Turnabout is Fair Play

Xiao Xingchen woke up nestled in layers of warm covers, a sunbeam falling across his face. He had just enough time to screw up his eyes against the light before it was blocked out by a shadow and a naked body wriggled up against him.

"Good morning," said a voice very close to his lips. Xue Yang. It must have been him sneaking his way back under the bedcovers that had woken him up.

"Morning." Xingchen opened his eyes to feast in the sight of Xue Yang's face. This close, he could count his eyelashes and the bands of colour in his dark irises, and see the places where—not yet, but one day—his crow's feet wrinkles would appear. He'd never know just how long he could look at the details of Xue Yang's face, or Song Lan's, because both of them inevitably got shy long before he was satisfied. Song Lan tended to turn his face adorably away from Xingchen's gaze or, if they were standing, take advantage of his height and pull him in against his chest.

Xue Yang was more direct. He just closed the distance between them and took Xingchen's mouth in a kiss, his lips hot and soft. Xingchen hummed with pleasure when Xue Yang's tongue brushed against the seam of his mouth, opening up for him. He ran his palm up and down Xue Yang's side, drawing him closer still—only for Xue Yang to wriggle out of his hold and catch his wrist in his own hand.

Xingchen let that pass for the moment—Xue Yang was holding him gently, and Xingchen's fingers were resting in his hair, which was a very satisfactory place for them to be. He let the kiss deepen further. Xue Yang made the softest little noises into his mouth; Xingchen didn't think he even knew he was making them, or else he'd be sure to stop.

After a while, he twisted his other hand out from underneath himself, where it had ended up in his sleep, and grabbed clumsily for Xue Yang with it. The rhythm of their mouths had translated to the rest of their bodies as well. Xingchen wanted to hold him tight and rock with him like this until he was gasping and shaking, until they both were.

Xue Yang rolled away from him, just far enough to take his other hand by the wrist as well. Not only did this relieve the pressure Xingchen had been seeking to increase, but he could feel Xue Yang's smirk against his mouth as he did it. Xingchen let out a sound of indignation as Xue Yang guided both his hands up over his head.

"Sorry, Xingchen," Xue Yang said, sounding not a bit apologetic. "We've got other plans for you this morning."

"Is that so." Xingchen tugged his hands away, or at least he tried. Xue Yang's grip was suddenly like iron. He squirmed a little more, but it was no use: he wasn't going anywhere.

"You take such good care of us," Xue Yang said, "shouldn't we make it up to you?" The sparkle in his eye grew brighter as Xingchen frowned and tried to extricate himself. "Isn't that fair?" he laughed.

"Who ever said I was interested in fairness?" Xingchen retorted, bending at the waist so he could get some leverage with his feet. Xue Yang was heavier, though. He got one leg over Xingchen's hip and rolled them so that Xingchen was flat on his back, pinned to the bed.

Something hit the sheet next to his head with a thud.

Xue Lang looked up. "Perfect timing, Zichen, thank you."

"Zichen, you're in on this too?" Xingchen protested. The blurry black column that was Song Lan, wrapped up in his cotton robe, huffed a laugh as he moved away again.

Grabbing the leather cuffs Song Lan had dropped onto the bed, he swarmed up Xingchen's body, keeping him immobile with his elbows and knees and body weight while he cuffed his wrists to the bedframe. Xingchen did his best to make it difficult for him. Nipping with his teeth at any flesh that came within reach did little to stop Xue Yang, though he got a satisfying squeal when he managed to lick him with a wet tongue. Finally, when Xingchen was secured to Xue Yang's satisfaction, he flipped the rucked-up covers away with a flourish.

"Hey!" Xingchen yelled, his pocket of warmth dissipating into the cooler air of the bedroom. "Now I'm cold and I can't touch you."

"Guess I'll just have to warm you up, then," Xue Yang grinned. He took his time arranging himself comfortably next to Xingchen first, and then he paused and looked across at where Song Lan was standing at the side of the bed.

"What?" he asked. "Look, if he gives me a straight line, I have to take it. That's the rule."

Xingchen wished he could see the expression on Song Lan's face or make out the brief response he signed, but before he could feel too sad about it, Xue Yang was cuddled up against his side and running a trail of kisses down his upper arm from his elbow to his armpit. He lifted up Xingchen's head slightly to tuck a pillow underneath it—"Comfy? Good."—before sprawling half on top of him and tangling their feet together. Xingchen let himself float in kissing Xue Yang. Despite the fact that Xue Yang was barely brushing his thigh up against his dick—and moving away whenever Xingchen angled for more—he was warming up quite nicely.

Song Lan had been more absent than present, and eventually Xingchen pulled away and raised his head to search for him.

"He'll be back soon," Xue Yang reassured him. "Just shut your eyes and be good for me, okay?"

Xingchen shot him a glance that said more than words could about his feelings on Xue Yang telling him to be good, and Xue Yang cackled. He started to move, kissing up Xingchen's jaw and then biting lightly at his earlobe and neck. One hand stroked across his chest, fingertips lazily circling one nipple before returning to pinch at it. Breathing harder, Xingchen followed his touch until the cuffs clinked against the metal bedframe. He could feel goosebumps rising up in the wake of it.

"Eyes closed."

Xingchen hadn't even realised they'd drifted open. He complied, not bothering to point out that he'd be more able to track Song Lan's movements by listening than by vision, anyhow. Xue Yang rewarded him with a lascivious bite to the neck that made him tremble.

