyuan’s lower lip.

Jing Beiyuan’s hands come up to rest on Wu Xi’s hips as he yields, melting forward, desire mounting. He’s hard now, arousal humming in his veins with a low, buzzing need he’s itching to satisfy. But he’s not in a hurry, yet. He realizes Wu Xi is hard too. His cock is hot and heavy, intimidatingly thick. Jing Beiyuan’s mouth waters from wanting to taste it.

Wu Xi’s skin is warm to the touch and surprisingly soft where it isn’t marred by scar tissue. Jing Beiyuan lets his fingers wander over the dips and ridges marring his skin the way he wanted to a few moments earlier, every mark a close call from a mission.

“You asked me to wash your back,” Wu Xi reminds him softly. 

Jing Beiyuan shivers. “You don’t have to.”

“You asked me what I wanted,” Wu Xi says, “I want to wash your back.” 

Hard to argue with that. 

Jing Beiyuan turns and comes to stand just outside the spray with his uninjured arm braced on the wall over his head. The cool tiles feel good, grounding, which he appreciates, because he suddenly feels weak at the knees. 

Wu Xi approaches with a soapy cloth and wipes him down carefully with body wash, mindful to avoid touching the bandages unnecessarily. He touches everywhere else, though. Jing Beiyuan feels like his skin is on fire. 

He’s not used to being handled gently. He hasn’t been with anyone who would dare to presume in so long, he’d forgotten what it could feel like. The club kids he used to hook up with, and the Grindr hookups he engages these days when he needs to let off steam have always been young things, eager twinks looking to get railed by an older man as beautiful as him. This is… not that.

Wu Xi reaches around with the washcloth to scrub his chest. Jing Beiyuan shudders when the heavy fabric grazes over a nipple, arching his back and gasping softly. The movement pushes his hips back, bringing his thighs in contact with Wu Xi’s. Wu Xi’s cock is trapped between them now, and he is hard. 

Wu Xi gasps, the first sound he’s made since getting into the shower stall. He starts to step away. 

No.

Jing Beiyuan pushes his hips back farther, chasing the contact, and looks over his shoulder hungrily. 

“I didn’t think you were the kind of agent to leave a job half finished,” he says, eyebrows raised in challenge. 

Wu Xi’s mouth drops open just a bit. Slowly he moves forward. Appeased, Jing Beiyuan turns around again, arching his back and resting his head on his forearm where it’s braced against the tiles. His whole body feels electrified with anticipation as Wu Xi moves closer, crowding him up against the wall, tentatively at first but growing bolder when Jing Beiyuan moans and shudders appreciatively. 

“You are… so… beautiful,” he murmurs, close to Jing Beiyuan’s ear. “You drive me crazy. I’ve never wanted anyone so much.” 

Jing Beiyuan moans as Wu Xi’s hands resume his work, wiping down Jing Beiyuan’s torso with the washcloth. But this time he lets his hard cock slide between Jing Beiyuan’s wet thighs, not even thrusting, only moving when he shifts to reach another part of Jing Beiyuan. At some point he abandons the cloth, using his wide, strong hands to spread the soap all over Jing Beiyuan’s belly, down to his hips, creeping down inch by inch at a maddeningly slow pace.

When he finally ( finally) wraps a fist around Jing Beiyuan’s cock, Jing Beiyuan clenches his thighs around his erection in response, moaning appreciatively, feeling like he’s burning up from the inside. When he can’t stand it any longer he presses himself fully into Wu Xi’s arms, grabbing him by the hair with his good arm and pulling him into a kiss.

“I want you in my bed,”  Wu Xi murmurs, reaching over to shut off the water, nipping gently at his ear before claiming his mouth in a kiss. 

Jing Beiyuan whines into his mouth. 

The bed is so far… 

The kissing eventually degenerates into breathy panting for air, melting down the shower wall along with the condensation, both of them mouthing at throats, chests, clinging to each other for dear life. It feels like it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. Jing Beiyuan feels high, loopy and breathless, desperate for more.

“Bed now,” Jing Beiyuan agrees, fumbling for the door to the shower stall. 

Wu Xi picks him up and carries him to the bedroom, then lays him down on the bed soaking wet. 

“You need dry bandages,” Wu Xi observes.

“Later. Get over here. Don’t you make me wait another fucking second.”

Wu Xi’s eyes flash and he crawls onto the bed, coming to cage Jing Beiyuan in with his arms and legs. Slowly, deliberately, he leans down for another kiss. Jing Beiyuan gasps into his mouth and melts under him with a moan that’s bone-deep, reaching up with his good hand, looping his thighs around Wu Xi’s waist and squeezing, hungry for more. 

