Chapter Text
The first time was an accident.
The afternoon sun was beating down relentlessly against the apartment windows, baking the living room in a stifling heat. Dingjie’s older brother, Peien, was currently dead to the world in his bedroom, sleeping off a nasty fever that had spiked early that morning.
Normally, Dingjie wouldn't be overly worried. Peien’s boyfriend, Jiang Heng, had texted a few hours ago in a flurry of typos and loud emojis, insisting he would drop by to bring his favorite takeout and some cold medicine. Jiang Heng was the same age as Dingjie, but possessed an endless overly excited husky energy that usually filled their quiet apartment with booming laughter. He was currently bogged down by his chaotic college schedules, and despite Peien weakly coughing into the phone that it was okay, Jiang Heng had stubbornly promised to come.
So, Dingjie was expecting him.
Because he was only expecting Jiang Heng, who had been dating Peien for over a year and practically lived halfway at their place anyway, Dingjie hadn't bothered to change out of his current attire. The apartment’s AC was struggling against the summer heat, and Dingjie was in the mood to feel pretty. He was wearing a pale lavender pleated tennis skirt that rode high on his thighs, paired with a snug white ribbed crop top that bared a generous sliver of his midriff. It was comfortable. It felt right. And Jiang Heng was always so nice about it. He never gave Dingjie’s choice of clothes at home a weird look, usually just offering a loud playful teasing before beelining for Peien’s room.
When the sharp rhythmic knock sounded at the front door, Dingjie didn't hesitate. He padded across the floor barefoot. His long legs eating up the distance in a few strides. The short skirt swished lightly around his thighs.
He unlatched the deadbolt and swung the door open with a welcoming bright smile. His round sparkly eyes crinkled at the corners. "You took long enough, Heng—"
The words died instantly on his tongue.
Standing on the welcome mat was not Jiang Heng.
The man at the door was a stranger. He was just a hair shorter than Dingjie, but his presence was suffocatingly large. He possessed slightly less white skin compared to Dingjie’s milky complexion, carrying a warm sun kissed undertone. He had broad shoulders that filled out his simple black t-shirt, tapering down to a lean healthy form and incredibly long legs encased in dark denim.
But it was his eyes that completely paralyzed Dingjie. They were incredibly sharp and calculating, completely devoid of Jiang Heng’s signature warmth. They were pitch dark and devastatingly cold.
The stranger held a plastic takeout bag in one hand and a pharmacy bag in the other. His knuckles were prominent. The veins running down the back of his hands and winding up his forearms looked powerful.
Silence stretched between them, thick and unbearable.
The stranger's eyes eventually dropped down.
The gaze was deliberate. It possessed a physical weight to it. Dingjie felt his breath catch in his throat as those sharp eyes dragged slowly up from his bare toes, tracing the long exposed lines of his milky calves, lingering with agonizing slowness on his beautiful thighs where the hem of the lavender skirt rested. The gaze crawled higher, searing over the pale expanse of Dingjie’s bare waist beneath the crop top, up the curve of his chest, finally snapping back up to lock onto Dingjie’s baby face, settling on his pouty parted lips.
The stranger said absolutely nothing. He just looked. And in that look, Dingjie felt entirely stripped bare, evaluated, and pinned down.
"I ... you...." Dingjie stammered. His face was flushing a violent shade of red. His usually confident demeanor shattered entirely. He instinctively reached down, his fingers curling into the edge of his skirt as if to pull it lower, though it was a futile effort. "You're ... not Jiang Heng."
"No," the man said. His voice was a low resonant timber that sent an involuntary shiver straight down Dingjie’s spine. "Jiang Heng is my cousin. He was held back by a professor. He begged me to bring this to Peien."
Dingjie swallowed hard. His round eyes are wide and panicky. He stepped aside, his back pressing awkwardly against the doorframe to make as much room as possible. "I ... um. O–okay. Come in."
The man stepped over the threshold. His shoulder brushing briefly against the doorframe. As he passed, Dingjie caught the faint intoxicating scent of mint and something fresh like sandalwood.
