Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yone is in the middle of writing a summary of the last lecture - a class called “comparative judicial systems” which sounds much more interesting than it actually is - when his phone rings. 

It’s Hwei on the other end, his filthy rich, tragically orphaned, awfully spoiled cousin, who asks:

“Hey Yonie, are you still in Piltover? When will you drive home for christmas?”

His accent, oh, his bloody accent, rich and warm and strange.

Hwei has also been, in addition to all the things listed above, Yone’s gay awakening. Back when they were kids and when his infuriating cousin demanded to wear a black dress to his parents funeral. 

Yone clears his throat and puts his pen down - one of Lukai’s Inc.'s finest, 1.2k for a fountain pen. Something Hwei has sent him in the mail. 

“Uh- Yeah. I’m still finishing up my work from uni, thought I’d drive over tomorrow and through the night. Make it home early on the 24th.”

On the other end of the line Hwei hums, probably calculating if he should take his private jet and offer Yone a seat. But instead of mentioning anything alike, he asks:

“You got all your presents yet?”

Right, shit, shit. 

Yone hides his groan behind a cough, but Hwei knows , of course he knows, and didn’t text him earlier. He wants something from him, didn’t call to help but to make plans, bloody entitled piece of work that he is. 

“No, didn’t think so.”

Hwei sounds gleeful, laughs cheekily, before saying:

“So, how about we go shopping, you and I, and I sleep at your place tonight, and then tomorrow you drive us home?”

home.

Yone agrees, less because he wants to, but because it is the only reasonable thing to do. Screw uni, he is putting in too much effort anyway, has inherited a 10% share of the company. And Hwei is certainly not running it to the ground but up the hill if the stock market’s funny numbers say anything.
His stupid cousin has even asked him to work at his office multiple times, offered internship after internship, but Yone kept declining until he stopped. 

Maybe his mother asked Hwei to be this annoying, or he got some kind of vision from his dad.

Yone’s dad, there is, who is also bloody fucking dead because nothing good in this family ever lasts. 

Two hours later he is waiting for Hwei at the train station when he hears his name yelled and turns around to face-

Yeah, Hwei hasn’t changed. 

Is wearing lipgloss, and eyeshadow, and blush. Smiling happily, hugging Yone tight, before pulling away and shit.

He didn't change much, but his nipples did, peeking through a shirt that is way too thin for god damn December, shaped slightly different, did he get them pierced? 

He definitely did, Yone can see the outline through the black silk shirt, even imagines to make out the silver studs-

“Ay, my eyes are up here.”
Hwei has the audacity to smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief as he blows a strand of teal hair out of his face, his chin raised in defiance. 

But Yone doesn’t want to argue, not about this, or comment on the burning blush spreading on his cheeks. Instead he nods towards Hwei’s backpack:

“That's all your luggage?”

Of bloody course it is, because:

“I’ll just steal some of Yasuo’s shirts, don’t wear underwear anyway.”

And he shrugs it off as if Yone even asked about it. 

Now though, now he glances down at his trousers, and oh, tight, black jeans, hugging his thighs nicely and leaving so very little to his imagination. 

“You’re always running around like this?”
He bites his tongue, too late, but Hwei laughs.

“It’s for my boyfriend, silly, he comes too! You’ll love him, don’t forget to buy him a present!”

Oh. 

Oh.

Yeah.

Yone isn’t sure if he feels relieved or disappointed. But Hwei waves, then stalks towards the bookshop, leaving him with heated cheeks and an awfully good look at his cousin's ass and thighs, full and strong, and hugged tightly by his jeans, crap. 

And Hwei has a boyfriend. 

Did he ever actually come out to Yone - he briefly wonders while following him into the bookshop and pretending to look for something. 

Maybe, over ten years ago, when Hwei, fourteen and the prettiest, cutest boy aside from his brother, had asked him for a kiss.

“I just wanna know how it feels to kiss a boy, kissing Syndra only felt wrong… Yone, please?”

And something is seriously wrong with Yone, because he did. His first kiss, Hwei’s first kiss with a boy. All awkward and clumsy, until suddenly it wasn’t, and they were melting into each other.

