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Battleship 2024 - Team Volcano
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Published:
2024-08-08
Words:
1,426
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
20
Kudos:
141
Bookmarks:
14
Hits:
805

Sear

Summary:

“Have a light?”

Luo Binghe looks up from sprawling city lights to see a tall, well-dressed man join him on the balcony. Long hair spills like ambrosia down his back. His fingers, pale and fine, are curled loosely around an unlit cigarette.

The man’s magnetic beauty pulls Luo Binghe out of his previous musings. His appearance stands out even at this film premiere afterparty bursting with famous names and pretty faces; is he an actor? A model? Luo Binghe takes a lighter from his pocket, letting charisma settle over his shoulders like a cloak. He knows how to work beautiful people.

Notes:

Many thanks to my cigarette consultant, LadySapph :D

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“Have a light?”

Luo Binghe looks up from sprawling city lights to see a tall, well-dressed man join him on the balcony. Long hair spills like ambrosia down his back. His fingers, pale and fine, are curled loosely around an unlit cigarette.

The man’s magnetic beauty pulls Luo Binghe out of his previous musings. His appearance stands out even at this film premiere afterparty bursting with famous names and pretty faces; is he an actor? A model? Luo Binghe takes a lighter from his pocket, letting charisma settle over his shoulders like a cloak. He knows how to work beautiful people.

The man steps towards him, the golden chandelier light from indoors drawing like the tide across his face. Luo Binghe removes his own cigarette from his mouth to speak. “Come.”

His voice is low and smooth. Like the warm night breeze that saturates the balcony. As the man closes the distance between them, Luo Binghe intends to reach over and place his lighter in the man’s shapely hand. But the man tucks the cigarette between his lips, white teeth peeking out, and leans in close. His dark eyes reflect the star-studded city.

Ah.

Luo Binghe flicks the lighter, and sparks a flame.

The window is open, wind catching the smoke that billows from Shen Qingqiu’s parted mouth. It’s summer and even the mornings are hot and hazy; Shen Qingqiu hasn’t bothered to dress. At all. Perhaps he thinks it’d be too much of a hassle to go around picking his clothes off the floor of Luo Binghe’s bedroom.

“Hey.” Luo Binghe sits on the bed and leans over. His hair is still damp from the shower, a droplet falling to land on Shen Qingqiu’s bare thigh. There’s a bruise there from last night, a paintstroke of blue and purple that makes Luo Binghe feel a little insane.

Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes. “Get your own,” he snips, but lets Luo Binghe put his lips to the end of his cigarette and take a drag.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

Shen Qingqiu casts him a placid glance, then returns his gaze to the champagne swirling in his glass. “You didn’t tell me either.”

Shen Qingqiu is a professor: not someone who would be invited to this sort of event. “Who are you here with?” Luo Binghe demands. Then he regrets asking, because he already knows the answer and doesn’t want to hear it.

Shen Qingqiu exhales through his nose—a little scoff. “You know who.”

Luo Binghe sends a dirty look through the crowd to where Yue Qingyuan stands talking pleasantly with a group of important men and women. Despite being surrounded by the rich and famous, he doesn’t stop sending periodic glances towards Shen Qingqiu, like he needs to confirm that he’s still there.

“What does he have?” That I don’t? Another question that Luo Binghe regrets as soon as he voices it. Shen Qingqiu turns him into a fool.

Shen Qingqiu sips at his champagne. “What do you have,” he asks, “that Yue Qingyuan doesn’t?”

Jealousy sears Luo Binghe like a cigarette burn. He steps in close, practically cornering Shen Qingqiu against the bar, and lowers his voice. When he speaks, he deliberately mirrors Shen Qingqiu’s previous words. “You know what.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes melt into dangerous, delicious heat. Blades could be forged in them; kingdoms could burn in them. “Do I?”

“Perhaps I’ll remind you.” Luo Binghe lays a hand just briefly on Shen Qingqiu’s hip—over one of the bruises he knows must still linger. The way Shen Qingqiu shivers at the touch is maddening; this one touch is suddenly, wildly not enough, the way one hit is never enough.

But the touch isn’t only a touch. It’s a warning, a promise, a fleeting puff that will have to tide their lungs over until tonight.

“Excuse me,” says Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe steps back, and Shen Qingqiu turns away from him just as Yue Qingyuan looks over once more.

Luo Binghe isn’t one to spend hours on social media, but today he keeps opening Weibo again and again. Not to look at others’ posts, but his own.

