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“What’s this?” Zhehan asks, arms snaking around Gong Jun’s waist. He presses his nose into that spot where Gong Jun’s shoulder meets his neck and inhales. It’s the same spot he’d opened his mouth and closed teeth over not two hours ago.
A bruise peeks out over the collar of his shirt—it’s an old one of Zhehan’s, washed soft and thin. It’s one of Gong Jun’s favourites.
“Longevity noodles,” he says, free hand curling over Zhehan’s. He gives the noodles another stir with the chopsticks before setting them to the side, clutching at him with both hands.
“Eurgh,” Zhehan groans. His tone changes, voice going high and whining. “They’re so troublesome to eat.” His hands run up and down Gong Jun’s sides lightly. “Do I have to?”
Gong Jun smacks his arm gently. “The noodles are already cooking.” He picks the chopsticks back up.
“It’s sooooooo troublesome. You could choke and die trying to eat them without breaking the strands.”
“I have slaved over them—“
“I know, I know.” One of the arms leaves his middle to poke his cheek. It leaves Gong Jun feeling a little cold, despite the slowly-warming weather and how hot Zhehan always runs. “You know I appreciate you the most.”
“You better,” he grunts. His free hand grabs Zhehan’s and pulls it back down, around his middle.
Zhehan hooks his chin over Gong Jun’s shoulder as he hugs him closer. “How can you tell if they’re cooked?” he asks.
Gong Jun shrugs. “You go by feeling?” He gives the noodles another stir.
“But how?”
Gong Jun’s frowning, even as he laughs. “You just do? If you’ve cooked for long enough, you’ll know.”
“Like love,” Zhehan says, and he’s hugging Gong Jun so tight now, so much Gong Jun can’t breathe, but he doesn’t say anything, his own hold on Zhehan tightening as well.
“I wouldn’t know,” Gong Jun says. “I’ve never been in love before you.”
“Right, I was the evil huli-jing who seduced gege, taught him how to kiss, and—“
“Enough, enough,” Gong Jun says,his ears growing hot.
Zhehan doesn’t outright laugh, but his teeth close over the lobe of Gong Jun’s ear, biting down gently and tugging.
“Don’t,” Gong Jun says. “I’m cooking, can’t you see?”
“I’m teasing you, not blind,” Zhehan says, and pinches Gong Jun’s waist. He doesn’t yelp, but jerks a bit, then sighs at Zhehan’s answering snicker.
It’s silent in the kitchen as Zhehan watches Gong Jun, still in the way he only is when he’s well-fucked or has fucked Gong Jun til neither of them can bear to leave the bed for another hour; excess energy that four hours at the gym or an entire day at the golf course won’t burn, finally depleted.
“Do I really have to eat them?” he whines.
Gong Jun huffs. “What do you think?”
“Laogong.”
He pauses.
“I’ll add more chili.”
“Thank you.” Zhehan presses a kiss to his cheek, slapping Gong Jun on the ass and laughing as he leaves the kitchen.
Gong Jun sighs, but he’s smiling as well.