“Do you like it, Yone?”

Hwei had whispered against his lips, all sultry and warm, lips flushed and glossy.

“Yes, yes.”

Yone jerked off to that memory for years, it was the safest thing he could imagine, the only pictures he could think of that didn’t make him wanna cut his hand off.

Now Hwei is walking around the store collecting books and trinkets, even one of those ugly magnets. Why didn’t he just send them all 1.2k fountain pens, why didn’t he order one of his interns to buy presents for a family neither of them has seen much in the last two years?

Yone, because he fucked it up and ran.

Hwei, because he just was like that. Rootless, entitled, never doing what he wasn’t interested in at that very moment. 

Maybe also because Yone is the only family he had left, aside from an estranged uncle from his mothers side that Hwei outright hated - and without Yone being there, his cousin had no reason to return to a house in Ionia where he’d be welcomed by the widow of his uncle and the widows uncle, neither of whom ever really cared for him. Both of them only associating Hwei’s existence with grief and mourning. 

He has the same eyes as Yone’s father, his mother once said. Colourful once, some kind of vastayan gene causes them to glow in all the prettiest hues, pink and golden, deep blue and poisonous green.

Where his brother is a walking reminder of what shouldn’t have been, Hwei is the walking dream of what could’ve. 

And if Yone wasn’t there, he would only visit for his brother's sake. Did he, though?

Hwei looks so out of place here, in a normal bookstore for people worth not even one percent of his wealth. At a train station filled with pigeons, rats, cigarette stumps and dirt. Buying the same presents as those three classes below him, but with the ease of someone who had never even considered the prices. 

Yone loves him, his leather boots might be worth more than this shops entire interior but nobody knows and Hwei just looks like some random college kid buying last minute presents for a family to return to. 

He should follow his example, but there are other stores to visit, right. And his cousin is already at the cashier, paying with card before pressing a bloody 100 hexes banknot into the startled girl's hand.

“Merry christmas and a happy new year!”

He singsongs while collecting his presents before waltzing out of there like the incarnation of chaos that he is. Entitled brat. Hopefully his boyfriend wrecks him. Chokes him until those pretty eyes fill with tears and for one bloody moment Hwei stops looking so perfectly put together. Looks as messed up as he is, behind this gorgeous facade of a spoiled rich kid. 

There must be something more, and maybe that's why Hwei is so infuriating - because he hasn’t always been like this, once upon a time he tried so hard to be pleasant, to please those around him. He was the poster child, Yone has recently found an article that his aunt has written about how she, a millionaire, raises her child to become a responsible, grounded adult.

She spoke of letting the boy be in contact with working class kids, sending him to the nearby community school instead of private school. Focusing on his education, never buying him everything he wants, making him work and wait for everything. Keep him out of the public's eye, moving away from the economic centres of runeterra to raise him in a nice, normal suburban house with a small garden and only one, she specified for some reason, only one family car.

It sounded nice, if he didn’t know how miserable Hwei was, feeling like every step of the way he had to earn his parents affection - and Yone felt the same about his mother, but at least he had his little brother to shower in kisses and hug during a thunderstorm. 

No matter what Hwei’s parents wanted him to become, he is now on the Forbes 30 under 30 list, hosts galas for the rich and beautiful, and hands Yone his bag without asking first. 

“I’m not your butler.”

Yone groans, but Hwei has already grabbed his other hand and tugs him towards another store, saying:

“Sure, but I bought you a gift for my boyfriend, so it’s only decent that you help me carry it.”

“I didn’t ask for-”

But Yone stops himself. Not like it matters, it doesn’t. He even likes carrying the bag, it feels like he is being a part of this ridiculous train station shopping spree. Not just baggage, but somehow, at the very least, useful.

Hwei stops in front of a shelf with board- and card games, and Yone almost wants to compliment him for being normal for once, but then he reads the labels, and oh god.

“I think you should give Yasuo one of these, he’ll like it.”

To hell he will.

“You’re insane, I’m not going to buy my little brother “truth or dare, 18+, extreme, faggot edition!” 