The most recent post on Luo Binghe’s page is a candid photo, uncaptioned, of Shen Qingqiu in the passenger seat of his car. Shen Qingqiu’s face is turned towards the window so that only the slightest curve of his face can be seen—as well as a glittering glimpse of diamond at his ear—but anyone who really knows him would recognize him.

He can’t help the way the image hits him in the gut: Shen Qingqiu in his car, on his page, the bold signs of Luo Binghe’s claim broadcasted for millions to see.

It’s fine, see, that Shen Qingqiu walks into banquet halls on Yue Qingyuan’s arm, because look what he really likes to do on Friday nights. Wear the blindingly expensive, one-of-a-kind earrings that Luo Binghe bought for him. Smoke out the window of Luo Binghe’s car. Go back to Luo Binghe’s apartment and fuck, rough and filthy, the way no one else can do for him.

Luo Binghe’s phone rings. He looks up to check that the door is closed, then snuffs out his cigarette and picks up the call.

“Why the fuck would you post that?” Shen Qingqiu’s voice blisters through the speaker. “Do you know what people have been asking me?”

Luo Binghe replies calmly in the way he knows infuriates Shen Qingqiu. “What, I can’t post a photo of my boyfriend?”

Shen Qingqiu’s end of the line is nothing but furious, silent static for a moment. Finally he bites out, “You’re not stupid enough to think I’m your boyfriend.”

Luo Binghe’s jaw clenches. “Then what are you?”

“If you don’t want this, then say so,” Shen Qingqiu snaps.

“I didn’t say that,” Luo Binghe grits out. Shit, sometimes he despises Shen Qingqiu. “I just want to know what you think we are.”

“Don’t—” Shen Qingqiu pauses. “I’m getting a call. Fuck, you are all insufferable.”

You ‘all’? How many rich fucking idiots does he have wrapped around his finger? In the moment Luo Binghe hates, hates, hates that he’s one of them. That he ever met Shen Qingqiu at all.

“Don’t you dare hang up on me,” he snarls.

“Delete the post,” Shen Qingqiu says. Then, of course, he hangs up.

The window is open. A rust-red leaf drifts into the room, trading places with an exhale of smoke. The weather is colder now, and Shen Qingqiu is wearing a shirt he left at Luo Binghe’s place several months ago. But he removed his earrings last night before they fucked, and the empty little divots of his lobe piercings look naked enough all on their own.

It’s abruptly terrifying. Shen Qingqiu is in his bed, but he isn’t wearing the jewelry Luo Binghe bought or touching him or even looking at him. He’s seized with a strange fear that Shen Qingqiu will dissolve at any moment now and drift out the window like the smoke from his perfect mouth.

“Qingqiu,” he murmurs.

Shen Qingqiu still won’t look at him. “What?”

“Qingqiu.”

“What?”

“Qingqiu.”

Shen Qingqiu turns around. “What do you want?!”

His glare is filled with irritation, but Luo Binghe can only feel relief that Shen Qingqiu is finally looking at him again. Instead of answering verbally, he leans in.

“Get yours,” Shen Qingqiu snaps, a phrase which by now has become habit. Just as habitually, he flicks ash off his cigarette and lifts it towards Luo Binghe’s face.

But that’s not what Luo Binghe wants this time. “I’m trying,” he says. He angles his head to bypass the cigarette, but Shen Qingqiu doesn’t budge. The cigarette remains a barrier between them, releasing thin tendrils of smoke that dissipate against their cheeks.

“Qingqiu,” he says once more. It might be a plea, but only the two of them would know.

Shen Qingqiu says, “Come and get it.”

Luo Binghe leans closer yet, but Shen Qingqiu still doesn’t move his cigarette out of the way. He looks at Luo Binghe through his lashes and puts it to his mouth and takes a drag. When he exhales, Luo Binghe dips his head through the cloud of smoke to press his lips to the lit end of the cigarette—a dangerous kiss. Just long enough to sear, not burn. But oh, how Luo Binghe burns.

“You’re insane,” Shen Qingqiu whispers, watching Luo Binghe lick his reddened lips with wide-eyed fascination.

“For you,” Luo Binghe says, furious about it, “Yes.”

.

.

.

Notes:

Tag(s) for Board 1: Cigarettes, Flirting, Lazy Mornings, Autumn, Jewelry, Ambiguous Relationships, Social Media, Possessiveness, Toxic Relationship, Bruises; No Archive Warnings Apply, M/M, M-E Rated