Thread by @isocrime

time for me to PROCESS an IMAGE, if you know what i mean

the image is a hand on SOMEBODY'S throat and the process is gonna be 🐱/🐶 breathplay bullshit that's gonna get extremely nsfw extremely fast

first week or so of filming: z is hot, bored, tired of trying to bully his fellow cast into being social humans, and nursing a crush that is, to all appearances, gonna get FIRMLY turned down if he voices it.

on the heels of a breakup and covid-induced isolation, z's been really feeling the loss of high impact sports as an energy outlet. he's also missing interesting sex. his own hand is fine and all, but it's not exactly /inspiring/

honestly this habit started pre-filming. squeezing his own throat a bit while he jerks off, sometimes wearing a tie too snug and feeling lightheaded and turned on by the end of the day. it's just the right amount of freaky, and nobody has to know

then filming starts and his costar is fucking handsome and polite and sending out strong uninterested vibes. (z is not privy to g's endless inner turmoil over if he should break his no-sleeping-with-costars rule)

z's self-love routine flirts harder with real breathplay

the first time he wraps a belt around his neck he comes so hard he gives himself a thigh cramp.

z gets away with this a couple times, but then he gets too enthusiastic by accident and wakes up the next morning with marks that haven't faded.

he'll pass it off as heat rash and take it easier next round, no big deal

g wanders into the dressing room while z's getting his hair done up: headphones in, head bobbing along to the music like a wading bird. he gives z a little wave and a half-smile, then folds into his seat.

but then something catches his eye and he pulls one earbud out

"you have something," g says, and uses his finger to trace a line across his own throat, indicating where z's bruised his skin.

"don't worry about it - heat rash or an allergy or something," z says like a giant liar

dishonesty was the wrong move: g nods seriously and digs in the bag of products his own makeup team uses. he shows z a tube of medicated cream. "this is for my skin's problem with wig glue, but it could help," he offers

how's z supposed to say no to that earnest face?

g puts a dab of ointment on his fingertip and leans over to reach z. z had expected g to just like...hand him the stuff.

instead g awkwardly swipes a little of the cream onto the side of z's neck, then decides that even his absurdly long arms aren't long enough for this

z swallows as g stands and comes over (what gave him the right to be so fucking tall, huh?)

g ducks his head like he's sorry for looming and crouches a bit, which just makes him endearing on top of being attractive.

then there's fingertips on z's chin, tipping his head back

z's eyes flutter shut automatically, then snap back open as he reminds himself that g isn't guiding him into a kiss he's getting a better look at the incriminating marks on z's throat. whoops.

z's skin jumps when g gently touches his neck

"sorry - cold, i know," g says

it's not lost on g that he's flirting. he looks happy-go-lucky and easily persuadable, but underneath that he's not stupid. and he traces over the contour of z's adam's apple and notes how z is holding his breath despite his lips being slightly parted.

the soft skin under g's fingertips isn't raised or blistered. it doesn't feel like a rash or acne at all. just discoloration, maybe slightly warm to the touch, in a clean line rather than blotches. g rubs a smear of ointment in firmly with his thumb over a particularly dark spot

z makes a small, punched-out sound and tips his head farther back to give g better access instead of wincing back. g wets his lips unconsciously

behind them somebody giggles, followed by furious hushing from her companion.

the tension between g and z breaks. g caps the tube of ointment and sits back down, but he coils his headphones up and sets them on the counter instead of putting them back on.

"i hope it helps," g says, but he can't stop thinking...how did z-laoshi /actually/ get those marks?

g ponders this question on and off all day.

that night z really REALLY means to be more careful but all he can think about is the confident pressure of g's fingers on his throat and the next morning the marks are worse, not better.

the first thing g does when he steps into the dressing room is check z's neck to see if his skin has recovered. it hasn't at all! the red streaks look clearer, if anything, like something flat wrapped around z's neck and bit into the skin, and...

g puts two and two together and doesn't like the number he gets. he doesn't intend to pry into z's sex life! he didn't even know z had found somebody to be intimate with already! but gosh, that's dangerous stuff to be playing with, and g cares about z-laoshi!

unless g can convince himself that z isn't getting seriously choked by his partner in the bedroom, they're going to have to have a Talk. g would really rather not have a safer sex talk with his costar. but he's also worried. life is hard for g.

not so hard, though, that he doesn't decide that he should examine z's neck close-up again before he commits to a potentially mutually humiliating conversation.

"aiyo, z-laoshi, that looks bad," g says in his cutest, most disarming voice. look how nonthreatening he is!

z touches one of the bruises and makes a rueful face. "i guess your ointment didn't work."

"let me see, at least," g says

z spreads his hands - be my guest, g-laoshi - and lets g tip his head back so he can examine him.

g feels lightly along the line of reddened skin and bites back a sound of dismay when he reaches what looks like the imprint of a buckle.

"what?" z asks, nervous. g seems genuinely concerned, and z doesn't like lying to him. he never feels like g quite buys his bullshit

"nothing," g says, even as he tugs z's collar to the side to check if there's anything else - hickeys or bruises that would indicate risky sex. but the rest of z's skin is unmarked.

"it doesn't hurt," z assures him. "a little makeup and it'll be like it never happened."

well after hearing that poor g is 100% obligated to have a talk with z later. it’s going to be so awkward! z is a grown-ass man, and g’s senior no less, but apparently it’s still up to g to make sure z doesn’t get accidentally strangled to death in bed.

g suggests they run some lines at the dorms that night. z smiles at him as if there’s nothing that would make him happier.

while he’s trying to recover emotionally from z’s smiles g fumbles half of his fancy impossible-to-improv dialog; maybe they should actually practice first

he brings his script with him that evening, rolling it anxiously in his hands as he sits down on the spare bed in z’s room.

z notes that g looks tense. he considers offering g a massage to loosen him up. z is good with his hands (wink). it could be nice for both of them.

g smacks the rolled-up script against his palm a few times, then clears his throat. “can I ask you something?”

z sits down next to g and leans back on his hands. the position makes his shirt ride up, which isn’t an accident.

“I’m not digging for gossip,” g says, carefully not looking at the sliver of bare skin above z’s waistband. “I just wanted to make sure you and your partner are being...careful”

“...you lost me,” z says.

g sighs and gestures helplessly at z’s neck. “when you’re doing, ah, that”

oh. that. z pulls the collar of his shirt up a bit under the pretense of dabbing away a drop of sweat. when did it get so hot in here, hahaha

“it’s not like that,” z says reassuringly. “there isn’t anybody roughing me up in bed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

g’s shoulders sag a bit in relief. z decides to take the opportunity to make it clear that he’s single and horny, since g had been so quick to assume he was hooking up with someone.

“all solo these days, actually,” he says.

these words do not have the intended effect! g’s head whips around, eyes wide.

“alone?????” g asks, distraught

“what, it’s so unbelievable somebody as handsome as me plays one-man ping pong from time to time?” z asks, trying to laugh off whatever-this-is

no dice. g still looks upset. “what did you do to your neck, really?” he asks, practically vibrating with concern

z shifts, a bit uncomfortable having to say this out loud. “well, you know - kind of...” he mimes wrapping something around his neck and pulling. “and then...” he mimes jerking himself with his other hand. for effect he puffs out his cheeks too. “and poof, jizz everywhere”

“oh my god,” g says. he drops his head into his hands. “oh my /god/.”

“it’s not /that/ weird,” z says, stung

z’s immune to a lot of things. threats, disappointed looks, most advice, etc. but he’s defenseless against g’s wounded, worried expression

“that’s so dangerous,” g says

z flops back and tries to be unaffected. “it’s just a little choking,” he says with a shrug.

g shifts around to kneel above him, then takes z’s jaw with one hand to twist his head up so he can see the bruises. z feels limp and lightheaded all of a sudden (not the worst feeling)

“it doesn’t look like just a little,” g says softly.

