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Chapter Text

"Think you can help me get some sleep tonight?" Fei Long had asked.

His voice was as quiet as usual. It almost got drowned out by the noise of the bartender mixing drinks for some customers who had settled into a corner of the small bar – but it wasn't too faint to be overheard or misunderstood by Mikhail. And still... still, he was unsure if he had heard correctly. It would have been easy to blame his mind for playing tricks on him; To shrug it aside as daydreams forcing their way into his sleep-deprived brain. But then again... hadn't Fei Long just told him that he had come to this place seeking his company? His! That alone had almost made Mikhail lose all cool and would have had him throw himself at the incomparable beauty at his side if he hadn't been certain that the other man would never suffer it – that he would instead serve him with a kick in the face in return.

Nevertheless...

He swallowed hard on the sip of Bourbon he had forgotten in his mouth, and it burned in his throat; Found himself staring at the row of glasses and bottles glimmering in the gold-light above the shelves.

Forcing the burn down with an inaudible grunt, he managed to lift his gaze. Fei Long was still looking at him out of the corner of his eye, without any mocking showing on his face, leaning his forehead onto the back of his hand. In the drinking glass, the Bourbon glowed beautifully and yet lost any magnificence next to the man's raven black hair. Fei Long looked as if he was waiting for an answer, whose meaning he knew all along.

Mikhail drew in a breath that suddenly felt cold to a chest in which his heartbeat was kindling an inferno. Heat shot to his face when he downed the last of the Bourbon to finally find his voice: "My hotel is just around the corner."

And the dream wasn't bursting; Reality did not come crashing down on him with mock and spite because he had fallen for unattainable visions so readily. Instead, Fei Long emptied his glass, too.

"Good," the Chinese said and stood up.

The following six minutes might have been the longest of Mikhail's life. They left the bar, pulling jacket and cloak close to their bodies as the chilly night air attacked them, and the Russian led the way with Fei Long never less than a step behind, walking next to him most of the time. Not a single word did they speak, but though Mikhail had tried not to show his impatience by walking too fast, he soon realized that both of them kept speeding up. He would have broken into a run if he hadn't feared that it would make him look silly and juvenile.

Instead, he focused onto the road ahead, onto each step, onto the silent draws of breath he could hear from Fei Long and how in the cold air white ghosts formed in front of their faces whenever they exhaled. These days were pretty chilly for the usually mild climate of Hong Kong.

Sometimes above the rooftops, the 'IFC' came into view, towering above the Central District, its crown - with Baishe's HQ and Fei Long's private apartment - burning through the low ceiling of clouds. If the man at his side wondered why Mikhail had chosen a hotel just a minute's walk away from his basis, then he never mentioned it, and Mikhail did not manage to force his eyes to meet Fei Long's. He was too afraid that anything but striding forward towards their goal would break the spell, would make the Chinese beauty reconsider.

But even when the 'Mandarin Oriental Hotel' finally came into sight, Fei Long did not fall back. Neither did he falter when they entered through the large glass doors, greeted by the concierge, or when Mikhail called the elevator with some fingers that felt numb from the cold – and from his blood boiling its way into other parts of his body.

Maybe due to the late night, no one else entered the elevator, but when the doors closed, Mikhail still hadn't managed to convince the control to send them up to the 20th floor. Repeatedly he punched the button, making it light up for a moment and then turn dark again. He was a moment short of smashing it with his fist, while the blood he had missed in his fingers seemed to rush to his head suddenly. Then he remembered that he needed to use his room's key-card to unlock the control first. With a gasp, he fished it out of his jacket's pocket, pushed it in front of the device, and when he poked the number 20 again, it lit up. Finally, the elevator started to move.

Nonetheless, Mikhail kept the key-card pressed against the control – just in case –, realizing how his fingers now trembled and that he had locked his breath in his throat. He exhaled, blinking at the golden display of floors climbing to higher numbers, when Fei Long moved: He raised one hand to his lips, covering them, and faintly, nearly inaudible underneath the quiet Jazz, that was playing to soothe anybody who used the elevator, Mikhail was sure to hear a chuckle.

It made his heart ache.

Ache, because he was not sure if Fei Long laughed at him, thinking him stupid, deciding that he would allow Mikhail to step out of the elevator and then punch 'L' for 'Lobby' to get out of there as quickly as possible... or if he had laughed because of him. If he – if Mikhail – had indeed made him laugh...

