Archive of Our Own

Feng Xin doesn’t mean to end up on the site, but she’s a few beers in and it’s her first day off in ten, and something that feels an awful lot like horniness has been buzzing under her skin for the last week. First she’s on Twitter, on a private account she will never confess to having, scrolling through a carefully curated timeline full of scantily clad women. She’s just checking things out, that’s all, because porn sites are gross but she wouldn’t mind seeing someone attractive getting naked.

It seems like a lost cause until she sees a retweet of a photo that catches her eye. It’s a slim woman with her head tilted to the side, her mouth flattened into an unimpressed line. Her long, dark ponytail falls over one shoulder, the end of it curling on the soft curve of her small breasts, hidden by a simple black bra.

The top half of her face is obscured by an elaborate cat mask, also black, with highlights of maroon and gold, but something about her pointed chin and unamused moue stirs something in Feng Xin. She looks mean. She looks hot. Feng Xin clicks through to Fu Yao’s page before consciously making the decision, and then she follows the link to a live stream that, serendipitously, started two minutes ago.

Fu Yao is reading something in the chat when the page loads, her thin lips just barely parted, and Feng Xin imagines her eyebrows furrowed behind the mask. She’s wearing an olive green bra and matching panties, and there’s nothing particularly memorable about either, but the way she sits on the floor, her snow-pale skin practically shining with how much of it is on display, especially against the dark green comforter that tops the bed she's sitting in front of, will be etched into Feng Xin’s head for days.

Fu Yao is cross-legged, leaning forward with one elbow on her knee, chin propped on her hand as she scrolls through the chat with the other hand. She’s murmuring something in reply to some of the comments, but it’s too low to hear. Feng Xin turns up the volume, leaning forward like she can actually get closer to Fu Yao.

Then someone in the chat writes, TAKE IT OFF, and Fu Yao scoffs.

“You think this is for you?” she scolds.

Feng Xin would know that sneer anywhere, and heat rushes to her belly at the derisive tone. She closes the laptop so fast she almost pushes it off the coffee table. She texts Xie Lian before she can think twice about it.

Do you know what Mu Qing is doing??? Probably not as clear as she should have been, but it does the trick.

Sigh, Xie Lian sends back, and who even spells that out in a text? Is this going to be a problem? I don’t want you making her feel bad.

When Feng Xin doesn’t respond for five minutes, struggling to put anything intelligent into words (and fighting to put the image of a mostly naked Mu Qing out of her mind), Xie Lian calls.

“It’s not that!” Feng Xin yells before Xie Lian can talk. “I would never— I just. I didn’t… know.” She chews on her lip in the silence that follows, knowing Xie Lian is waiting patiently, as always. “She didn’t tell me,” Feng Xin says finally, her voice soft.

“Are you surprised?” Xie Lian asks. “You two don’t exactly have the best track record.”

“How long have you known? How long has she been— been doing this?”

“No,” Xie Lian says firmly. “You have to ask Mu Qing that. It’s not my story to tell.”

Faintly over the line, Feng Xin hears another voice call, “Jiejie?”

“I have to finish dinner, Feng Xin, I’m sorry. You should talk to Mu Qing, just be, ah. Be… considerate,” Xie Lian says. “Don’t judge her for this.”

“I’m not!” Feng Xin rushes to say. “I was just surprised.”

Xie Lian hums over the line, too polite to call Feng Xin on what might be a lie. “How did you find out anyway?”

Feng Xin feels her face go hot. “Don’t you have to finish dinner? Have a good night!”

She hangs up before Xie Lian can say anything else, resigning herself to the fact that Xie Lian and Hua Cheng are definitely having a laugh at her expense. She should probably wait to text Mu Qing until she’s entirely sober, but right now she knows Mu Qing is distracted in a stream. It’s a built-in excuse so Feng Xin can try not to panic when she doesn’t reply right away.

Brunch this weekend? she sends, trying to keep it short and sweet.

What the fuck? Mu Qing says.

She responds right away, even though when Feng Xin opens her laptop again, it shows “Fu Yao” is still streaming. She can’t see it anymore, though, instead the window is prompting her to pay to keep watching. Whatever Mu Qing’s doing now, it’s something she wants behind a paywall, and she apparently had enough people buy tickets to lock it down.

Feng Xin wants to pay to see her face right now, or half her face. She wants to know what Mu Qing is doing. She wants to know if Mu Qing is ignoring her audience to text Feng Xin back. If she’s texting Feng Xin while she’s touching herself.

I want to talk to you, Feng Xin sends, which isn’t a lie. In public, she doesn’t add, where Mu Qing will be less likely to disembowel her because there will be witnesses.

Fine, Mu Qing sends back. You’re taking me to the place with the spinach dumplings. The one where Shi Qingxuan had too many aperol spritzes.

Feng Xin laughs and agrees, the shared memory pushing some of her worry about confronting Mu Qing to the side. On Feng Xin’s laptop, the stream is still ongoing, and Feng Xin thinks about how easy it would be to join. Her credit card information is saved in her browser, she could easily pay to get access. To watch Mu Qing be ruthlessly mean to everyone watching her while she — what? It’s hard for Feng Xin to imagine Mu Qing getting off in front of anyone, much less strangers.

Heat rushes through Feng Xin again, and she presses her thighs together. She doesn’t need to imagine Mu Qing getting off. Mu Qing is her friend, sort of. Enough of a friend that Feng Xin should not picture what her tits look like under that little green bra. And Feng Xin should absolutely not push a hand beneath her sweatpants while she imagines it, even though she can feel how wet she is already.

She clicks out of the window entirely, clears her history, and goes to get another beer. If she wants to get off tonight, she’ll do it later, when she has a good enough buzz going that if she thinks about miles of fair skin and lithe muscles and long, ink black hair, it’s anonymous. It could be anyone.

It’s what she tells herself every time she closes her eyes and gets her hand between her legs these days.

Thanks to nerves, Feng Xin is nearly fifteen minutes early to their scheduled brunch on Saturday. She unfolds, folds, and unfolds her napkin again, then gulps down half her drink before she makes herself slow down. Mu Qing is a respectable four minutes early, and the smile she flashes the hostess in thanks for pointing out Feng Xin’s table makes Feng Xin’s breath catch.

Mu Qing never smiles like that, at least not where Feng Xin can see. She smirks, sure, and sometimes she offers small but warm smiles to Xie Lian, usually with an eye roll. Feng Xin has seen her laugh, often meanly and often at Feng Xin herself, but never this quick, sincere smile that’s gone by the time she spots Feng Xin sitting by the window.

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief before she even sits down. “Started without me?” she asks, nodding at Feng Xin’s half empty glass.

“It’s good!” Feng Xin says defensively. “I figured you’d just want water, sorry. It’s sangria, but they do it with a white, do you want to—”

Mu Qing tsks and looks down at the menu, ignoring Feng Xin completely. Spring is in its first bloom, but everything about her is a thundercloud today, all layers of black and gray, complemented with dark nail polish and her hair loose and cascading over her shoulders. She’s fresh faced and bare of makeup, at least so far as Feng Xin can tell. Her clear, pale skin is all but glowing against all the black.

On anyone else, it’d be a try-hard look. Mu Qing looks like an off duty model. Feng Xin is still looking at her when she glances up, and then immediately away.

“So why are we doing this?”

Feng Xin has a little speech planned, to explain herself and play defense as much as possible. None of it makes it out of her mouth. “I saw your stream. Your, uh, camgirl stream. Accidentally!”

Mu Qing freezes, her profile etched perfectly for Feng Xin’s eyes. It looks like she’s even holding her breath. Then she relaxes all at once, and slowly turns back to Feng Xin. She opens her mouth, seems to think better of it, and then grabs Feng Xin’s glass and finishes her drink.

Their server comes back before Feng Xin can complain, and Mu Qing turns a smile to her, proving she saves all her politeness for the waitstaff. “Just sparkling water, please, and another drink for my friend.”

The way she says friend could freeze a wildfire in its tracks.

“Alright,” she says, after the server has returned with their drinks, fixing her dark eyes on Feng Xin. “What the fuck.” It’s not a question, it’s not an invitation for an explanation. It’s a flat statement to let Feng Xin know exactly where she stands. “How?”

“It really was an accident, I swear! As soon as I knew it was you, I clicked right out.” Feng Xin rushes to say. Then she grits her teeth to say, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Mu Qing stares back at her, arms crossed in front of her chest. The chest that Feng Xin has now seen in only a bra. “How did you know it was me?”

Feng Xin only manages not to roll her eyes because she bites her tongue first. “I do know you, you know?”

“How illuminatory.”

Feng Xin rolls her eyes. “You snapped on some asshole who told you to get naked. I know what it sounds like when you’re mad. That thing your mouth does. I was in the stream for maybe 30 seconds.”

Mu Qing sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and looks away. Her fingers are drumming against her bicep. “So what’s this, then? An apology?”

“I couldn’t not tell you.”

“And you thought it’d go better if we were in public,” Mu Qing says, filling in the blanks.

Feng Xin is grateful she has a second drink close at hand. “That was the hope, yeah.”

Mu Qing nods slowly and looks back at Feng Xin. “Do you have… I don’t know. Do you have, like, questions?”

“Questions?”

Mu Qing throws up her hands in exasperation. “I don’t know! You dragged me to brunch about this, I’m allowed to be blindsided. I don’t know if you want to know my rules, or— or maybe your cash flow is low. I don’t know!”

“No! No, I could never…” Feng Xin trails off, watching as Mu Qing’s mouth turns down into an angry frown. “Not like that! I don’t mean, I just. No one would ever want to see me. Like that. I don’t look like you.”

Mu Qing arches a single eyebrow, an ability that Feng Xin has been jealous of for years.

“You’re… you know. You’re beautiful,” Feng Xin says, twisting the napkin in her lap.

Mu Qing looks down at the table, crossing her arms again. After a long moment, she nods, mollified. “Alright. You’re paying for this, though.”

“Sure!” Feng Xin agrees too readily. “Order whatever you want.”

Because Mu Qing is, at her truest, an asshole, she purposely orders more than she could hope to eat while they’re at the restaurant, shares none of it, and asks for her many, many leftovers to be boxed up once they’re finished.

When Feng Xin stares at her in disbelief, Mu Qing shrugs. “It’s not like you can’t afford it. I have to eat dinner today, too.”

Feng Xin sighs and hands her credit card over to their server without even looking at the bill. If Mu Qing isn’t eternally pissed at her, or more eternally pissed at her, it’s a small price to pay. They run in the same circles, and their friends barely put up with their bullshit as is.

Mu Qing stands and gathers her bag of extra food while they’re waiting for Feng Xin’s card to come back. “Thanks,” she says, sounding like she doesn’t remotely mean it.

“Anytime,” Feng Xin says. She’s not even shocked Mu Qing is going to leave before her. That’s what Mu Qing does when things are awkward: she flees. Feng Xin is shocked they made it through an entire meal.

Mu Qing turns toward the door and then stops, turns back. She’s looking at her nails when she says, “I have another live stream, later today. At four.”

“Okay?”

Mu Qing rolls her eyes. “If you want to watch, I don’t care. If you’re curious, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Feng Xin says slowly, her stomach doing somersaults.

Mu Qing nods once, sharply, and leaves. Four o’clock, Feng Xin thinks as she signs the receipt. She has no real plans, there’s no reason she couldn’t tune in. Just out of curiosity, of course.

Feng Xin has the link up a good ten minutes early, and it’s sheer force of will that she waits to click on it until 4:01. When she logs on, Mu Qing’s busy saying hello to everyone in her stream, though she’s not very enthusiastic about it.

Her hair is up in a high pony, cat mask firmly in place. Her bra and underwear are dove gray, and Feng Xin can’t help but wonder if she was wearing them under her clothes a few short hours ago at the restaurant. Once again she’s on the floor, though she’s kneeling this time, sitting back on her heels. She looks unfairly good.

“Xinxin6,” Mu Qing says, when she notices Feng Xin’s username joining the chat. It’s obvious, but Feng Xin wanted Mu Qing to know who she was. She smirks at the camera. “I think Xinxin is new,” she says in a low purr. “Does someone want to explain the rules?”

The chat erupts. It all boils down to “don’t be a dick,” and that Fu Yao makes liberal use of the block function. There’s one that sticks out to Feng Xin, though, a surprise among the expected.

No nudity? Feng Xin asks the chat. Really?

Mu Qing shrugs, her satisfied smirk tipping into a frown. “Will that be a problem, Xinxin?”

Nope, Feng Xin rushes to send back, trying to ease the defensive note in Mu Qing’s voice.

She’s confused, to say the least. Everything Feng Xin has seen so far suggests Mu Qing is doing sex work here, that she’s filming solo porn, and the way Xie Lian reacted points to the same. How is she doing that with her clothes on?

Mu Qing spends a few minutes interacting with the chat, and Feng Xin can hear Mu Qing’s eye rolls even if she can’t see them behind the mask.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says in response to one of her fans. Feng Xin hasn’t been paying enough attention to know what it’s about. She keeps getting distracted watching the curve of Mu Qing’s neck, the soft but noticeable swell of her biceps. Feng Xin has rarely seen Mu Qing without layers and layers of clothes. There’s so much to look at all at once.

“It’s getting to be that time,” Mu Qing says. “Buy a ticket if you haven’t, or get out.”

Feng Xin doesn’t quite understand what that means, but she follows the link in the sidebar anyway. She doesn’t know if the amount is average or low or high, but it seems low to satisfy her curiosity about just what Mu Qing does behind a paywall.

“Lockdown in sixty seconds,” Mu Qing says, tilting her head to the side so her ponytail swings around to the other side. She leans forward, her chest much closer to her camera for a moment. Feng Xin feels a little dizzy. Maybe she hasn’t drunk enough water today.

