Chapter Text
The hallways of the office building are as crowded as they get, this time of day; but in a wing like this, which houses the executive offices, there’s no press of bodies shoulder to shoulder. Tianlang-jun’s imposing demeanor and height- dark suit over neatly pressed shirt, tie chosen to match, watch gleaming at his wrist- prevents any accidental brush against him. The other employees make way for him without seeming to notice they’re doing it as he strides toward the elevator.
The muted ding of the elevator rings out, as if perfectly anticipating his needs. The doors open in perfect time for Tianlang-jun to step inside-
But someone else steps out of the elevator, breaking his routine.
This early in the morning, there usually aren’t many riding the elevator down. The man in question strides out with no hesitation, sure that people will make way for him; an older woman glances at him and falters, stepping to the side. His forward motion is so committed that he almost walks into Tianlang-jun, standing there still in surprise. Barely refraining from colliding through Tianlang-jun, the man picks his head up to fix him with a stormy glare, long ponytail swaying.
Now that Tianlang-jun can see his face, he’s struck by a few details at once. The man is of a height with him- rare. His features are exquisite; even with his brow furrowed in annoyed anger he looks like someone whose face would be sold as part of a product line. His clothes are slightly ill-fitting, but the frame showing through beneath them more than makes up for it. He looks strangely out of place- as if something about him doesn’t belong in an office building. He looks wild; larger than life.
The man’s glare meets Tianlang-jun’s gaze, then his eyes slide down his body, and back up, irritated expression intensifying.
Tianlang-jun has been given the once-over from many attractive men in his life. It’s rare, though, for their expression to crease in derisive dismissal when they’re done.
“Get out of my way,” the man says, voice brusque but low and smooth like a professional actor’s. Tianlang-jun has seen many beautiful men, but he’s never gotten goosebumps from hearing one speak before.
Without another word the man pushes past Tianlang-jun, who can’t help but turn to watch him as he goes. There’s a faint scent of something in the air; it doesn’t smell like cologne, but like something more subtle. The outdoor breeze, perhaps, if there wasn’t so much smog in it.
The man’s long ponytail flicks out as he passes around the corner and out of sight, leaving an impression of self-composed disdain.
What an interesting man.
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The city is big, and people have no time to hang about; Tianlang-jun doesn’t expect to see the man again.
That’s why he’s startled two days later when he’s accosted during his commute home.
Tianlang-jun lives less than a block from the train station; he can see his own front door from where the man with the long hair slices out of the darkness, holding-
Is that a sword?
Eyes narrowing, Tianlang-jun falls back out of the way of the strike, the wind of it sending his jacket flapping. In a rush, he darts back in to seize the hand that holds the blade. The other man’s eyes go wide as Tianlang-jun’s bone-crushing grip forces the sword away from them both; he makes an attempt to switch it to his other hand. As if moving on its own, Tianlang-jun’s free hand slaps at the hilt, knocking it from the man’s grip to clatter on the ground.
With a furrow of brows, Tianlang-jun’s assailant moves his hand in a strange gesture, then slams his palm flat against Tianlang-jun’s shoulder.
It doesn’t hurt; there’s not that much force behind it. But it feels like there’s something within the blow, something that’s stirring up Tianlang-jun’s insides, something that…
There’s a shift within Tianlang-jun’s body.
The warning signals in his head stop blaring; he can feel that whatever that palm was doing before, it’s now no longer doing. The man’s eyes go wide, and he tries to withdraw his hand; before he can, though, Tianlang-jun seizes his wrist, jerking it until the man faces him.
“You dare-” the man snaps, infuriated; and before Tianlang-jun can react, a snapping kick has landed in his stomach, sending him crashing down onto his knees, folded in half. Before he can move, there are two fingers pointing at the top of his head, and he can feel the same deep-seated feeling of danger coming from them. Coughing, he snatches at the fingers leveled at him, and something- twists. It’s like some kind of energy passes between their skin, diffusing the danger and raising Tianlang-jun’s self-confidence, making him feel powerful, invincible, unstoppable.
The man’s hand jerks back, trying to free itself; he’s unable to. Breathing deeply- deeper than usual, as if he’s taking full breaths for the first time in his life- Tianlang-jun rises to his feet, eyes fixed on the face of the struggling man above him, hand clenching tight around his fingers like a vise. The rush of power flowing into him intensifies, sending his pulse racing, bringing everything into higher definition: he can see each individual eyelash framing the man’s wild eyes, each long hair moving in slow motion in the dimness of the street lamp. Tianlang-jun’s free hand reaches out, as of its own accord; the flow of energy sputters and slows-
The man’s gaze goes unfocused, his lips parting; the orange light of the street lamp brightens for a split second, then one by one the surrounding lights blow out, bang bang bang. In the silent darkness left behind Tianlang-jun can still see perfectly as the man collapses to the ground, head hitting the pavement with a loud thock as the sword falls from his limp hand.
Tianlang-jun blinks, reaching hand retracting; the shattered glass of the street lamp and the sharp-looking edge of the man’s sword glitter like stars in the dim city light that reflects off the clouds overhead. Tianlang-jun glances around; no one else is at this stop, and it’s late enough that there’s no one to be seen up or down the street.
Stooping, he places a finger under the man’s nose; he’s breathing. Sitting back on his heels, Tianlang-jun contemplates him for a moment.
He’s very beautiful; he has the same air of otherworldliness about him, even unconscious. He’s not moving.
Tianlang-jun slowly reaches out and brushes the hair back from the man’s face; with the irate furrow missing from between his brows, he looks even more lovely. Tianlang-jun carefully feels along his scalp, and finds a small bump where his skull met the ground; no doubt swelling, now, into a large one.
Casting a glance at the sword, Tianlang-jun picks it up carefully. It catches the glow of the dim reflected city light as he turns it. The look of it suits the man; clean, well-maintained, beautiful but obviously intended for one purpose only.
Tianlang-jun glances up and down the street again.
No one is watching; for some reason, the logic of calling authorities and reporting an assault doesn’t appeal. Maybe it’s the man’s looks; maybe it’s the strange rush of power that still feels like it’s singing in Tianlang-jun’s veins.
Tianlang-jun brushes his knuckles along the man’s cheek, and his senses sharpen further; he can smell the faintest hint of blood. He raises his fingers to examine them. Yes; an almost invisible amount remains from when he felt the wound on the man’s head.
Almost idly, Tianlang-jun reaches down, and lifts the man up with one arm.
Carrying him and the sword, Tianlang-jun walks through the darkness, unobserved, to his apartment; he lets himself in and closes the door behind. He doesn’t bother with the lights- just carries the man to his own bed, and lays him down somewhat gently within it.
Looking down at him, he grips the hilt of the unsheathed sword, and gently lays his fingers against the man’s silky throat. The pulse beneath it beats, warm and unguarded, endlessly fascinating.