Two Weeks Later

The paintings are placid.

One is of the sky, in a diluted, tranquil blue, and its clouds- a soft pink, with strokes of white and the occasional burn of magenta at the tips. Another is of a lake, in a misty, dull turquoise, overshadowed by mountain peaks with cold tufts of snow, and stained with a dark eerie grey- meadows for its banks. 

They all reflect his heart, some originating from his mind and others off of external inspiration.

From Huaban to be exact.

He detests Weibo.

Being praised above and beyond through it had been the exhilaration of a lifetime, until the reverse became the case and his entire world had crumbled. 

He'd been criticized, mocked, cursed and shunned, and it is all still a nightmare he doesn’t know if he will ever be able to fully recover from. 

So he avoids it, with all of his heart while Huaban has gained his favor.

Currently, he is perusing through for inspiration for his next project. This will be the second one for the week, the earlier eight, in different canvas sizes now living in a corner of his balcony.

He is so intent on his search that when the sudden WeChat message pings an alert on his phone, he is almost startled.

It’s his manager, Nini, and her question is the same. “Any updates?”

His eyes go to the recliner in the corner, and on the leather surface is a stack of three unopened envelopes. 

Scripts, offering to pull him back into work. 

However, he no longer wishes to strive.

So he ignores the message and returns to scrolling through the pins.

Then he comes across something.

It is not some horizon or landscape… but a performance.

The pin automatically begins to play, and it is now a bit difficult to look away. Especially as the music begins.

The start is quick and playful, and then it becomes heavy and thrilling.

These however are not the reasons why his breath has stopped in his throat.

It is because Gao Zhihan, flanked by a team of two dancers behind him and encircled by several dozens of people is in the throes of what seems to be a dance battle.

His eyes are glazed as though he has been possessed, his hands twisting and moving mesmerizingly across his body. Then he drops down to a knee at the dip of the music.

Everything stops for a moment including the song, and the camera zooms into Zhihan. The tip of his tongue slips out through flushed, peach lips and then the side lifts in a smirk.

He Jun is assaulted with a sharp inhale.

With a boom, the song resumes, and the three burst into a spirited routine that He Jun can barely track.

He doesn’t need to however because his eyes are solely on Gao Zhihan, and the pit of his stomach has been set on fire.

He Jun has never seen him dance this way.

Perhaps it is because of the song, or the intimate setting of the surrounding audience rather than the usual distance of a stage, but Gao Zhihan seems to now be in a state that is anything but restrained.

Suddenly, his whole body falls to the floor, and he then proceeds to hump so hard against it in quick successive thrusts that the phone falls from He Jun’s hand.

For the first few moments he is stunned, but then he quickly dives for the device and resumes the video.

The two other dancers feel him up and Zhihan’s expression to the seductive and brain-glitching routine is coy. Then he turns stoic once more, and breakdances the choreographed finale.

The music halts… and the audience explodes into roars.

Zhihan is anything but calm afterwards. He Jun watches as the excitement of the routine's execution overwhelms the boy, and he bursts out into another quick celebratory routine of his own. His legs are spread out, his hips are once again fucking thrusting, his hands fisting into the air in triumph and his teeth biting into his lips. 

He Jun’s entire pelvic region goes numb, so at the complaint from his now weakened knees, he lowers to the floor.

And plays the video again. And again.

Where is this? When was this?

Zhihan's hair is dark and cropped… quite the stark difference from the floppy brown he had sported during his barrage to the apartment two weeks earlier.

His heart sinks as he considers that he now has to go on Weibo to find out where this is from.

But he cannot. He refuses to. 

So he tosses the phone on the carpet, and lies down because quite frankly, he needs to recover.

He is hard, more aroused than he has been in so long and at the reminder of the boy and his passionate outburst at him, He Jun’s veins are set on fire.

Eventually, he cannot take it anymore so he opens up WeChat and responds to Nini for the first time in a month.

He however ignores the previously unanswered twenty-something messages she had sent him and asks about Zhihan.

“Is he filming some sort of dance show right now?”

Her response is immediate.

