Work Text:
There was something wrong with Xue Yang’s drink.
The reason why he could tell was that he’d taken enough drugs, both with and without his consent, to know when he was high. This was not, however, the good kind of high, where everything floated and he felt slightly numb, but he knew he was safe alone in his house. No, this was the alarming kind of high.
His legs were the first ones to go. They gave out under him before he could even look around for Xingchen, and a man he’d never even seen before put his arms around him and held him up against his body. The contact made Xue Yang’s skin crawl. He wanted to tear the man’s face off and feed it to him. He would’ve, if he’d been able to move his arms.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” the man said, and Xue Yang could feel his breath against his hair. Another reason to kill him slowly. No one called him sweetheart other than— “Had too much to drink, huh?”
The man looked around, trying to garner sympathy from those around him. The poor boyfriend with the probably-alcoholic delinquent clinging to him. Xue Yang would’ve laughed in his face, but he found that his head was too cloudy to actually speak. Fuck. This did not look good.
Now, don’t take that the wrong way. Xue Yang was no pussy. He’d been a reasonably pretty kid growing up on his own; he could take whatever this asshole wanted to do to him. It was just that—
It was just that he’d stopped expecting the worse, since Xingchen. He’d gotten soft. Careless. And that was how this fucking excuse for a human being had roofied him, like Xue Yang was some stupid kid and not a menace to society.
Fuck.
“I’ll take him home,” the man kept on saying, dragging Xue Yang with him. With what felt like a titanic effort, Xue Yang managed to lift his head. His vision was blurry, and the blobs of light that came from the ceiling distracted him for a few seconds. He hadn’t even wanted to come to this stupid gallery opening; but Xingchen had made puppy eyes and mentioned his friend and Xue Yang had been a goner. So had Song Lan, the only person Xue Yang knew who hated social interaction more than him.
“Do you like the pretty lights?” The guy asked him, teasingly. Xue Yang was going to rip his eyes out. With the red knife with the skull on the handle. Xingchen had gifted it to him. It was his favorite.
“F…” he began. He wanted to say “fuck you”. He didn’t manage it. He tried to look around for help, but who would bother to look in the eyes of a drunk man long enough to notice his dilated pupils? No one, that’s who. Oh, the light from the ceiling reflected in the shiny linoleum floors so prettily… Xue Yang stared at it.
When he looked up, they were almost at the exit. What? When had that happened?
He looked around once more, but he knew it was a lost cause. He still couldn’t move. Xingchen was probably talking to his friends. No one was paying attention. No one was looking back at him. He closed his eyes and tried to brace himself for what he knew would happen as soon as he was alone with the asshole.
When he opened them again, it was to find another pair of dark eyes looking back.
Song Lan.
Xue Yang felt his eyes widening. Maybe… but of course not. He wished it’d been Xingchen instead. He always managed to read his mind. Song Lan wasn’t as fluent in Xue Yang. Still, he tried. Through the haze that was clouding his mind, he tried to send a mayday to Song Lan with his eyes, before his strength failed him again and his head fell on the asshole’s shoulder.
Seconds later, he felt a strong, big hand on his shoulder, and a familiar voice spoke:
“What are you doing?”
Xue Yang managed to look up again, and sure enough, there was Song Lan, frowning at the asshole. He felt the asshole’s chest puff up under his cheek.
“I’m taking him home.”
Song Lan’s eyebrow shot up. He pulled Xue Yang away from the asshole, who did not want to let go, but was forced to by Song Lan’s superior strength.
“I doubt that,” Song Lan said, looking down at Xue Yang, “since he lives with me.”
Xue Yang could see the second Song Lan noticed his pupils, because his entire body tensed and he pulled Xue Yang against him. Now that the immediate danger had passed, Xue Yang allowed himself to relax against his chest. Warm, and familiar. Even his smell was comforting. Xue Yang hated it.
“You drugged him,” Song Lan accused, in that even, serene tone that always meant Xue Yang was in for a world of trouble.
The rest happened in a blur. The security guys must’ve been called, because the guy was dragged away and handed to the police soon after, and Song Lan had given a statement, and then Xingchen was there, pulling Xue Yang tight against him, and oh, wasn’t that lovely.
“Pretty,” Xue Yang said, arms slung over Xingchen’s shoulders, his entire body weight resting on him. Happy to note that he could speak, he continued: “Pretty, pretty hair, for pretty, pretty Xingchen.”
Xingchen deposited a kiss on his cheek, and Xue Yang giggled. He felt bubbly now, less tired. He knew it wouldn’t last long.