"I'm Huang Xing," the man introduced himself without turning around, walking straight to the kitchen island to set the bags down. His veiny hands moved with practiced quiet efficiency.
Huang Xing. Jiang Heng’s younger cousin. Dingjie remembered Jiang Heng mentioning him in passing. A freshman, two years younger than Dingjie. But looking at the broad shouldered, cold eyed man in their kitchen, the age gap felt like a complete illusion. Dingjie felt incredibly small.
"Thank you," Dingjie managed to squeak out, wrapping his arms around his own waist, suddenly hyper aware of how much skin was exposed. "I'll ... I'll take it to my brother."
Huang Xing turned his head. Those eyes swept over Dingjie one last agonizing time. There was a flicker of something dark and unreadable in his gaze. A predatory stillness that made Dingjie’s heart pound a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"Make sure he takes the red pills with food," Xing said, his tone flat. Then, without another word, without a single comment or sneer about the skirt or the crop top, he walked past Dingjie and let himself out of the apartment.
The door clicked shut. Dingjie’s knees immediately gave out, forcing him to lean heavily against the wall. His heart was roaring in his ears. His milky skin felt entirely too hot, burning everywhere those dark eyes had touched.
The younger man left such an amazing impression on him.
The second time, Jiang Heng did come.
It was a week later, and Peien had fully recovered. True to form, Jiang Heng had burst into the apartment with a booming laugh, instantly filling the space with his chaotic loud energy. Dingjie was sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by textbooks. The weather was even more humid than the week before, and Dingjie had opted for a black velvet skirt, an even shorter one that barely offered any coverage when he was sitting, and a form fitting cherry red crop top that clung to his chest.
"Peien, my love, your knight is here!" Jiang Heng hollered toward the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, completely unfazed by Dingjie’s outfit. "Hey, Jie! Cute skirt, looks comfortable."
"Thanks, Heng," Dingjie smiled, leaning back on his hands.
But the smile froze when another figure stepped into the apartment right behind Jiang Heng.
Huang Xing.
Dingjie’s breath hitched. Xing was wearing a simple dark grey sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing those mesmerizing veiny forearms.
"I dragged Xing along," Jiang Heng explained cheerfully, ruffling his own hair. "He’s been rotting in his dorm. Thought we could all order pizza and have a home date night, plus the little brothers."
Dingjie scrambled to his feet. A sudden wave of flustered heat rushed to his cheeks. Because he had been sitting, the velvet skirt had risen dangerously high, and as he stood, he caught Xing’s eyes darting downward instantly.
"I—I'll get you guys some drinks," Dingjie blurted out, turning on his heel to flee toward the kitchen.
As he walked away, his heart hammered a frantic beat against his ribs. He opened the refrigerator. The cool air doing nothing to soothe his burning face. When he grabbed a few cans of soda and turned back around to head to the living room, he froze.
Jiang Heng had already disappeared down the hall to Peien’s room, leaving Huang Xing standing alone by the sofa.
Xing wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't looking out the window. His dark intense eyes were locked squarely on the back of Dingjie’s thighs. Because Dingjie had twisted around, the velvet skirt had hiked up even further on one side, putting the smooth milky skin of his long legs on full display.
When Dingjie caught him staring, Xing didn't look away. He didn't blush or offer an apologetic smile. He merely dragged his gaze slowly upward, meeting Dingjie’s wide sparkly eyes with an unwavering icy intensity.
A breathless silence enveloped the room. Dingjie’s hands trembled around the cold soda cans. He should have been embarrassed. He should have run to his room and changed into sweatpants, or, the more right reaction, angry.
But as Xing’s eyes traced the curve of his waist, down to his hips, and back to his thighs, a strange electric jolt shot straight to Dingjie’s core.
He liked the attention.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. He wasn't just wearing these clothes for comfort anymore. A deep previously untouched part of his mind was fundamentally craving this specific man's gaze. The way Xing looked at him, like he was something to be consumed, something to be possessed, made Dingjie’s pulse race. It was an intoxicating feeling. He knew he could affect a man, but knowing he could affect this man, someone so guarded, cold, and undeniably dominant, sent a thrill of pure submissive desire straight through him.