When the doors opened into an empty, well-lit, poshly decorated corridor, the Russian still wasn't sure. Against the uncertainty, he had to force himself forward to walk out onto the dark red carpet, leaving the man – who tumbled all his mind and body into turmoil – in the elevator that could so easily steal him away. Yet he did not dare to turn around until the doors had closed, knowing that now it was too late – whether Fei Long was still there or whether he had taken the lift back down – now Mikhail would go to his room.

The card at the ready, he started down the corridor, walking past other doors, listening into the silence of the hotel's night. He twisted his eyes whenever he passed one of those pieces of art shielded by panels of glass that barely gave a reflection. He pricked his ears to the sounds of footsteps on the thick carpet – and eventually learned that he was not alone. That Fei Long was still there.

At last, the right door stood before him, and Mikhail once again pushed the key-card in front of a small control device. Innocently a tiny green light lit up, but the lock's clicking nearly made him jump, anyway. He cleared his throat to what he was sure could have been a fit of panic if he hadn't pulled himself together. Then he opened the door and held it for Fei Long to enter.

Shoving the key-card into another control – a small slot on the wall – made all the lamps in the room light up dimly and started the air conditioner, which sang along in a low and faint hum.

The Chinese man entered by only a few steps, taking in the sight of the king-size bed, the extravagant, coffered ceiling, the exquisite linens, and the view from the large windows, while he took off his cloak, neatly hanging it onto the wardrobe. Then he repeated the task with his scarf and the dark grey jacket of his 3-piece-suit ensemble. In the warm light, the liquid midnight which was his hair danced on his shoulders, and each movement of his lashes was like the fluttering of a raven's wings. Then he turned his head, only slightly, once more looking at the Russian only out of the corner of his eye.

And at that moment, every strength and restraint Mikhail had ever been able to force onto himself broke. He slammed the door shut behind himself, discarded off his jacket within a second, and flung himself unto the other man, catching Fei Long's lips with his own.

Chapter Text

Crushing himself against the other man, Mikhail forced his tongue through lips that gave no sign of resistance. He caught Fei Long with one arm around the waist to pull him so close he could feel every inch of his body through the thin layers of fabric between them.

In desperate need to get rid of the obstacles, he started to fumble with Fei Long's tie only to find that the Chinese had pulled it loose already. All the while, he pressed forward, forcing the other man to take one step backward after the other until they finally reached the bed. Only a slight push was needed to make them both tumble over, but even in falling, their lips did not part, and Fei Long started to suck on Mikhail's tongue as if to make sure that he didn't get away. When they hit the mattress one infinite second later, Mikhail landed on top of the other, and his weight pushed the air out of the Chinese's lungs into his throat. Mikhail gasped on it and yet did not break the kiss.

Still, no resistance came from Fei Long; No hesitance; No attempt to push the Russian away. Instead, his fingers wound themselves around the other man's, which pinned his right hand to the bed, while his other fist clawed itself into the back of Mikhail's shirt, making sure he would not vanish. And Mikhail just had to push his lips harder onto the other's, forcing his tongue deeper inside, insisting that the holy hotness of Fei Long's mouth was his and his alone to explore and to conquer.

For a while, there was nothing but that, and only for seconds did Mikhail allow himself to open his eyes, his lashes as long as the other man's, so that they nearly grazed each other's skin with it. He could drink in this sight forever: Fei Long with closed eyes and blushed cheeks beneath him, an inch away, the heat of his skin burning Mikhail's. He could lie here, feeling the body writhe beneath him, the hand gripping at the back of his shirt, the fingers entwined with his own, the hardness of his crotch that pressed against Fei Long's, and the distinct hardness of the other man pressing back against his.

It was a contest between his mind and conscience and even his fear on the one hand, which just wanted to be satisfied with feeling Fei Long beneath him, here, now, to kiss him, to taste him – and between every other bit of his body and being on the other hand. A contest which the latter won without surprising him – when the Chinese finally started to stir, freeing the hand from Mikhail's back and fumbling with the buttons of the waistcoat. To help him, Mikhail broke the kiss and pushed himself up, stripping the vest away, tossing it aside. Then he grabbed Fei Long's shirt and tore it open, ripping the buttons from their threads and tearing the silk. Next, with an even quicker movement, he freed himself from the white long-sleeve and cast it aside with even less regard to where it might hit.