Mu Qing settles back into the frame, holding something long and white in her hand, shaking it at the camera. “First time with my new Hitachi,” she says, showing it off.

Feng Xin has heard of massage wands in passing, but she’s never seen one. It even has a cord, already plugged in offscreen. Feng Xin has a vibrator, and she has a handful of dildos — both vibrating and non — but she can’t imagine something this big, this intense. She can’t quite get over that it doesn’t run on batteries.

The number of people watching drops when it goes behind a paywall, but there’s still a few hundred subscribers in the room with Feng Xin. Feng Xin wishes, wildly, that she was the only one in the room. The virtual room, of course. Not Mu Qing’s room. That would be so intimate, and, if Feng Xin was there, Mu Qing wouldn’t be doing any of this anyway. Mu Qing would probably yell and throw things — like punches.

On Feng Xin’s laptop, Mu Qing tugs at the cord on the end of the wand. “This is ridiculous. You’re lucky I ordered this, no matter what we agreed on. I had to dig out my extension cord to plug this in, it better be worth it.”

Mu Qing jumps when she turns on the toy, holding the end in one hand and the head of it in the other. “Fuck, that’s loud. Can you guys even hear me now? How loud is the higher setting?”

Her eyes go wide enough that Feng Xin can see the white of them behind the mask, and she can’t help but laugh when Mu Qing hurriedly turns the vibrations back to the lower setting. “Wow, okay. Fine, let’s try it out. Where should I start?”

The chat, which has been a steady stream of fans telling Mu Qing how hot she is, is suddenly flooded with body parts. Mu Qing purses her lips as she leans forward to read the screen.

“I’m not putting this anywhere near my mouth,” she says sourly. “It’s not made for that, idiot. I’m not going to knock my teeth out.”

The primary responses are split pretty evenly into tits and pussy, and Feng Xin wonders if Mu Qing is tallying them somehow in her head.

“What do you think, Xinxin?” Mu Qing asks out of nowhere, and Feng Xin looks up quickly from the chat, staring directly into Mu Qing’s eyes behind the mask. She feels like she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

Feng Xin swallows. Nipples? she sends, because it seems like safe territory, and slightly less crude.

“Nipples question mark?” Mu Qing says, like she’s thinking it over. “Are you sure? You don’t sound very sure.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Feng Xin mumbles to herself, and then she types something more definitive: Use it on your nipples.

“Yeah?” Mu Qing asks, her voice breathy. Feng Xin knows it’s affected, and she doesn’t know what the fuck they’re doing here, but she can’t deny how hot she feels all over, even if Mu Qing never needs to know.

Yes. I want to see you do it.

The wand is still vibrating, so when Mu Qing brings it to her chest, she doesn’t have to bother with switching it on or anything. She jumps when she touches it to a nipple, just a light tap, and then she presses it harder, over the fabric of her bra. Feng Xin hungrily watches Mu Qing’s throat move as she swallows.

“Oh, oh okay. Shit, that’s strong,” Mu Qing says, and the breathiness of her voice sounds sincere this time. She switches to her other nipple, and the first is visible under the fabric, hard and pointed with stimulation. Feng Xin hates that there’s a bra in the way of her view. She wants to see if Mu Qing is pressing hard enough to dent the soft skin. She wants to know what color Mu Qing’s nipples are, to see how they stand out against her pale breasts.

How does it feel? Feng Xin sends to the chat. She wants to text Mu Qing instead, so the message is just between them.

The way Mu Qing smirks at the camera feels private anyway. Feng Xin knows exactly how Mu Qing looks with that expression. She knows how Mu Qing’s whole face looks, too, not only below her nose.

“It feels nice, Xinxin. Anywhere else you want me to touch?” Mu Qing says, and Feng Xin is suddenly very aware of how little she’s wearing herself.

She’d changed into lounge clothes once she got home, and now she’s just in an oversized tee and old gym shorts. She doesn’t even have underwear on, which is especially obvious the more turned on she gets.

Because there’s no use pretending she’s not turned on. She can’t even look at Mu Qing on the screen for longer than a few seconds without feeling her face heat up, but she can’t turn away either. Mu Qing, or the Mu Qing that’s playing this vixen who touches herself for an audience, is magnetic. It doesn’t have to mean anything, Feng Xin tells herself. She’s attracted to women, Mu Qing is an attractive woman. It’s fine. It’s normal. Feng Xin can’t even see her whole face, so it doesn’t count.

“Xinxin?” Mu Qing prompts, and the chat is buzzing with why Mu Qing is paying so much attention to this newcomer. Mu Qing ignores it.

Feng Xin dithers over what word to use. There’s not really a great option unless she wants to keep things PG, but this whole stream is very clearly not PG. Touch it to your pussy, she sends, and she desperately wishes she could see the way Mu Qing’s eyes probably flash.

“Hmm,” Mu Qing hums, considering the command. She smiles as she rubs the head of the wand in a circle around a hardened nipple. “What does everyone else think?”

Naturally, most of her fans have already suggested this, and more now are chiming in. There’s so much caps lock and indecipherable emoji use. Feng Xin wonders if Mu Qing hates having to deal with this, just a little.

“Alright, alright, pipe down,” Mu Qing says. She’s still kneeling, but somehow she makes it look graceful when she moves one knee and then the other, so her thighs are spread wide. Feng Xin wonders how flexible she is.

Mu Qing laughs mockingly at a few of the messages in the chat and shakes her head. “I’m not going to turn it up. These are supposed to be really strong, so I want to get a— a feel for it, first. Okay, here goes nothing.”

The result is instantaneous. Mu Qing’s whole body jolts as soon as she touches the vibrator between her legs. Her head falls back, exposing her long neck and sharp jawline, and her hips jump into the sensation.

“Oh shit,” she breathes. “Fuck, wow.” She laughs again, only it sounds a little hysterical now. “They were not kidding, shit.”

Feng Xin doesn’t know where to look, every part of Mu Qing’s long, slim body is calling her eye. Feng Xin wants to tug on her ponytail and force her head back like that again. She wants to push Mu Qing’s hands out of the way and press the wand firmly against her clit and feel her shake. Even with Mu Qing’s underwear in the way, it’s the most erotic thing Feng Xin has ever seen.

“Okay, let’s try that again,” Mu Qing says. Her touch seems lighter this time, and she moves it carefully, oh so carefully, up and down between her thighs. “It’s— it’s good. Wow. It feels… really good. The vibrations are insane. You guys can hear that right? It’s so strong. This honestly might rank a nine, point deducted since it’s not wireless.”

Feng Xin’s mouth goes dry when she sees a growing wet spot on Mu Qing’s panties. It’s so dark against the light gray, and Feng Xin would swear she can see it glistening even through her screen. Mu Qing’s camera must be expensive.

“I don’t know how long this’ll last. Sorry, I guess,” Mu Qing says, and of course she doesn’t sound it. “Here, let me…”

She readjusts again, leaning back on the hand not holding the wand so she can kick one of her legs out and give the camera a better view. She stays like that, her left leg folded below her. Her chest is practically heaving, and Feng Xin can hear how heavy her breathing has gotten through the tinny laptop speakers.

“Is this as good for you guys as it is for me?” Mu Qing asks. She smirks at the camera, and somehow, like this, she’s still completely in control. She’s on the edge of orgasm, and she’s commanding everyone watching her.

Wanna see you come, Feng Xin types before she can stop herself. Other fans have said more or less the same, but Feng Xin has to say it. It’s true, and she wants Mu Qing to know for some reason. She doesn’t want Mu Qing to forget she’s watching.

“Oh fuck,” Mu Qing says when the message rolls into the chat. “Fuck, I— shit, I—” She moans, biting her lip hard enough it goes white, cutting off whatever else she might have said. Her hips bounce into the wand, and then she’s flinging it away from herself.

Feng Xin hears it bounce against the floor offscreen. The oversensitivity must have been too much, she thinks dully. If the vibration was strong enough to make Mu Qing come that fast —

She saw Mu Qing come. She literally just saw Mu Qing come. She watched Mu Qing orgasm onscreen, and Mu Qing knew she was watching. Mu Qing encouraged it. Mu Qing just came in front of her eyes, and when Mu Qing pushes herself back up on both shaky knees, Feng Xin can see how much more wet the crotch of her underwear has gotten.

They’re soaked through, Feng Xin swears she can even see the curve of Mu Qing’s pussy lips through the fabric. Feng Xin wants to get her mouth there. She wants to know what Mu Qing tastes like. She wants Mu Qing to try to push her away because everything is too much.

She wants to be the one to make Mu Qing come. She wants Mu Qing to let her come somewhere in Mu Qing’s general vicinity, maybe even be the one to push Feng Xin over the edge herself. Feng Xin wants Mu Qing, and the knowledge is like some giant animal in Feng Xin’s stomach, twisting and taking shape now that Feng Xin has finally given it a name.

“Oh fuck,” Feng Xin breathes, and she has her hand down the front of her shorts before Mu Qing finishes rating the toy and signing off. The swishy fabric is so loud when Feng Xin touches herself, and she’s so wet her hand keeps slipping. It still takes her no time, two fingers pressed into her cunt while she grinds the heel of her hand against her clit and she’s done.

Thank god it’s fast, because her phone starts ringing right after. Feng Xin fumbles to wipe off her hand on the shorts and finds the phone buried in the couch cushions. Mu Qing’s name stares up at her, along with a photo of her childishly sticking her tongue out that Feng Xin took way back when they were all in college together.

Mu Qing has tried to get her to delete it more than once, but Feng Xin has painstakingly transferred it with every new phone upgrade.

“Hi,” she answers, and her brain stalls out in the face of making more words happen. She’s floating on the crest of her orgasm, and of knowing Mu Qing just got off, too.

“So, what’d you think?” Mu Qing asks, and if Feng Xin didn’t know, she wouldn’t know anything was amiss.

“You were— that was. Huh,” Feng Xin says, fighting to get her own breathing to be even.

“Ah, poetic as always.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re breathing hard, did you…” Mu Qing trails off, less bold now then she was during her stream.

“Not during!” Feng Xin says. “After.”

Mu Qing laughs dryly. “Yes, because that makes a difference.”

“Sorry?”

“No, it’s not. I’m not, you’re— It’s fine,” Mu Qing says. “Kind of the point, right?”

Feng Xin shrugs, even though Mu Qing can’t see her. “I don’t want to cross a line, or something.”

Mu Qing is silent for a long time. “You do know I asked you to watch my live stream where I tested out a new sex toy, right? You understood that part?”

“You didn’t ask,” Feng Xin says, “technically.”

Mu Qing scoffs. Feng Xin wonders if she’s still in her same, sopping wet underwear. Or maybe she’s in a robe, now. Or completely nude.

“You’re good at that,” Feng Xin says. “Your whole shtick, it’s good.”

“Thanks,” Mu Qing says, and Feng Xin is sure she’s gritting her teeth.

Neither of them say anything for a bit, and Feng Xin eventually blurts out, “Anyway, good job. I guess I’ll—”

“What are you doing on Tuesday? At night?” Mu Qing asks, cutting her off.

Feng Xin flips through her mental schedule. “I don’t think anything, once I’m out of work.”

“How do you feel about nudity?”

“Uh,” Feng Xin says. “I don’t know? It’s... whatever?”

“‘Whatever,’” Mu Qing mocks. “If you want to, you should come over. I’m streaming again, and getting you undressed should stave some of my more pervy fans from trying to get me undressed for a while.”

Feng Xin’s brain is white noise. “Okay?”

“Okay?” Mu Qing echoes. “I mean, okay. Good. Be here by eight.”

Mu Qing hangs up, and Feng Xin spends a long time staring at her phone. Then it alerts her to a calendar invite. It’s from Mu Qing, and it’s totally innocuous, simply “Live Stream,” but Feng Xin blushes adding it to her own calendar. It’s like it screams, Here’s when you’re getting naked in front of Mu Qing. Which, she supposes, it kinda does.

“What the fuck?” Feng Xin asks the empty living room.

Feng Xin has three days to prepare for what she’s agreed to, or what she thinks she’s agreed to. But more accurately, she has three days to lose her mind over it. She’s so distracted at work that Pei Ming nearly hits her in the face the next morning when they’re running drills.

“You good?” Pei Ming asks with mild alarm. “Should I find somebody else to hold the bag?”

Feng Xin sets her jaw and reminds herself that knocking out coworkers is bad. That knocking out friends is bad. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Pei Ming says easily. “You wanna talk about it? Did you and Mu Qing get in another spat about literally nothing?”

Feng Xin closes her eyes and counts back from ten. “Shut up and go again. I want my turn before Yushi Huang comes in and you follow her around like a kicked puppy for an hour.”

“That’s not— fuck you. It’s not following her around if I lead the class,” Pei Ming grumbles, but at least he gets back to hitting the punching bag.

Xie Lian has a long-standing tradition to host Sunday night dinners for whomever wants to join, and Feng Xin knows she can’t back out at the last second without having to deal with Xie Lian’s pleading pout and Hua Cheng’s annoyance at Feng Xin for causing it. It’s not her turn to bring food at least, since Xie Lian isn’t allowed anywhere near the kitchen when having guests.

They try to frame it as a thank you for hosting, but Feng Xin has a feeling Xie Lian is very aware that they’re all afraid of her food. She’d feel bad about it if Xie Lian’s food hadn’t given everyone food poisoning. Twice. Hua Cheng’s stomach must be made of iron.

“Hi!” Xie Lian greets happily when Feng Xin arrives at her door, and her smile is so wide that her eyes are nearly shut with glee.

“Uh, hi,” Feng Xin says, allowing Xie Lian to sweep her into a hug. “You’re in a good mood.”

“It’s just us tonight, it’s a little reunion,” Xie Lian says as she bodily pulls Feng Xin inside.

