Work Text:
Maomao peered into her red Solo cup. Yup. Still empty. Damn. Well, the noises of the end of term party still raged outside her dorm room door. She could make another foray out to replenish her drink. But. . .
Who was that person on her bed? And,
“Why are you still here?” She saved her file and turned from her desk to regard the unwelcome intruder. The beautiful person had crowded against her and followed her into her room when Maomao had returned from her last refreshment run. A sudden inspiration for the catalyst for the one intermediate step in the process she was modeling had distracted her from their presence until she’d already turned and absent-mindedly shut the door with that person inside. She cursed her lack of situational awareness when she was wrapped up in more important thoughts.
Unthinkingly, she shot the person a disgusted glare. She wasn’t sure if they were male or female, so if they tried something funny, she wouldn’t even know if a knee to the groin would be effective. Sure, she had pepper spray. But aside from it being illegal, only a fool would use pepper spray in their own living space, particularly a dorm room as small as this one.
Male? Female? Nonbinary? Maomao stared intently. Long, shiny, silky-smooth black hair with an almost violet luster, truly worthy of a shampoo advertisement. Eyelashes long and curved too.
“Hmm, that long with no mascara? And such smooth skin and small pores. Wonder what moisturizer and toner they use? Big sis would love to know, I’m sure.” No sign of beard stubble, but not all men were hairy, and that’s not even considering the increasing popularity of laser hair removal.
It was impolite, or so she’d been told, to misgender a person. But was it also rude to ask their pronouns? She? Him? They? The soft, luxurious silk shirt had buttons on the right, coding masculine, but had a touch of delicate embroidery at the hems and cuff, suggesting femininity, as did the beautiful face and hair. Nonbinary perhaps? She looked down at their lap seeking a bulge of penis and testicles, but the person’s hands were resting there, hiding the view. Drat. The jeans looked expensive though, four-digit designer-wear if she wasn’t mistaken. Yeesh. And their neck was shadowed by the cascade of their damnably pretty hair, so she couldn’t see an Adam’s apple. Their perfume or cologne was lightly scented with sandalwood, neither too masculine nor the overly floral aromas many women preferred. It was pleasant enough, she supposed.
Liar, it was a mouthwateringly delicious scent.
Clearly expensive and bespoke. Something she would never in a hundred lifetimes be able to afford. Likely chosen specifically for the impact it had on the wearer’s audience.
“Is there something on my face?”
That’s the first thing the person chose to say to her after invading her room? And after staring at her while she worked? Don’t think she hadn’t noticed. She’d just chosen not to let it bother her.
Voice like velvet, honey smooth and smouldering. Deep for a woman. Something about it made her shudder in disgust, every instinct screaming at her, fake!
“You tell me.” Maomao rejoined, “What toner or moisturizer do you use?” perhaps the brand or formulation could help her figure out their pronouns.
“I don’t pay attention to those things.” The person haughtily replied.
“Lucky you.” Maomao muttered, patting her own winter-dry skin. What she wouldn’t give to be able to afford the good stuff. “I ask again, what are you doing in my room and when are you leaving?”
“Would you like to make out with me?”
Maomao cringed. The voice pitched low, husky, seductive. Combined with that face? It should be a crime. What sort of nasty game was this? She glared disgustedly back. She had no wish to be made a fool of by a person such as this. Her sisters had made sure she knew every trick in the book and would never be caught unaware by false intentions.
The returning smile was so brilliant and blinding, she flinched back as if from a physical impact.
“How novel.” The person veritably purred, leaning forward as if to tuck Maomao’s hair behind her ear. Maomao smartly moved away before that could happen.
“No touching.” She said flatly. “Get out. Or if you’re going to occupy my bed all night, at least go refill my drink before wasting my time.”
“What were you drinking?”
At least they withdrew their hand. Seriously, didn’t this person know it was rude to touch without asking? Personal Boundaries! Then again, they had invaded her room. So maybe she expected too much. Bloody rich kids.
“Vodka.”
“Vodka and what?” The person regarded the size of the cup Maomao waved in their direction. “Vodka soda? Vodka cranberry? Red Bull?”
“Vodka and more vodka, please and thank you.”
“Is that what you were drinking before?” She was pretty sure that was disbelief in their stupidly pretty voice. Well, she was used to that. She had made a pretty penny back at the beginning of term betting with upperclassman who thought they could drink a petite girl like her under the table. Alas, once word had spread around the dorm, that source of extra meal money went down the drain. Easy come, easy go.