“We should take him to the hospital,” Xingchen said then, probably to Song Lan. Xue Yang froze. He couldn’t go to the hospital. He held on tighter.
“Don’t let them take my finger, gege,” he murmured to Xingchen’s ear. He felt him freeze under him.
“Of course not, A-Yang,” he replied almost immediately.
“We’ll monitor him at home,” Song Lan, who used to work in centers for drug addicts—how useful—said.
“Alright,” Xingchen finally agreed, after a few beats of silence. “But when he’s sober—”
“Yes, Xingchen,” Song Lan agreed. He was already walking away. Xue Yang didn’t want him to leave. He was relieved when Xingchen followed, dragging him along after repositioning him. After what could’ve been either seconds or hours, Song Lan walked back and held onto Xue Yang’s other arm, so that he was being practically held between the two men. He allowed his head to fall onto Song Lan’s shoulder. Ah, as sturdy as ever.
“Are we going home, gege?” He asked. Song Lan glanced down at him and looked mildly surprised to find Xue Yang looking back.
“Yes.”
“Can I have your fuzzy blanket?” Was his next question. The blanket wasn’t strictly Song Lan’s, but he was the only one who used it. Xue Yang had always thought it looked comfortable, but he would rather claw his own eyes out than actually ask for it. Not anymore, it seemed.
“Yes,” Song Lan answered, and oh, it was so cold now. Were they outside? Xue Yang shivered, and immediately felt Xingchen’s hold on him tightening. He smiled.
“Car keys,” Xingchen said, and Song Lan reached into his pocket.
Xue Yang would never remember how he actually got in the car, but when his consciousness returned, he was leaning on Xingchen, head on his shoulder, in the backseat.
“How do you feel, A-Yang?” Xingchen asked as soon as he felt him stir.
“Dizzy.” It was the truth. Xue Yang would not have admitted it under any other circumstances.
“Good boy, A-Yang. Thank you for telling me,” Xingchen praised, and Xue Yang shivered with it. Damn him and his magic Dom voice.
“Do you feel like throwing up?” Song Lan asked from the driver’s seat. Xue Yang shook his head, and then realized that he couldn’t see him.
“No.”
“Good.” The praise wasn’t as direct as Xingchen’s, but it affected him anyway. It always had, no matter how hard he’d tried to hide it.
“You’ll get the fuzzy blanket when we get home, A-Yang,” Xingchen said next, probably to keep him awake. “You’ll throw up a few times and then you can go to sleep.”
Xue Yang turned his head to look at him sideways. He could only catch a glimpse of Xingchen’s profile, but his expression was as soft as always.
“With you?” He asked.
Xingchen made a soothing noise. “Of course.”
In a lower tone, because Xingchen could be trusted with his secrets, he asked: “And him?”
Xingchen didn’t visibly react. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “If you want,” he simply said.
Xue Yang huffed. “I always want.”
Xingchen hummed his understanding. “You always want Zichen?”
With a look towards the front seat, which told him that Song Lan was sitting very, very still, Xue Yang nodded.
“He’s big,” he explained, and then giggled. “And warm.”
Xingchen hummed. “That he is. What else?”
Xue Yang considered it. He felt like he was walking into a trap, putting his hand in a wolf’s open mouth, but he couldn’t understand why. Xingchen was safe. Xingchen was always safe. And so was Song Lan.
With a little sigh, he settled on Xingchen’s shoulder again and spoke up:
“His voice is deep and growly.”
“It is.”
“He fucks me very good.”
Xingchen chuckled. “He does, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.” Which part didn’t Xingchen understand? Honestly.
“What else, my love?”
“Very handsome.” Once he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop.
“Mmmm.”
“He’s funny when he’s mean, and he’s annoyingly fair, and he hates touching people but always holds me after sex, and he makes great food, and he always gets my candy, and he’s nice to cats and cats love him, and he plays classical music when he works and lets me sleep around him when he does, and he pretends he’s grumpy but he’s kind, and you love him, gege.”
Xingchen had gone almost as still as Song Lan. “Yes, I do.” And then, after a pause: “Do you?”
Once again, Xue Yang felt like he was wandering into a trap. He frowned. How was he supposed to answer when his very words felt unstable?
“Xingchen,” Song Lan chastised quietly from the driver’s seat, and that was it.
“Yes,” Xue Yang answered, and then the car stopped, and the need to throw up became the most urgent thing on his mind. Thankfully, Xingchen managed to take him out of the car before he doubled over and went to town.