“Just us, like... just you and I— Oh. Or that.” Feng Xin stops cold when she sees Mu Qing sitting at the kitchen table.

Mu Qing smirks at her, eyes cold. “Just us. And it’s ‘me.’”

“Yeah, I see it’s you,” Feng Xin says.

“No.” Mu Qing rolls her eyes expressively. “It’s ‘you and me,’ not ‘you and I.’”

“Is it?” Feng Xin asks, just to fuck with her. “Seems wrong.”

“Enough of that,” Xie Lian says, her eyes have been bouncing between them like she’s watching a somewhat amusing tennis match, but now she waves her hands to get their attention. “We might as well eat if you two are going to insist on arguing?”

“We’ll stop,” Feng Xin says, at the same time Mu Qing says, “Fine, we’re finished.”

Xie Lian hides her mouth behind her hand, and Feng Xin has the distinct feeling she’s laughing at them. Feng Xin ignores them both and fetches glasses to fill with water. She can hear Mu Qing unpacking takeout containers behind her on the table, and Xie Lian gets out plates and utensils. She doesn’t quite know why, but Feng Xin likes that she knows her way around Xie Lian's (and Hua Cheng’s) kitchen. It’s nice and comfortable, exceedingly domestic. It’s like family.

She lets Xie Lian and Mu Qing’s conversation wash over her as she fills her plate with biryani and tofu korma.

“Did you get any of their stuffed naan?” Xie Lian asks. “It’s so good.”

Mu Qing tsks. “Of course I did, it’s over here.”

“Fuck yeah,” Feng Xin says with fervor, her words slurred thanks to the samosa she just stuffed in her mouth. Mu Qing levels her with a look. Feng Xin shrugs and swallows her mouthful. “What? I’m hungry. It was a long day.”

“Tell us about it,” Xie Lian says with an encouraging smile.

Mu Qing pretends not to listen, but after a bit she starts nodding in the right places, and she even smiles down at her plate when Feng Xin describes Pei Ming’s ridiculous crush.

Xie Lian turns her smile from Feng Xin to Mu Qing. “Have you taken one of Feng Xin’s classes before? You should really try one out. She’s a great teacher.”

“You know I have,” Mu Qing says with an eye roll. “We went to the gym together on opening day.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Xie Lian says, nodding as if she didn’t already know that. Feng Xin suppresses her own eye roll at Xie Lian’s feigned ignorance. “But you haven’t been back?”

“Of course she hasn’t,” Feng Xin says dismissively. When she glances up from her food, Mu Qing is glaring back.

“Maybe I just haven’t had time yet,” Mu Qing says.

“Sure,” Feng Xin says, “we’ve only been open two years. I’m sure your dance card has been super full since we’re invited to basically all the same social engagements.”

Mu Qing scowls. “Really great sales pitch so far.”

Feng Xin shrugs. “Membership numbers are great, come or don’t come.”

“Maybe I will,” Mu Qing says.

“Fine, good,” Feng Xin says, and privately worries she’ll become a helpless loser if Mu Qing shows up in tight and/or revealing workout clothes, just like Pei Ming.

Mu Qing throws her napkin down on the table, though it’s not very dramatic since it’s paper. “Can I use the bathroom?”

“Yeah, of course, are you—?” But Mu Qing walks out of the room before Xie Lian finishes the question.

Xie Lian takes a long drink of water and sets her glass down so hard Feng Xin jumps. Xie Lian fixes her with what’s as close to a glare as Xie Lian ever gets. “Have you still not talked to her?”

“What? No!” Feng Xin hisses, trying to keep her voice low, her eyes darting toward the hallway Mu Qing disappeared down. “I took her out to brunch, she’s fine. We’re fine.”

Xie Lian’s eyebrows shoot up. “You… took her to brunch?”

“What, that’s not weird,” Feng Xin says defensively. “Is that weird? Oh fuck, Xie Lian, is that weird?”

Xie Lian hides her laugh behind her hand. “No, no, it’s not weird. It’s just, hmm. Have you ever eaten alone with Mu Qing?”

“Yeah, of course!” Feng Xin says.

“Outside of dining halls or food trucks?” Xie Lian asks, propping her chin on her hand. “Or since college?”

Feng Xin frowns down at her food. “I— I don’t know.”

“So it’s not weird,” Xie Lian continues, “it’s just, ah. Surprising. You watched one of Mu Qing’s streams—”

“I turned it off! I swear I— wait, how did you know?”

Xie Lian’s smile turns sly, and Feng Xin recognizes some of Hua Cheng’s cunning in it. “I didn’t.”

“Well, whatever! I didn’t watch, I—”

“—and then you took her on a date.”

Feng Xin sits back, stunned. “It wasn’t… Oh fuck.”

“Fuck,” Xie Lian agrees. “Have you talked to her since then?”

Feng Xin blushes, thinking about her phone call with Mu Qing on Saturday night. Then she thinks about watching Mu Qing come. Xie Lian shakes her head, clearly guessing that Feng Xin has been ghosting Mu Qing since brunch. Feng Xin lets her draw her own assumptions. Xie Lian doesn’t need to know that Feng Xin has plans to get off with Mu Qing — on camera — in forty-eight hours.

“Feng Xin.” Xie Lian leans forward to lay her hand over Feng Xin’s. “You two need to talk.”

Mu Qing looks suspiciously between them when she walks back into the kitchen. “What is it? Were you talking about me or something?”

Xie Lian smiles beatifically. “Mu Qing, how was your day?”

Mu Qing tells them about a fitting she had with a client in the afternoon, and how the neckline was a total disaster. “The drape she wants is totally wrong for her chest, so I had to talk her out of it and into a slightly different look, but I think she’s happy.” Mu Qing shrugs. “She better be, her wedding is in three weeks.”

Feng Xin’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re making a wedding dress?”

“What, do you not think I’m capable?” Mu Qing snaps.

“Fuck, no, shut up,” Feng Xin snaps back. “Don’t put words in my mouth. It’s just that that’s… kinda huge, right?”

Mu Qing shrugs again, but now she looks uncertain, her shoulders hunched in. “It’s whatever. She trusts me with it. It’s probably the only one I’ll ever do.”

Mu Qing does this sometimes, a strange lack of confidence that always surprises Feng Xin. She switches so rapidly from cockiness to self-deprecation that it makes Feng Xin dizzy. She thinks it’s weird that Mu Qing can’t just believe in herself. She wishes she could.

“Nonsense,” Xie Lian says firmly, because she knows just as well as Feng Xin what Mu Qing is doing. “You’ll be making my wedding dress, or suit, or whatever.” She goes red, like she only just realized what she’s saying. “That is, if I, ah. If San Niang and I choose to... Never mind, it’s not a big deal. Ignore me.”

Feng Xin shares a commiserating eye roll with Mu Qing. “Xie Lian, it’s a matter of ‘when,’ not ‘if,’” Mu Qing says.

“Don’t be thick,” Feng Xin adds. “Hua Cheng is crazy about you. She’d probably have proposed on your first date if she didn’t think you’d freak out.”

Xie Lian smiles down at her plate, her face still flushed. “If you both say so,” she says softly, and Feng Xin and Mu Qing share an are you kidding me look.

“Anyway,” Feng Xin says, to give Xie Lian a reprieve from embarrassment, “it’s good you’re still taking commissions. That’s cool.”

Mu Qing’s small smile inverts. “What? Would I not be good enough if I was only streaming for a living?”

“That’s not what I—” Feng Xin starts, but Mu Qing keeps talking.

“The whole reason I can even afford to rent a studio and host clients away from my apartment, so I don’t get murdered in my own home, is thanks to streaming. God, you’re so judgmental.”

“No! No, I’m not! That’s not what I fucking meant, Mu Qing, settle down. Fuck.” Feng Xin grinds her teeth and forces herself to breathe. “You should be doing whatever you want.”

“Gee, thanks,” Mu Qing says.

Feng Xin closes her eyes for a long second before facing Mu Qing’s glower. “You should be doing whatever you want to be doing, I just think it’s great you’re still doing the clothes thing because you’re really good at it. Is that okay to say? Am I allowed to compliment you?”

Mu Qing scoffs and looks away. “The ‘clothes thing,’” she mutters under her breath. But she stops glaring at Feng Xin, and Xie Lian’s shoulders relax in small increments as the three of them sit in silence.

One time in college, Feng Xin made the mistake of asking Mu Qing why she didn’t go to fashion school. Mu Qing had railed about how if she was going to be riddled with student debt she wasn’t going to do anything so stupid with the borrowed money, and how Feng Xin couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like when her schooling is being paid for, when she doesn’t have to provide for her parents at home, when she’s never had to worry about money for a second of her life.

It had been a short, but loud, shouting match, and they’d remained at a stalemate until Xie Lian tricked them into meeting up for lunch, and then feigned an emergency with Shi Qingxuan that left Feng Xin and Mu Qing alone, glaring at each other in a cheap cafe. They hadn’t exactly hashed it out, but Feng Xin had admitted she didn’t understand, and Mu Qing had nearly apologized. Their fighting never exactly stopped, but their spats have at least not drawn a crowd of onlookers on the quad, or any other public place, again.

Xie Lian sends them both home with tight hugs, leftovers, and an effusive, “This was so nice, right?” that both Feng Xin and Mu Qing try to smile through.

“Nice, right,” Feng Xin says while she’s being squeezed, and Mu Qing coughs beside her, badly covering a laugh.

When they’re in the elevator, Mu Qing sighs. “Look, I keep expecting you to think I’m, I don’t know. Gross, I guess. For the sex work. I keep expecting you to be disgusted with me.”

“Fuck you, too,” Feng Xin says on instinct, which earns her an eye roll. “Obviously I’m not disgusted. Why else would I— you know, while you… you know.”

Mu Qing laughs. “Sure, I know.”

Feng Xin can’t help but laugh with her. Somewhere along the way she’s learned not to take herself too seriously. She wishes she could pass that lesson along to Mu Qing. “Apology accepted.”

Mu Qing elbows Feng Xin, hard. “I didn’t apologize.”

“Oh, I know,” Feng Xin says, “but it was implied.” The elevator dings as they reach the lobby. “It was in-between all your other words and eye rolls and sighs. I know how to read you, your secret bitchy language.”

“Fuck off,” Mu Qing says, but she’s smiling, just a little.

Feng Xin feels lighter than she has all day. She holds the door for Mu Qing, and they head in the direction of the train together. “Are we still on for Tuesday?”

Mu Qing watches her feet as she walks. She nods, but says nothing.

“Is there anything in particular I should wear?” Feng Xin feels silly asking, but she’s been stressing over it since their phone call.

Mu Qing smirks and meets her eyes for the briefest second. “Wear whatever, you’ll be taking it off anyway. Unless you’re trying to impress someone?”

“Maybe I am,” Feng Xin says stubbornly, staring at Mu Qing until she looks up again.

Mu Qing looks surprised, and the tip of one ear that’s just visible, poking out from all her dark hair, looks red. She visibly pulls herself together, her fingers going tight on the reusable bag Xie Lian had given her for the food. “Great, fine. You do that,” she says.

“I will.”

“Good.”

This is ridiculous. Feng Xin is ridiculous. They’re both ridiculous. They’re taking trains on opposite sides of the platform, but they haven’t split up yet. Feng Xin has half a mind to follow Mu Qing home, or to drag Mu Qing home with her instead. She doesn’t want to get her nose broken suggesting it, though, even if it might be worth the risk.

“That’s your train,” Feng Xin says, lifting her chin.

“I know,” Mu Qing says, but then she’s running for it without so much as a goodbye.

Feng Xin is nearly home when Mu Qing texts her. Did you steal all the naan?

Feng Xin snorts. I’m pretty sure Xie Lian ate it all before we even left.

Figures, Mu Qing sends. Then, a full minute later, as if she had to think about what to type, she says, See you Tuesday. Remember to be here by 8.

Just to be an asshole, Feng Xin replies with the thumbs-up emoji. Mu Qing is vehemently opposed to emojis, plus it’s universally accepted as passive-aggressive. A two birds, one stone situation.

On cue, Mu Qing messages, You’re such a dick. Good night.

Feng Xin stares at her phone, openmouthed. Night night, she sends back, on autopilot.

Mu Qing didn’t need to send her a goodnight text, it’s not like they’re — and it’s not even that late! Mu Qing has never sent her something like that before, something that, though perfunctory and polite, is also conscientious. Feng Xin thinks about it the rest of the night, all the way up to when she’s in bed, thinking about Mu Qing while lying in the dark.

All day Monday, at least half of Feng Xin’s brain is focused on what to wear to Mu Qing’s. She doesn’t want to look like she’s trying too hard, but she wants to look good for — for the viewers. There’ll be people watching her, probably lots of people, judging by the numbers Feng Xin has seen on Mu Qing’s site so far. It makes sense she doesn’t want to look bad.

And maybe, maybe she does want to impress Mu Qing a little bit. She wants to see the look on Mu Qing’s face when she gets undressed. She wants Mu Qing’s eyes on her, on her body. She wants Mu Qing to like what she sees.

She has half a mind to text Shi Qingxuan with a request for an emergency mall trip by the time she’s home from work. But then she envisions actually going shopping with Shi Qingxuan, where Shi Qingxuan’s attention will be entirely focused on her, and where undoubtedly, somehow Feng Xin will end up confessing why she needs new underwear, and then she puts her phone back down. Shi Qingxuan will be her last resort, so she empties out both her bra and underwear drawers on the bed.

Do they have to match? Is that too much? Mu Qing has been wearing matching underwear both times Feng Xin has seen her stream, but maybe that’s just by chance. Feng Xin’s usually in sports bras or stretchy pullover bralettes, running to and from the gym. She just wants something to keep her tits from bouncing around too much, so her options now are scant.