“nothing bad is going to happen,” z insists. “i know what my body can handle.”

g doesn’t look even slightly convinced. if this means z’s going to have to feel guilty every time he masturbates that’s going to be a real bummer

“even if you do,” g says, “you can’t play like that alone. if there was an accident...somebody needs to be with you, at least.”

z sighs. “who’s going to sign up for /that/ job?” he asks. “like, hey, you wanna be my sex spotter? sounds ridiculous.”

“i could,” g says.

“uh,” z says intelligently.

“i don’t want you to get hurt,” g says, all honest and open and unbearable.

“so you’d just watch me—“ z does his mime routine again: choke-wank-poof

underneath the klaxon in g’s brain screaming DEATH BY AUTOEROTIC ASPHYXIATION he’s a bit turned on

“if that works for you,” g says. he’s proud of how responsible he is. look at g-laoshi looking after his costar’s well-being. no way that’s a violation of the no-sex-with-on-screen-love-interests rule.

“it could,” z says, still flat on his back and gazing kinda dazedly up at g

it’s a deal. z assures g that he won’t sexily choke himself to death without supervision, and promises to message g the next time he’s got the itch to indulge in this particular vein of Stress Relief

coincidentally, z finds the next day of filming very stressful.

[its 1am here, so the spicy parts will have to wait until tomorrow 😅]

g gets a message telling him he should come by and has a MASSIVE crisis over what the fuck he's supposed to wear to watch his crush kinkily masturbate. not too sexy, not to dressy, but he doesn't want to look like a slob, what to DO

just look normal, he tells himself. be normal. don't wear the come-fuck-me shorts. regular pants and a comfy oversized t-shirt will do just fine.

it's going to be FINE.

z meets him at the door in...a bathrobe over basketball shorts. because of course he does, why wouldn’t he, and why does g have to find it so attractive?

“where do you want to sit?” z asks, gesturing expansively. the choices are the floor, z’s twin bed, or the other twin bed

g chooses the safest option, which is the neatly made twin bed that z hasn’t been sleeping in (or jerking off in, g’s horny traitor brain appends)

z throws himself onto the other bed, athletically enough that he bounces a couple of times before settling comfortably on his back

z’s knees fall open, spread wide, and the leg of his shorts rides up to show a lot of tender-looking inner thigh.

“you looked good on set today,” z says casually, as he reaches down between his legs and palms himself over his shorts.

ah. right to it then. g can handle this.

“you think so?” g asks, valiantly trying to keep his cool. he’s here for safety reasons. no reason z can’t chat with him about work while he teases his dick.

“i can tell you’re loosening up,” z says. “the improv you did was nice, felt natural.” he sighs and cants his hips up

“thanks,” g says. z praising him in that slightly breathy tone of voice is going to torment him later, he just knows it.

“i want us to be equal partners on set, y’know?” z says. “you’re beautiful when you work, seriously.”

scratch that about later torment, g is tormented now

“this okay?” z asks, noticing g’s discomfort. “we don’t have to talk shop. i can put on some porn if you’d rather, i’ve got a laptop around here somewhere. pretty sure it’s got some guy-guy stuff on it even, if you don’t want to look at girls.”

g scratches the back of his neck and clears his throat. “like this is no trouble.”

“I have good taste,” z assures him. “it’s classy.” he pauses. “at least half of it is classy.”

that gets g to crack a real smile, to z’s pleasure. “what counts as classy porn, z-laoshi?”

“you know,” z says, adjusting himself so he can rub the whole length of his growing hard-on through his pants. (he does not have underwear on underneath fyi) “where they really seem to like each other. none of that fake moaning bullshit.”

z makes a series of comically exaggerated “uh, uh, uh, ~oh baby~” sex noises and then rolls his eyes.

teasing z back is easy, even when g’s face feels hot. “then what counts as not classy?” he asks, laughing a little.

“well...” z says with an evil smile

“sometimes the guy chokes the girl while they fuck, you know,” he says, biting his lip like a fucking minx who knows exactly what he’s doing. “folds her in half and really disrespects her. that’s not so classy.”

g knows exactly which role z is imagining filling in that scenario

z’s head thumps back on the pillow as he thinks about that. he could use somebody to really work him out. take him out of his head the same way hard, pounding cardio leaves him tingling with adrenaline and the flying joy of moving in simpatico with a team.

“i’m gonna—“ he warns g, and shucks his loose shorts off. his dick hits his belly with a quiet pap.

g bites the inside of his cheek as z rolls to snag some lotion from the nightstand. that’s a nice view. z looks pleasantly hard, not leaking or painful yet, just solidly turned on

z pulls comfortably at his dick, eyes shut, relaxed and enjoying himself.

g curls his fingers into fists resting on his knees and reminds himself that he demanded z allow him to intrude on his private time for safety reasons, not sexy ones.

at least with his eyes closed z can’t see how hungry g looks.

z traces over the marks on his neck, building up to the next part. he presses hard enough to feel the ribs of cartilage that ring his throat, testing the give under his fingers.

his breathing takes on the slightest whistle on the exhale and z decides that yeah, yeah, time for the next part. he fishes out the leather belt he stashed under his pillow in advance.

“whoa whoa whoa!” g says in alarm. “slow down, crazy”

z cracks one eye open to glare at g. he thought this was the whole plan and now g is being a spoilsport.

g holds out a hand to placate him, trying to look more accepting instead of just worried.

“there are a lot of delicate tissues in your neck, z-laoshi,” he says carefully

“maybe you should go back to your room if this is going to upset you,” z says, trying not to be cranky about the bonerkill. he’ll snag some concealer from makeup and make sure to cover any new marks before g sees him in the morning

g grimaces at his misstep. if he leaves now z will go directly back to what he was doing previously, only he’ll probably be more secretive about it since he knows g disapproves.

“I’m not upset,” g says, which is mostly true. “I just...that can’t be the most comfortable way.”

“do you have an alternative to suggest, /g-laoshi/,” z says, acid leaking into his tone.

g looks at his hands. carefully straightens out his fingers. “why don’t you just use your hand?” he asks.

“awkward with just one,” z says. “and...it’s too easy to let go”

so it’s not that z likes the feel of leather, g thinks. that opens up...alternatives.

“what if it was somebody else’s hands?” he asks, daring a peek at z’s face. z’s staring back, intently, and g gets snagged on his gaze, unable to break away.

“depends whose, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno,” g says, allowing a coy smile to creep across his face. “how about mine?”

“you’d have to come over here,” z says, raising one eyebrow. “are you comfortable with that?”

the way he says it sounds like a challenge. g’s been learning how to push back against those lately

g sits down next to z on the narrow bed, anticipation simmering in his gut. he’s never squeezed anyone’s neck before. z’s hair curls softly against his jaw — g brushes it out of the way

“smack me if you want me to let go,” g says

z has no idea why that sounds so romantic to him

g doesn't go straight for the throat. first he slides one big hand gently behind z's head, holding him steady. anchored. providing himself with leverage. z relaxes into the grip that spans the back of his neck to cradle his skull.

"perfect," g says (a little joke between them)

z's skin is beaded with sweat. even with the dorm ac, it's warm in the room. he's always hated how sweaty he gets, how it makes his hair and his clothes stick to him.

but it means that when g finally touches him to stroke over the ridge of his adams apple his fingertips /slide/

z takes a shuddery breath as g draws a v from one corner of his jaw, down to the hollow of his throat, and back up the other side.

he tries to push up into the touch, make it firmer. g moves his hand away, flattens it over z's collarbones, and presses him to the bed

when z is being good, g goes back to stroking his throat.

"are you forgetting something?" g asks, voice low, eyes dark even though they left all the lights on.

"what?" z asks hoarsely.

