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Three months, two weeks, and one hour. That’s how long it took to plan, gather, measure, and stitch together a costume–not even for Dan Heng’s satisfaction. What began as a simple “yes” spiraled into an intangible haywire of confusion, reluctance, and inevitability.
Three months of standing shoulder to shoulder with Yingxing, breathing down Dan Heng’s neck. Minty freshness blew against the nape of the younger one, enticing him to choose from three designs the one that captured his attention the most.
Out of the three, none was spared from holding the remnants of his dignity. They were shards, tiny spectacles littered on his fingertips, that were gently guided away with a hand resting on top of his.
Dan Heng settled with one of the far right, the only one with pants, and tapped on the sketchbook paper. Yingxing simply nodded, pleased, and with a teasing remark of “Oh, how lewd”, ripped the paper from the sketchbook and began scouring to find supplies.
Two weeks of measuring Dan Heng’s body proportions and monitoring what he would eat, how much he’d eat, and if he could eat. All for the purpose of slimming down what little body fat filled out loose clothes. He’s gotten smaller, as small as he possibly could within two weeks. What became of a seventeen-year-old high schooler looked no older than fifteen (or even fourteen if Yingxing squinted his eyes).
Dan Heng stood in front of the mirror while Yingxing performed what he would call “exams”. By exams, he meant measuring.
Usually, when a proper designer required measurements, they wouldn’t force the participant to strip nude. And a proper designer would most certainly never comment on how much Dan Heng has grown between his legs.
He knew what he was doing. He had to. When he dropped to his knees and stared up at Dan Heng with eyes that spoke words Dan Heng would never say, allowed–pervertedness crept through Yingxing’s veins, through his nerves, and to his fingertips where he’d grasp Dan Heng’s thighs and force his legs apart, explaining that he’d needed a full scope of Dan Heng’s body. The left and right legs, he needed an unobstructed view of each.
“Don’t be shy,” Yingxing would say with a false, sincere tone in his voice as if he had ever cared about Dan Heng’s feelings. “This is all part of the process. We’ve done this so many times before. Haven’t you bothered to pay attention?”
Then Dan Heng would be stumped. But his pride wouldn’t admit that he hadn’t been paying attention. So, he’d close his eyes, turn his head the other direction, and refuse to respond.
That was enough of an indicator of implied consent; Yingxing needed to continue.
One hour of fitting into a costume tailored just for him. From when they first started, Dan Heng wouldn’t have imagined he’d ever fit into something so snug, so comfortable, so uniquely him.
Standing in front of the mirror, Dan Heng bunches the fabric of the costume in his fists. They wrinkle and twirl around his fingers, his eyes blinking slowly at the reveal of his outfit.
It’s a younger version of the many character designs Yingxing loves imagining until drawings become reality. Shorts reaching far above his knees and a flimsy coat hanging loosely off his shoulders. The tape used to shape the upturned ears poking from each side of his head shakes and blows with every subtle movement of his head.
“How is it? Comfortable?” Yingxing asks, each hand grasping at Dan Heng’s shoulder blades. He gives a light squeeze, as the boy would run off, and he’d no longer have a thing to call his own.
Dan Heng stares at the reflection. Eyes meet the coat, trailing down to the accessories hugging his waist. His body tilts to the left, one side heavier than the other, with the artificial tail hanging from his behind. If he could control extensions hugging his ears, then they’d be tilting down to emphasize his reluctance to this agreement.
“It’s fine,” Dan Heng states bluntly because he knows that agreeing or disagreeing would fuel Yingxing’s unhealthy obsession. Disagreeing would make the older man pout and miss days of sleep to be better. Agreeing would fuel his ego and cause him to do more. Be more. Dan Heng repeats again, “It’s fine,” to really hammer it in. Really, it’s just fine.
Neither affirming nor negating, Yingxing peels his hand away from Dan Heng’s shoulders like tar melting into skin. His fingers press together, an instant appeasement forming in his voice.