They’re not big, but they’re not small either. Mu Qing’s breasts seem small by comparison, but Feng Xin’s are a handful. Nothing to write home about, she supposes, but they’re well-shaped and perky, thanks to her pecs.

It makes sense that Mu Qing’s are smaller, because Mu Qing is smaller all over. She and Feng Xin are around the same height, but Mu Qing is so… narrow. Feng Xin wants to know how far her big hands can fit around Mu Qing’s slender waist, wants to hold onto her ribs and feel her breath quicken. Then she could just slip her hands up a little, her thumbs finding Mu Qing’s nipples and—

“You’re hopeless,” Feng Xin mutters aloud to herself. She’s staring at her options, but the pile of cotton and elastic and what might be the tiniest bit of lace just lays there unhelpfully. She sighs and dives in. She can at least start by sorting things by color and weeding out what she definitely won’t wear.

She locates the lace, but it’s old and worn, and Feng Xin would feel stupid wearing it anyway. She’s already putting enough on the line here, she can at least afford to be comfortable. She finds a sports bra she forgot about. She had worn it to work only once, because everyone (Pei Ming) had a lot to say about it since it’s a little more detailed than her normal style. It’s not racy or too revealing, but Feng Xin doesn’t need comments on her sartorial choices from coworkers or clients.

It’s an average racerback, but the fabric is all mesh in the back, see-through and tempting. The front is a low cut plain black with a mesh panel following the curve of the seam. It gives Feng Xin a little bit of cleavage while still technically covering everything, and Feng Xin had liked the play of sheer and solid.

She has a simple black thong she can pair it with, and she thinks the thick hip straps on the underwear go well with the bra. Both are still new enough that the blacks match, and she can admit that her body looks great when she tries on the improvised set.

It’s nothing special, or too fancy, but Feng Xin likes that it looks like something she could feasibly be wearing in her everyday life. Maybe she should go for underwear with more coverage, but surprising Mu Qing with her bare ass is enticing. Feng Xin’s ass is kind of great, and her hard work on squats deserves to be shown off.

She goes back and forth between taking a photo or not once she takes them back off, and eventually she snaps a pic of the bra and underwear laying innocently on her bed.

No questions asked, does this go together? she messages along with the photo.

!!!!!!!!!! Shi Qingxuan sends back. Feng XIN, spill!

No. Questions. Asked. Do they match okay?

You know it’d really be easier to tell if you put them on and took a pic…….. Shi Qingxuan says.

Feng Xin rubs the hand not holding her phone over her face. No. Please, it’s important.

They look great together! I can’t believe you’re denying me this glimpse of your shoulders, though. You’re so mean to me 😔

Feng Xin snorts. You wanna see my shoulders, you can pay for a class like everyone else. Go look at He Xuan’s shoulders.

Great idea 😉 Have fun, A-Xin!!! Don’t be a stranger!!!!!

She feels better having Shi Qingxuan’s enthusiastic stamp of approval. She puts all her other underwear away, leaving out the mesh bra and thong on top of her dresser. Mu Qing never needs to know how long she spent deciding on what to wear, especially since she’ll be taking it off. If Feng Xin deep conditions her hair and uses an overpriced face mask Xie Lian and Hua Cheng gifted her for her last birthday that night, Mu Qing doesn’t need to know about that, either.

She just wants to be prepared, that’s all. She’s going to be on camera, and she doesn’t want to somehow embarrass Mu Qing with her appearance. She just wants to give Mu Qing as little to needle her about as possible.

Feng Xin has trouble getting to sleep that night, and for once she’s glad she has a mid shift tomorrow. She starts to scroll through her secret Twitter, but it feels weird, almost wrong. She doesn’t want to look at any of these people, she realizes as her stomach flips. She wants to look at Mu Qing.

Her mind runs rampant with everything Mu Qing could want to do with her, to her. “Fuck,” she says, giving into the fantasy of it. She grits her teeth, sets aside her phone, and fishes a bullet vibe out of her nightstand drawer.

Mu Qing clearly has her own sex toys, and she undoubtedly knows what she’s doing with them, but does she have a strap? Mu Qing is technically still a virgin, a fact Feng Xin’s been doing her best not to think about. Is Feng Xin really the first person Mu Qing will ever touch like this? Will she be allowed to touch Mu Qing at all?

Does Mu Qing like penetration? Would she let Feng Xin slip her long fingers inside her cunt? Would she take them, before taking Feng Xin’s strap? Would she open up all sweetly if Feng Xin fucked her?

It takes an embarrassingly short time for Feng Xin to come, and not even the wave of guilt that hits her afterward is enough to keep her from dropping off to sleep.

Work flies by and also somehow creeps at a glacial pace in turns. Feng Xin spends most of it sneaking glances at her smartwatch, and sometimes it takes hours for ten minutes to pass, and sometimes three hours pass in ten seconds. She feels like the universe is fucking with her.

“What do you keep checking the time for? Big plans tonight?”

Feng Xin jumps at the sound of Pei Ming’s voice. Pei Ming’s smirk is as smarmy as ever, and Feng Xin reacts without thinking about it. “What? No! I mean, yes, but— no! Shut up!”

Pei Ming laughs and slaps Feng Xin on the back. “Sure, sure. Wanna talk about it?”

“No!”

“Wanna head out early today? I can finish up your last class after my six o’clock leaves.”

Feng Xin forces herself to look Pei Ming in the face. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all, if you tell me what you’ve got in store,” Pei Ming says.

“I can’t,” Feng Xin says. “Sorry, but. I really can’t.”

Pei Ming narrows his eyes but nods all the same. “Is it something to do with a hot chick at least?”

“I hate you,” Feng Xin says.

“That’s not a ‘no!’” Pei Ming crows. “Take off early, have a good time, and don’t forget the clit!”

“Fuck! Go away!” Feng Xin yells, praying her face is less red than it feels.

Pei Ming jogs back out to the floor of the gym, cackling.

“It’s not like I don’t know about the clit!” she shouts after him.

“Uh wow, okay,” Lang Qianqiu says, coming up behind Feng Xin.

Feng Xin buries her face in her hands and groans. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t sue me. I can pay for your therapy.”

“You technically already do,” Lang Qianqiu says, and Feng Xin can’t help but laugh.

Feng Xin leaves as soon as Pei Ming takes over her last class. She only has an extra half hour to get home, shower, and shove food into her face before she needs to leave for Mu Qing’s. She doesn’t know how she would’ve done it all without the additional time. She planned this terribly.

Of course, she didn’t plan it. She agreed to what Mu Qing directed, without thinking of anything else. It’s telling, probably.

She rushes to put on her chosen underwear, and then she has a mild panic over what to wear over it. It doesn’t matter, she’ll be taking everything off anyway, but she still slips on the joggers that she knows make her ass look great.

She gets to Mu Qing’s with six minutes to spare, and the panic sets in after she’s already been buzzed into the building. The worry wars with growing arousal, because her brain keeps jumping ahead to what will happen once she’s actually inside Mu Qing’s apartment. She’ll get to see Mu Qing nearly naked. She’ll — maybe, maybe — get to touch her.

“You’re on time,” Mu Qing says. She’s leaning against the door when Feng Xin gets upstairs, arms crossed over her chest. She’s in all black, leggings and a loose, sheer shirt that Feng Xin doesn’t look at too hard. She’s wearing something that looks complicated and strappy underneath. Mu Qing studies her nails. “Good job.”

“Hello to you, too,” Feng Xin says, her anxiety dying down to a simmer thanks to annoyance. She pushes past Mu Qing. She kicks off her sneakers and sets down the small overnight bag she brought along, just in case.

“So do we need to get to it, or—” Feng Xin starts, only to be cut off.

“In that much of a rush to get out of here?” Mu Qing asks, and Feng Xin hears the click of a lock.

Feng Xin whirls on her. “Of course not, why would you— I just wanted to get inside! I don’t want you to be late starting because of me. Why do you always have to do this?”

Mu Qing looks away, her arms crossed again. “Do what? I just assumed you had more exciting things to get to tonight.”

“More exciting things than— than—”

“Oh, that’s great, you can’t even say it. Are you that appalled? You can just go, then.”

Feng Xin balls her hands into fists and takes a deep breath. “Will you shut up? I want to be here, and I want to be here with you.”

Mu Qing is quiet for a long moment, staring at the floor. Finally she nods and slips past Feng Xin to walk into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

“I assume you don’t have any alcohol?” Feng Xin says with a snort.

Mu Qing yanks open the fridge hard enough that its contents rattle. She pulls out a bottle of wine and shoves it at Feng Xin.

Feng Xin grabs it and reads the label. “Rosé?”

Mu Qing shrugs and looks away. “You seemed to like it well enough that one time at Xie Lian’s.”

Feng Xin feels her face heat. She remembers when Xie Lian and Hua Cheng had hosted a midday party for Xie Lian’s birthday, replete with rosé, on Shi Qingxuan’s suggestion. As always, Mu Qing barely drank, but Feng Xin ended up drunk and happy sitting on the same loveseat where Mu Qing was curled up. Mostly what Feng Xin remembers was staring at Mu Qing, and Mu Qing telling her to stop, pink rising in her cheeks. Feng Xin had been unable to look away from the sharp line of Mu Qing’s cheekbones, the fall of her hair, the hollow of her collarbones, and eventually Mu Qing had pushed Feng Xin’s face to the side.

Feng Xin laughs and slides the bottle of wine back to Mu Qing across the counter. “Maybe after,” Feng Xin says. “If you’ll, uh. If you let me hang out for a bit.”

Mu Qing stares at her for what feels like forever before she puts the bottle into the fridge. “Yeah, maybe. Come on, let’s get situated.”

“Situated,” Feng Xin repeats.

Mu Qing throws an unimpressed look over her shoulder. “Everything’s set up in my bedroom, but I’ve never streamed with a second person, so we might need to figure out the angles. I have a mask for you, by the way. I assume you forgot to bring one.”

Buying and bringing along a mask hadn’t even crossed Feng Xin’s mind, even though she knows Mu Qing streams with the cat one that looks well-made and expensive. “Uh, thanks?”

“It’s just a domino, but I figure that’s better than nothing. Unless you want everyone to know who you are.”

Feng Xin shrugs. “I’ll wear the mask, but it’s whatever, you know?”

Mu Qing stops just inside her bedroom, fast enough that Feng Xin nearly runs into her. She doesn’t turn around when she says, “No, I don’t know. But it’s your face, I guess.”

“I run a gym,” Feng Xin points out. “I don’t think me being in a porno is going to really hurt my business that bad.”

The line of Mu Qing’s shoulders shifts, and Feng Xin wishes she knew if Mu Qing was exasperated or angry. She wishes she could see her face.

“Must be nice,” Mu Qing says, continuing to the bed.

“So this is it?” Feng Xin asks.

Mu Qing glances at her and then gestures to her bed and the tripod with a camera attached at the foot of it, and it looks as nice as Feng Xin imagined. Mu Qing waves her hand at the forest green blanket. “I put a different blanket on the bed when I stream, it just…”

“Gives you a little extra privacy?” Feng Xin guesses. “Like a disconnect.”

“Yeah, yes,” Mu Qing says, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “So I— I normally sit on the floor and film, sometimes on the bed, but I think it’ll work better if we’re on the bed? I have a remote for the camera, so I can adjust it however.”

“For sure, whatever you think’ll work best,” Feng Xin says.

“Very helpful.”

Feng Xin throws up her hands. “I’ve never done this before!”

“I mean, you kind of have,” Mu Qing says, and Feng Xin frowns in confusion. Mu Qing rolls her eyes in response. “You’ve… you know.”

“I definitely haven’t been in a porno before,” Feng Xin says.

“Stop saying it’s a porno!” Mu Qing whisper-yells. “What is this, the seventies? Grow up.”

“Sorry! I don’t know what else to say. I don’t mind being in a—”

“Stop! It’s just a stream, Feng Xin! Plenty of people stream!”

“Again, not judging,” Feng Xin says, because it seems important to get that out in the open.

Mu Qing lets out a breath, long and low. Despite herself, Feng Xin admires the set of Mu Qing’s jaw, the way it makes her look even more angular, sharper and more beautiful. Mu Qing isn’t looking at her anyway, so it’s probably okay.

“I mean that you’ve— you. You’ve had sex before, with… someone else,” Mu Qing says.

“It’s different,” Feng Xin offers.

“Wow,” Mu Qing says dryly.

“I know you haven’t— I mean. It’s a social construct, it doesn’t… matter, that’s not what— I respect you.”

Mu Qing glares at her. “Well, that’s a good start.”

“Shut up! I just mean, like.” Feng Xin groans and forces herself not to throw something. She takes a step closer, and she’s relieved that Mu Qing’s shoulders don’t rise any further around her ears. Feng Xin slowly reaches out, tucking a strand of Mu Qing’s loose hair behind her ear, and Mu Qing makes a low sound not unlike a growl, but she doesn’t back away.

Feng Xin swallows and forces herself not to back away, either. “It’s different, that’s all. It’s different with another person. That’s all, okay?”

Mu Qing’s mouth flattens. “I’m not some damsel you need to protect.”

Feng Xin holds her hands up in a placating gesture and takes a step back. “Fine, fine, sorry. Don’t we need to start soon?”

“The stream is scheduled for 8:15,” Mu Qing says. “I assumed you’d be late.”

Feng Xin nods and says nothing, because sometimes, sometimes it’s not worth calling Mu Qing on all of her shit. “Cool. Should I get undressed or whatever?”

Mu Qing eyes slide over her, head to toe, and Feng Xin suppresses a shiver. “Yes, you’ll have to eventually anyway. I’ll fix your hair before we go on.”

“What’s wrong with my hair,” Feng Xin grumbles as she pulls off her shirt. When it’s past her head, she catches Mu Qing looking at her again, like she’s considering something. Feng Xin mentally pats herself on the back for her bra choice. Mu Qing doesn’t say anything, frozen in front of Feng Xin. “My hair?” Feng Xin prompts.