"you're not touching yourself, z-laoshi," g reminds him.

oh. he did forget.

he takes himself in hand, just as g uses one of his short fingernails to scrape along the faint line of bruising left by the past two nights.

the sound he makes isn't very classy.

g knows he's gotta make this better than the stupid risky belt so that z will keep coming back to him instead of potentially strangling himself to death with a not-particularly-stylish belt.

he uses his fingernail again, this time scratching vertically down z's throat.

it leaves a faint red line in its wake. g suppresses the instinct to follow it with his tongue. he bets z's skin would taste salty. he bets if he used his teeth z would whimper.

anyway, that's neither here nor there. what's important is the slick sound of z's hand moving quicker over his dick.

at last, g fits his whole hand against z's throat. his fingers easily meet those of the hand that's curled around the nape of z's neck.

he doesn't even have to squeeze to encircle z's neck entirely, holding him carefully collared between his hands. z swallows and g feels it against his palm.

oh, he's so beautiful. if g didn't have both hands occupied he'd be hard pressed not to stick one down his pants

z fucks his hips up to meet his hand, making the bed creak. g could cut off his air so easily like this, he could lean his weight into it and choke him out, really damage him, but he won't, because z safer with g than he is with himself. g has him. all z has to do is let go

"is that nice?" g whispers. "do you want it a little tighter?"

g doesn't want to compress anything or create any bruises (the marks would be hot, the accompanying injury not so much), but he figures he can mimic a too-small shirt collar

wide-eyed, z tries to nod, runs into the obstacle of g's hands, and makes a helpless moan. g takes that as a yes. he squeezes a little, just enough pressure that it would be uncomfortable to walk around with all day. z pants (airway not constricted, check) and whines desperately

"it's okay, you can finish whenever you want," g says. he relaxes his grip until his hand is barely hovering over z's skin, then takes his neck again, slowly ramping up from delicate to firm. z strains below him, not trying to get away, just chasing pleasure.

g /feels/ z start to come, the groan vibrating directly against the skin of his hand. he releases all the pressure on z's throat and holds him still instead by shifting his the grip at the back of z's head up into his hair.

z lets his head be pulled back, arches his chest, throws himself into one long, taut line of release. g breathes heavily with him and caresses the sweat-soaked curve of z's neck as he shakes and gulps for air

"ah, aaAAh, hhhh, nnnnnhhyeahthatthere," z says as he squeezes his eyes shut and bucks through the spasms of orgasm

poof

jizz everywhere

“you are, so good at, that,” z says, completely winded. his limbs feel like they’ll melt right into the bed. it’s so nice, especially with g setting his head down gently on the pillow and sweeping damp hair off his forehead.

masturbating with the buddy system isn’t all that bad

(some people call masturbating with a buddy “having sex,” but z isn’t there yet.)

“just looking after you,” g says. he offers z tissues to tidy up the mess on his hand and stomach.

“thanks,” z says, blinking contentedly. he gives g’s upper thigh a pat, then a squeeze.

“you’ll message me next time too, right?” g asks. “and not use the belt?”

“Mm,” z says.

“great,” g says. with one last indulgent ruffle of z’s hair he gets up and lets himself out, then hobbles quickly to his room.

he thought his days of getting this hard in his pants passed with puberty, but apparently not!

g throws himself face-down on the bed and wriggles inelegantly out of his pants. then he shoves a pillow between his legs and humps it desperately.

he imagines sucking a dark bruise under z’s ear, covering his mouth with one hand to muffle the sounds he’d make and to feel the labored puffs of air between his fingers

he’d have z naked in his lap while he did it, ass pressed against g’s dick where he can grind against him

he’d reach around and help z jerk his hot, solid dick, enveloping both z’s hand and his cock with his fingers, urging him to stroke faster until he spills over the both of them

g grabs the pillow with both hands, cheek smashed into the bed with nothing to hold him up as he ruts

biting down on the sheets, g groans and ruins the pillowcase.

worn out, he rolls onto his back and lies starfished on the bed. (his hands and feet hang off the sides but he doesn’t give a fuck at the moment)

offering himself up to do this with z whenever he likes might have been a tiny bit of a slight miscalculation. it’s going to be so difficult not to fuck z the next time, or the time after that.

he’ll just have to endure. anything for z-laoshi’s safety.

[at least a couple of hours of break now, back later!]

z spends a while afterwards lying sprawled on his own bed, cautiously entertaining the thought that maybe his crush on g isn’t as hopeless as it had once seemed. not /every/ pal is willing to lend a hand with your kinks (a very, Very capable hand)

it’s best not to assume anything during the post-coital haze, z knows. no matter how good g’s careful hands felt around his neck, he’s clearly laid out that this is for safety reasons.

it’d be uncouth to seduce his generous sex spotter. like coming on to a masseuse or bartender.

but...z is a handsome guy. if g eventually gives in to temptation, that’s not z’s fault. and if he makes sure to look extra sexy and fuckable next time, well, that’s just putting the ball in g’s court, isn’t it?

he wakes up the next morning with basically no marks (awww, bummer) but is still treated to g’s eyes roving attentively across his neck in the dressing room.

and g isn’t wearing his headphones! tinny music pipes from his small portable speaker, and z can’t help humming along

he waits two entire days before messaging g to come over again.

little does z know, in the meantime g has become a thief. you see, the day after their Encounter, he’d watched the costume crew cinch z into one of his tight sashes and thought - nobody would miss a little ribbon

he sneaks off with a couple feet of wide satin ribbon in turquoise so deep it almost looks navy blue, feeling soooo mischievous and pleased with himself.

when z summons him g is ready to make sure z never goes back to solo breathplay.

z times it perfectly so he’s just stepped out of the shower when g knocks. z wraps the thin dorm towel around his waist and drips his way over to the door.

poor g wasn’t ready for this. he’d mentally prepared for basketball shorts part II, not z freshly clean and soaking wet

all he’d have to do to have z completely nude in the doorway is hook a finger into that towel and watch it unravel from around z’s trim waist.

“what?” z asks innocently. “did I grow a third nipple while I wasn’t paying attention?”

g’s eyes snap back up to his face

z laughs at him and pulls g inside by the wrist. g follows, puppylike, so z raises the anti by whipping the towel from around his waist and using it to dry his hair, giving g plenty of time to ogle his ass unobserved.

what? he’s a gym bro, he’s comfortable with his body~~

“help me get my back?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

z is perfectly capable of getting his own back. doesn’t mean he’s gonna pass up an opportunity to be a lil shit.

g takes the towel from him and gives him a businesslike rubdown that barely hits any of z’s ticklish spots

(it was worth a try. nothing ventured, nothing gained, etc etc)

z goes to lie down same as before but g clears his throat to stop him.

“no?” z asks.

g steps around him and sits down on the bed, one knee tucked up and the other leg outstretched.

there’s space at the edge of the bed between g’s legs, and he pats at it indicating that z should sit too.

he tries to lean back into g’s chest but gets a palm between his shoulder blades and an amused “sit properly”

/bossy/, z thinks, but he’s not complaining. g is so biddable on set, checking in about everything, but that doesn’t mean he takes stuff lying down. he’s pleasant, not a pushover.

for the visual thinkers in the crowd, note that z is fully nude, manspreading at the edge of the bed while g sits behind him, just far enough away that his clothes won’t get damp. the t-shirt g is wearing is soft, white and oversized with the nintendo logo printed on the front

g produces the ribbon from his back pocket and draws it very carefully across z’s throat.

z twists to look at g in surprise - how is ribbon different from belt aside from an aesthetic technicality!? - but g shushes him.

“not tight,” he says. “just snug.”

z shivers as g loops the ribbon around once, twice, the tails slipping over his skin in long, slow drags.

true to his word, g doesn’t pull the ribbon tight. he applies only enough pressure for z to be aware of it, especially when he swallows.

g has z hold his hair out of the way while he ties the ribbon off. he slips two fingers underneath to test the fit, causing it to constrict briefly and z’s pulse to speed up.