Dingjie swallowed. His lips parting slightly, his fuller lower lip trembling. He forced himself to walk forward, the skirt swaying with his steps, highly aware of the sharp eyes tracking every single movement.
Over the next two months, the apartment became a frequent gathering ground.
Jiang Heng loved coming over for home dates with Peien, and more often than not, Huang Xing tagged along. It became a routine. They would order food, watch movies, or play games on the console.
And with every visit, Xing’s attention became increasingly, dangerously, obvious.
Dingjie found himself playing a silent secret game. Every time he knew Xing was coming over, he spent an extra hour getting ready. He chose his outfits with deliberate agonizing care. A sheer white crop top that showed the shadow of his collarbones. A pleated plaid skirt that barely covered his upper thighs. He wanted to be looked at. He needed it.
The dynamic between them shifted into something unspoken and suffocatingly tense. While Jiang Heng laughed too loud and Peien scolded him affectionately, Xing would sit quietly in the corner armchair, his lean form completely still. But his eyes were always on Dingjie.
If Dingjie dropped a pen and bent over to pick it up, he could feel the searing weight of Xing’s gaze on his back. If Dingjie curled up on the rug, hugging his knees to his chest so his beautiful thighs were pressed together, Xing’s dark eyes would darken even further. A storm brewing just beneath the cold surface.
There were moments when their hands would brush. Passing a bowl of popcorn, taking a glass of water. Xing’s fingers were always slightly cool, rough and veiny, while Dingjie’s skin was soft and warm. Every accidental touch sent sparks flying up Dingjie’s arm. He felt like a desperate, starved animal, constantly positioning himself just perfectly in Xing’s line of sight, practically begging for the younger man to acknowledge the effect he was having.
Yet, Xing never said a word about it. He maintained his cold stoic facade. He was the picture of control, while Dingjie was slowly unraveling from the inside out.
Until one rainy Friday night, the tension finally snapped.
The storm outside was violent, rain lashing against the windows of the apartment. The four of them had just finished eating a huge spread of spicy hotpot.
"Ah, damn it," Jiang Heng groaned, patting his pockets. "I left my wallet in the car. And the spare dorm keys are in there. Peien, come with me? I need you to hold the umbrella. The wind is crazy."
Peien sighed, rolling his eyes but already grabbing his jacket. "You're lucky I love you, idiot. We'll be right back, you two. Don't eat the rest of the dessert."
The front door slammed shut. The deadbolt clicking into place.
Suddenly, the apartment was deafeningly quiet. The only sound being the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the glass.
Dingjie was standing by the kitchen island, wiping down the counter. He was wearing a soft pastel yellow crop top that hung loosely off one shoulder, and a tight, white denim skirt. His heart began to pound a familiar frantic rhythm. He was alone with Huang Xing.
He didn't dare turn around. He could hear the soft rustle of fabric as Xing stood up from the armchair. The measured footsteps approached the kitchen.
Dingjie gripped the sponge tightly. His knuckles turned white. The air in the room felt like it had thickened, becoming tense and difficult to breathe.
Then, the heat of another body was right behind him.
Dingjie gasped quietly as Xing stepped directly into his personal space. The younger man’s chest hovered just a fraction of an inch from Dingjie’s back. Xing’s broad shoulders seemed to cage him in against the marble counter.
A long veiny hand shot out, planting firmly on the counter right next to Dingjie’s hip. The veins were prominent. The grip displaying an effortless terrifying strength.
"You missed a spot," Xing murmured. His voice was lower than usual, dropping an entire octave. It vibrated straight through Dingjie’s chest.
Dingjie’s breath hitched. He slowly turned around, finding himself completely trapped between the counter and Huang Xing’s body. Up close, Xing was devastating. His feline eyes were sharp and intimidating, dilated and utterly feral. The coldness was replaced by a scorching dominant heat that made Dingjie’s knees instantly go weak.
"I...." Dingjie started. His voice a pathetic trembling whisper. His round sparkly eyes looked up, his pouty lips parting.
Xing didn't move back. Instead, he leaned in closer. His gaze dropped to Dingjie’s mouth, then slowly, agonizingly, trailed down his throat, over the exposed collarbone, and settled on the sliver of milky skin at his waist.