“It should probably be up,” Mu Qing says without looking at her. “I don’t want it in my mouth.”

“How the hell is it going to get—”

“I’m going to be behind you, when we stream,” Mu Qing says, and her voice is calm but her face is flushed. “I’ll sit on the bed, and I’ll have you sit in front of me. That way I can… I can reach around you and… with a vibrator.”

Feng Xin snorts.

“What?” Mu Qing snaps. “It’s not a bad plan!”

“No, just— a reach-around, you know? It made me laugh.”

Mu Qing rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You’ll be… very exposed, to the camera. You realize that, right? If you want to back out, do it now.”

Feng Xin gestures to her very shirtless body. “I’m pretty all-in on this.”

Mu Qing appraises her, chewing on her bottom lip, before she abruptly looks away again. Her blush is spreading, and Feng Xin wonders how far down it goes.

“Or,” Feng Xin says slowly, “if you’re not all-in, I can go. It’s really okay. I don’t mind, and I don't want to make you, uh. Uncomfortable?”

“I’m fine,” Mu Qing says, waspish as ever. “Stop pretending to care about me.”

“Fuck you, of course I care,” Feng Xin says.

Mu Qing looks at her, her eyes round. “You— oh. Really?”

“Yes, fuck. You’re really messed up inside, aren’t you?”

“No, shut up,” Mu Qing says mulishly.

“Holy shit, I just realized. You’re like that kitten from our second year, the one Xie Lian snuck into her dorm, remember? She lured it inside with milk and then it kept scratching her? What was it—”

“Please stop comparing me to Patches. What a stupid name, I still can’t—”

“It’s a great name! I named him. Because he had patches all over, remember? Of different colored fur?”

“You should’ve just named him Spot at that point.”

“Yeah, because that’s original.”

Mu Qing rolls her eyes. “That’s the— you’re so stupid. And stop comparing me to a cat.”

“You just need someone to lure you in from the storm, huh? Give you food and their favorite sweater so you can tear it up?”

“Stop.”

“I mean, I guess maybe you could fix the sweater if you—”

“That sweater was such a pain in the ass to darn,” Mu Qing says with a sigh.

“You got like a week’s worth of lunches out of it, though, right?”

“Two,” Mu Qing corrects. “Two weeks. That part was nice.”

“Soooo, tell me about the plan, Patches,” Feng Xin says. It feels good, bickering with Mu Qing like this. It always does, on some level. She likes that it shows how well they know each other, and it lights a fire under her skin every time. Which is especially good for right now.

Mu Qing nods. “Right, we’ll be on the bed, you in front, n-nude, if you’re okay with it, and I’ll…”

“Get me off?”

Mu Qing looks away, her blush back in full force. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Are you going to get off?”

Mu Qing shrugs and says, “We can see how it goes.”

“Sounds good to me. You said 8:15?”

Mu Qing pulls out her phone. “We have nine minutes, do you want to take off your clothes on camera, or…?”

“I’ll take off my pants at least,” Feng Xin says, pushing them down. She turns around to throw them near her shirt, and when she turns back Mu Qing’s eyes dart up and away. Feng Xin doesn’t try to hide her smile. “Is this okay? What I’m wearing?”

Mu Qing doesn’t look at her, fiddling with the camera instead, as she says, “Yeah, it’s— it’s fine. You look— it’s good.”

Feng Xin sits on the edge of Mu Qing’s bed. “When are you going to strip?”

“Are you that invested in it?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Feng Xin says, and she’s pleased to see the defiant set of Mu Qing’s mouth as she rips off her top.

Feng Xin was right, the bra underneath is strappy… and also very small. Tiny, even. Mu Qing rolls down her tight leggings, and Feng Xin tries not to be disappointed with how much surface area her boyshort style underwear covers.

“Happy?” Mu Qing asks. Her hands are balled into fists at her sides, like she’s working not to cover herself back up.

“Very,” Feng Xin says, and then wants to swallow her own tongue.

It’s just that Mu Qing looks so, so good like this, bared to Feng Xin. Feng Xin is trim and fit, sure, but she’s built broader than Mu Qing, from her shoulders to her hips to the amount of muscle she can pack on. Mu Qing is slim and almost lanky, or she would be if she wasn’t so fucking graceful.

She’s narrow from her shoulders to her hips, with an even more delicate curve at her waist. Feng Xin still wants to get her hands around it. But Feng Xin can see her abs from here, too, and the lines of firm muscle in her arms and thighs. She wonders if Mu Qing has stuck with the pilates workouts she started a few years ago.

Mu Qing walks past Feng Xin to close the door, and Feng Xin resists the urge to catch her arm, to reel her in and — what? Feng Xin can’t just grab her like that, unless maybe she wants a fist to her face. Mu Qing seems to find her attractive enough, judging by the lingering glances at Feng Xin’s chest and ass, but that doesn’t mean she wants her past whatever this is. Upping her metrics? Or getting more tips? Is she going to offer Feng Xin a cut after all this?

Mu Qing brushes by her on the way back, and the touch of her bare shoulder against Feng Xin makes Feng Xin want more, as soon as possible.

“What are you waiting for?” Mu Qing asks.

Feng Xin realizes she’ll get what she wants right away and takes two long strides to the bed. Mu Qing directs her to sit at the edge of bed, and Feng Xin sits cross legged, watching as Mu Qing gathers up a remote, wireless keyboard, and her laptop. Mu Qing lays them behind Feng Xin on the bed, and Feng Xin gathers it’s so Mu Qing can see exactly what’s being shown on screen, and so she can read the chat once the stream starts.

Mu Qing pulls out a small chest from under her bed, and Feng Xin only gets a glimpse of Mu Qing’s collection before Mu Qing tosses something small and bright on the bed. It bounces once and then rolls to a stop near Feng Xin’s knee.

It’s a little handheld vibe, in an almost triangle shape with what looks like a grip on the top for fingers to fit into on either side. She reaches out to touch the smooth surface, her finger sliding against the silky silicone of the toy. Feng Xin licks her lips thinking about how it’ll be used. How Mu Qing will use it.

“Cute,” Feng Xin says, and Mu Qing scoffs. Feng Xin laughs. “What? It is.”

Mu Qing shrugs one elegant, bare shoulder. She crouches down in the corner of her room, digging through a small bag. Feng Xin watches as she applies lipstick in a small hand mirror before blotting it on a tissue. When she comes back to the bed, her lips are a dark plum. It’s stark against her fair skin, and all Feng Xin can think of is kissing it off her lips, smearing it against her chin.

She’s carrying her cat mask, and it looks heavy and solid. Mu Qing smirks at her before she slips it onto her face, tightening the ties in back. The bed dips as she crawls onto it, and Feng Xin swallows. Normally that feeling means she’s about to have sex, and she supposes it’s not so different now.

“Stay still,” Mu Qing says, her voice low, and then her hands are in Feng Xin’s loose hair, pulling it up into a topknot. Mu Qing fusses it for a minute, pulling a few strands loose to frame Feng Xin’s face. She rubs her fingertips over the fuzz where Feng Xin’s undercut is growing out. Feng Xin shivers.

“Now this,” Mu Qing says, and she carefully slips a simple black domino mask over Feng Xin’s head, careful not to mess up the bun. “There, perfect.”

Mu Qing holds up the hand mirror for Feng Xin, and Feng Xin has to adjust it to a better angle to actually see. She doesn’t look like herself with the mask. Of course Feng Xin can recognize her own strong jaw, her full lips, but the mask, as small as it is, really does give her an air of mystery.

“Perfect, huh?” Feng Xin says, and Mu Qing smacks her on the shoulder. It’s light, though, barely there.

Mu Qing moves around behind her, and Feng Xin watches out of the corner of her eye as she arranges her laptop so she can see it. She scoots up closer to Feng Xin, stopping when her knees are just brushing Feng Xin’s hips.

“I’m going to start the stream now,” Mu Qing says. “Last chance to back out.”

“Fuck off,” Feng Xin says, and she’s still laughing when they go live.

“As promised, I have a friend here with me today,” Mu Qing says, and Feng Xin looks up as Mu Qing lays a hand on her shoulder.

“Hi?” Feng Xin says, looking toward the camera. She offers a feeble wave.

“This is, um.” Mu Qing’s hand tightens on her shoulder before letting go. “This is Jiejie.”

Feng Xin turns to her sharply, unable to get Hua Cheng’s voice out of her head despite the fact that she knows plenty of people use the endearment.

Mu Qing shrugs, her eyes wide behind the mask. “Would you rather give your real name?” she hisses, barely moving her mouth.

Feng Xin turns back to the camera with a scowl. “No, it’s fine.”

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be like that, Jiejie,” Mu Qing all but purrs in her ear, and Feng Xin doesn’t bother suppressing the shudder. She wonders if it shows on-screen.

Mu Qing is already falling into her more teasing Fu Yao persona, and Feng Xin listens with half an ear as she explains what they’ll be getting up to. Feng Xin still can’t believe they’re doing this, that she’s doing this. She’s going to let Mu Qing —

“Scoot forward,” Mu Qing commands, and she hums when Feng Xin obeys, like she’s pleased. She reaches around Feng Xin, tapping the small vibe against her bare stomach. Feng Xin can tell the angle is awkward. Mu Qing groans softly. “Fuck, how do we… hmm.”

Feng Xin clears her throat. “It might be easier if you, uh, like… with your legs on either side of me?”

“Good idea,” Mu Qing says, and her voice sounds a touch higher than normal.

It’s awkward with Mu Qing trying to kick her legs out from where she’s kneeling to position them around Feng Xin, and then it’s more awkward when she gets closer, moving in little increments until she’s pressed up firmly along Feng Xin’s back

Mu Qing is always cold. Her hands are like blocks of ice when Feng Xin accidentally touches them when taking something from her. She’s lent coats and scarves and gloves aplenty to Mu Qing over the years, as has Xie Lian. Mu Qing’s always in a dozen layers, and Feng Xin has seen her wrapped up in a fleece blanket on the couch in the dead of summer.

Right now, though, her body is a line of heat down Feng Xin’s spine, pressed up so close Feng Xin can feel the swell of her small breasts. Her warmth bleeds through Feng Xin’s skin to pool in her stomach. It heats up her chest and brings a flush to Feng Xin’s face. Feng Xin feels herself stiffen, and she makes herself relax. Not leaning on Mu Qing, but comfortable showing Mu Qing her back all the same.

She can do this. She’s been in way more compromising positions with much more salacious girls than Mu Qing. Or maybe not, since there’s a camera pointed at them.

“Is that okay?” Mu Qing asks. It has some edge to it, and Feng Xin realizes that Mu Qing is utterly still behind her, practically holding her breath.

Before she can think it through, Feng Xin grabs Mu Qing’s knees, which are barely resting against her thighs, and pulls her forward. Feng Xin is even hotter now, with Mu Qing’s weight against her back.

“It’s okay,” Feng Xin turns to say over her shoulder, and Mu Qing is so close their lips almost brush. “Are you—?”

“Now that we have that figured out,” Mu Qing says with a cheeky grin to the camera, cutting off Feng Xin.

Feng Xin shakes her head and faces front again. She trusts Mu Qing to tell her if something is wrong. Sort of, mostly. She hopes she can. She thinks she has to, and she thinks it’s only fair. If they didn’t trust each other, deep down, then they wouldn’t be here.

Mu Qing holds up the vibe and tells her fans about it, and then she switches between all the different vibration modes while holding it to Feng Xin’s stomach. “Tell me what each one feels like,” she directs, and Feng Xin, a little helpless, does.

“I suppose we’ll start with the first one, then ramp it up if we need to. Sound good, Jiejie?”

“Ye-yeah. Perfect, A-Yao.”

Mu Qing huffs a laugh behind her, and then the vibe is moving down Feng Xin’s flat stomach. Mu Qing teases at the waistband of her thong, but then she keeps going, touching the vibe to Feng Xin’s cunt through her underwear. Feng Xin jumps, her back arching.

“Feels okay?” Mu Qing asks. It’s loud enough for the camera, Feng Xin thinks, but still so quiet. Voice so smooth and soft. Her breath is warm on Feng Xin’s neck, and Feng Xin has to stop herself from moving her hips against the toy.

“Yeah,” she croaks out, trying to stay as still as she can. She knows she won’t be able to be still forever, not with the pressure and vibration. Not with Mu Qing’s arms wrapped around her, aiming to get her off. She doesn’t want to give in this early, though.

Mu Qing rubs her sharp chin against Feng Xin’s shoulder, almost like she’s nuzzling Feng Xin there. The heavy line of her mask is hard against Feng Xin’s cheek. Feng Xin can hear the smirk in her voice as Mu Qing says, “Do you want to get naked for me, Jiejie? How much do you think they’ll tip to see all of you?”

“I— I don’t know,” Feng Xin says, playing along. “It’s your stream, your audience. They’re not here for me.”

She hears notifications pouring in from the chat, and Mu Qing laughs, her chest shaking against Feng Xin’s back. “They definitely want to see you, Jiejie.”

“Fuck,” Feng Xin whispers, the reality sinking in.

“You don’t have to,” Mu Qing says, lips against Feng Xin’s ear. “I could set a really high goal for it. Something ridiculous that not even your tits could muster.”

Feng Xin knocks her head against Mu Qing’s, smiling. “How would you know? My tits are great.”

“I know enough,” Mu Qing says, which makes Feng Xin go hot. Mu Qing presses down with the vibe, and Feng Xin jerks back against her, barely biting off a moan. “Go ahead,” Mu Qing says, louder and for her audience — their audience. “Take off your panties for me. Let them see how wet you already are.”