About an hour later, he’d been moved to the bathroom, where he sat on the floor, hugging the toilet, Xingchen’s hand a steadying presence on his back, while Song Lan did something in another room, because puke was too much for him. Xue Yang didn’t blame him. It was fucking gross.
“Feeling any better, baobei?” Xingchen asked when he’d gone almost ten minutes without throwing up. Xue Yang nodded. His head felt clearer, but he also felt very sleepy. And dirty.
“Can I shower, gege?” He asked, not even realizing what he was doing. Thankfully, Xingchen did, and he immediately and seamlessly stepped into his Dom role.
“Of course,” he said, and helped Xue Yang stand. Luckily, they were used to Xue Yang’s limbs turning into putty after sex, so Xingchen managed to wash him quickly, focusing heavily on his mouth and the area around it. He helped him brush his teeth until he finally felt clean, and then dressed him in the fluffy pajamas someone—most likely Song Lan—had left for him. Xingchen kissed his forehead and led him to the bedroom. Xue Yang’s eyes were already drooping, he was so tired.
“Tired, gege,” he said, helpfully. Xingchen hummed softly and kissed the side of his head before laying him down on the bed. He got in after him and pulled the covers over them both. Xue Yang frowned. Something was missing. He made a stupidly needy noise at Xingchen, who nodded, reading his mind as usual, and called for Song Lan.
Heavy footsteps walked into the room, and Xingchen turned towards the door.
“He wants you,” he said. There was a moment of silence, and then more steps approaching the bed. Song Lan got in on Xue Yang’s other side and pulled him to his chest. Immediately, Xingchen took the place behind him, and Xue Yang was sandwiched between them in the way he liked because made him feel safe. He relaxed further in Song Lan’s arms.
Then, he remembered something. He looked up at Song Lan, and was mildly surprised to find him already looking back.
“He called me sweetheart,” he told him, whispering, as if in confidence, even though they both knew Xingchen could hear everything they said. Song Lan tensed at the mention of the asshole, which was not Xue Yang’s intention. He frowned.
“Gege,” he whined. Song Lan paid attention to him again. “He called me sweetheart.”
Nothing. No understanding in those dark eyes. Why wasn’t Song Lan getting this?
Xue Yang sighed. Did he have to spell everything out?
“Only you can call me sweetheart,” he mumbled, under his breath. It was true. He didn’t do it often, tender moments between them so few and far between, but Xue Yang loved it when he did. When he was crying from overstimulation, or desperation, the word was infuriatingly condescending. When he was so exhausted he could barely move, the word was like a balm whispered against his ear, making his heart clench and his muscles relax. And sometimes, only sometimes, when everything was going well and they hadn’t fought in a while, Song Lan would welcome him with a “hi, sweetheart” that instantly put him in a good mood and made him want to kiss the man.
That was the violation he resented the most. He’d been drugged before. He’d gotten fucked without his consent before. He knew he could survive it. But that word meant something. That word was sacred. It was Song Lan’s. No one else could use it. Not even Xingchen. And the asshole had just— he’d just taken it, like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter.
That was the thing Xue Yang wanted to hurt him for the most.
Song Lan’s eyes had finally widened with understanding.
“I see,” he said, and his hand was now gently caressing Xue Yang’s face, and his eyes had softened. “It’s our word, isn’t it?”
Xue Yang burrowed further into his chest and up into his hand in turns. “Yes.”
“You’re my sweetheart, not his,” Song Lan kept going. Xue Yang was glad that he’d finally gotten it. He nodded. Song Lan let out a low hum Xue Yang felt all over his body, which made him shiver.
“Good boy,” Song Lan kept going, his voice getting lower and softer. Xue Yang felt himself going deeper into sleep, and subspace, at the soft touches and gentle praise. Because Song Lan wasn’t usually the gentle one, it was getting to him far more than usual.
“Can I sleep now, gege?” Xue Yang asked, because he felt very small and very vulnerable, and like he shouldn’t do anything without Song Lan’s or Xingchen’s permission. He didn’t even know which one of them he was addressing.
He felt Xingchen kiss the back of his head. “Yes, baobei,” he whispered against his skin. “Sleep now.”
Song Lan kissed his forehead and then his hair. Xue Yang felt himself smile contentedly. Perhaps more drugs had remained in his system than he’d thought.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” Song Lan mumbled against his skin, and all was right in the world again. It was their word again. Xue Yang sighed against Song Lan’s chest, and fell asleep.