“that’s your neck taken care of,” g says, satisfied. z isn’t sure about this yet - he wants g’s /hands/

g steadies z with a warm hand on his shoulder. “I thought you might like it if I controlled when you could breathe,” g proposes.

z reaches up to touch his ribbon collar, which isn’t messing up his breathing at all. not that it isn’t nice, but it’ll take more to choke him

the hand g has on z’s shoulder slides up to support under his jaw, tipping z’s head back and making the ribbon much more noticeable. then g curls his other hand loosely over z’s nose and mouth.

“you’re going to breathe with me,” g says calmly. “that’s it. okay?”

“yeah. okay.”

“we’ll try a couple first,” g says.

he frees z’s mouth and breathes in 4 counts, then carefully covers z’s mouth and pinches his nose shut while they hold their breath together, 4 counts. then he lets z’s nose go, out 4 counts, and lifts his hand all the way away for in again

it takes z by surprise how intense it is. he can breathe in fours on his own no problem. but with g running the show he feels overwhelmed, and he stumbles on their first couple tries, missing the timing. g gives him breaks to catch his breath while he gets the hang of it

“ready?” G asks, once z has successfully followed several breaths in a row without struggle.

z almost asks “for what” and then remembers: the dick part. why is the dick part so hard to remember when g is in the room if his dick is the part that wants g so bad???

he takes hold of himself and shudders all over as g breathes in conspicuously next to his ear.

one, two, three, four — and the air is trapped in z’s lungs behind g’s palm.

one, two, three, four — and he’s free again.

he strokes his cock, making it feel nice. his body wants to speed up as the arousal builds, to pant and gasp, but g isn’t letting z do that. nothing but slow, measured breaths enforced by g’s comfortable grip.

against the forced lethargy of his breathing the desperation around his dick feels more intense. he’s not breathing as deeply as before, missing some of g’s cues to inhale

his head is a little — ah — a little light.

his muscles feel loose, his mind swimmy, like he’s spent too long in the sun. only g is there, like always, offering himself as a scaffold for z to lean on.

z’s quieter than he was the last time, tuned in even father to his body. what sounds he does make are caught by g’s hands

he feels himself start to sway, body going liquid despite his efforts to sit straight.

g catches him before he can tip over, helping z fall back against his chest and letting z’s head loll on his shoulder, mouth open, wet, and heaving for breath against g’s jaw

his hand has gone lax on his cock but g is there to help, gathering him close and stroking it for him. fuck, g is such a good friend and his hands are so talented. if only z could get him to sleep with him.

g doesn’t bother fucking around with z’s airflow any longer. he just supports z’s ribbon-wrapped neck with one hand and jerks him off with the other. z whimpers as he gets close, nuzzling into g like he needs shelter against the rising storm g is coaxing his body through

“that’s it,” g says as z whimpers and jerks in his arms, the first pulse of come hitting g’s fingers. “you’re fine, let it take you”

helpless, z stops holding back and lets it all rush out, a real free-fall of an orgasm that leaves his brain far, far behind

“fuck, jj,” z says, sticking his face into the crook of g’s neck without a care for the spit and tears he’s getting on him. “where’d you learn that?”

“internet,” g says, and rubs z’s back.

z is about to laugh at g for doing research as his leg shifts and bumps into g’s erection

[it’s 2am so I have to sleep but don’t yell at me! I was so generous and let z come before I quit for the night!!!]

“oh?” z says, and shifts closer so he can feel more certainly — yeah that’s definitely Interest in g’s pants.

he’s so relaxed and warm but it’s only fair to offer g some relief in return, right? right.

“want help with that?” z asks, dragging a hand over to grope g’s upper thigh

“I’m fine, it’s all OK,” g says, taking z’s hand and putting it back in his own lap. “I didn’t mean to have a reaction.”

“you can’t go back to your room like that,” z protests.

g is not going to mention that he already did that once! “you’re tired,” he says instead

“Mmm,” z concedes. “but if you leave I’ll be cold.” (boom, flawless logic. it’s so sad that it’s about to 100% work on g, the sweet idiot)

g read On The Internet about how you’re not supposed to leave somebody alone after kinky sex acts, like what they just did

“lie down with me,” z suggests, and tries to flop bonelessly over onto his side. g catches him though (conscientious motherfucker) and arranges him properly. z isn’t going down without dragging g along with him, thought! he will be spooned!!!!!

“okay okay okay,” g says, giving in. he tries at first to keep his hips a respectable distance from z’s bare ass. z is having NONE OF THAT, and snuggles thoroughly back into his arms.

“I’m just here to keep you warm,” g reminds z (and himself)

g was already pushing it with the handjob assistance. no cast-cest! it only ever leads to drama and tears! he’s not here to sleep with z, he’s here to play the role of kink crossing guard so z doesn’t wander into the street and get bodied by a horny car. metaphorically.

“will you stop being such a priss and rub one out so I don’t feel like I owe you one?” z grumbles.

“it’s not like that, you don’t owe me,” g says, even though rubbing against z’s ass sounds oh-so-good right now

“so you’re just going to run away and jerk off in your room?”

yes.

"it's not - " g protests

"i think it sounds like you're chicken," z says. he chuckles and rolls his hips back against g's unflagging hard-on. "chicken, chicken, chicken"

"stop that," g says, grabbing z's hip and holding him still. z notes that g is pinning him /to/ his own hips, not away from them, and knows he's won. good. everybody gets a fair number of orgasms tonight.

g pulls his pants down to his knees and tucks his shirt up where it won't get in the way. z magnanimously offers a pump of his lotion

g takes a moment to sniff it. "how expensive is this?"

"shh sh sh sh," z says. "only like 250rmb, it's too late to put it back in the bottle"

"you're ridiculous," g tells his costar

"i put it on my face every night too," z says. "it's convenient to have just the one. now put it on your dick, fuck's sake"

g sort of can't believe he's about to jerk off with z's expensive-ass lotion, but it also feels kind of inevitable

he discovers a geometry problem pretty quickly. with z's warm, sex-soft body pressed up against him from shoulder to knee, there isn't a lot of space to stroke his dick without a certain amount of...bumping.

the accidental grazes of the sensitive head of his dick against z's ass are making g's heart beat faster. z's hair keeps getting in his mouth somehow and he's feeling increasingly desperate and vulnerable, inelegant, as clumsy and uncoordinated in this as he is during stunts

z feels g tensing up behind him, fumbling around with his dick. that simply WILL NOT DO. he could give g more space to work with but he doesn't want to move. no more moving. he's worn out.

howEVER...z has an Idea

he gets more lotion, bends his knee up, and applies it generously to the insides of his upper thighs and behind his balls. then he reaches back to take g's cock and guide it to where he wants it, tucked between his thighs

g shudders in poorly suppressed desire, but holds still.

"i'm not asking you to put it in," z says, reaching back to pet g's hip. "it's not any more sex than the rest of what we were doing, alright? you're just jerking off with a little help. i'll barely be doing anything."

if g uses his regular brain, what z's saying is absurd. asking g to fuck his thighs is absolutely sex. (as was the other stuff. it has been sex for a while.)

if g uses his horny brain, what z's suggested sounds very reasonable and good.

z is using his entire brain to appreciate how hard and present g feels between his thighs. he squeezes tight, hungry for contact, molding himself around g's dick. he wants g to take him up on this. he wants.

"please," z says. "jj, you took such good care of me. please."

this is not a good argument, but it is a powerful one. z has never called him jj before. it sounds so fond and intimate. like closeness would be easy between them.

g wraps his arm around z to spread his hand across z’s firm stomach, and pushes forward.

“oh,” g breathes.

it’s silky-soft-warm between z’s thighs. g thrusts slowly, tension bleeding out of his body. jerking himself behind z’s back & trying not to jostle him had felt furtive and invasive. he’s touching z so much more now and yet it feels...comfortable. safe and lazy, cradled together.

this is z taking care of him back, g supposes. looks like all z-laoshi’s looking after g on set extends to here in bed as well.