“Fuck,” Feng Xin says again. She purposely arches against Mu Qing’s body as she hooks her thumbs into her underwear, rolling her hips as she shoves them down her tanned legs, Mu Qing holding the vibe out of the way. When she settles back against Mu Qing, Mu Qing’s head is turned to the side, watching the view on the laptop.

So she can see what the camera sees, Feng Xin realizes, and she spreads her legs wider. Mu Qing draws in a quick breath and then turns back to her, her breath coming heavier over Feng Xin’s shoulder.

“Come here,” she says, and then she’s leaning around Feng Xin, pulling at her knees until they’re hooked over Mu Qing’s own. Feng Xin feels spread so wide like this, open to the audience, to Mu Qing.

“This isn’t… too much?” Feng Xin asks.

“‘Her pussy looks so good,’” Mu Qing reads from the chat. “‘Does she always get that wet so fast?’ Want me to keep going?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, I—”

“‘Fu Yao you’re lucky your girlfri—’ never mind, this is just drivel,” Mu Qing says in a hard voice. Feng Xin tries to turn around to see if Mu Qing is blushing, but Mu Qing pushes her head back to face the camera.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Shut up,” Mu Qing says, and before Feng Xin can fight her on it, the vibe is against her again.

It’s stronger now, with no fabric in the way and her thighs spread wide. The vibration is brash and insistent against her clit, and Feng Xin’s breath hisses through her teeth as she tries not to yelp. It’s not like she doesn’t know what a vibrator feels like, she’s used plenty on herself and on partners, but this is — it’s — more, somehow. She has an audience she can’t see, and any situation with Mu Qing is always intense.

Mu Qing has made her feel like this for years, like she’s walking a tightrope, toeing along and trying not to fall on either side. Trying not to look down and find out just how far the ground is below her.

“Your adoring fans want me to turn it up,” Mu Qing says, playful again, and she does so before Feng Xin can say a thing.

Feng Xin arches against her on accident this time, gasping as Mu Qing drags it down the line of her cunt, putting pressure on where she’s so wet and wanting before circling back up to her clit. The toy isn’t designed for penetration, and Feng Xin tries not to think too hard about Mu Qing’s slim fingers.

Dimly, she registers that Mu Qing is talking to the viewers, responding to things in the chat, but she just lets her head loll back on Mu Qing’s shoulder. She gives up not moving her hips against the vibe, and her legs twitch where they’re spread over Mu Qing’s. They’re trying to close, Feng Xin thinks, as she squirms, but Mu Qing hooks her feet around Feng Xin’s calves to hold her in place.

“Do you want to show off your great tits?” Mu Qing asks, and Feng Xin must be losing the plot because she’d swear Mu Qing drops a quick kiss against her shoulder. “Come on, just push up your bra, yeah? Touch yourself for everyone, for me.”

“Okay, okay,” Feng Xin says, disgusted with how breathy she sounds. How desperate. She does as Mu Qing tells her, shoving up her sports bra to bare her breasts. They fall warm against her rib cage, and it’s nothing to cup them in her hands and drag her thumbs over her hard nipples.

“They are great,” Mu Qing says in a low tone, like she’s confessing something. “Does it feel good? I know it does, I can see how wet you are. On camera, you know? You’re practically glistening, it’s obscene.”

“Fuck, Mu— Fu Yao.” Feng Xin almost doesn’t correct herself in time. “Sorry, I— sorry. It just—”

“Shh, tell me how it feels.”

“Good, great. You’re so great. I should’ve known you’d be this great,” Feng Xin says in a rush. Mu Qing stiffens behind her for a second, but then she’s moving again, tapping the point of the vibe against her clit in a rhythm Feng Xin can’t quite figure out.

“I’m close,” Feng Xin says.

“Already?” Mu Qing laughs, and Feng Xin feels the bite in it. It sparks in Feng Xin’s belly, hot and strong.

“Do you need me to stall?” Feng Xin asks.

Mu Qing laughs again, but it sounds more sincere. “No, it’s fine. You can come whenever you want, jie.”

“I don’t want to disappoint your fans,” Feng Xin says. She moans as she says it, which undercuts the words. She could probably wait, maybe, if Mu Qing was less insistent with the stupid toy. Feng Xin has never been one to draw out her own pleasure too much, even if she can find the joy in edging her partners.

“My streams are usually pretty short, they’re used to it,” Mu Qing says. She raises her voice as she continues, “Besides, they should be grateful. They got to see you. All of you.”

“Are you not going to— are you going to, uh. You know, on camera?”

Mu Qing snorts. “Do you mean am I going to get off after you do?”

Feng Xin turns her head so she can speak into Mu Qing’s ear. “Yeah, is this, um. Is it any good for you?”

Mu Qing is quiet for what feels like the longest ten seconds of Feng Xin’s life, and then she shifts behind Feng Xin, tilting her hips so that Feng Xin can feel the skin of her inner thighs, the soft fabric of her underwear. It takes Feng Xin a second to realize the drag of them on the skin of Feng Xin’s lower back, against her ass, is tacky. Wet.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck,” Feng Xin mumbles like an idiot.

“Yeah, it’s alright for me,” Mu Qing says, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

“You should let me eat you out,” Feng Xin says, without thinking about it. “No one would be able to see you. The camera would be blocked by my shoulders, my head. You could even tilt it up, right, so they’d just see your reactions, like always? You should let me.”

“Should I?” Mu Qing taunts, but she’s breathless.

“You should, you really should. I’m good at it, I’ll make it so good. You— fuck. Fuck, M— A-Yao, I’m close. I’m so close. Please let me, after. Let me taste you.”

“Fuck,” Mu Qing curses softly. “We’ll see, alright? Everyone seems to like your idea, so I’ll take it into consideration. Are you going to come for me?”

“Can I?”

“Why not? Go on then,” Mu Qing says, and it’s so Mu Qing, from the words to the haughtily dismissive tone to the way that she pushes closer against Feng Xin’s back, her words and actions contrasting each other always.

It’s so Mu Qing, and that’s all it takes for Feng Xin’s hips to jump against Mu Qing’s hand, her thighs trying to close again, held spread apart but Mu Qing’s knees, her own fingers twisting her nipples just this side of too rough.

“Ah, ah, so good, so— Fuck, fuck,” Feng Xin says, shaking in Mu Qing’s arms as Mu Qing keeps pressing the vibe against her. It slips up with how slick Feng Xin is, and her whole body jerks when it touches her clit again. She’s sensitive and wriggling, trying to get away from the stimulation.

Mu Qing doesn’t apologize, but she does slide the vibe off her fingers and turn it off. “Wanna see how wet you are?” she asks, pushing the laptop farther down on the bed so Feng Xin can see herself on-screen.

She looks ridiculous, debauched and wanton, but hot, too. The half of her face she can see is stained a blotchy red, and it’s spreading down to her bare chest. Mu Qing smiles into the camera, shark sharp, and gets both her hands around Feng Xin. She carefully, so carefully spreads the lips of Feng Xin’s pussy open even wider, and Feng Xin can feel the damp patch growing beneath her on the bed.

Mu Qing still looks so put together, but Feng Xin can see how she’s worrying at her lip, chewing away the lipstick, and she can’t put how wet Mu Qing felt out of her mind. Feng Xin wants to ruin her.

“Are you going to let me?” Feng Xin asks, leaning her head back on Mu Qing’s shoulder and staring up at her. “Will you let me make you feel as good as I feel?”

Mu Qing stares right back at her, and Feng Xin can feel how fast she’s breathing, her chest moving against Feng Xin’s back. This close, Feng Xin can see the dark glint of her eyes even through the cat mask.

“If you think you’re up for the challenge,” Mu Qing says finally, and Feng Xin slides off the bed so fast it hurts her knees. If she tried to wait any longer, she was afraid of what she’d do, like try to kiss Mu Qing’s perfect plum-colored mouth.

Mu Qing’s underwear are too dark for Feng Xin to see the shine of her arousal on the fabric, but when she gets up close she’d swear she can smell it. She forces Mu Qing’s legs apart with her shoulders and brushes her fingertips between them, and Mu Qing makes a high-pitched sound that’s echoed by Feng Xin’s own. Mu Qing’s underwear are soaked through, the fabric sticking to her skin. Feng Xin pulls them away, careful to only touch the band where Mu Qing’s thigh meets her body, and then releases them so they snap back.

Mu Qing gasps, her pretty lips parted as she stares down at Feng Xin. Her chest is already heaving, ribcage rapidly expanding and contracting under all the skinny straps of her bra. One of her hands is clenched in the green blanket, and the other hovers over her laptop, like she’s forgotten it’s there.

“You can touch me,” Feng Xin says lowly. She pulls her bra the rest of the way off. “My hair, or my shoulders, whatever. I won’t mind.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mu Qing says, her voice tight.

Feng Xin shrugs. “Can I take these off?”

“Ye-yeah, just. Let me,” Mu Qing says, and then she’s leaning over to do something with the laptop, her knees still spread around Feng Xin’s broad shoulders. Feng Xin hears a whirring, and she looks over her shoulder to see the camera shifting up.

“Okay?” Feng Xin asks.

Mu Qing hesitates, her thighs trembling. Feng Xin drops a kiss to the inside of Mu Qing’s knee, quick and dry. Mu Qing’s body goes tight before she huffs out a breath. Feng Xin can hear her rolling her eyes when she says, “Get on with it.”

Feng Xin can also hear the nerves in her voice, the slight shake to it. She doesn’t think anyone watching will pick up on it, and she’s glad she knows Mu Qing well enough to. She’s so fiercely glad that she’s the one here with Mu Qing, the only one Mu Qing has let get this close.

She smiles up at Mu Qing as she tugs on her panties, and the curve of her mouth goes rakish as she rolls them down. Mu Qing’s blush is bright, crawling down her chest as she lifts her hips for Feng Xin. Feng Xin keeps her eyes on Mu Qing’s knees, on the line of her pale calves. She has to sit back on her heels to pull them down, slipping the fabric off Mu Qing’s right socked foot, then her left.

She flicks her eyes up to smile at Mu Qing, still not looking — there. She folds the black boyshorts and sets them aside, relieved when Mu Qing laughs under her breath. Feng Xin moves back between her knees, sliding her hands up from Mu Qing’s ankles to her knees, and finally to her thighs, letting her gaze follow her fingers. She presses Mu Qing’s legs open wider, glancing up in time to see Mu Qing swallow.

“Still okay?”

Mu Qing nods, quick and harsh. Feng Xin breathes out through her nose and nods back, then she looks down again, to where Mu Qing is fully exposed. She’s so — cute, is the first word that comes to mind. Her pussy is neatly shaved and as fair as the rest of her, the lips of her are plump and pushed together enough that Feng Xin can’t see much of anything yet, just a deep, flushed pink peeking through. Everything is covered up, all tidy and hidden away, like Feng Xin has to earn it.

Feng Xin only notices her hands are shaking when she slides them farther up Mu Qing’s legs, running her thumbs along the crevice of her inner thigh. She moves one hand in, just barely pushing her thumb between Mu Qing’s labia, feeling how warm and wet she is.

Mu Qing moans softly, and then says, “Yeah, sh-she’s taking forever, though,” and Feng Xin realizes it must be in response to the chat.

Fine, Feng Xin thinks, and parts Mu Qing’s lips open and darts forward to lick a stripe up her pussy in one quick move. Mu Qing jerks under her hands, moaning loudly. She seems surprised when Feng Xin looks up at her, and somehow her blush has deepened. Feng Xin smirks and licks her again, from her cunt up to her clit, putting the barest amount of pressure to suck at her clit before pulling off again.

“Oh, fuck,” Mu Qing breathes, and Feng Xin isn’t sure if she’s remembering something from the stream she watched or if it’s just her instincts from how Mu Qing can’t seem to stay still, but Feng Xin knows deep down in her bones that Mu Qing is already close.

She wants to push her fingers inside Mu Qing, but she doesn’t know if Mu Qing is into that, and she doesn’t really want to stop to ask any more questions right now. Instead, she licks into Mu Qing, holding her open for Feng Xin’s tongue. Mu Qing moans and her hips move forward, and Feng Xin can’t help but groan into her, trying to get her tongue even deeper.

“Yeah, it’s— it’s good. She’s good at it. It’s really— fuck, Fe— fuck. Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop,” Mu Qing whines. She’s shifting around so much that Feng Xin presses a hand against her stomach to hold her still.

“It’s okay,” Feng Xin says, her breath ghosting against where Mu Qing is so, so wet for her. “I’ve got you.”

“I thought I told you not to stop,” Mu Qing groans, and she pushes her fingers through Feng Xin’s bun and tries to pull her face back in.

Feng Xin laughs and goes, more than willing to eat Mu Qing out for as long as she’ll let her. Feng Xin’s face is sticky with her already, and when the domino mask gets shoved halfway off her head, she doesn’t bother trying to pull it back down. She tilts her head so she can get her thumb on Mu Qing’s clit, so she doesn’t have to give up licking into her like this, and Mu Qing is barely talking to her fans anymore. She’s just moaning, her voice high and breathless.

Feng Xin wishes she could stop the stream and take off Mu Qing’s mask. She wants to see all of Mu Qing’s face when she comes. She wonders if she’d be louder without the camera on, or maybe even quieter. Feng Xin wants to know if Mu Qing does get louder, she wants Mu Qing to let her try to make her scream.

“There,” Mu Qing gasps, “now, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop. I’ll kill you if you— fuck, oh shit. Oh, oh.”

“Come on,” Feng Xin says against her, moving up so she can suck on Mu Qing’s clit again, tracing her slick folds with her thumb, and Mu Qing’s whole body spasms. She makes a sound like a sob, like she can’t get enough air, and then she’s shoving Feng Xin away from her, her hand tangled in Feng Xin’s hair, and her knees trying to slam closed so hard that her heel whacks into Feng Xin’s ribs.