Laughter, Hwei's eyes beam golden, like the cruel sun on a hot summer day. Causing his face to flush again, other memories playing behind his eyes. 

His little brother, barely eighteen, kissing him at his graduation party. Pressing his body against him, 18+, extreme, faggot edition, what a joke. 

“Then don’t, but the best gift you can make him is to stop treating him like a kid.”

Hwei only shrugs, appearing as careless and untouched as virgin snow after a stormy winter night, while inspecting the different kinds of naughty games, before picking one at seemingly random and heading towards the shelf with the candles.

“Your mom, what scent will she prefer?”

As if he is about to buy a designer perfume and not a 5$ scented candle - and as if he doesn’t respond by grabbing one of each smell, stacking them onto his arms while already looking for the next shelf to plunder. 

Maybe they should’ve gotten a basket?

Yone can still get one, after all Hwei is seemingly shopping present for both of them, spending money because it’s nothing to him, and it’s not as if Yone is poor or anything, but he is a student who only treats himself to his favourite, french café every other week because no matter how good the coffee and delicious the croissants, it’s still a luxury to him. And he doesn’t dare to touch his inheritance, unlike this arrogant prick stalking around like a slutty, horny, attention-seeking peacock.

Yone finds a basket and hands it over to Hwei, unprompted, who smiles like a child meeting Santa. 

Like he did, when he met Santa, Yone remembers with an ugly twist in his stomach. All bright and grateful, but it’s not directed at an old man in a red coat, but at Yone, who feels so, so undeserving of it. 

This was a mistake, this was all a big mistake, because Hwei is temptation and chaos, like a poisonous fruit you should abso-fucking-lutely stay away from. And one that tastes oh so sweet, looks so inviting, so beautiful, so… lovely. 

Yone’s heart aches with longing, with joy, how he missed this, him, them. Still misses Yasuo, because they can’t be complete without his brother, but god, he won’t recover from this. Saying yes to his mothers invitation for Christmas was a mistake, meeting earlier with Hwei an even bigger one. Why didn’t he tell him to just take the fucking private jet?! 

Hwei is waiting to pay, Yone can barely keep his eyes off his lips. Full, and pouty when the cashier runs off to do something in the back, just before it’s their turn. Too cute, so kissable, it’s his fucking cousin, it’s been two years with only phone calls and text messages, and shit, he is still so, so badly in love. 

He thought that they’d go home after the second store, but Hwei has other plans. At least they are leaving the train station now, moving through the shopping district, past beggars and junkies and tired workers on their way home. 

It’s eerie, the ease with which Hwei moves through the mass of people. Sure, he isn’t carrying his bags, Yone does, but still. And now he doesn’t look out of place anymore, with the silk, the tight jeans, the extravagant coat. Here, he might just be another whore on the way to work. 

How ugly it tastes on his tongue, in his throat, the idea of other men touching Hwei. And how it makes Yone bite his lip, the mental imagery of rough hands holding this brat down, smacking him across his perfect, ethereal face, smearing his stupid, slutty lipgloss all across his cheek.    

He would like to hear him cry, Yone realises with a gasp, only hidden by the sheer volume of the buzzing city around them. 

“Come on, I need your feedback, Yonie.”

Hwei beams at him, and it’s so bright, blinding, deadly and distracting, because in the next moment they are standing in the middle of a lingerie store. 

And his cousin asks him to choose something, something Hwei wants to wear for his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who will kiss him sweetly and hold him tenderly and love him so, so much. Just how he deserves. And not with this disgusting, sickly, bruising, feverish anger of Yone’s. Who never understood why others thought dresses look good on people until Hwei wore one to the funeral of his goddamn parents. 

Or until Yasuo kissed him till they both came in their bloody underwear. 

“Just pick something, you know your boyfriend better than me.”
Why did it taste so spiteful, so acidic?

And for the first time today Hwei seems to pause and think, because his brows furrow and he tilts his head, bites his lip before nodding slowly. 

“I see.”