"Sorry," he said, not even surprised how ragged his voice sounded. The blood was now pumping through him in red flames, burning in his chest and groin, sizzling on his cheeks where he felt the first drops of sweat. "I won't be able to hold back today."

The words, however, did nothing to frighten Fei Long. He looked up from the bed onto which the Russian's weight was still holding him down. His silken hair spilled onto the white sheets around his head, already messy, and Fei Long glanced up at the other man, his eyes darkened, softly panting. Then a smirk formed on his face, his gaze narrowed: "Looks like we're on the same wavelength," he hissed. "I am also in a foul mood today."

And with that, he shoved Mikhail off from himself, with much more strength than his slim body seemed capable of, and onto the bed, rolling himself over him, pinning his pray down beneath him. Single strands of black hair fell onto the blonde man's face, tickling him, while Fei Long's eyes burned down onto him like a saving hearth in the darkest, coldest, longest night. And Mikhail grit his teeth fiercely and wanted to swallow his tongue to keep himself from spilling his heart... for the truth would tear away all of this; It would evaporate the lust of the moment, would sound foolish where all Fei Long seemed to want was the comfort of the night.

His sinister smile only intensifying, the Chinese beauty leaned down until all Mikhail could see was the midnight-black crown of his hair. But he felt the man's breath on his skin, burning him from the outside, while the inferno incinerated his insides. He wanted to push Fei Long away, tear off the last bits of clothes that still stood between their skins, taking him – now. But Fei Long held him down with all the force he could muster, and even though Mikhail was sure he could overpower him, he fought for his patience, grinding his teeth and twitching violently when the Chinese man bit his throat hard enough to draw a pinch of blood probably.

Mikhail gasped, tried to break loose but only haphazardly and not with all his might because no matter how much he wanted to fling himself onto Fei Long, he also wanted to know where this was going.

Only a moment later, however, this already forced him to claw his fingers into the sheets, when the Chinese started to move down his body from his throat, stopping here and there for a moment, kissing his skin, biting and licking on his nipples, nipping on the firm muscles of his abdomen. Mikhail felt himself tremble to every faintest touch. His abs twitched in the struggle to keep his sanity because now he felt how Fei Long's fingers found their way to the cord of his pants and pulled it open. A moment later, the fabric was pushed away, halfway down his thighs, while Fei Long bit the flesh beneath his navel and still moved further down, his warm hands finally resting on his underwear, and Mikhail had to close his eyes. He felt like burning; Like little flames were bursting out of his skin. His muscles contracted a few times heavily, with a chill running through his body at the same time.

When it at last subsided, he managed to open his eyes again, finding Fei Long looking at him with mischievous eyes and an indecent smile. Only then, when he knew he had Mikhail's full attention, did he pull down the man's underwear, and the air in the room felt instantly chilly to the Russian's cock, which sprang out upright, already fully erect. The coolness, however, martyred him only for a second. Then Fei Long's warm hand seized his manhood, and his tongue drew along his flesh, slowly and hot. For another moment, Mikhail's eyes squeezed shut, his whole body convulsed heavily with a red light bursting into his mind.

He heard Fei Long chuckle and, clenching on the sheets with hurting fists, he managed to look up again. The head of his dick was crowned by tiny drops of cum, but the Chinese beauty still smiled at him with that sinister look, and a moment later, he leaned forward, catching Mikhail's cock with his lips and forcing it deep into his mouth.

"Ngh..." pressed from between gritted teeth as Mikhail watched the Chinese sucking his manhood, one of his hands stroking the length of it whenever his lips moved up, while the other pressed down onto Mikhail's abs – as if he wanted to feel the muscles tense or as if he wanted to keep the Russian down like that.

"Fei Long..." Mikhail hissed, and the other looked up between the strands of his abysmally black hair with cheeks red and puffy, with eyes dark with lust, wet from the effort and dilated from the arousal.