Feng Xin can take it, though. Mu Qing’s hit her harder in the past, and all those other times Feng Xin didn’t get the pleasure of feeling Mu Qing fall apart under her mouth, of watching her shake through her orgasm while Feng Xin’s hands are still on her.

“Good?” Feng Xin asks, when Mu Qing is panting a little less heavily.

Mu Qing whacks Feng Xin’s shoulder with her knee, but it’s light. Practically a lovetap. “Shut up, don’t fish for compliments.”

Feng Xin sighs. “Don’t you need to tell your fans how it was? Isn’t that your whole thing?”

“You want me to rate you?” Mu Qing asks, tilting her head. Her ponytail slips over her shoulder with the movement, and Feng Xin wants to pull it. She shifts where she’s still kneeling, naked at Mu Qing’s feet.

“Only if you want to,” Feng Xin says. “And only if you’re not really mean about it.”

Mu Qing laughs and then tips her chin up to the camera. “Jiejie was very good. Seven out of ten at least. Remember to tip, and tune in for my next stream on Saturday.”

“Seven out of ten?!” Feng Xin exclaims, as Mu Qing is ending the stream.

“Room for improvement,” Mu Qing says, smirking at her.

“Fuck you,” Feng Xin says, and then she’s yanking Mu Qing down into a kiss before she knows she’s moving. Mu Qing makes a startled sound and pushes back. Fuck, fuck, maybe she didn’t want that, or maybe it’s because Feng Xin’s mouth fucking tastes like her, or maybe—

“Idiot,” Mu Qing scolds, untying her mask and throwing it on the bed behind her, and then Feng Xin has a lapful of Mu Qing, Mu Qing’s mouth hot against her. She’s hesitant, out of practice, but Feng Xin couldn’t possibly care less. Mu Qing’s mouth is something she’s never let herself think about, unless it was how often it sneered, expressive in its owner’s distaste of everything about Feng Xin.

“You’re so hot,” Feng Xin gasps, pulling back to kiss Mu Qing’s neck. Mu Qing makes a low noise, her hands tight on Feng Xin’s shoulders. “You are. You should let me fuck you. Do you like that? Penetration? Do you have toys for that?”

“Of course I have dildos,” Mu Qing says, snappy, but she tips her head back for Feng Xin’s lips on her throat all the same. “I just don’t use them when I stream. Some of me isn’t for them. And it’d be kind of hard with the ‘no nudity’ thing.”

“Sure, sure,” Feng Xin says mindlessly. “I brought my strap, just in case.”

Mu Qing pushes Feng Xin away, and then yanks the domino mask off Feng Xin so they can make proper eye contact. “You brought your strap-on,” she says flatly.

“Just in case.”

“I hate you. You’re so—” Mu Qing cuts herself off by attacking Feng Xin’s mouth with her own again.

Feng Xin feels Mu Qing’s fingertips against her ribs, the touch so light it’s ticklish, making Feng Xin laugh. “It’s okay, you can touch me.”

“I know that,” Mu Qing rushes to say, and she gropes Feng Xin’s chest like she’s trying to prove a point.

Feng Xin is so turned on that it works for her, fuck finesse. She moans into Mu Qing’s mouth, and Mu Qing moans back, pushing in so close it’s hard for their mouths to stay connected with Mu Qing still in her lap like this.

“Do you want me to fuck you or not?” Feng Xin asks, pulling away. Mu Qing tries to drag her back in, but Feng Xin cups Mu Qing’s face in her hands and holds her there.

Mu Qing leans into the touch before shaking herself and shifting back, putting space between them. She looks anywhere but Feng Xin’s face. “I— Yeah, I. We sh-should, if you. Want that. Also.”

“I do,” Feng Xin reassures her. She runs her thumb along Mu Qing’s bottom lip, pushing in enough to feel her teeth. “I want to be inside you.”

Mu Qing shivers and nips at Feng Xin’s thumb. She uses her grip on Feng Xin’s shoulders to push herself up. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“Be right back!” Feng Xin takes off for the bag she dropped when she came in, glad that all of Mu Qing’s curtains seem to be closed since she’s stark naked. She’s already pulling the harness out of it by the time she comes back in the room, where she unceremoniously drops both, mouth agape.

“What?” Mu Qing asks defensively. She’s sitting on her bed, scowling at Feng Xin, and she’s taken off her bra. She crosses her arms over her chest when Feng Xin doesn’t say anything. “Is this— I thought—”

“It’s good, it’s great, you look great. Has anyone ever told you how great you look?” Feng Xin crawls onto the bed, crowding Mu Qing back against the headboard. She kisses her bare shoulder, then her wrist, gently pulling her arms away. “You’re so hot. Your abs are kind of phenomenal. Do you still do pilates? And your boobs are so sweet—”

“Sweet?!”

“Sweet! Small and, like, adorable, you know, like—”

Mu Qing grabs Feng Xin’s face, leveling her with a look. “Hey, why don’t you stop talking?”

Feng Xin nods as much as she can. “Good idea.”

“And get the strap-on you dropped?”

“Also a good idea.”

Mu Qing laughs, a soft huff of breath. “Dumbass.”

Mu Qing watches her like a hawk as she steps into the harness, her eyes dark and intent. When Feng Xin slips the toy into the ring at the front of it, Mu Qing frowns. “That’s not that big.”

Feng Xin tries not to sigh. “It’s not meant to be. Isn’t it your first time?”

“It’s not like I haven’t on m-my own,” Mu Qing says, churlish.

Feng Xin walks over to the bed, painfully aware of Mu Qing following the bounce of the dildo with rapt attention. “I have bigger. I can fuck you with one of those next time, if you want.”

Mu Qing’s wide eyes shoot up to hers. “Next time?”

Feng Xin forces herself not to look away. Some of Mu Qing’s hair is shorter in the front, and it’s escaped her ponytail to frame her face. Feng Xin brushes a piece behind her ear. “If you want,” she says.

Mu Qing stares, unblinking, then she rolls her eyes. “Sure, yeah. Maybe. It’ll depend on your performance now, of course.”

Feng Xin smiles. “Of course,” she says, and then she shoves Mu Qing down flat on the bed.

“Wait, wait,” Mu Qing says, scrambling to get up, and Feng Xin’s heart stops for a second before she realizes Mu Qing is only trying to push off the green comforter.

“It’s already dirty,” Feng Xin points out.

“It’s for filming, though, it’s not for— for me. For this.” Mu Qing is blushing again, a faint pink staining her ears as she shoves the comforter off the bed, unveiling a navy one beneath it.

“Lie down,” Feng Xin says, pushing her again, and Mu Qing grabs her wrist but she goes down anyway, staring up at Feng Xin.

She spreads her legs for Feng Xin’s thigh, and Feng Xin rocks it against her, reveling in the way Mu Qing grinds down on it, her mouth open. Mu Qing reaches down and runs a finger up Feng Xin’s cock, the vibrant purple of it bright against her hand. Feng Xin shivers like she can really feel it, and when Mu Qing fists it, adding pressure, she can, thanks to the ridged attachment at the base. Feng Xin catches her breath as she rubs against it, unable to take her eyes off where Mu Qing is touching her.

“Thought you wanted to be inside me,” Mu Qing says.

“Trust me, I do. Do you have lube?”

Mu Qing hesitates for a second before she nods. “It’s in the nightstand, but you have to, or I can…” Mu Qing looks away.

Feng Xin kisses her cheek, allowing herself to be sweet against all her instincts when it comes to Mu Qing. “What is it?”

“I can’t just— take it. You’ll have to use your fingers, too.”

“And you said it wasn’t that big,” Feng Xin says.

“Shut up, it’s just— I’m not. It’s not because I’m a virgin, alright? I— I touch myself. I have a dildo I like, I’ve fingered myself plenty, I just—”

“Stop explaining, it’s not exactly a turn off that you have a tight pussy.”

“You’re disgusting,” Mu Qing says, but the way she grinds against Feng Xin’s thigh says otherwise.

“I can stretch you out,” Feng Xin says, running her hand down Mu Qing’s side and over her hip. “I wanted to before, when I went down on you.” She runs her fingers between Mu Qing’s legs, not pressing in, just cupping her. “I wanted to see how many of my fingers I could fit inside you.”

Mu Qing sucks in a breath and pulls on Feng Xin’s hair to demand a kiss that Feng Xin is happy to give. Her mouth opens up so sweetly for Feng Xin’s tongue, and she opens her legs just as easily so Feng Xin can get between them.

“Fuck, you are tight,” Feng Xin groans, pushing a finger inside her. “How are you so tight but so fucking wet?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Mu Qing says, biting Feng Xin’s lip. “And don’t tease.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Feng Xin says, crooking her finger. Feng Xin pulls back to watch Mu Qing toss her head against the pillow. “Can you take a second already?”

“I can take anything you dish out,” Mu Qing says, opening her eyes to glare up at Feng Xin.

“I know you can,” Feng Xin says, and she pushes in a second finger on her next thrust, slow but firm, and Mu Qing moans. She slaps a hand over her mouth, and Feng Xin doesn’t bother stopping her.

“Your fingers are big,” Mu Qing says, the words muffled.

Feng Xin just hums happily, watching them slide in and out of Mu Qing’s body. She really is soaked through, so soft and hot inside. Once Mu Qing’s hips are rolling down to meet her hand, she adds a third finger, looking up to watch Mu Qing tremble through it. One of her hands is still in Feng Xin’s hair, pulling with no rhyme or reason that Feng Xin can figure out. It’s a good, dull pain, and Feng Xin wants to return it.

She ducks down to kiss Mu Qing’s neck, then scrapes her teeth over the same spot. Mu Qing cries out, and she clenches around Feng Xin’s fingers. “Don’t leave a mark,” she warns, even as she starts to ride Feng Xin’s hand faster.

“You can cover it up, I’ve seen what you can do with makeup,” Feng Xin argues. She won’t, though, at least not where it’ll be so visible. She doesn’t want to be a total dick about it, and she doesn’t want to give Mu Qing any reasons to start saying no. Instead, she sucks with the lightest pressure, and she earns faint whining sounds that she wants to hear more of immediately.

“I’ve thought about them,” Mu Qing says, “your hands. Like this.”

Feng Xin gapes at her, but Mu Qing is paying no attention. “What?”

“Hmm?” Mu Qing hums, but she doesn’t say anything else, her hips rocking down as she rides Feng Xin’s fingers.

Before she can ask if Mu Qing is ready, Mu Qing says, “What are you waiting for? Fuck me already.”

“Demanding,” Feng Xin says, but she doesn’t bother getting into an argument about how Mu Qing had asked for the prep. They're working toward the same goal here. She can keep things civil.

She finds the lube in the nightstand, ignoring, with great effort, the couple of sex toys and what she’d swear is a set of restraints. She wonders if Mu Qing keeps these separate from those she streams with for a reason, or if these are just in a heavier rotation so they need to be close at hand when she’s in bed with the camera off. She wants to ask. She doesn’t.

“How do you want to do this?” she asks instead. “Like this, or do you want to try to ride me?”

“Try?” Mu Qing asks, eyes narrowed. “I could do it.”

Feng Xin ignores her and the heat that imagining it brings to her belly. “Or you could be on your hands and knees, but then I definitely want to pull your hair.” She reaches out and flicks the top of Mu Qing’s high ponytail. “It’s kind of perfect for it.”

“Like this is fine,” Mu Qing says, “for me.”

“Okay, good,” Feng Xin replies. It’s fine for her, too. More than fine. She wants to be able to see Mu Qing’s face, wants to be able to kiss her. Not that she can tell her that. “I’m just going to—”

“Do whatever,” Mu Qing says dryly, like she’s bored, but Feng Xin can see the tremble in her thighs when Feng Xin spreads them wider.

She hooks one of Mu Qing’s legs over her arm, grabbing her calf to do it. Mu Qing is wearing ankle socks with tiny little cats on them. Feng Xin doesn’t know how she didn’t notice earlier. She stops to kiss the top of her foot. “Cute.”

Mu Qing looks away. “Shut up.”

“No, they really are cute,” Feng Xin says, taking the dildo in hand so she can line up with Mu Qing’s cunt. She teases the head against Mu Qing’s wetness, gratified when Mu Qing rocks down against the pressure.

“You’re statistically more likely to orgasm if you're wearing socks,” Mu Qing says defensively. “I’m not the stupid one here.”

“Wow, okay,” Feng Xin says, and she pushes in before Mu Qing can say anything else. Mu Qing grabs Feng Xin’s shoulders, her long nails digging in as her body opens up for Feng Xin’s cock.

Feng Xin makes sure to keep it slow, easing her way in. Propped up on her elbows like this, she can watch everything play out across Mu Qing’s face. Mu Qing’s eyes are closed, scrunched up, but her mouth is open, and the sounds she’s making are soft and enticing. Feng Xin kisses her until she starts kissing back, getting her to relax and let the toy sink in another couple inches.

Mu Qing moans, her back arching with it. Feng Xin watches and fights to keep her hips still, waiting until Mu Qing adjusts. She’s beautiful like this. Or, well, she’s always beautiful. She’s always been too pretty for her own good, even when they were sleep-deprived students.

Mu Qing’s eyes fly open. “What are you waiting for? Move!”

Feng Xin laughs and moves her hips forward. She can feel the give of Mu Qing’s body, the way she’s opening up for Feng Xin. Feng Xin grinds against the toy, her clit rubbing perfectly along the textured base as she pushes further inside Mu Qing. She hasn’t done this in a long time. She hasn’t been with anyone in forever, and she hasn’t fucked anyone like this for even longer.

As soon as she starts moving faster, with long thrusts in and out of Mu Qing, who’s so slick there’s barely any drag, Mu Qing’s hands fly up to cling to her shoulders. She wraps her slender legs around Feng Xin’s hips, pulling her in close and tight. She’s making hot little noises. No words, just sweet sounds that are hard to hear with how breathless she is.