“Get up here immediately and put your cock in my mouth,” Jing Beiyuan snarls into his ear.

“Fuck,” Wu Xi gasps, shuddering, “Beiyuan… you can’t just say things like that.” 

“Then fucking do it already, so I can stop asking,” Jing Beiyuan pouts, unrelenting.  

Wu Xi complies, looking completely dazed as he comes to settle high on his knees with one hand braced on the headboard, lowering himself slowly until he’s within reach. With the other hand he takes his cock and slowly, reverently, guides it into Jing Beiyuan’s waiting mouth. They both moan.

It’s been years since Jing Beiyuan had anyone fuck his face. He’s a sloppy mess within moments, and he’d be embarrassed about that if Wu Xi didn’t seem to be even further gone than him. 

Wu Xi shakes as he thrusts into Jing Beiyuans’ mouth, gasping half-formed profanities, the hand on the headboard white-knuckled with strain. All too soon his rhythm stutters and his hands are twisting in Jing Beiyuan’s hair as his body contorts and he moans through clenched teeth. 

“Too good, stop! You have to… I can’t –- not yet.” He sounds half crazed with need.

He moves to drape himself over Jing Beiyuan again, and the feeling of their cocks brushing together makes them both groan. Jing Beiyuan is as shameless as a whore now as he arches and writhes, silently demanding more, raking nails down Wu Xi’s back, grinding up against whatever his cock can find, desperate for friction. 

Hands roving over Wu Xi’s back and hips and ass, trying to memorize the feel of him in case this doesn’t happen again. He needs it to happen again. He has to keep him. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now, Beiyuan,” Wu Xi whispers, low and urgent. “I want to be inside you.” 

It takes a moment for Jing Beiyuan’s brain to catch up with Wu Xi’s words. He doesn’t get fucked. He never does -– he hates feeling so vulnerable. He hasn’t let someone fuck him since… 

He opens his mouth to set things straight, but as the objection is on the tip of his tongue, he looks up into Wu Xi’s desire-black eyes and realizes he actually wants it so bad he can’t think of anything else.

Fuck .

“It’s..” he stammers instead, uncharacteristically tongue tied, “it’s been a really long time. Since. Yeah.” 

“I’ll take care of you,” Wu Xi promises, face softening with a tenderness that makes Jing Beiyuan want to run for the hills. But he can’t run, because he never wants to leave.

With gentle, sure fingers Wu Xi opens him up, murmuring praises that Jing Beiyuan never again thought he wanted to hear on another man’s lips. “So beautiful for me. I wish you could see how you look right now. Fuck, you feel so tight.” 

Jing Beiyuan grasps at the sheets with his fists with every slide of Wu Xi's finger in and out of his body. It’s all he can do to hold still enough not to irritate his injury. It feels like a small eternity before Wu Xi adds a second finger, then a third, and by then it’s all Jing Beiyuan can do to hold still, shivering with need. 

“Wu Xi!” he cries out when he can take no more, unable to keep the pleading from his tone.

“Shhhh,” Wu Xi purrs from where he kneels between his legs, “let me take care of you.”

“Now,” Jing Beiyuan pants, manners forgotten, “fuck me now. Immediately.” 

“Impatient,” Wu Xi smiles, then slides his fingers free and crawls up the bed, bracing his arms on either side of Jing Beiyuan’s body, kissing his way down his neck again as he lowers himself to his knees between his legs. 

Jing Beiyuan feels like he’s about to die from the anticipation, and he can feel his cock twitch as it leaks precome all over his own belly.

Wu Xi leans in for a kiss and Jing Beiyuan meets him halfway with a snarl, sucking the lush fullness of his lower lip between his teeth and worrying it until Wu Xi moans with the sensation.

“I said now,” he whispers fiercely, taking Wu Xi’s cock in his hand.

Wu Xi, for all his patience up until now, grunts and bucks at the unexpected contact, and Jing Beiyuan can feel his cock throb in his fist. 

He’s as far gone as me. The thought is a satisfying one.

Jing Beiyuan hums his approval, using a thumb to spread precome around on the head of Wu Xi’s cock. Wu Xi groans softly and gives him one more kiss, then moves himself into position. By the time he lines himself up with Jing Beiyuan’s hole he’s panting a little, and the warm golden tan on his face can’t disguise how flushed he is. He’s absolutely gorgeous like this.