At that moment, for the second time on this day, all self-control snapped within Mikhail. His hand darted up, caught Fei Long's forehead, and forced it up and away from his cock. For an instant, the Chinese didn't even seem to realize it. He gasped like a fish out of water and only then opened his eyes, looking up at Mikhail in confusion or even disappointment that he had been stopped doing what he had enjoyed very much. Mikhail, however, did not find any strength in himself anymore to feel sorry for Fei Long's loss, nor to hold back from what he craved the most. "Your expression," he snarled, sitting himself up and still holding the other man firmly by the forehead. "To show such an erotic face while giving head..."

Fei Long blinked at him, panting slightly and trying to catch his breath through clenched teeth, his eyes still dark and wet and somewhat unfocused.

"I can't wait any longer," Mikhail proclaimed, leaning in so close he could see the dampness on the long black lashes. Then he let go of the other man's head, grabbed him by the arm, and slammed him into the bed next to himself. A blink later, Mikhail was on top and had opened Fei Long's dress trousers with impatient fingers.

It had taken less time than for Fei Long to realize what had happened, and when he finally stirred, trying to get up, Mikhail seized the back of his head to force him into the pillow while pushing down the man's pants to his knees.

Fei Long struggled, but Mikhail kept him pinned down, grabbing his hair, knowing that the Chinese could muster much more resilience than what he was showing here and now. Moving quickly, Mikhail placed himself between Fei Long's legs, forcing his knees open with his own, pushing down his own pants.

"Too... soon..." Fei Long breathed before Mikhail spread his buttocks with one hand and then slammed into him. A scream escaped the Chinese's throat half-muffled by the lush, thick pillow against which an unrelenting fist still kept him locked when Mikhail was already pulling out - only to bury himself deep in the other's body again with one long forceful thrust.

At that point, his hand untangled itself from Fei Long's hair. He straightened up and grabbed the other by his narrow waist. While Mikhail pounded into him, the Chinese hissed loudly several times just like the dragon he was said to be, his fingers clenching at the sheets. But he made no complaints, no attempts to get away. And only moments later the Russian wasn't sure anymore whether he was holding Fei Long to hinder him from fleeing from this steady and deep rhythm, or whether he was preventing himself from being pushed away – because now Fei Long kept slamming his hips back into him, meeting each and every thrust more viciously than the one before.

Mikhail could already feel his body nearing the point of oblivion when the other man started to move beneath him to change his position; And he welcomed it - no matter how hard it was for him to break the rhythm and to still the urge of his lust for a few moments - because otherwise, this would have been over any second now.

Fei Long straightened up, pushing the shirt, which had already become damp with sweat around his body and clung to his skin, off, then tried to move his pants further down. When he didn't manage alone, Mikhail leaned in to help him, but the combined weight made them lose their balance, and they tumbled forward, slamming into the bed once again, and Mikhail's cock thrust so deep into the other's tightness that Fei Long shrieked in pain. But even this didn't make him hesitate. Instead, he stripped his pants and underwear off his long legs, with Mikhail catching hold of both at the last moment and flinging them around the room just like he had before with any other piece of cloth. Then he pushed away his own pants while grabbing Fei Long around the waist with one arm, pulling him close enough to squeeze all air from the lean, slim body probably. He just didn't want him to get away.

Already he pulled him back into place, now both of them fully naked, grasped him by the hips once more, and slammed into Fei Long again, forcing load moans out of himself and the other with each and every movement now.

Fei Long, however, did not stay down. Instead, he straightened up, and Mikhail caught him in his embrace, pulling him close, till the Chinese's back pressed against his chest, the sweat trickling down their skin and making them stick other, while the sounds of their movements and their panting and moaning filled the suite – probably being heard in the neighboring rooms as well.

Soon Mikhail felt the burning of oblivion building up inside him again. His strong arms crushed themselves even closer around the other man, and when Fei Long fought for the breath to speak, Mikhail feared that he would ask him to let go, to go slower.

But he didn't. "More," Fei Long panted.

"Deeper. Harder!"

And Mikhail couldn't keep himself from chuckling.

"Ok," he answered, pushing his knees on which he balanced further forward and apart, forcing Fei Long's that way as well. Now he could move his hips even fiercer back and forth, pulling all the way out, then crushing his cock back up into the hot, burning heat. With his hands, he held the other man in place, twirling the fingers of one hand around one of those small hard nipples, while with the other he forced the Chinese's head to turn his way. Small tears of pain and pleasure were trailing down Fei Long's cheeks, which were puffy and red, his lips swollen and fighting for each sip of breath.