“mmmm, nice,” z says with a happy sigh. he’s so relaxed g almost wants to laugh. where’s the unstoppable ball of energy g is used to?

g chases orgasm with slow rolls of his hips, listening to z’s easy breathing and the wet clicking noises of skin sliding through thick lotion. he wants to prop himself up on his elbow to lay languid kisses on z’s lips while he fucks his thighs, but that’s a bad idea, probably.

at least intercrural sex is very safe! pretty hard to transmit disease or do any damage - what a good example they’re being compared to z’s unsupervised choking habit!

(physically, at least. emotionally, g and z are straying into dangerous territory)

when he’s getting close, g holds z so tight it must be compressing his rib cage and snaps his hips harder, but z doesn’t complain

g decides kisses don’t count with a ribbon between his lips and z’s skin and mouthes at z’s neck, barely aware of the soft wrecked sounds he’s making

he comes wet and shaking into the space z made for him, then lets his body go heavy

lots better than the pillow again, if he’s being honest. even if he has no idea how he’s going to act normal around z on set tomorrow.

the pillow doesn’t cause workplace drama, okay

at least g didn’t break down and beg for z’s pretty mouth, or ask if they could drop the facade and just have sex like two normal people who like and are attracted to each other. phew. could have been way worse. good thing g has such restraint.

they lie on their sides together for a while, not talking.

at last g says "okay, well..." and z knows he's going to get up and leave. probably....probably for the best. z is starting to feel pretty sticky.

"early call tomorrow," z says, heart heavier than it has any right to be

before he leaves, g unpicks the bow at the back of z's neck and delicately unwinds the ribbon. z touches the bared skin and smiles.

"thanks," he says. "see you in the morning. forecast says it's going to be hot, by the way - bring an extra change of clothes, you'll be sweaty"

g has no idea how z can just - just - he's still super naked and covered in 2 loads of come! why isn't he more weird about everything? /g/ feels weird! (weird feelings, according to g: wanting to spend more time with z, wanting to have more sex with z, wanting z to like him...)

it turns out that for all of g's fretting, the next day of filming is /fun/. z is extra playful, tugging on the bangs of g's wig, trying to get him to arm wrestle, teasing him for his voice and then demanding that g sing more, one more song!!! z sings along, off key and carefree

for a couple days z doesn't call on g for help with the choking thing. he's busy masturbating to the memory of g moving between his thighs and imagining what g's dick looks like. he's pretty sure it felt big.

also he's being careful not to come off as too clingy

and THEN there's another day of wirework.

the stunt coordination crew does the harness up /tight/, and costume's already been squeezing him into a too-small belt to make his waist look narrower, and z's been sipping air in shallow breaths for over an hour of strenuous activity

the soundstage is /sweltering/ and z is so fucking horny he feels like he might DIE

g comes up to him while they take a break. “you okay?” he asks. without prompting he waves his fan in front of z’s face, augmenting the breeze from z’s little battery powered one.

“can’t breathe very well,” z says, putting a hand over his diaphragm.

g looks endearingly concerned. “should we find somebody to adjust your harness? at least during —“

“jj,” z interrupts, giving him a Look. “i can’t /breathe/“

“oh, i — ooooooooh,” g says.

“yeah, ‘oh’,” z says, and laughs. it leaves him winded and he has to lean into g’s chest

“easy, easy,” g says, putting an arm around z’s back to help him stay upright. g dislikes seeing z’s body failing him like this, signs that z works himself too hard for too little recognition. but he can’t say z’s whispy panting against his chest isn’t doing anything for him

(we all know the danger of being around z too long is that his kinks will rub off on you)

“can you make it until tonight?” g asks

z leans on him harder (milking this for all its worth like a brat) and makes a considering noise. he’ll be fine, he’s endured worse, but it’d be interesting to see if he could con a semi-public handjob out of g

he won’t, but: interesting

“how about I give you something to tide you over?” g says, not aware that z has decided to be good and not cajole sexual favors out of his coworker.

“like what?” z asks, reneging on his decision to be good.

“close your eyes and hold your breath,” g says. he glances around. nobody’s in the immediate vicinity and they’re 70% obscured by a random tarp.

z closes his eyes and holds his breath, then cracks one eye open, curious. g pokes him in the stomach and his breath puffs out

“no peeking,” he says, as z shoves him and he shoves back in retaliation. finally z shuts his eyes properly.

g has been mildly obsessed with z’s neck since their whole arrangement began. maybe since before that. it’s a pretty neck.

a little teasing escalation won’t hurt z.

g pulls the collar of z’s costume to the side, baring a patch of skin that will be hidden from the cameras, and holds up wkx’s fan to obscure what he’s about to do from any unseen prying eyes.

then he bends his head and gently bites the crook of z’s neck

z’s hand flies to the back of g’s head to hold him there

g licks z’s sweaty skin, then sucks hard enough to bruise.

“fuck,” z says, fingers twisting in g’s wig. “fuck, fuck, fuck”

cheeky, g blows on the damp spot he’s left. hm, not dark enough yet. he bites again; more swears

when he’s satisfied, g neatens up z’s collar and pats down the stray hairs z messed up.

“the hell was that, huh?” z asks, even more breathless than before.

g grins. never say he can’t give as good as he gets. “incentive, I guess,” he says, then hustles off before z can hit him

“incentive for WHAT!” z shouts after him, lifting his robes with one hand and following at a jog

well in any case now z HAS to focus on his job so he and g can go somewhere private ASAP, plus he can’t pull his entire costume off in frustration without showing off a very fresh hickey.

incentive indeed!

z stews over What Does It All Mean while he cooks in his stupid robes between takes, trying not to think about g cinching him into a leather harness, or wrapping corset around him and pulling the laces until g’s hands fit around his waist as easily as they do around his neck, or—

it would be so much easier if they were just fucking each other. then z could just ask for whatever! and he could find out what g liked, and make him happy, g is so wonderful when he’s happy, it’s like all the joy in the world bundles into one person. he’s just so cute and sunny

hmmmm, z thinks. this crush is getting out of control, isn’t it.

hmmmm, g thinks as he scarfs down dinner, barely tasting it. he’s locked in seeing z tonight to follow through on the promise he left on z’s neck earlier. that means they’re fucking, doesn’t it? g’s rule is toast.

g finished dinner in record time. when he knocks on z’s door he’a greeted by z in boxers and a knee brace, stripey socks on his feet and his hair pulled half-up in a flower-patterned scrunchie. he’s the opposite of seductive, despite being shirtless with a love bite on display

he’s the best thing g has ever seen. there’s a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

“uuh, i fthought you’d take long’r,” z says. he ducks into the bathroom to spit and rinse. when he sticks his head back out he’s taken the scrunchie out and finger-combed his hair loose

“hi,” z says

“hi,” g says back.

“you wanna — ?” z tips his head towards the bed in a clear let’s-get-right-to-it gesture.

g does wanna, very much. but also he wants...

“can we just have sex?” g blurts out.

z stops trying to roll down his knee brace attractively and blinks at g. “sex?”

“yeah,” g says. “I can choke you during, it’s just — I really want to have sex with you. if you’re interested.”

“sure,” z says with a breezy smile. “get me off and you can put it wherever you like.”

“not like that,” g says, ducking his head.

“I guess I can blow you,” z says. he’s not getting even a little

“no — I — I mean — like /this/,” g says, and steps into z’s space. he reels z in with a hand on his (maddening, bare) waist, as z looks up at him in patient bemusement

and then g kisses him, as sweet as he knows how.

“so...” z says when g lets them up for air, “not out of concern for my safety this time?”

“I am still concerned about your safety,” g says, and pecks z on the lips again. “but no, it’s, ah — it’s mostly not about that this time.”