"You've been driving yourself crazy all of these times, haven't you?" Xing said softly. The words dripped with a dark mocking amusement.
Dingjie’s face flushed scarlet. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar," Xing purred. He lifted his free hand. Long fingers brushed against the hem of Dingjie’s white skirt. Dingjie jolted. A sharp gasp escaping his lips. "Every time I look away, you shift. You bend. You practically beg me to look at you."
The blunt degrading truth of it hit Dingjie hard. He felt a rush of absolute shame, tangled inextricably with a wave of blinding arousal.
"Gege is so desperate," Xing whispered.
The honorific, used with such mocking dominance by a man two years his junior, completely shattered whatever resistance Dingjie had left. His legs literally gave out.
Before he could slide down the counter, Xing’s hand moved. His long veiny palm clamped firmly onto Dingjie’s bare milky thigh. The grip was possessive, bruising in its intensity. He hoisted Dingjie up slightly, keeping him pinned.
Dingjie let out a breathless whine. His hands coming up to instinctively grip Xing’s broad shoulders to steady himself. The fabric of Xing’s sweater was soft beneath his shaking fingers.
"You want my attention so badly, Gege?" Xing’s eyes locked onto Dingjie’s, stripping away every single one of his secrets. "You wear these tiny little skirts, parading around your apartment, waiting for me to catch you?"
"P—please," Dingjie whimpered, though he didn't even know what he was pleading for. His mind was a foggy chaotic mess. He was craving this. He had been craving this authority, this dominance, for weeks. And maybe, all of his life.
Xing’s thumb stroked a slow deliberate line along the sensitive inner skin of Dingjie’s thigh. Dingjie shuddered violently. His head falling back, exposing the long column of his throat.
"Look at me," Xing commanded softly.
Dingjie obeyed instantly. His round eyes are glassy and blown wide.
Xing leaned in. The scent of mint and sandalwood was overwhelming. He tilted his head. His face was drawing so close that Dingjie could feel the ghost of his lips. Xing’s breath was incredibly warm against Dingjie’s trembling pouty mouth. The anticipation was agonizing. Dingjie’s eyes fluttered shut, his body leaning forward, practically chasing the kiss. Ready to surrender completely to the dark consuming gravity of the younger man.
Clack.
The loud unmistakable sound of the deadbolt unlocking echoed like a gunshot through the silent apartment.
"Man, my shoes are soaked!" Jiang Heng’s booming laugh ripped through the hallway, followed by the squeak of wet rubber soles.
Dingjie’s eyes snapped open in sheer panic.
In a fraction of a second, Xing stepped back. The veiny hand vanished from Dingjie’s thigh, leaving behind a phantom brand of heat. The oppressive caging presence evaporated as Xing smoothly took two steps back. His face instantly smoothing over into its usual, icy, unreadable mask.
Dingjie, however, was a wreck. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter just to stay upright, his chest heaving, his face flushed an unnatural pink. His legs were shaking so badly he thought he might actually collapse.
Jiang Heng and Peien rounded the corner into the living room, shaking off their wet umbrellas.
"We're back! Did you guys eat the rest of the—" Jiang Heng paused, looking toward the kitchen. "Whoa, Jie, you look flushed. Is the AC broken again?"
Dingjie opened his mouth, but his throat was completely dry. No words came out.
Before Jiang Heng could walk over to investigate, Xing smoothly intercepted, stepping into the living room and blocking his cousin’s line of sight.
"The kitchen was hot from the hotpot," Xing said smoothly. His tone was flat and perfectly controlled. "Did you find your wallet?"
"Oh, yeah, it was under the passenger seat," Jiang Heng laughed, immediately distracted. He turned to Peien. "Told you I wasn't going crazy."
As the two of them bickered, Xing turned his head just a fraction. He locked eyes with Dingjie over his shoulder. The gaze was no longer cold. There is a dark promise brimming just underneath it.
Xing didn't move his body, but his lips formed the words slowly, deliberately, making sure Dingjie caught every single syllable before he turned completely away.
Not a word. []