He takes a step back, almost leans against the shelf while giving Yone one of his hard, and unforgiving looks. Judgemental, how it jumps from his face towards his hands, towards his shoes. Do they look bad, is he looking bad, sure, his shoes have seen better days but they are made from real leather, not the cheap kind-

Hwei reaches out and lightly brushes his fingers across his shoulder, as though he is dusting him off, or touching him in the one way where he knows Yone won’t object to it. 

“You know-”

He leans in, pauses, his eyes the prettiest pink Yone has ever seen, when Hwei finally cooes:

“Then help me pick something you would like on me, will you?”

God, Yone is awful at this. At saying no, at saying yes, to Hwei it’s never more than a game, but to him, this is everything he shouldn’t have. Picking out lingerie, having not just the explicit permission, but being asked to imagine Hwei in it. Maddening, the galaxy is spinning and so is Yone, wondering if he could get seasick from the gorgeous polar lights moving high above his head.

What would he like on Hwei, what does he like on him? 

Red, bloody red because he is infuriating but no, he wants to stain something in red. Not white though, Hwei isn’t fucking pure, but he could be, before Yo-, before someone is going to ruin him. 

“White lace?”

He chokes out, and it’s not enough information, he doesn’t even know what he is asking for. Hwei isn’t innocent, he wore a black dress with lace on his parents funeral and bossed people around because he owned this place, and knew it. At twelve, he already had an authority Yone can’t seem to find within himself even to this day.

No wonder he looks like a slut, when nobody is in a position to stop him, and nobody would dare to lay a finger on him. 

It’s a sign of power, just how this whole shopping spree is probably just a way to be a bossy, bratty bitch and have his fun with Yone.

Who is picturing him in a dress, not unlike the one he wore at the funeral, but white lace on his neckline, and soft silk, almost see through, pouring like liquid cream over his skin. With a skirt just long enough so you’d have to push it up before getting a look at his prick and cute little ass. 

There are so many clothes in this store and Yone has never even been in a shop like this, but somehow he manages to find something resembling his vision - it’s available in two tones that are both almost white, but one has a hint of blue, so cold. The cool, fabric flowing nicely on his finger feels almost ghostly. The ghost of christmas’s past, and Yone lets go because it bloody burned. 

No, no, there are too many ghosts still lingering, the warm, light rose gold is perfect. Better than ice, in this cold world.

“Let’s try it on, shall me.”
Suddenly Hwei is taking his hand, holding it, while grabbing two pairs in different sizes with the other, before tugging Yone alongside with him towards a stall. 

Then into a stall. Where he closes the curtains, before letting his expensive winter coat drop to his feet and turning around, saying:

“Please help me with the zipper.”

It’s an excuse, it must be, nothing else would make sense! He put on the shirt alone- Or had staff do it, urgh, maybe, that's not even unlikely. 

But Yone will be gentler, because he isn’t getting paid for this, and despite everything, for Hwei, he wants to be soft. Not always, but right now, no matter how infuriating all of this is. So he doesn’t immediately pull down the zipper, instead, imitates Hwei’s gesture from earlier. Caresses his shoulders, as if he could wipe away the stains of the past, then straighten the fabric with a light brush of his hand. Rest his thumb just above Hwei’s tailbone, the silk hot under his touch, and when he pulls the zipper down, slowly, and carefully, Hwei lets out a breathy, languid sigh. That’s shooting straight to Yone’s cock, god, shit, he is twitching and they are standing so god damn close, he can feel the heat radiating from Hwei’s skin, and now. Now Hwei is unbuckling his belt, takes a breath that has his shoulders lifting visibly, before in one go, he takes his shirt off. 

And turns around, not even blushing. 

Totally cold and unaffected, with nipples pierced, and gold studs reflecting the light above them. 

“My eyes are up here.”

Hwei leans back, how can he be so calm? - because this is nothing to him, just a game. And right now, he doesn’t even laugh, only studies the dress in his hand. Which Yone picked, for another man. Because they are cousins, and Hwei has a boyfriend. Who he will look all pretty for, and who will kiss him, and love him, and be gentle and sweet, and just what he deserves. Who never knew the dress he wore at the bloody funeral, and who never, ever would’ve picked a light colour with the intent of staining it in Hwei’s blood.