Tenderly and softly like late spring blossoms blooming beneath moonlight, Yingxing lowers his head and asks, “You don’t want to go to the convention, right?”
Dan Heng immediately furrows his eyebrows. Since when has he ever implied that?
“You’re jumping to conclusions. I want to go.” Dan Heng lifted his arms to cross them, but the feeling of cotton stretching caused him to still. It appears the costume wasn’t a perfect fit after all.
“Is it so hard to ask for someone to be appreciative of my work?” Yingxing lowers his head like a dog that has just been scolded. “You said it’s just fine.”
Great, Dan Heng knew what he wanted. Praise.
With a roll of his eyes, Dan Heng takes a deep breath and holds back the sarcasm in his voice. “Oh, wow, Yingxing, you did such a good job. I love it, you’re the best, thank you. It’s so comfortable and amazing like… like always, yeah.” Dan Heng lets out his breath. “Is that what you wanted?”
Yingxing nods excitedly. “Perfect!”
With that, Yingxing turns around to add the finishing touches to the wig propped on the counter.
Half-assed compliments did the job as Yingxing gave a toothy smile at the black wig beneath his fingertips. The event later today also had to be the cause of his giddiness. Many people would be willing to take pictures with Dan Heng, and Yingxing would be lucky to stand behind the camera and watch.
Even if no one recognizes who Dan Heng is—of course, no one would know, it was Yingxing’s original character—they’d be thrilled to see such a well-thought-out cosplay. Numerous people had to have come dressed up as characters from unknown franchises, and people still lined up. Yingxing knew that; he had been witness to it at past conventions.
Past conventions… Yingxing shivers, brushing away a loose strand from the wig as he picks it up from the cap. It sinks into his palm, morphing around the gaps between his fingers as he crept closer behind the not-so-eager Dan Heng.
As much as the boy says he loves attending events with Yingxing, he doesn’t act like it. Stuck inside a finite area breathing in the shared breath of unwashed mouths, fading deodorant, and those who swore the body spray they put on four hours beforehand was enough, caused overstimulation to rack Dan Heng’s head until he tugged on Yingxing’s shirt and begged to sit down.
By sitting down, Yingxing knew what it meant.
The minute Dan Heng propped on top of the floor, he would swear he was just taking a break and would get up in ten minutes to continue the photoshoots, just to end up being dragged along germ-marinated carpets because he refuses to get up. Cheeks would sting with rug burn, wigs that took over ten hours of styling would become tangled and frizzy, and tears would open on the costume because Dan Heng preferred to be one with the floor rather than stand on his own two feet.
Granted, Dan Heng was only twelve years old during their first convention, and of course, it would be too much for someone so young to handle. That is on Yingxing’s part. Too excited about capturing pictures, and the thought of being the one to undress Dan Heng when they got back home caused Yingxing to miss how exactly Dan Heng was. Stubborn and mean.
Maybe he should’ve walked away and let Dan Heng get kidnapped then. It would save him the trouble and begging. It also certainly would’ve matched the character he was dressing up as. Maybe that’s why people stared and shook their heads in Yingxing's direction when he held hands with Dan Heng. Was it because a child shouldn’t be dressed up as a fictional victim?
Oh well, Dan Heng loved what happened afterwards in their bedroom.
“Stay still,” Yingxing orders, and Dan Heng does as he is told.
The boy lifted his chin in the air as Yingxing tilted his head farther back. A bead of sweat rolls down the column of his neck to join his shoulder blades, dripping onto the floor with a deafened drop.
Synthetic hair tickles his goosebumps, wracking tingles through his nerves. Still, Dan Heng remained perfectly straight as the bangs hovered above his forehead and weight settled on the top of his head.
With the gentlest of touches, Yingxing fans the stray hairs into place. Once finished, his fingers cup the side of Dan Heng’s head and lower it. The boy blinked, once, twice, until the little one staring in the mirror no longer looked like him.