And now, at last, Song Lan was back in the room and settling on the bed—Xingchen heard his soft, deliberate steps, felt the mattress dip once under him and then a second time as he leaned in, one hand supporting his weight. It wasn't a surprise when he started to run the free hand over Xingchen's skin. Song Lan's touch was almost the opposite of Xue Yang's: firm and steady where Xue Yang was unpredictable, now so light that it nearly tickled, now a sharp scratch of his nails. When Song Lan dug his fingertips in, it was into pressure points on the inside of Xingchen's thighs that made him shout and arch his back—but first, he swept his palms across Xingchen's flesh, over and again, making sure that every part of him was outlined with his touch.

Xingchen felt dizzy, caught between the two of them as they worked over him in opposite directions. Xue Yang sank his teeth into the side of his belly, worrying at the skin—he felt the supple pressure of Song Lan's lips on his calves, his thighs, the joints of his hips—neither one of them was focussing their attention on his dick, still, but they weren't avoiding it either, and every time they skimmed it with their own bodies, Xingchen's blood sang.

There was a pause—Xingchen heard the quiet sounds of kissing, and then felt Song Lan's hands lift off him so he could say something to Xue Yang. Xue Yang's warm mass tumbled against him once more, and his hands were on Xingchen's shoulders, rubbing at where his arms were drawn upwards towards the cuffs.

He could feel Song Lan settling between his legs and—at last—taking him in hand. He groaned helplessly as Song Lan lavished him with close-mouthed kisses on his balls and up and down the shaft. It felt wonderful, and Xingchen could have luxuriated in it for hours, but part of him wondered where exactly this was going. Song Lan very rarely felt up to going down on him or Xue Yang—ah, but his mouth felt so warm, and so good, and perhaps this really was one of those occasions—he felt Song Lan's breath against the head of his dick—

And then, instead of the heat he was imagining, came a sudden wet chill.

"What—" Xingchen shuddered and cried out. Before he could form the sentence, the chemical scent of disinfectant wafted over, and he knew what their plan was.

Song Lan was thorough at swabbing him. By the time he was satisfied, Xingchen was panting in sheer anticipation.

Xue Yang's face was close up against his, and he was murmuring a steady stream of encouragement. "That's it, nearly ready. God, you look beautiful, Xingchen. We should do this more often, I wish I could tie you up every day... I want to put you in a rope harness under your clothes, so when you do go out, you'll know who you belong to—me and him, just the two of us..."

Xingchen cracked an eye open. "That would never work. You'd get jealous of me having all the fun within two days."

"Yeah, I suppose so." Xue Yang was flushed across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His erection was lying heavy against Xingchen's hip, and he looked down at him with such a fond, infatuated expression that he was barely recognisable.

Song Lan hummed to get their attention.

"You ready?" Xue Yang asked, and reached up to tuck three fingers into Xingchen's hand, where it hung from the cuffs in a loose fist.

"Oh yes."

The lube-slippery, surgical steel sound was colder even than the disinfectant swab had been, and he was glad to have Xue Yang's hand to squeeze when it first made contact. Carefully, he tried to relax his muscles—but as Song Lan guided the metal down inside his dick, he felt as though shivers were rippling through his whole body, out from his groin to his head and toes, and then back again. It felt like it always did: as though it was peeling him open, revealing nerves and tissues that were meant to stay secret, and, simultaneously, as though his body was opening for it of its own accord, welcoming this intrusion inside.

He looked down his body, to where Song Lan, his beloved Zichen, was bent over him in a posture of utter concentration. He cradled him gently in one hand, while with the other he let the sound find its path down inside his body. Slowly deeper it went, while Xingchen traced the burn and the pressure of it.

"Breathe, Xingchen," Xue Yang reminded him. He went to reply that he was breathing, which was how he realised that at some point he'd stopped. With an effort, he drew in air and let it out again.

The sound had found its level for now. Song Lan hummed again, he nodded, and then Song Lan began to move it slowly out again. Out, and back in. Out, and back in. Xingchen hissed through his teeth. Xue Yang was rubbing his side with a strong, flat hand. He felt himself swelling in Song Lan's loose grip, the pressure building from outside and inside. It was in his arms, so tense that he was nearly lifting himself off the bed, and in his legs, too, the way his heels dug into the mattress, curving his body like a longbow.

"How's it feel?" Xue Yang was asking from a long way away.

"So good," he mumbled. "Full. It's good."

"You're kicking your feet too much. I should have tied your ankles down. Oh, fuck." Xue Yang was breathing harder too. When he moved his hand away from Xingchen's ribcage to his own dick, he didn't even seem to notice.

"Touch me—Zichen—more, please—" Xingchen gasped. One big hand closed around him and began to stroke in counterpoint to the sound's motion, sending sparks along his whole length, and then everywhere under his skin, his belly, balls, chest, the soles of his feet and the glowing crown of his head—

Song Lan drew the sound out of him just as Xingchen came—howling, shaking, surging.

He was still ringing with aftershocks when he heard Xue Yang groan and streak them both with his own release. One of the other two—he wasn't quite sure which one—unbuckled the cuffs and helped him tuck his arms up to his chest. The other, he guessed, retrieved the covers from the floor and dragged them up over the three of them. They clung together in the snug coccoon until the sun had climbed the whole way across their window, Xingchen and Xue Yang sticky and sweaty, Song Lan's black robe an equally lost cause.

When he woke up the second time, it was with the feeling he'd forgotten to remember something important.

"Oh!" he said, looking up at Song Lan's chin from where he'd ended up, burrowed into his chest. "Zichen. You didn't... did you?"

Song Lan extricated himself from underneath Xingchen's body, sighing at having to stop cuddling just to reply to him. When he did answer, though, it was with a gleam in his eye.

"You can help me out later," he signed. "...Maybe after we've had a shower."

"Quite right," Xue Yang muttered as he turned his face back into the pillow, magically spreading out to take up all the space freed up by the others moving. "I think we've all agreed, turnabout is fair play."