And he looks gorgeous in it, the creamy fabric lifting as he spins, the neckline alone looking almost decent, if not for how easily it is to catch glimpses at the golden studs adorning his nipples, or to follow the elegant bow of his collarbones. God, Yone wants to caress the hem of the gown with his lips, graze his neck, he’d do it lovingly, so sweetly, hold him by his waist and drive him mad with nothing but his mouth. 

“So, what do you think?”

Hwei spins again, like they did as children on flowery fields, spinning until they were dizzy with it, laughing as they collapsed into the grass. Joyful and free, the sky azure blue over them, clouds painting pictures for them to decipher. 

With a cough, Yone averts his gaze, mumbling:

“It’s good. Sweet. Suits you.”

But Hwei has none of it, stopping so abruptly he has to lean against Yone to not fall, and it’s on instinct, really, comes from the protectiveness of being an older brother, but his hand lands on Hwei’s waist to keep him steady. 

On his taille, where the silk is the only thing between his palm and the heated skin he so craves to touch. 

“Come on, Yone.”

Hwei breathes, his hands buried in the collar of his jacket, it’s so hot, he is sweating and it’s not okay, his palm is sweating and the silk, god, the silk, the way his hip curves and god.

“Tell me, what do you think of the dress? The dress… on me?”

Lies, he needs to lie, he can’t say it, would rather bite his tongue than say it, but Hwei is so close, looks up expectantly, eyes wide and begging him. Begging, but for what, what could Yone possibly give him that he doesn’t already have? 

“Please?”

Hwei has the audacity to bite his lip, to let his voice tremble, to sound almost shy.

“As if you don’t know exactly how good you look.”
Yone forces out, gritting his teeth and still not moving his hand, still touching him, but Hwei moves, turns around and bows forward, in the process pressing his ass against his leg-

“What are you doing?”

Yone hisses through clenched teeth, tries to protest, but Hwei looks like he is about to fall over and he can just leave his hand on his waist and hold him. Hold him like he is about to rut his dick against his ass, hold im in a way so tempting, so- 

He reemerges, pushes himself a little bit back while undoing the buttons on the dress, pressing against Yone’s chest in the tight changing room. And he must feel it, how hard he is, aching, because he got to see what wasn’t his to enjoy, got to hold, what is meant for someone else’s touch. 

But Hwei doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t say a word. Steps forward and takes the dress off, hangs it onto the rack before beginning to redress again.

He pays in silence, but whatever bubbling sparkle has fueled him before, it now seems dulled. Because Yone was too much, too close, they are family, he should make Hwei feel safe, and not get hard and let it show like a horny teenager unable to handle his own body.

They are heading home not long after, only stopping to buy something to eat, because Hwei insists. But his tone has changed, or maybe Yone is projecting - god, he desperately wants something to be different, then he’d at least know that Hwei cares and isn’t totally unaffected and fine while Yone is on the verge of breaking down in tears. 

“Are the cocktails commendable here?”

Hwei has returned from the bathroom, gracefully sliding onto his chair, and oh, heaven help him, he has renewed his lipgloss. Smiles at Yone with sparkly, shiny, kissable lips, eyes blazing purple.

It’s enough to make him shiver, and his cock twitch eagerly. 

He needs to jerk off at home, preferably multiple times, until he gets sore and painfully overstimulated, otherwise there is no way Yone will survive Christmas. 

“I thought the Sparkling Shamrock sounds interesting, but you’ve been here before, so.”

Hwei shrugs, reaching out to read the menu again, has he worn nail polish before? It’s a dark red, sultry and perfect on a pale hand wrapped around his cock, shit, bloody hell. Yone hasn’t even finished his dish, unlike his cousin, who has eaten his salmon pasta at a pace more befitting for a starving child, the same pace for which Hwei’s mom used to scold him, obviously to no avail. 