Jing Beiyuan reaches up with his good hand, dragging Wu Xi down for a kiss to muffle the sob that’s threatening to escape his throat as the tip of Wu Xi’s cock breaches his body. 

Fuck. This is going to be good.

When they part, Wu Xi’s brow is furrowed. He presses slowly forward into the tight channel of Jing Beiyuan’s body, watching closely to gauge Jing Beiyuan’s reactions. The preparation was thorough, and Jing Beiyuan is slick and ready, but it still hurts. He was expecting that, though, considering how long it’s been since the last time. In a way he welcomes the pain. The ache lingers for a while, but he barely notices it; the burn feels insignificant compared to the intensity of emotions swirling in his chest. 

By the time Wu Xi is fully seated, all Jing Beiyuan can think is that he wants more. He looks up to find Wu Xi staring down at him with a hunger he’s never seen before. Locking eyes, Jing Beiyuan exhales, then tentatively rolls his body, lifting his hips and pulling Wu Xi closer, deeper.

“Please. Move. I’m ready.” 

Gradually, they start to establish a pace. It’s slow at first, tentative, exploring the ways they fit together. It doesn’t stay that way. They move with the rhythm of their breathing, a steady ebb and flow, primal and increasingly urgent. They gain confidence and speed up their rhythm, getting lost in each other, in the feel of sex and the heat of their bodies and the gasps they swallow out of each other’s mouths. It’s overwhelming and it’s perfect and it’s impossible to know how long it goes on.

They begin moving faster still, swept along by the growing pressure as they chase their pleasure. Jing Beiyuan tangles his hand in Wu Xi’s hair again, dragging him down, needing him near. It’s not a kiss, they’re really just mouthing at each other, panting with need. He can feel the pulse in Wu Xi’s neck against his wrist, and he can feel the swelling of Wu Xi’s cock inside him, which is how he knows when Wu Xi is getting close to spilling inside him. 

“Beiyuan, I—“ he stutters, shifting as though to withdraw.

“Don’t you dare,” Jing Beiyuan growls. “You want me? Claim me. Come inside me and prove it.” 

Wu Xi chokes on a sob as his eyes flutter shut. His head falls forward and his thrusts grow erratic, frantic. “Gonna— I’m gonna come,” he warns, only seconds before he actually does.

Good .

Jing Beiyuan squeezes Wu Xi so tight that he can’t move far enough back to pull out like he wants and instead is left to hitch and throb inside Jing Beiyuan, filling him up, marking him from the inside out. Jing Beiyuan can feel the pulses of it deep inside him, spreading into the used and tender parts of him, and then he’s gone too, crying out as his neglected cock spills where it’s trapped between their bodies. He arches up, shaking with the force of his orgasm, and Wu Xi rocks them through the end of it, curling forward and bringing Jing Beiyuan’s face to nestle against the crook of his neck. 

And then they’re still. After a few moments Wu Xi calls his name once, gently, and when Jing Beiyuan lifts his head, he softly claims a kiss. He’s still kissing him as he pulls out and curls up against him.

The tenderness builds up in Jing Beiyuan like a cloudburst made of longing and need. 

“I want to give you everything you need,” he says softly, repeating his words from earlier. “I just need you to ask.”

Ask me. Want me. Please want me, as much as I want you.

“I want everything,” Wu Xi demands simply, like a secret. “I’m greedy. I want it all.”

“It’s all yours,” Jing Beiyuan responds in kind. It feels like a confession.

They don’t leave the bed for a very, very long time.

*********

Their stay in the mountains ends up extended by an extra two days, due to inclement weather. That suits Jing Beiyuan just fine. Wu Xi won’t even let him near the hot tub until the last day, and only then with his solemn vow that he’ll keep his shoulder above the surface of the water. 

No skiing, no drinking, no swimming. He complains that the conditions are draconian, but in the end it isn’t so bad. Slowly, the tension in his body unspools and floats away. He sleeps deeply enough through the night that he no longer feels drowsy all day. Miraculously, Jing Beiyuan manages to relax, for what feels like the first time in years. (He’s also had more and better sex in the past three days than he has in the whole year preceding this mission. It’s possible , he considers, that these two facts might be related.) 

Wu Xi relaxes too. He’s still quiet, of course, composed and reserved, but now his silences take on an aura of calm. He sits amiably while Jing Beiyuan chatters, content to listen to all of his tall tales and advice of dubious merit. It’s… it’s wonderful, actually. When it’s finally time to head out, they’re both dragging their heels. 

“When you get back, I’m taking you home with me,” Wu Xi informs him with an imperious sniff.