“Yes. I’d like more. Please go get me some.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t go back out there.”
“You came from out there. It’s a party. Go, return to the party.”
“I just need a few more minutes. Please.”
“And then you’ll refill my drink?”
“Maybe.”
“Wait, were you the one that all the screaming was about before? What did you do?” Come to think of it, there had been an awful ruckus when she’d been returning from the kitchen. Right before this person decided to make themselves at home on her bed.
“Just popular I guess.” The person smiled that blinding, insincere smile.
“Gross. I don’t get it.” Maomao shook her head and decided to get back to her work if this person wasn’t going to leave. It was frustrating they wouldn’t go, and she wasn’t going to trust a stranger alone with her stuff, scant and shabby as it was. Some of the meaner girls in the dorm had broken in and tried to make an example out of the token poor girl, back in September, but they had been the ones to suffer when they accidentally released the brown recluse spiders she’d been hunting in the basement. Purely for science of course. She idly scratched her arm where a bite had scarred badly.
“You’re a strange one, Maomao.”
Wait, they knew her name? She had no idea who this person was. Shit. Were they in classes together? Meh, it didn’t matter. Once they were out of her room, she’d never have to think about them again.
“You know, term is over, right?”
Another interruption.
“Yes, that is the ostensible reason for this party. Which you should get back to.”
“Why are you working?”
“Because this compound isn’t going to synthesize itself. And I want it.”
“Compound?”
“Mhmm.” Maomao flipped her laptop around so the person could see the molecule she had modeled on the screen. “I wanted to synthesize a small molecule that can mimic the effects of calciseptine. I know, you could just grow the toxin in yeast, or get a black mamba to milk, but I thought it would be more fun to try a different approach. And. . .”
Maomao was just getting warmed up, but just then, there was a knock at the door. Three firm, and very deliberate raps coming through clearly over the driving bass emanating from the lounge.
“I’m not here!” The beautiful person looked like they wanted to dive under the bed and hide. But Maomao was fresh out of sympathy. She didn’t know then, what possessed her to shield the room with her body when she opened the door. Not like it mattered anyway, since with the door only cracked, the bed wasn’t visible from the hallway.
“Can I help you?” Maomao found herself looking straight at the broad chest of a tall person. She craned her neck up, and up again. Ridiculous. A tall, broad person far too old by at least a decade, likely closer to two, to be a run of the mill student. Military or ex-military by the posture and build. But, expensive long black wool coat, neatly pressed trousers, charcoal sweater that had to be real cashmere meant he was too rich to be a GI bill student. Lightly scented with a deep, woodsy cologne she couldn’t help but breath deeply, its aroma enticing over the funk of old dorm carpet, alcohol and sweat emanating from the festivities down the hall. Tired, careworn face with permanent stress lines across the forehead, and deep-set, dark, piercing eyes. Mouth a thin, flat, grim line. Very male. Definitely a he/him or she’d eat her desk.
“Perhaps, Ma’am. I’m looking for Jinshi?”
“Jinshi?” Maomao cocked her head. Could the person in her room be a Jinshi? A masculine coded name, but at the same time, kinda girly for a guy’s name. “Can you describe them?”
She listened with half an ear while pondering the taciturn specter at her door. Polite, soft-spoken, yet firm. Economical of motion.
“Sugar daddy? Stalker?” There was a quickly stifled choking sound behind her. The man in the hall did not appear to notice, likely deafened by the sheer volume of the party, “Social worker? Parole officer? Hmm... Male escort?” Perhaps the beautiful person had better taste than she would have thought.
“Private security, Ma’am. Name’s Gaoshun. My card.” Oops, she’d mused aloud, hadn’t she?
“Huh? Are you allowed to be on campus?” Private security? A bodyguard.
The man flashed her a student ID. Well, that was one way to liven up a boring job, she supposed.
“Well then, Mister Gaoshun, come with me and we’ll look for this Jinshi person.”
In a blink, she was out the door and shamelessly using Gaoshun as a human battering ram to force their way through the crowd and to the kitchen where her next beverage awaited. She felt no shame about misleading the man. With any luck this ‘Jinshi’ would be gone from her room by the time they returned, and if not, then Gaoshun would have earned her assistance with this small favor. He did make a most excellent human shield. Students caught one look at his height, bulk, and the set of his jaw and scattered. Perfect. The night was looking up.