Of course Hwei is bored now and wants a drink, it’s even polite, in a way. He isn’t hurrying Yone to finish his plate, nor bouncing around in boredom and stressing him out. Only humming, smiling…

“You want one too? Though you seem me more like the person going straight for the whiskey, no fun fruits to dilute it.”

He is right, of course he is. 

So Yone nods, shoves a piece of sushi into his mouth to have an excuse for his silence, while Hwei smiles so prettily and waves for the waiter, who takes his time, before arriving at their table. 

They look like college kids who don't tip well no matter how hard the young man tries. But his cousin doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, even jokes and laughs with the waiter, who blushes as he takes their orders, eyes dipping lower, lingering for a moment too long on Hwei’s glossy, pink lips.

His stomach twists even more, and Yone knows he doesn’t have a claim or shit like that, and even if, it’s nothing but joyful fun, nothing he’d actually mind, but oh. In the middle of the desk, before the eyes of the waiter, his hand finds Hwei’s, and their fingers interlace. 

The waiter blushes even further, before excusing himself, hurrying towards the bar where he hopefully doesn’t spit into Yone’s drink. 

Hwei’s hand is cold in his, how are his hands so cool, is he freezing? Of course he is, with such little clothes on-

“Do you want my scarf? Help you warm up?”

“Huh? No, but your hand is nice.”

With that, a second, equally icy hand takes his other one, squeezing it tenderly, while Hwei admits quietly:

“I missed seeing you, I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable in the shop. But you picked the dress and then acted as if you didn’t like it on me.”

It’s such an honest admission, his tone so bloody vulnerable, eyes suddenly avoiding Yone’s, instead focusing on their fingers. Maybe he is taking in how tiny his hand looks within Yone’s palm, how fragile even. Hwei has never been one for physical exertion, his fingers are so, so soft, unmarred, no calluses or scars to disrupt the delicate skin. Delicate, the hand of an artist.

After a moment to catch his thoughts, Yone clears his throat and nods slowly. 

“You didn’t… make me uncomfortable. I think.”

As if Hwei hadn’t felt his stupidly hard dick against his back, how his hands lingered on his waist, as if he didn’t notice how Yone ached to touch him.

Thank god they get interrupted by the waiter, who places a glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of Yone, and a glass filled with a pretty, light, greenish cocktail in front of Hwei before vanishing again. 

Leaving him to watch in awe as slender, delicate fingers move the straw between glossy lips, as Hwei’s throat bobs with the sip he takes. 

Yone’s eyes must burn him, he is sure, but somehow instead of hiding away, their gazes meet. 

“You want a taste?”

Oh, he wants to taste so much more than just the cocktail. But, now with his lips wrapped around the lip gloss stained straw, Yone suddenly knows that Hwei’s lips taste like cherry. Like cherry, sweet and rich. And his mouth would taste like the fresh and fruity cocktail, how much he wants to drink him in, god. 

“Can I try yours?”

Hwei whispers, and Yone doesn’t trust his own voice, so he pushes his whiskey towards his friend, who leaves a light pink lip stain on its side. Can he memorialize it, if he was an artist like Hwei, then Yone would try to paint it. Because he can’t just paint his bloody cousins lips, but their mark on his glass, rose coloured imprint on his soul. 

At home, Yone immediately declares that he needs a shower, and finally, finally has the chance to get Hwei out of his system. Fists his cock, squeezes it tight, it hurts anyway. All of this hurts like hell, but under the hot spray of the shower he can rut into his hand to the memory of Hwei’s waist under his palm, of the brief moment where he caught a glimpse at his naked shoulders, his posture is awful and Yone needs to massage the tension out of him, needs to press in and kiss and lick and suck until his pale skin is covered in bruises, mottled butterflies.

How dare he, he isn’t allowed, how dare he fantasises about him, shit, shit, the guilt isn’t enough to cause his prick to soften, instead, Yone brings his free hand to his mouth, tilts his face into the stream of hot water and bites. Groans, as he feels himself twitch in his hand, the drops on his cheeks are certainly not tears but his eyes burn nonetheless. 

And as if to make it worse, after a knock, the door opens. 