“You make it sound like you’re threatening a kidnapping attempt,” Jing Beiyuan teases.

“Not at all. ‘Attempt’ implies a chance of failure. I always get my mark.’ 

“God save me from fucking field agents,” Jing Beiyuan sighs, but there’s no bite in it. “Let’s go. The car is waiting.”

As the driver moves down the winding mountain road, Jing Beiyuan sighs heavily. “I don’t want to go,” he murmurs petulantly.

Wu Xi reaches across the seat to take his hand. “Neither do I.”

********* 

Back at Ministry headquarters they’re received with great fanfare. 

The court cases are going spectacularly well. The follow up investigations are yielding excellent results. The rescued persons have been returned to their families, and the two who had been admitted to the hospital were both expected to make a full recovery. 

So why, then, when Jing Beiyuan is called to Helian Yi’s office, does he feel his heart sinking with dread?

You know why. Ah, well. No way out but through.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door. 

Helian Yi waves him inside, rising in silence to pour two fingers of scotch in a pair of rocks glasses from the minibar. He passes one to Jing Beiyuan and comes to rest his weight against the heavy mahogany of his desk. Jing Beiyuan stands in front of him, insides churning but unwilling to look away.

They stand in silence for a long moment.

“I thought you were dead,” Helian Yi says softly, when he finally decides to speak.

“I’m sorry for any distress I may have–-"

“This is a more flagrant disregard of protocol than I’ve ever seen from you, Beiyuan,” he interrupts, apparently no longer able to hold his tongue now that he’s begun speaking. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” Jing Beiyuan begins slowly, frustration bubbling below the surface, “that it was the most important mission we’ve had in months. I’m thinking I made exactly the right call, Director. It was certainly the most successful mission we’ve had in months, and we pulled it off with almost no casualties.” 

“No casualties! You and Zishu both got shot!”

Jing Beiyuan rolls his eyes. “We both sustained superficial wounds that won’t affect us at all in a few months' time. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Helian Yi’s knuckles around his glass are white. “You were right,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “That Wu Xi is bad news. If he hadn’t-–”

“Wu Xi is an incredibly effective agent,” Jing Beiyuan interrupts cooly, “and he saved my life more than once this week. I was completely wrong about him. Don’t try to make my behavior hi fault; I made my own choices. You can’t coddle me forever, Director. We have a job to do. I was just doing my part, same as everyone else.” 

Helian Yi’s glare is like ice. It’s too familiar a look, and it makes Jing Beiyuan feel weary. He sighs.

“Yi-ge,” he says gently, deliberately trying to soften the sting of his words, “please. We can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for us, living this way.”

“Living what way?” Helian Yi asks, willfully obtuse. 

Jing Beiyuan rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his scotch in a single gulp before setting down the glass hard on the desk with an audible, sharp thunk.

“Don’t start,” he forbids. “Don’t you dare play dumb with me. You’re getting married next month , Yi-ge. We have to let it go.”

You have to let me go so I can move on, is what he’s not saying. But he knows Helian Yi hears it anyway. They’ve always been able to read between the lines for each other. 

“I’m not acting out. I don’t want to die in the field. I promise I’m not being reckless. We’re almost thirty -– you’re next in line for the throne, Yi-ge. We don’t have time for juvenile drama. I just want to do my job like everyone else. I just want a chance to feel normal, for once. I can’t do that if you…” he doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

For the first time Helian Yi looks like he believes him. “Beiyuan, I-–” 

“Stop, I know. Just… think about it, okay?” 

They had never needed words between them. That’s part of what makes this so hard.

Helian Yi gives a small nod, taking the last sip of his own whisky and setting the glass down next to Jing Beiyuan’s.

“I will,” he agrees softly. He sounds sad. Resigned. 

Jing Beiyuan nods his thanks and turns to leave, but a sense of loss so great it feels almost like panic makes him pause by the door. He stands there for a moment waiting, staring at the awful, perfect family photo of Helian Yi with his boring, perfect fiancee and her hideous, perfect diamond ring and their stupid, perfect, purebred dog until tears threaten to prickle at the corners of his eyes. He can feel Helian Yi’s gaze hot and heavy against the back of his neck. He reaches up to clutch at his own, fake engagement ring where it still hangs around his neck on a red string, tucked into his undershirt. The air in the room is tense enough to cut with a knife, but in the end, Helian Yi doesn’t come to him. He moves back around his desk and takes a seat, and he doesn’t say a word. 

And doesn’t that sum it up nicely?

Swallowing hard, Jing Beiyuan opens the door and walks out, shaking with relief and grief.