“Uhhh,” Dan Heng stammers. An awkward smile pries open on his face, creasing the foundation carefully applied to his face. Turning to the side to capture the full extent of Yingxing’s master craft, the left ear droops.
Dan Heng was eager to fulfill Yingxing’s aching dream of designing for someone. Finally. For a character of his, too. However, when frequent games of dress-ups began to mount on top of each other with every one more complicated than the last, dread began to seep into Dan Heng’s face like a second layer of skin. Or was it makeup that caused him to have such a look?
The little one nods, a hum joining the movement to make it seem like he was in awe. Dan Heng lifts a hand to adjust the earpiece. Yingxing takes the initiative to help; Dan Heng has already done so much.
“Allow me,” Yingxing coos, his hand moving to trail along Dan Heng’s earlobe.
The cartilage is soft beneath his fingertips, and the dips and curves of smooth skin glide easily. Pressing down lightly, he earns a hiss from the young cosplayer, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sound.
Yingxing applies more pressure, nail scratching along the skin, and Dan Heng makes no fuss save for the pained sound he couldn’t quite hold back. He swallows it along with his pride, allowing Yingxing to do as he pleases.
When Yingxing reaches the start of taped ears, Yingxing lets his forefinger measure how long these ears are. They’re tiny, nowhere close to officially being called an elf, they only reached the first knuckle after all. Yet if anyone dared to have such a thought, they’d wonder if the character’s origin was beyond eighteen.
Dan Heng shivers, a phantom touch once Yingxing huddled closer and toyed with the tip of the artificial ear. It had become one with the little cosplayer as if tape could grow nerves and feel… pain? Pleasure? It didn’t matter; this was for Yingxing.
A warm breath tickles the tip, about to swallow it, and wrap his tongue around it and taste that fake skin. Except, it didn’t engulf it completely like how Dan Heng had imagined.
“Ready for the pictures?”
Dan Heng nods. This was the part he loved the most, no matter how much he pretended to hate it.
###
Although photography wasn’t one of Yingxing’s specialties, any mistakes can easily be fixed with simple editing. That doesn’t exclude the need for things to be perfect, beautiful, and real.
The camera is set in the empty room, and the hollowness is perfectly suffocating. Little distractions, bright white lights, and a single focal point were used to capture the celebrity in all its glory.
Dan Heng sat on the floor, his legs bent behind him, while his hands pressed against the tissue paper splayed across the ground. Much like the light,s this sheet of paper was just as bright. He blinks, noting how the red dot blinks and captures him. Only him.
He can throw a tantrum, he can pretend to be indifferent, and he can be as sarcastic as he wants, but none of it would be as obvious as now. Dan Heng loved being taken, feeling seen, and acting.
The camera rose, the red dot flashing as it disappeared from the corner of his vision. Dan Heng swallows, biting back the overwhelming urge to smile and plead to Yingxing to go to the convention now so more people can see him. Yingxing had to love it too. Why else would they go every year?
An overwhelming presence shifts behind him as Yingxing inches closer, the camera resting in his hands as he peered over Dan Heng from above. The costume was slightly big. Anyone from the second floor within said convention can look down and notice Dan Heng didn’t bother to put on a bra. Or rather, someone of Yingxing’s height.
Yingxing pats Dan Heng’s back, his hand crawling closer to squeeze his shoulder.
With his mouth inching closer, Yingxing ordered another command.
“Lie down on your stomach,” he said. Dan Heng knew what pose would work best.
Creative liberty Dan Heng has. Holding back the urge to grin, he does as he’s told.
Thighs press against the tissue paper floor, his feet lift into the air like an excited schoolgirl daydreaming of her crush, and his small chest smushes together between tightening arms. He held his arms outright, his chin pressed between the cracks formed with his palms connected with one another, and for the finishing touch, Dan Heng looked up at Yingxing with his eyes, his head kept faced down.
Kicking his legs back and forth, Dan Heng can’t help but tease. Yingxing had been so demanding with this cosplay. It was only right.