[bed time for me now - sexy time for these two tomorrow 💝]

[quick PSA: while the conceit of this threadfic is “safer sex,” it is not a manual! I only apply realism when it’ll be hot; I’m a porn gremlin, not a sex educator 😅]

the kissing goes from sweet to frantic pretty quickly — g gets his hands on z’s ass and grinds them together so hard z’s heels lift off the ground. z yanks g’s shirt up to his armpits, then instead of pulling apart to yank it fully off just ties a knot in the hem to keep it there

z feels up aaaaaall of g’s 8-pack, almost giddy with glee.

“so handsome, you’re so handsome,” z says as he tweaks one of g’s nipples. “how’d m-jie find me such a handsome lao w?”

g pinches z’s butt to cover for the fact that he’s blushing

“if m-jie finds out about this she’ll murder us,” g says

“are you kidding me?” z says, laughing. “if m-jie finds out about this she’ll buy me dinner because her two leads finally have chemistry together!”

“we had chemistry before,” g grumbles, defending his acting prowess.

“netizens voted us the straightest cp of the season,” z says, and couples the statement with sticking his hand down the front of g’s pants.

“oooOOOohh laogong, what’s this? i hope you’re not saving it all for your wife back home.”

“i don’t think my laopo wants to wait that long,” g says with a chuckle, and fondles z’s chest like he’s got tits, pushing his pecs together to make a little valley of cleavage

“you’re right, I don’t,” z says. he tips his head back in a clear invitation for g to bite a mark on the other side of his neck too. g takes him up on it. z makes encouraging noises, and also moves his hand encouragingly in g’s pants.

z hasn’t forgotten that he wants to get choked, and g’s dick is a very attractive option for achieving his goals in that arena

“i can’t kneel for long,” z warns g, as he braces himself with his hands on g’s hips and starts to lower himself to the carpet.

giving head like this is going to make z’s knee hurt like a bitch, but it’ll be worth it to have g’s cock in his mouth.

g stops z with a hand on his elbow. “why not on the bed? I’ll hold your hair back for you if you think it’ll get in your eyes.”

“oh,” z says. “sure, yeah, if you’d like.”

“i will,” g says. then he laughs a little at himself, shoulders bouncing a couple times. “i mean — you should be comfortable while you choke on my dick, right?”

“good point. get naked.”

g makes z take off the stripey socks before he’ll let z onto the bed with him — not because he has a strong objection to sex with socks on, but because /those/ socks are not going to fly. he sits back and teases his cock while z gets settled between his legs.

g gently gathers z’s soft bangs back from his face. z licks his lips and stares up at g’s face. g’s glad he’s not standing because he thinks the sight might have made his legs give out.

z takes g’s dick in hand. he dabs at the bead of precome with the tip of his tongue, draws a little circle. g blows out a shaky breath — he wasn’t quite prepared for z to be good at this. usually g gets to be the unchallenged blowjob king in bed (thank you, slut phase!)

little does g know: z ALSO had a slut phase, and it coincided with his no-homo locker room phase. z spits on g’s dick so he can slide his hand up and down a easier, then puts his mouth to work

“that’s not fair,” g chokes out. “that’s — ah — I thought you were a gentleman!”

z snorts and pulls off g (showing off his coordination by taking over with slow strokes of his hand). “dunno where you got that idea from. you’re the one who promised to fuck my throat.”

“did I promise that?” g asks. (tbh right now z could tell him he’d agreed to buy a bunny suit and fuck z in it and g wouldn’t be 100% sure he didn’t)

“Mm. said you’d pull my hair and everything.”

g tightens his grip on z’s hair and gives an experimental tug. z goes easily.

g guides z back to his cock, gasping as z takes half of it like it’s nothing. he pulls until he feels the wet click of z’s throat closing. then he guides z back. z sucks him hard the whole way up, like he doesn’t want to he dragged off.

z lets g bob him carefully up and down on his dick. eventually g gets a good enough idea of z’s physical limits to go rougher, hold z down longer. it’s not g’s favorite type of bj actually — slow and loving cock worship is his happy place — but z is so blissed out it’s amazing

z puts a hand on the top of g’s thigh so he can squeeze when it’s nearing too long. g’s dick is sloppy with spit. it glistens on z’s chin whenever g yanks him free to suck in desperate lungfuls of air. (if g tries to give him excess time to recover: more insistent thigh squeezes)

z is so dizzy! he feels like a pinwheel in a wind tunnel! every breath stings on its way into his lungs, whoooooosh. this is FUN, and g looks all stupid with awe and pleasure and z did that!!! he wants to do more, what can he do with his body to make g feel good?

z lists to the side and rests his cheek on g’s thigh, panting. he plays idly with g’s dick, exploring it with his fingers. g pets his hair — so nice.

he rolls his eyes up to g’s face. “i sucked your dick so you have to tell me a secret,” he says.

“that so?”

“Mm”

“what do you want to know?” g asks (it’s hard to deny sex-silly z, even for somebody less gone on him than g)

“what is...the nastiest thing you’ve imagined...doing to me?” z asks.

g laughs in embarrassment and covers his face with his hands. “nooooo,” he protests.

“you have to!” z says. g shakes his head so z pinches his side. “say it!”

g moans because a dirty fantasy came instantly to mind but it’s filthy and now he’s thought it he can’t come up with a less-revealing-but-still-convincingly-kinky idea.

z pinches him again: stop stalling!

g is not going to be able to squirm out of this one. his brain is too distracted by his dick for lying.

he groans again and hides farther behind his fingers. “i wanna ride your face,” he says. “oh god”

z perks up. “i can eat you out? really?”

that’s not what g said but uh...too late now. z is already making him get up so z can lie on his back and pull g down over him.

this is maybe the shortest time between mentioning rimming and getting rimmed g has ever experienced

g crouches awkwardly, knees straddling z’s chest, staring towards z’s lower half (and his dick, and the thighs g fucked the other day...)

z urges g’s hips back until he’s resting more weight on z’s shoulders and face. then he spreads g with both hands and licks his asshole

has he no shame! g thinks, lifting up in surprise

oh fuck that feels even better than I remembered, g also thinks.

(thought #2 is louder)

“come back here,” z says, surprisingly gentle. “sit on my face, c’mon”

g hesitates. this is...a lot. for a hookup. g personally won’t eat ass unless he likes a guy a /lot/.

he’d eat z’s ass, he realizes. if z asked. (uh oh, are those...feelings? yikes!)

unaware of g’s incoming crisis over facesitting, z massages his thighs reassuringly.

“don’t worry,” he says. “even like this I’m still strong enough to lift you off if i have to.”

he demonstrates by pushing g’s whole body up about six inches, then dropping him back on his face

“oof,” g says, surprised into putting more weight than he meant to on z. z makes a hum of satisfaction right against g’s asshole and starts licking again

z loves having his face buried between somebody’s legs. (who doesn’t!) g smells like clean sweat and warm person-scent

big bonus for z: he can’t breathe freely with g pressed against his nose and mouth like this. g tries to shift to put less weight on him and z digs his fingernails into his hips to make him stop being considerate and STAY PUT so z can EAT HIS ASS.

g is fighting a losing battle with his manners. z clearly wants g to rock back and ride his tongue just like g knows would feel super good.

it would be easier to be nice and self-sacrificing about his own pleasure if z would /cooperate/. like now how z is groping blindly around for g’s hand to drag it back to grab his hair and — oh fuck it, fine! FINe, if z is going to be like this g will enact his fantasies, jeez!!!

g holds z still by the hair and rocks his hips back, grinding z’s wet mouth right against where he needs it. he braces his other hand against z’s chest for leverage.

z’s cock bounces against his stomach, untouched, as the movement of g’s riding shakes the bed.

z is in breathplay heaven, especially now that g has gotten with the program. he doesn’t need air, he doesn’t need a hand or a mouth on his dick, he just needs to make jj feel good. from the way g’s thigh muscles are shaking and the sounds he’s making, z is doing a stellar job

at last z runs out of lung capacity and the short breaks to gasp and knead g’s ass with his hands aren’t enough. he pushes g’s weight forward and off of him and lies back, chest heaving.

guess what: if g leans forward a liiiiittle more he can get his mouth on z’s dick!

z makes a garbled, desperate sound, followed by a whimper.

g can hear z saying some kind of words too, but none of them sound like “stop” and he’s having a good time sucking dick so he ignores him

eventually z gets louder and g realizes he’s repeating “fuck me, fuck me, please”

well, shit, that’s compelling. unfortunately—

“I’m not fucking you raw with night cream for lube,” g says, with a gentle kiss on the head of z’s cock to soften the denial.