"Harder!" he whispered again when Mikhail started to nip on his neck. So, he bit down, and at that moment, Fei Long came without his cock ever having been touched once. All along the lean body in his arms, Mikhail could feel the heavy twitching of the orgasm run up and down, and he held Fei Long even closer when for a few moments he seemed to go limp, overpowered by the spasms of lust coursing through him.

When he could support himself again, Fei Long leaned back, forcing Mikhail to come to sit on his heels with the other man on top of him. Moving up and down violently, Fei Long started to ride his cock, spreading his thighs wider and wider. Then suddenly, the Chinese's hand shot up, grabbing Mikhail's hair at the back of his head, forcing his lips even harder onto his neck, allowing him to bite even deeper. A bit more, and Mikhail was sure he would draw blood, while Fei Long was clamping his insides down on him whenever he moved down on his manhood. The thought alone finally made the inferno inside him burst into white oblivion. Mikhail grabbed a fist of Fei Long's hair, pulled his head back, and crushed his lips onto the other man's, moaning and grunting his orgasm into the other's throat while releasing his cum buried deep inside this beautiful body.

When he regained consciousness a while later, he was sure he had nearly suffocated. White noise filled his ears; Little sparkles were swimming in his sight when he opened his eyes. He found himself on top of Fei Long, whom he had crushed into the sheets face down, and from what he could tell, the other was as well heavily occupied with trying to catch a breath. Dimly did the room's lighting shimmer in the sweat on both their skin.

"You're heavy," Fei Long whispered after a few minutes, his voice still ragged between gasps for air. Mikhail sighed and moved but merely a bit - only enough that he would not lie anymore on top of the other man but slightly next to him. Still, he could bury his face in the damp, silken midnight of his hair, feel the heat from the other's body, listen even to the man's heartbeat while his own was in likewise turmoil. And this time, Fei Long did not complain, did not pull away, did not move as far away on the bed as possible, like he had the last time - before getting up just moments later when Mikhail had nearly fallen asleep.

This time the Chinese beauty just lay there, his gasps for air slowly subsiding, his head not shrugging to pull his hair out of the Russian's reach. And Mikhail watched him, breathing in the fragrances of sex that filled the room.

He woke up when the sun was already trying to pierce through the heavy clouds harassing Hong Kong. Without realizing, his hand darted out to the other side of the bed on which Fei Long had slept for hours, nearly never moving, his breathing almost inaudible. Mikhail had awoken a few times, only for moments. At some point, he had pulled the blanket across both of them, had switched off the lights, and had again watched the beautiful dragon in all his peace, resting finally. Each time when he had opened his eyes, Fei Long had been there, and the night had still been upon them.

But now it was gone, his hand did not find anything searching the other side of the bed; His quiet question "Fei Long?" did not receive any answer, and Mikhail sat up with a sigh. All about the room, there was no sign of the Chinese. His clothes were gone from wherever they had been tossed last night, and Mikhail was sure that he needn't look around the corner towards the door to be sure that the other man's coat and jacket were gone as well because the entrance to the bathroom stood open and in there, there was no movement.

His own clothing, however, had been folded and put onto the nightstand.

"Seriously..." Mikhail laughed to himself, combing through his disheveled hair with his fingers. "He's just like a cat..."

It was a funny thought. And though it hurt to just being left like this again, his heart didn't allow itself to sink: For last night Fei Long had turned to him, and Mikhail knew what it meant while he laid back down. Fei Long trusted him... maybe even had put some belief in him. He had allowed to be there with Mikhail as himself; He had allowed himself to be touched, to be held, and had slept next to him.

The one man in the whole of Hong Kong, in all of Asia perhaps – in all the world maybe - who could have had anyone else without dreading any consequences had turned to him. The one man he wanted more than anything else had decided to be with him, if only for that one night.

And Mikhail could not help himself counting this a small, faint triumph. He had in some way grazed Fei Long's glacier of self-defense and insecurity, behind which the man hid his emotions and hunger for life.

While his hand glided over the empty space on the bed next to him, where the warmth of Fei Long had long been lost – while he slowly slipped into sleep again - Mikhail decided that he would say it once. There and then, where nobody witnessed it, and nobody could laugh at him: "I love you.

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