“What’s wrong, mister?” Dan Heng smiles, his cheek pressed against his palm, digging deeper. Yingxing furrows his eyebrows. “You weren’t very specific."
“You’re being a little on the nose,” Yingxing sighs, yet the camera keeps going.
“It’s just a pose,” Dan Heng argues.
“It’s very—Fine! Okay. Fine. Fine. Get up and sit down,” using his hands, Yingxing instructs Dan Heng how to pose. When the boy sighs and pulls himself up from the floor, Yingxing interjects. “Ah, ah, ah. Normally. And look up at me like you were doing.”
So demanding… yet Dan Heng obliges.
Lifting himself, Dan Heng trails his fingers along the paper and settles his weight on his thighs. There, his back arches to emphasize what little curves he had on display. The camera tilts from above, capturing how the wig spills down Dan Heng’s back and the ears poking from each side of his head.
If Yingxing zooms in, he could capture the faintest slip of Dan Heng’s nipple from beneath the front of the costume. A tempting opportunity, he always indulges in.
The lenses zoom in, the corners blending to focus on the slight pinkness beneath. Dan Heng kept his pose, pressing an index finger against his lower lip like a young boy wondering what a grown man might be doing.
“Yingxing?” Dan Heng calls out, but the older man ignores him.
Usually, Yingxing preferred waiting until the event was over to drag Dan Heng into the nearest dressing room or bathroom to garner himself a look. When Dan Heng would be drenched in sweat, grime, and musk, with every part of him emphasizing just how real he was.
Makeup, wigs, clothes, and props. If Dan Heng had to act like one of Yingxing’s characters, he’d try his best to appear as so both physically and emotionally, even if he was inadequate in such aspects.
Dan Heng can’t be the same twelve-year-old he was back then. His legs will grow, his voice will change, and his intimates will be different soon. That was natural and proof of his existence.
Other cosplayers knew the character they were playing didn't actually exist. Yingxing just blends the two. Dan Heng and this character are one of the same. That’s why these clothes were specifically made just for Dan Heng.
“Yingxing.” Dan Heng calls out again, his body twisting to grasp at the man’s legs and tugging at the fabric of his pants.
Distant, filling the camera’s void, Yingxing clutches the plastic. The red dot flickers, shutting off. The recording stops.
“Go on your back,” Yingxing spoke through the fog of disillusionment. Even through the cloudiness, he still recognizes deep in his heart that Dan Heng is a person well in his prime. “Please?” He adds, smiling with a tilt of his head for that cherry on top of this overly sweet dessert.
“Oh, now with the formalities,” Dan Heng huffs. “But fine.”
Dan Heng runs his hands along the smooth paper until his back meets the floor he had grown so familiar with.
It’s an odd feeling to not be exhausted after an eventful day packed with conversations, pricey food, and pushing formalities. Usually, they’d take their time, Yingxing pulling Dan Heng close and whispering the filthy things he’d do until they finally reach the bedroom and teach Dan Heng how to take off particular parts of the cosplay.
Sometimes they wouldn’t undress at all. Dan Heng would bite down on his tongue, roll his head back, and sob as Yingxing grounded himself against Dan Heng through their clothes. Dry humping usually wouldn’t last long, but Dan Heng gets too wet and soaks through the fabric and ruins it with his musk. Afterwards, he’d apologize for making such a mess—Yingxing would assure it’s alright.
It really wasn’t… but Yingxing enjoyed himself.
Is that what he wanted now? The very same thing they’d do after every convention? But they hadn’t even started for the day, and hadn’t even walked out the front door without Yingxing crawling on top of Dan Heng.
Aged hair joins the synthetic strands. Yingxing drops the camera and works to teach Dan Heng how to undress this pair of pants.
Pressing his finger against Dan Heng’s hip, he hooks his finger under the waistband and pulls.