Indeed, when he set foot in the kitchen, the guys ostensibly tending bar sensibly scattered. Perhaps they mistook him for police. Idiots.
Maomao pointed to the top of the cabinets.
“Can you reach that one?” Her dorm mates had long since learned to keep the better quality alcohols out of her grasp at parties. The woes of being short. But this Gaoshun made it look easy as he reached for the single malt she pointed out. Maomao was well aware that any normal university party wouldn’t have high end scotch at all, but this was after all the imperial university of Li, where only the crème de la crème attended – save for a scant few scholarship kids like herself. And the rich were different. They could afford this, even if most didn’t yet appreciate the nuances. Not like Maomao, who could name half the esters and other volatile compounds emanating from each precious sip, but who’d never afford to try it on her own.
“Ma’am, I have to ask. Are you of age?”
Damnit. He was still holding the bottle out of reach. It would be too embarrassing to jump for it, but Maomao could not hide the hungry, eager gleam in her eyes.
She crossed her arms under her insignificant breasts and glared up at the bodyguard.
“Old enough to appreciate the Lagavulin 25.” Maomao sniffed. “Old enough that you seem oddly comfortable calling me ma’am.” She was well aware that most people thought she looked like she was twelve. Her scrawny frame and lack of curves subtracting years from her age. She was living in a dorm room. Of course she was not of age.
“Hmm.” The tall man stroked his chin consideringly, even as he lowered his arm to where Maomao could greedily grab the bottle and pour herself a healthy cupful. Yum!
“I didn’t catch your name, Ma’am?”
“Maomao. Thank you for the assistance.” She handed him back the half-empty bottle to return to the shelf.
“Miss Maomao? Ms. Maomao?” He seemed to be mulling different forms of address.
“No matter, once we find this Jinshi person, you needn’t call me anything.” Maomao shrugged, “Now come on. I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out here all night.”
Cheerfully, now that her mission had been accomplished, she led the tall man back to her room, and opened the door wide.
“Is this is the person you were looking for?” Idiot hadn’t moved an inch from her bed.
“Young master...” Gaoshun sighed gustily, turning a brief, betrayed glance her way. Well, what did he expect? She owed him, them, nothing. But hey, A pronoun at last! Jinshi, a male-type person.
“Gaoshun.” The boy with a face so beautiful it should be a crime looked ever so slightly guilty, as if he were a puppy caught peeing in the hall.
“Your brother is worried sick about you.”
“I just wanted to go to a party. Just once. Like everyone else my age.”
“Wait?” Maomao interrupted, “You came to a party, then spent the last hour hiding in my room? Why?”
“The fan girls. And boys.” Jinshi groaned.
“What? Because you’re pretty?” Maomao blinked. Rich was a given. But who was he that he required a bodyguard? “Are you famous? Next time, maybe try dressing down a bit? You don't have to come out looking and smelling like sex on a stick, you know?”
At this both Jinshi and Gaoshun laughed. Maomao frowned. She didn’t like to be mocked.
“Regardless,” Gaoshun cleared his throat, “You can’t just slip away like that, young master. If something were to happen…”
“I know, I know.” The pretty boy sighed tiredly, the seductive look totally wiped from his face. “It won’t happen again. Take me home, Gaoshun.”
“As you wish, Sir.” Gaoshun turned back to Maomao with a small bow, “Thank you for looking after the young master, Xiaomao.”
“Umm.. It was no problem?” Maomao protested, her brain short circuited by the abrupt and totally unexpected swerve in address. “Thank you for your assistance with the scotch.”
“Have a pleasant evening.”
And with that farewell from the tall bodyguard, the troublesomely beautiful male hopped off the bed, and squeezed past Maomao, his hands touching her hips, his body pressing against her just a touch too intimately as he passed – far closer than the space of the door warranted.
“I’ll be seeing you, Maomao.” Ugh, the smooth talking was back, prompting a fresh scowl to her face.
She certainly hoped not. Surely, there would be no reason for their paths to cross again?
The last she saw before she shut her door and turned back to her computer, the pleasant burn of the scotch warming her tongue, was the younger man turning to the taller to inquire, “Xiaomao? What the hell, Gaoshun?”
“The lady did not care for Ma’am.”
“What!?”
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“No! Yes! Wait.”
It really was none of her concern.