“no, wait, i got —“

z wiggles underneath him and g hears several things fall off the nightstand

z presses a bottle of lube and several condoms into g’s unsuspecting hands.

“you had these the whole time?” g asks, mildly appalled (expensive lotion! there was lube right there!) but also not going to turn down this windfall

z did not have these supplies the whole time. after g made suuuuuuch a fuss about the stupid lotion z had sent xy out to buy lube. for using himself, he’d said! he’s LONELY, best bro!

xy had come back with lube AND condoms and a request that z not tell him any more things

g disentangles himself from z to put on a condom and put the extra condoms back on the nightstand. z takes the time to stuff a couple pillows under his ass and pull his knees up (flexible~~~)

“fuck me /now/,” z says. “while I’m still lightheaded, hurry, i need it”

“it’s gonna...”

z rolls his eyes and waggles his hips. “it’s not /that/ big,” he insists. “use a lot of lube, I’ll be fine”

thrill-seeking lunatic, g thinks. he drizzles lube between z’s cheeks, catching the drips with his fingers and pushing them into z to slick him up inside

if z is going to have regrets about demanding dick immediately, g expects him to express them when when g presses his lube-coated thumb in deep

z just makes a low, satisfied noise and relaxes around him. it’s hot, g notes with mild despair. he could bend z over anywhere and...

z’s woozy little heart flips at how slippery g’s dick is when it presses against his asshole. g is taking such good care of his laoshi, getting cheap, sticky lube everywhere. he’s so sweet.

there’s a moment of give as g finds the right spot, then the familiar heavy, punching stretch of a LOT going in all at once. it hurts like a sudden muscle cramp in a deep, hidden muscle, the kind of pain z always wants to poke and explore.

g doesn’t push any more in, but he does curl over z to kiss him and listen to his breath hitch. “tell me again how my dick is small,” he says in z’s ear, amused, then nudges his hips forward a bit.

“like a chopstick,” z says.

g nudges more forcefully.

“two chopsticks!”

“do you have stunts tomorrow?” g asks

“no,” z lies. well, maybe lies. he doesn’t remember the schedule — he has people. somebody will tell him when he shows up

g thrusts the rest of the way in. z’s mouth falls soundlessly open and g is there, kissing him off-center and careless

the ache of a dick in his ass eases quickly (and was a small price to pay for having g this close Right Away), and g is able to slide in and out of him smoothly.

“more, baby, more,” z says, scratching his fingernails through the short hair at the nape of g’s neck

getting called baby in z’s dreamy mid-sex voice does Things to g. z notices, and grins (g feels it against his own lips more than feels it)

“are you my baby?” z asks, half-breathless, half-mischief. “my good baby who fucks me right?”

“yes,” g says, breathing raggedly. he takes z by the ankle of the good leg and folds z in half properly until his knee is practically up by his ear.

his other hand he cups around the base of z’s neck.

“baby, fuck me, please,” z begs, not feeling classy in the best way

g presses his forehead against z’s and finally sets a tooth-rattling pace. z has to put a hand on the headboard to keep from slipping up the bed. g is hitting everywhere inside him, holding him down and using him hard.

they’re going to have to apologize to the neighbors later

z reaches between his legs to collect some of the excessive lube g spread on him and uses it to furiously work his dick. he wants to come like this, with g flexing his hand around his neck while he rearranges his guts

it doesn’t take too long, not with g pounding athletically into him and whining helplessly every time z gasps an endearment onto his hair.

“you close?” z asks

g nods frantically, hips stuttering.

that’ll do, z decides, and strokes himself over the edge.

g feels z’s muscles clench through the spasms of orgasm and the hot wet come between their bellies.

he’s too close himself to stop; z goes floppy like a rag doll but g keeps fucking into him, a few more times, just another moment, there, ah —

“that feel good?” z asks when g collapses on top of him

“mmMmm,” g says, and nuzzles z’s chest

“yeah,” z says, grossly fond, and strokes g’s sweaty back

it was weirdly good, actually. better than a first time together had any right to be. granted, they did have two trial runs.

but seriously, if z never fucked anybody but g again, he’d die happy. he can’t imagine getting bored of that. watching g let go and be wanton — that was a hell of a rush.

the man may be uncoordinated at fight choreography, but he sure can /get ‘er done/

“don’t go back to your room,” z says. “i’ll get cold. and lonely.”

“these sheets are gross,” g counters sleepily.

“there’s a spare bed,” z tells him.

“oh,” g says. “there is. yes. you should sleep there with me.” (it turns out tops can get dick-drunk too)

[stopping here for the night! not much left to go though! the dots....almost connected.....,,,,....]

before they go to sleep g makes z drink water, and then z makes g drink water too (they both absolutely have to get up to pee in the middle of the night)

the bed is too tiny to do anything but sleep all over each other

z steals some kisses after g turns the light off, touching g easily. g holds him and draws patterns across his back and shoulder blades — Lao w’s favorite

“that wasn’t your first time,” g says into the dark. he hadn’t been sure how many men z’d been with, before.

z laughs and bites g jokingly on the chest. “jealous of my past lovers already?” z teases.

“no, no I just —“

“I’ve had girlfriends,” z says.

the /and you haven’t/ hangs silently between them.

“your family know?” g asks quietly.

z shakes his head, then shrugs. “ma...maybe guessed a few years ago. she still wants me to marry a nice girl though. yours?”

“my ma and ba sat me down and asked me if they should spend the money they’d been saving for my wedding on a new car.” he laughs dryly. “I said yes.”

“they’re good to you about it though?” z asks, finding g’s hand in the sheets and lacing their fingers together.

“I think they wish I could have an easier life, and ma is mad about grandkids,” g says, squeezing z’s hand. “but they want me to be happy.”

z wants g to be happy too. somebody like him should always be smiling.

“was it a cool car?” z asks.

“it was a minivan,” g says, with great weariness

they’re quiet after that, holding hands in the dark, both independently entertaining thoughts of what their families would say if they brought this man home

ma’s gonna ask if he can cook, z thinks. she always thinks I’m going to starve to death if she’s not there to feed me

meanwhile g chastises himself for imagining taking z to meet his parents when they met barely a month ago. “how do you know he’s good with money, you don’t know anything about him,” they’d say, and be right! all g knows about z’s spending habits is that he buys a lot of sneakers

maybe if they make a gazillion dollars off of this rag-tag production overnight, g will finally be so rich it won’t matter how expensive the man he brings home is.

z likes to wear earrings, g knows. it’d be fun to buy somebody jewelry — g never thought about that before

g falls asleep halfway through estimating z’s net worth based on what he knows about him so far.

sprawled on top of him, z drifts off wondering how their characters would kiss compared to how the two of them kissed tonight. more desperate, romantic. zzs might cry. prettily.

work the next morning is comfortable between the two of them, but the rest of the cast and crew are in the midst of a gossip hurricane.

people heard Sounds. they’re pretty sure they know who else was in z’s room

SO ROMANTIC IF TRUE AAAAHHHHHH

oblivious to all this in their own little world, g and z flirt without cease, which only intensifies the gossiping. who made the first move? was it their first time together or the first time they got caught? a hookup or Something More?

and, most importantly: will there be drama

z is only sitting down gingerly, which is noted by several over-interested passerby and also g, who does his “I’m going to eat him” elevator eyes.

z waggles a finger at him. “don’t get smug, it’ll give you acne. listen to your senior in these matters.”