“Here,” Yingxing demonstrates, “There’s a zipper. An odd place for one, I know. Look closely,” Yingxing loosens the zipper, his other hand unzipping the pants. “Pull down a little. Not too much. You’ll ruin my outfit.”
My outfit, Yingxing says. Dan Heng knows this outfit isn’t his. Yingxing made it.
“Mmhm,” Dan Heng hums, interested. “And?”
“And?” Yingxing repeats. “And nothing. Just pull. Come on, I helped you put on your panties, too. You know you don’t have layers on.” And thank God for that. Yingxing wants easy access.
“Guess so.”
“You know. Don’t try to play dumb with me,” Yingxing argues.
“Hmm, and here I thought you liked it if I was dumb and little,” Dan Heng teases. When Yingxing didn’t seem amused, Dan Heng quickly turned his head, the wig following the sharp movement of his head, slipping slightly from his scalp.
Yingxing’s hands grip on each of Dan Heng’s thighs, spreading them apart as he pushes his body closer until his face is between each leg. The costume’s pants were pulled down enough to expose the faintest glimpse of those panties he slipped on earlier.
They were white, the boring kind, but clung tightly to Dan Heng’s skin. He always made sure to get extra small for the boy; it was only natural if he had to be small in every regard. But here, between the juncture of his legs, Yingxing knew it wasn’t small anymore.
Yingxing can see it; the tent pressing against the panties. With a wicked glint, Yingxing reaches out and presses his palm against the mound.
“Mm, I didn’t even touch you all that much,” Yingxing sighs lovingly. He squeezes, his fingers pinch the skinny length, feeling it twitch in response. “Well, not at all, actually.”
“You touched my shoulder,” Dan Heng retorted.
“Down here is what I meant,” Yingxing scoffs.
With no other word, Yingxing retreats his fingers and instead opts to pull down the panties enough to expose the hidden treasure beneath.
Dan Heng keeps growing.
Years ago, his tiny dick was barely even able to peak out from the hood. Yingxing remembers the first time he unseethed the nub and how much he loved the pathetic whine Dan Heng gave in response. Legs that had yet to grow into what they would become now would have to be forcefully pinned unless Yingxing wished to be suffocated against Dan Heng’s musk. Dan Heng cried out it was dirty and gross, but Yingxing promised it wasn’t.
Now, Dan Heng’s dick had grown big enough to be as tall as Yingxing’s entire thumb. The extra skin around the engorged nub darkens with the hardened dick, responding eagerly to the proximity of Yingxing’s mouth. The older man can vaguely see what the head was, and he fought back the urge to wrap his lips around the tip.
Instead, Yingxing prompted to run his tongue along the loose skin around the length, his lips brushing along the sides and applying light suction around the flesh.
“Ah!”
Immediately, Dan Heng’s head leans back and lets out a gasp. His hands fist into the coat of the cosplay, pulling and peeling the fabric as it pooled around him like a veil.
Yingxing pulls back. His lips glisten with his drool. Gathering spit in his mouth, he sloshes it around until a frothy mess spills out and slobbers over the tip. His fingers run forward in a ‘V’ shape, trapping the dick between his fingers.
Again, Yingxing runs his lips along the sides. His hand rocks forward, flicking the tip against his cheeks. Dan Heng hisses.
“W-wait,” He chokes out, tripping over his words as overstimulation already began to overtake him with the slightest attention on his tip.
“Shh,” Yingxing hushes. “Quiet or else I’ll stop little Dan Heng.”
“Ugh,” Dan Heng grumbles.
Yingxing rubs the tip along his cheeks, pushing his face to smother the base. His mouth widens, wrapping his lips around the midsection, gently grazing his teeth, light enough to barely be registered but pleasurable nonetheless.
When Dan Heng’s hisses began to die down, Yingxing pulled back again. He dribbles more saliva onto the twitching erection, spreading the skin farther apart to fully drink in the hard length.