“Does it feel good?” Feng Xin asks, though she’s not remotely expecting a response. “You’re taking it so well. Doing so, so good for me.”

“Shut up, go faster,” Mu Qing gasps, kicking at Feng Xin’s ass with her heels.

“You know, I was trying to go easy on you.”

Mu Qing pushes Feng Xin off her enough that Feng Xin can see her bewildered look. “Why the fuck would you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

“Alright, fine,” Feng Xin says, and snaps her hips in harder, faster.

Mu Qing arches underneath her, a whine caught in her throat as her nails dig into Feng Xin’s back. “Yeah, yes. Like that.”

“Oh, really?” Feng Xin asks, trying to lean into sarcasm and pretend she’s not as affected by this as she is. “Does this meet your exacting standards? Am I good enough for you?”

Mu Qing scoffs. “We’ll see. Was the goal to make me come again, or—?”

“Fuck you very much,” Feng Xin groans. She fumbles a hand in between them so she can rub at Mu Qing’s clit. Mu Qing gasps and moves into her touch right away, betraying any veneer of being above this.

“I made you come on my tongue, and you’ll never forget that,” Feng Xin adds, hoping it’s true.

“You’re so fucking crass,” Mu Qing says, but she throws her head back at Feng Xin’s words, her eyes screwed shut as she rocks her hips into everything Feng Xin is doing.

“My bad.” Feng Xin pinches Mu Qing’s clit lightly between her index and middle finger, rubbing it back and forth to see her writhe. “I’ll try to remember my manners next time I fuck you.”

“Oh, oh fuck,” Mu Qing gasps, and Feng Xin knows that tone. She knows what it sounds like when Mu Qing gets off, and she’s so, so close.

“C’mere,” Feng Xin says, rubbing soft but insistent at Mu Qing’s clit, her hand bumping into the slick dildo. She kisses Mu Qing again, savoring the way she moans into it, her mouth slack with how near she is to orgasm.

Her nails bite into Feng Xin’s back as she comes, dragging down either side of Feng Xin’s spine. Feng Xin groans and pushes the toy in deep so Mu Qing can clench down around it as she trembles. She’s a little louder than she is on her streams, and Feng Xin tries to push down the prideful feeling that blossoms in her chest.

“Do you want me to, uh,” Feng Xin says, starting to pull out, but Mu Qing’s legs tighten around her.

“No, stay,” Mu Qing says, still clawing into Feng Xin’s back. “Are you— can you, like this?”

“Yeah, yeah, just, oh fuck.” This normally wouldn’t be enough for Feng Xin, not enough stimulation on her clit, especially with nothing inside her, but Mu Qing curled in tight to her body, holding her so close, her face open to Feng Xin like it never is, Feng Xin rocks desperately against the base of the toy, the straps of the harness digging into her thighs as Mu Qing whines with each new thrust.

“Come on already,” Mu Qing says, “don’t keep me waiting.” Then, softer, “I want to see it again.”

Feng Xin comes, burying her face in Mu Qing’s shoulder as she tries to be even close to as quiet as Mu Qing was. She moves her hips forward without meaning to, and Mu Qing just holds her tighter, her breath hot on Feng Xin’s cheek. Feng Xin collapses onto her, and Mu Qing, shockingly, lets her. She groans, but she keeps holding on, her whole body wrapped around Feng Xin.

“It’s better like this, you know, when there’s not an audience,” Feng Xin says, kissing Mu Qing’s shoulder, then her neck.

“For you, maybe. I get paid when there’s an audience.”

“I’d offer to tip you, but I already gave you way more than just the—”

Mu Qing shoves at Feng Xin’s shoulders until she pushes herself up. “If you finish that sentence, I will never talk to you again.”

“That’s fair,” Feng Xin says. She sighs and sits back on her heels, slowly pulling the toy out as Mu Qing hisses in discomfort. She sits on the edge of the bed so she can slide the harness down her shaky legs, trying to ignore the dripping toy hanging off of it. She hopes Mu Qing will let her at least nap before sending her home.

“Eight,” Mu Qing says behind her, and when Feng Xin turns, she’s sitting up so she can pull out her hair tie. Her hair falls lush and dark around her shoulders, her tits are perfect, and her lipstick is smeared from kissing. Feng Xin reevaluates how tired she is. “Maybe eight point five.”

Feng Xin grins, crawling back up the bed so she can push Mu Qing into the pillows again. “Room for improvement, you said?”

“Sure, if you’re up for it.” Mu Qing would sound flippant, if she wasn’t already pulling Feng Xin down on top of her.

When summer comes around, Feng Xin still watches Mu Qing’s streams sometimes. She can get off to them guilt-free, and Mu Qing will call her afterward. She acts like it’s a debrief on how the session went, but more often than not she lets Feng Xin talk her through a second (or third) orgasm over the phone. Sometimes Mu Qing will even let her hang out while she films. In the living room, never in the bedroom. It’s too distracting, Mu Qing claims, and Feng Xin can buy that. She doesn’t know how she’d fare being in the same room as Mu Qing, watching her perform, and not being able to touch her. But Mu Qing will come to her after, still slick with sweat and panting.

Feng Xin gets to Mu Qing’s late, thanks to Pei Ming scheduling a late training session with Yushi Huang. (“It’s the only time she can do a one-on-one this week, Feng Xin!” he’d whined. “Come on, you can even leave the keys with me.” Feng Xin can’t, and didn’t, so it’d meant she’d had to stay late. It had even been kind of worth it, to watch Yushi Huang wipe the floor with him. Feng Xin has a feeling she’s lying about how much martial arts training she has.)

She lets herself into Mu Qing’s apartment, refusing to feel any type of way about having the spare key on a pretty permanent basis. She can faintly hear Mu Qing talking in her bedroom, so things must be underway. She’s getting turned on, imagining what Mu Qing is up to.

She’s been thinking about it all day at work, knowing tonight was coming, and she can’t settle onto Mu Qing’s couch and pull her laptop out of her bag fast enough.

She gets a thrill out of the way Mu Qing smiles, just the tiniest bit, when Feng Xin joins the stream. Even with a vibrator pressed between her legs and a telltale flush down her chest, Mu Qing still notices Feng Xin’s presence. Feng Xin never talks in the chat, and she normally doesn’t even pay attention to it, since watching Mu Qing is way more entertaining, but there’s a lot of chatter right now that even Feng Xin can’t ignore.

where’s the chick from a few months ago, a-yao

yeah where she’s at??????

Are you hiding jiejie from us, so mean

“I— Shut up! I’m not!” Mu Qing says, and Feng Xin swears her eyes dart toward her bedroom door.

you guys were so hottttt why won’t you have her on again?? we’ll tip a lot!

Feng Xin smothers a laugh, watching all the enthusiastic comments pour in, agreeing to pay extra to see Mu Qing with the mysterious other woman again. She knows that session was one of the most successful Mu Qing has done, but she also knows it didn’t break Mu Qing’s top five highest earning streams.

Mu Qing is always quick to remind Feng Xin that she’s better alone, with a smirk that makes Feng Xin need to get her hands on Mu Qing immediately.

On the stream, Mu Qing tips her head back, and Feng Xin can tell she’s rolling her eyes. She’s also still touching herself. A consummate professional. “It’s not just about the money, get over it. If I’m not enough for you, log off.”

Then WHY

“Because!” Mu Qing snaps, her voice rising enough that Feng Xin can hear her clearly through the door. “She’s my girlfriend, and if I don’t want to share her, that’s my business!”

Girlfriend, huh? Feng Xin types in the chat as xinxin6. Her heart’s racing. They’ve been seeing each other for a few months, but they haven’t defined anything. She hasn’t had the guts to bring it up. She doesn’t want Mu Qing to freak out about labels or commitment and bail.

Mu Qin’s mouth falls open on Feng Xin’s laptop, some of her blush fading as she goes white. “I—” she says, and then looks down.

Feng Xin starts typing, wanting to reassure her, but suddenly she’s back on the homepage. She’s locked out! Mu Qing booted her from the stream.

“Fuck,” Feng Xin mutters. She casts a glance down the hallway. Part of her wants to run to Mu Qing’s room and burst in the door, interrupt her stream and yell that she — what? Wants to call Mu Qing her girlfriend? Wants to hear it in turn? Wants to maybe, eventually talk about her feelings, or something?

She considers making a burner account so she can finish watching the stream, mostly to know if Mu Qing is okay. She didn’t end the stream entirely, at least, and Feng Xin doubts she’s even talking about it to her fans. She knows how to shut them up, one way or another.

The tension beneath Feng Xin’s skin feels like a living thing, and she’s hot with both concern over how Mu Qing will react and the lingering heat at how hot Mu Qing had looked on the screen. At knowing what she’s doing behind her bedroom door. The moments of waiting for Mu Qing to finish stretch out, sluggish, though Feng Xin’s computer tells her it’s been less than ten minutes. She’s jittery with anticipation, half expecting Mu Qing to kick her out rather than talk.

They fight a little less now, sure, but Feng Xin worries sometimes that it’s only because she’s more likely to shut Mu Qing up with her mouth than to listen to her fumble through trying to say what she means, and Mu Qing will do the same when Feng Xin is frustrating the fuck out of her. They still tend to solve things physically, which might not be the smartest.

At least now Feng Xin can read Mu Qing through her body, which is far more honest than her words. Mu Qing can feign annoyance, but Feng Xin can feel the way Mu Qing shakes against her and know better. She can hear all the things Mu Qing says when she’s not using her words.

The snick of Mu Qing’s door opening makes Feng Xin perk up. She closes her laptop and props her chin on her fist, like she’s casually waiting to talk to Mu Qing and that’s all.

“I’ll unblock you later,” Mu Qing says, coming to stand in front of Feng Xin, “if you want.”

Feng Xin frowns. “Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

Mu Qing isn’t looking at her, hovering awkwardly next to the couch with her arms crossed. She’s still only wearing her bra and underwear. They’re both snow white, and the panties are so wet that they’re practically transparent. Feng Xin licks her lips and forces her eyes back up in time to see Mu Qing shrug.

“I guess if you still want to watch me, that’s fine. You’re paying, after all.” Mu Qing flips her ponytail over her shoulder and glares at Feng Xin. “You better fucking tip, though.”

Something clicks for Feng Xin and she laughs. “Do you think we’re breaking up?”

Mu Qing bristles. “I know we never talked about labels or whatever, but I didn’t think it would piss you off this much.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Can we even break up if we weren’t dating in the first place?” Mu Qing asks, her voice raising.

“Not dating?!” Feng Xin responds, her voice just as loud. “Mu Qing, we spend more nights together than not! I have the spare key to your apartment! You have a spare to my business! I took you to dinner literally last night!”

“Well!” Mu Qing shouts, but she doesn’t follow it up with anything else. Her arms are crossed again, and her shoulders are moving with how hard she’s breathing. This isn’t how anything was supposed to go.

Feng Xin stands, and she’s surprised Mu Qing lets her get into her space. “Will you look at me? Please?”

Mu Qing does, her eyes big and a little glassy. She’s not crying, because if Feng Xin ever saw her tear up outside of sex, Mu Qing would probably murder her.

“I’d be honored to be your girlfriend,” Feng Xin says softly.

Mu Qing scoffs. “So noble.”

“I’m serious, believe me for once!” Feng Xin wraps her hands carefully around Mu Qing’s bare shoulders and resists the urge to shake her. “I’d love to be your girlfriend, and I’d love for you to be mine.”

After a minute, Mu Qing nods, exactly once and very stiffly. Feng Xin smothers a sigh.

“Is that it?” Feng Xin can’t help but ask.

Mu Qing stops chewing on her lip. She looks up from the floor to stare back at Feng Xin. “I’d, um. I’d like that, too.”

“Great!” Feng Xin yells, pulling Mu Qing in for a tight hug. Mu Qing groans, but she holds Feng Xin back just as close once she uncrosses her arms.

“I’m sorry I kicked you out of the stream,” Mu Qing says to her shoulder.

“It’s okay, I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me,” Feng Xin says, and Mu Qing laughs. “Seriously, this was a lot of emotional turmoil, we should consider some way to relieve all the tension.”

Mu Qing pulls back so she can kiss her, and then she pulls back farther, in the direction of her bedroom. She grabs Feng Xin’s hand and tugs her along. “Fine, then. Show me what it’s like to be dating you.”

Feng Xin grins. “Happily… girlfriend.”

The face Mu Qing makes is priceless, but Feng Xin can’t help but notice the blush rising in her cheeks, too. “Shut up, stop. You don’t get to—”

“Get to what?” Feng Xin asks, crowding her against the doorframe. She kisses Mu Qing’s neck, lingering when Mu Qing’s hands jump to her hips.

“You’re gross,” Mu Qing says, her voice barely there, all breath and want.

“Sure, okay. Still your girlfriend,” Feng Xin says, nuzzling Mu Qing’s throat.

“Gross!” Mu Qing says again, but her hands are pulling Feng Xin in closer. “I don’t know why I put up with you. You’re insufferable.”

“Same to you.” Feng Xin nips at her neck and then pushes her in the direction of the bed. “Let me show you how insufferable I can really be.”

Mu Qing smirks, and her eyes are dark with want. She grabs Feng Xin’s hoodie at the same time she throws herself backward so they fall onto the bed together, twisted up on top of the blue blanket. They’re so close, their noses brushing.

“Show me already,” Mu Qing says, tipping her chin up for a kiss. “Show me.”

The days are getting longer now, so the sun is just starting to set. The last light spills through the shades, painting them both in gold where they’re tangled up with each other.

Feng Xin kisses her again, winding a hand into her ponytail to keep her close. “I will,” she says into Mu Qing’s mouth. “Let me, and I will.”