He wanders the halls of the Ministry until his pulse slows, during which time he finds Zhou Zishu sitting outside of an interrogation room. Liao Zhendong is seated inside, cuffed to a table, and Zhou Zishu is staring inside through the two-way mirror with a faraway gaze. 

Jing Beiyuan doesn’t have to wonder why he’s there. Sometimes it’s good for everyone to look, to remind themselves of the value of the work they do. It’s important to take note when it goes well. 

Here under the fluorescent lights Liao Zhendong looks even more pathetic than he had that night at the conference, sadder and weaker. 

Good. Let him whither.

But Zhou Zishu looks grim, not satisfied. 

“Zishu?” Jing Beiyuan asks softly. 

Zhou Zishu shakes his head. “I’m fine. Just… I found out they’re deploying Juxiao next week. They’re sending him out on the Vakurah initiative.”

Fuck. That idiot kid won’t last a week up north. What the fuck were they thinking? 

Jing Beiyuan takes a moment to school his facial expression before replying, “I’m sure he’ll be okay, Zishu, he’s with Jingyan. She’s an amazing commander. She’ll take care of him.”

Zhou Zishu shrugs. “She’ll do the best she can, of course. But the mission is so complex, there are too many variables. She won’t be able to be there all the time. Maybe I can…” 

“Zishu, stop. You’re shot, you idiot. You’re benched until you recover. You won’t do anyone any favors getting yourself permanently disabled.”

“I know, I just worry. He’s… you know, after I left my parents. It was always just the two of us. He’s only here because he followed me into the business. And he’s been so angry with me since the Jiang incident. I worry he’ll do something reckless. He hasn’t been taking care of himself.” 

Zhou Zishu rarely lets himself look so human, and never at headquarters. That he’s said this much at all is incredibly telling.

“Do you want to go drink about it?” Jing Beiyuan offers, reaching out with a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Zhou Zishu blinks, then looks up and smiles at him, a rare, unguarded smile that Jing Beiyuan can see is genuine.

“Thank you. You know I’d love that, Beiyuan. But I believe you’ve got plans.”

His eyes flicker to the door behind Jing Beiyuan, smile shifting from this earnest, delicate thing to a lighthearted, teasing grin, and Jing Beiyuan realizes that Wu Xi must have arrived. 

“He’s good for you,” Zhou Zishu mumbles softly, for Jing Beiyuan’s ears alone. “Maybe too good. Don’t fuck this up.”

Jing Beiyuan snorts, amused. “I’ll do my best.”

“You deserve to be happy, you know,” Zhou Zishu goes on to say with a sideways glance. 

“You know, I think I’m finally starting to believe that. Hey. So do you, don’t forget.” 

Zhou Zishu smirks. “A vicious, mean, ruthless old bastard like me? Sounds fake. Now get out of here before you two make us all sick with those moony eyes of yours. Get a fucking room.” 

“I hate you,” Jing Beiyuan whispers with a smile, leaning close to Zhou Zishu’s face

“I hate you too,” Zhou Zishu winks, leaning even closer.

They both laugh, then reach for each other, hugging fiercely for just a moment before Zhou Zishu releases Jing Beiyuan into Wu Xi’s care. 

“How did it go?” Wu Xi asks carefully as they walk through the halls towards the exit. “I know you’ve been worried.”

“It went well enough,” Jing Beiyuan reassures him. 

They get to the elevator that will take them to street level. 

Inside, Jing Beiyuan impulsively throws his arms around Wu Xi, melting against him and burying his face in the warm heat and familiar scent of Wu Xi’s neck.

“Take me home?” he demands, face still pressed against Wu Xi’s skin.

“To your place or mine?” Wu Xi asks agreeably. Jing Beiyuan lifts his head and smiles. 

“No, I meant take me home, to your hometown. Nanjiang is supposed to be gorgeous this time of year, isn’t it? And I’m not allowed to do any real work for six weeks until this shoulder is healed. I can do all of the administrative stuff remotely, so there’s nothing keeping me here. Sounds like a good time for a vacation to me, don’t you think? And I thought it would be nice to see where you grew up. Meet your-–” 

He cuts himself off suddenly, unsure of what to make of the startled look on Wu Xi’s face. 

Fuck, there you go running your mouth again, getting ahead of yourself. You’re so bad at this, you always come on too strong…

But then Wu Xi smiles and it’s slow and warm as the dawn as he murmurs, “I’d love to.” 

Jing Beiyuan grins back at him. They walk out of the elevator into the crisp morning air. 

It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day.