A light pink, the head an even lighter shade. Undeniably, Dan Heng is soaked, awaiting the chance to cum and do frontal penetration. Dan Heng won’t be getting that; however, Yingxing couldn’t have penetrative sex with a child character after all. That would be wrong.
“You’re so sensitive,” Yingxing comments, swirling around the mixture of saliva and slick arousal. “Such a sensitive little dragon. Wanna cum?”
“Yes…” Dan Heng slurs, his face flushing with embarrassment.
“Didn’t hear you,” Yingxing chuckles.
“I wanna…cum…” Dan Heng mumbles. “Please?”
“Hmmm…” Yingxing ponders as if it were something he actually had to think about. Of course, he’d let Dan Heng cum.
Rolling out his tongue, Yingxing runs the wet, warm muscle along the underside of Dan Heng’s dick. Gathering the dripping wetness, he swirls the tip of his tongue around the head.
“Hngh!” Dan Heng’s hand flies down, gripping Yingxing’s hair. Real hair, not a wig. “G-Gentle—”
Yingxing pays no mind to Dan Heng’s sensitivity and pleads for gentleness. A dick as sensitive and aroused as his needed attention; it was only natural.
He flicks the tip, watching it bob the faintest amount before repeating the process again and again until Dan Heng’s legs are trembling. Yingxing hums, reaching up to suckle on the head before finally going down.
Without hallowing his cheeks too much, Yingxing bats his eyes at Dan Heng’s scrunched-up face. Adorable eyes clenched shut, the makeup he diligently applied began to smear with red eyeliner running down his face, thanks to a tear that formed.
Still, Yingxing continues.
“Y-Ying… F-Fuck!” Dan Heng cries out.
Yingxing slurps, running his tongue around the sensitive length. He reels back with a pop, kissing the head carefully. Then, he takes it back into his mouth, starved. Yingxing bobs his head as if he were suckling on a dick far larger than Dan Heng’s.
It didn’t matter; Yingxing would treat it as one. He’ll pretend it belongs to a littler Dan Heng—the character he plays so perfectly that fantasy became reality.
Lavishing all his adoration on his efforts, Yingxing relieved pressure on Dan Heng’s legs and finally allowed the boy to seek out the pace he wanted. Yingxing halted his blowjob, groaning as Dan Heng tangled both hands into Yingxing’s silky hair and thrust forward.
If Dan Heng had a bigger dick, a thicker one, Yingxing’s jaw would act and sore with the rapid efforts of Dan Heng’s thrusting. He’d feel the tip hammer into the back of his throat. Yingxing wouldn’t let Dan Heng cum down his throat, though, not that Dan Heng could anyway with his anatomy.
“Mm,” Yingxing moans around Dan Heng’s dick, grinning to himself. He inches a hand closer, rubbing two fingers along Dan Heng’s opening as a tease.
Here he wouldn’t plunge into, not now. He’ll finger Dan Heng after the convention in the bathroom, where Dan Heng would be forced to sit on the toilet seat and keep quiet.
“No… n-no, fuck!” Dan Heng babbles deliriously, “Yingxing… please! Ah…ah!”
Dan Heng’s thrusts grew harder but lost their steady rhythm. He fucked against Yingxing’s tongue, the older man swallowing and slick pooling around his lips. To make Dan Heng have the full experience, Yingxing tried to imitate gagging sounds.
“Ah! C-Cumming…” Dan Heng cries out, his hips suddenly stilling as short spurts of electrifying pleasure ruptured through his nerves. Squirt gushed onto Yingxing’s chin, drowning him in his orgasm.
Dan Heng’s hips fell to the ground, slipping out of Yingxing’s mouth with a loud pop! It echoes through the room, Dan Heng’s labored breathing joining the mix.
Yingxing smiles wickedly, his lips pressing a tender kiss against the softening dick that speaks volumes of his sickened fantasies. He had just given oral to a teenager dressed up as a child. That was fine, no one would know.
“Now,” Yingxing pats Dan Heng’s thigh. “Let’s fix you up again. We still need to go to that convention.”