“Am I hallucinating? And are you seriously asking me about Gao Zhihan right now?”

“Please just respond,” he says. “I’ll address our other matters after this one."

A minute passes before she agrees to heed his request, and He Jun can almost picture the dark scowl that will most definitely now be on her face.

“Yes!” she replies.“Street Dance of China. He has been filming it for a few months now and the episodes are currently airing.”

He Jun had no clue.

“Ah,” he responds. “I didn’t know.”

“How is that possible? The videos top the hot search list every day.”

“You know I don’t go on Weibo."

“Then how did you find out? About his motorcycle racing crash? You haven’t been watching television either.”

He Jun sighs. “My mom called me. She saw it on the news and wanted to find out if he was alright.”

“Oh,” she replies, and He Jun once again puts the phone away.

However, his mind can no longer find peace.

With every moment that passes, he is being consumed. The warmth from his now heated blood is penetrating and illuminating every corner of his soul that had been previously shrouded in gloom and darkness.

That dance, had been breathtaking. And Zhihan had been…

Unleashed.

He Jun has seen Zhihan dance before. Countless times. However, the previous performances although impressive, have always seemed sort of mechanical. The skill was undoubtedly there and the technique- flawless, however this time around, Zhihan had performed from a new depth.

It was as though he had moved not from the memory of a learned routine, but from being so overtaken by the music that he had relinquished total control of his body to whatever movements it chose to conjure.

Thus his dancing had been sensual, uninhibited, and playful. Like he had been enjoying the fuck out of himself and wouldn’t have chosen any other place in the world to be at that moment.

He Jun feels… envious.

Not because he hasn’t been this engrossed with his work before, but because he cannot remember the last time that it has been the case. Where he thoroughly and completely abandoned himself to the art and his enjoyment of it.

A heavy sigh thunders through him, and once again things all around him begin to feel bleak. 

He is however still hard, and this fire he knows is not going to go out as easily. 

His hand slips past the drawstring of his pants, and at the realization of what he is about to do, he cannot help but feel slightly deranged. However, he knows that he will not stop himself because a small part of him welcomes it. The small part that although he has refused to acknowledge, is still warmed at Zhihan’s confession to him a fortnight earlier.

'I want you'... his voice replays in his head, husky and heavy with longing.

"Fuck,” He Jun breathes, as his hand comes to rest on the solid length. He shuts his eyes and although he tries to think of something else, the current subject of his attraction appears vividly in his mind.

Zhihan’s arresting gaze, as honest as it is ruffling. His quiet and almost detached demeanor in the way he relates to the world, but yet his almost childlike abandonment and excitement when he comes in contact with the very few things and people that are able to ignite a flame inside of him.

He Jun wants all of that passion that he has just witnessed unleashed on him. And inside of him. 

He swallows hard as his hold around his cock tightens, and the pace of his stroking increases.

His lips part as an outlet for the burn in his chest, while his body becomes restless on the floor.

Soon, begins to lose coherence, the windings of molten lust dissolving into his bloodstream and leaking out through his pores.

“Zhihan,” he hears himself gasp as if from a distance. 

The boy’s smile… and laughter comes to mind, and He Jun's entire body jerks violently.

He pumps harder, his sole focus now on the long-overdue release. He doesn’t want to remain in this state for even a second longer because it feels as though he is being slowly eaten alive. 

“Zhihan!” he calls out again, as his fisting turns frantic.

He struggles to catch his breath as his feet begins to stretch and twist, his head moving restlessly from side to side.

With a guttural groan, he comes, the thick stream of pleasure exiting his body with a violent burst.

“Fuck!” he growls into the quiet space, his inhale and exhale borderline neurotic as his body struggles to return to normal.

He continues to milk the damp length, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and it is a very long while afterwards before he is able to open his eyes.

The entire skyline has now gone completely dark when it was lit up earlier with beautiful, red, and golden hues.

Then he had been completely disinterested, but now he wishes that he can see it again.

His mind goes to Zhihan.

He also wishes that he can see him... too. 

“Fuck,” he swears again.

Trouble, just as he had predicted.