“if your knee is sore, I have some muscle rub in my trailer that might help,” g says innocently.

this is a terrible pickup line and it absolutely works. (the awful thing about people who really want to fuck again is that it takes very little persuading)

the next break they get z and g mysteriously vanish.

“i don’t have muscle rub,” g says, shutting the door to his trailer behind them and grabbing z to kiss him.

“that’s fine, they don’t do much for me,” z says, stumbling backwards with one hand fisted in the front of g’s shirt

g makes short work of sitting z down and getting between his knees. he didn’t get to blow z properly yet — upside down doesn’t count.

z gasps and moans and calls g a good boy, which gets g all squirmy-embarrassed-pleased (as intended)

g /wants/ z to come on his face, but it’ll enrage the makeup team if they have to re-do all their hard work, so instead he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue and z aims there instead.

this is amenable, especially when z drags g back up to kiss him while the taste lingers

then z presses g against the cupboard/sink/countertop combo furniture thing and gets his hand in g’s pants

one thing about z is that he can be really good at dirty talk when he puts any effort into it. he’s got good improv skills, no shame, and a filthy mind

g is already getting used to bending down a little so z-laoshi can talk quietly right into his ear. the things z says while he teases g’s foreskin over the head of his dick make his knees go wobbly

somebody knocks and g freezes.

z whispers “ssssssh,” in g’s ear. he can just see the through a crack in the blinds. “she doesn’t know we’re here.”

“g-laoshi, we need you in 15!” she yells.

z strokes g slowly, watching the crew member’s shadow as she takes her phone and grumbles “I’ll wait.”

“is she gone?” g asks, voice strained.

“still there,” z says, without stopping the movement of his hand. “did you lock the door?”

g shakes his head, eyes screwed shut

“so you’d better come fast before she runs out of patience and tries the door, huh?” as z asks he lightens his touch until it’s barely a caress

g’s hips buck and he has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep quiet

“c’mon, jj, be slutty for me,” z says. “you’re so responsible all the time, but you like getting your dick touched too, hmm? that’s okay, I don’t want you to be ashamed of being my good boy. you’re good, right? you’ll come before she catches us?”

“please,” g whines

z smiles and kisses his cheek. “anything you want.” he pauses, then adds thoughtfully, “except spinning you around and fucking you right here, because we don’t have a condom. that’d be nice though, wouldn’t it? then I wouldn’t be the only one feeling it today.”

“/please/ touch me more, I can’t— she’s gonna—“ g groans, because z is torturing him with this slow teasing shit. (he could have solved his problem by telling z to stop but...whoops)

z holds his palm up for g to spit in, then uses that plus g’s beading precome to jerk g off

“like that?” z asks, drawing a whine out of g. “you’re so hot when you’re being a slut, fuck, look at you, /look at you/.”

g tosses his head back so hard it bangs against the cabinet and comes all over z’s hand.

“beautiful,” z says, staring softly into g’s eyes

“oh my god,” g says, chest heaving, transfixed by z’s gaze. z brushes the hair out of his face with his dry hand.

slowly g recovers some of his wits. “oh my god!” he says again in a totally different tone of voice. “you’re crazy, hide! hide and don’t come out until we’re gone!”

z tries not to crack up in g’s appalled face (succeeds...mostly) and lets flustered g herd him into the tiny bathroom to wipe off his hands and stay hidden

he waits a solid 5 minutes, then follows g back to set, planning to stop by craft services to throw everyone off the scent

(everyone is not thrown off the scent very well. the sound of g’s head hitting wood cupboard was loud. they are lucky this is a relatively unknown production and nobody cares what they’re up to)

[on that nice not-a-cliffhanger I’m going to sleep, I thought I was almost done last night but actually we still have an entire emotional sex scene left to go 😭]

“I have a present for you, but it’s a secret,” g says a couple days later. they’ve been having a lot of athletic, mostly-vanilla sex and sneaking into places they shouldn’t be to neck during the workday, but g wants to do something special for the weekend. a treat for z-laoshi.

z pesters him all day trying to get him to say what it is but g resolutely gives him nothing. from the way g blushes and stutters while refusing to provide details, z can tell it’s a sex present, which is very exciting, but no other information is forthcoming.

in any case, z is Ready when he pops over to g’s room after dinner. squeaky clean, pocket full of condoms (somebody is optimistic), hair perfectly disheveled.

“aw, I miss the scrunchie,” g says, sticking his hands in z’s hair and ruining the look immediately.

“stooooop, I look so handsome,” z says, trying to fix his bangs with a pout. “you’re wreck my cool vibe.”

g’s sneaky grin lets z know even before g opens his mouth that he’s going to say something horrible.

“I’ll wreck more than that tonight,” g says, and bounces his eyebrows

z collapses onto g, laughing and smacking him. g refuses to be anything but proud of himself.

“you’re awful!”

“like you can talk, stale-jokes-laoshi,” g says, pushing at him.

“my jokes are impeccable,” z insists. “it’s all about the comedic timing.”

“ooh,” g says, faux-serious. “that makes sense.”

“shut up and give me my present,” z says, flouncing. he has a lot of ideas about what it might be. fancy butt plug? g in a sexy outfit? a sensual massage with scented oils and candles? z’s turn to get eaten out???

g pulls a giant, lumpy tote bag out from under the little desk in the corner.

z has absolutely no idea what could be in there. what the hell is jj planning? it had BETTER be sexy or z is going to be /so/ miffed about all the personal hygiene he just performed

g pulls a huge mess of straps out of the bag and drops them in a pile on the bed. z is still kind of confused, but g is busy untangling it all with a cute concentrating expression. bondage? z could be into bondage, he guesses.

he usually imagines more leather and red silk ropes when he thinks bondage, and less nylon with snap-lock closures.

g looks up at him, grinning like a cat who’s got the cream, but his face falls when he sees z’s bewilderment.

“you don’t like it?”

“I don’t know what it /is/“

“I bribed the stunt coordinator,” g says. “I have this for 2 days, no questions asked.”

z peers closer and — holy shit — it’s a familiar wirework harness

“/jj/,” z whispers, touching the sweat-stained padding. “you didn’t.”

“you can’t tell ANYONE, I’ll be in so much trouble”

future z is going to have even more trouble not popping a boner during stunt work, but future z is just going to have to deal with that.

“you won’t mind if I do it up really tight, right?” g says, all sweet mischief. “wouldn’t want you to slip and get hurt.”

“safety is important,” z says. he has the best sex-buddy ever. (maybe...soon-boyfriend? he likes g a frightening amount. whatever. horny thoughts only now.)

g comes around z’s back and pulls his shirt off, then guides him to step out of his pants. “don’t want you to get overheated,” g says, and kisses the back of his neck.

“I like you better than the stunt team already, z says with a full-body shiver.

[for reference, here’s a picture of a stunt harness. imagine it in black though]

“okay, I think it goes...like this,” g says, trying valiantly not to get any of the straps twisted as he loosens them enough for an already-slightly-hyperventilating z to step into

g has to kneel to help z with the first bit, letting z use his shoulders for support.

since g is, you know, already right there, he gives z’s dick a bit of attention. with his mouth, naturally.

it’s a nice dick and g wants it to feel nice. also he wants to look at z’s dick standing all proud and spit-slick between those thigh straps.

eventually z gets inpatient and starts tugging on g’s hair to get on with the next part. blowjobs are great but! give him what he wants!

g helps z shrug into the vest and gets the padded thigh straps lying flat and properly, careful with z’s delicate bits

it’s gonna frame and plump up z’s ass so nice when he tightens these, but he needs to get the chest done up first.

“don’t help,” g says when z tries to mess with the straps himself, slapping his hands away. “I’m doing it.”

z drops his hands to his sides and makes plaintive eyes