“Hey, I need to pee, hurry up.”

It closes again.

Crap, bloody hell, he needs more, anything that's not Hwei, anything that is Hwei, needs his lips and those pretty eyes on him, he doesn’t wear underwear, that’s why he didn’t take his jeans off in the changing room. Only jeans between his ass and Yone’s prick, one delicious second of pressure, the silken dress looked so bloody good on him, like Hwei was made for innocence, like Yone can undo all the damage and make everything okay again. 

He is still hard, pulsing in his hand, the orgasm just out of reach, and another knock;

“Can I just pee?”

No, Hwei can not take a piss while Yone is jerking off to him, can’t see him like this, so he grunts out a “ever heard of privacy?”

“We literally sat in the same bathtub and went swimming naked, there’s nothing of you I haven't seen yet.”

And his cousin laughs, because to him, that's all they are.

But there is, his bloody cock, hard and hot against his palm. 

But he needs to pee and doesn’t leave and Yone turns around to better hide his shameful secret. 

And Hwei whistles, Yone makes the mistake of turning the water off, now he can hear a zipper being pulled down, the rustling of fabric;

“You prove me wrong, never knew you had such a great ass.” 

His cousin, his cousin, he can listen to the piss hitting the toilet bowl and he is still so very hard, Hwei likes his ass, has looked at his ass and commented, Yone is dizzy with need. How can he wait for a moment longer, the toilet gets flushed and he is aching, can’t touch himself, the sweetest torment. 

“Want me to join? Safe water and all that. Like when we were kids.”

No, please, Yone’s shoulders heave and in the next moment he feels a cool palm against his back. 

“Only if you’re okay with it.”

He is, but then he won't be able to hide, Hwei’s breath is warm on his damp shoulder. Heating his skin, even though he is wet and naked and the water still isn’t running. 

“Yone, I need an answer, please. Tell me I got this wrong.”

Hwei was always smarter, not necessarily book smart, but good with people. At reading them, playing them. 

Yone can’t say anything, but he can- 

Do it the Hwei style, what did bloody Forbes write about him?

Lukai Hwei lets his actions speak.

And Yone can’t speak but he can turn slightly, until he can take Hwei’s hand and tug lightly. Is that enough? Please, let it be enough. 

It is, because in the next moment, he feels a warm, soft body against his back, hands hugging him from behind. A half chubbed dick against his ass. 

“Yone, relax.”

The breathy, sultry voice, he is going to die. Is going to love every second of this torment.

“Want me to touch you?”

Hwei whispers, just before the water gets turned on again, hot on heated skin, and is he really proposing to Yone? 

Is Yone really inclined to accept?

Now Hwei’s fingers are warm against his palm, but cool against his leaking prick when he guides his hand where he needs it most. Hears a gasp, almost whiny behind him, please, please, if he got this wrong-

But Hwei’s hand tips lower, as his lips graze Yone’s neck, just how he imagined it before. 

“You’re so hard, does it hurt, baby?”

Yone can’t stifle a groan, nor stop his head from lolling back, offering up his throat in defiance. And finally Hwei’s hand tightens, his thumb dips and presses into the sensitive spot just below the head, rubs it before slipping over his tip, smearing precum just as Hwei latches onto his neck and sucks. With his dick hard, and grinding against Yone’s ass. 

It’s all too much, too much, he feels wanted and it can’t be but it’s so, so deliciously good. 

Before Yone has fully come down from his high yet, Hwei is already in the process of washing him. Rubbing over his shoulders, applying soap under his arms and, with featherlight touch, around his groin. Paying extra mind to his ass, touching him gently between his cheeks, pressing tenderly against his rim. Massaging him there, fingers slick with soap, until Yone starts to harden again. 

More kisses on his neck, on his shoulders, but Hwei is insistent, gentle and firm, cooing sweet nothings like: “You’re doing so well!”, “Let me make you feel good.”, “You always cared for me so much, let me return the favour, Yone.”

And then, the one whisper that reached him through the warm fog in his head;

“Can I finger you, baby? You wanna come on my finger?”

And he is so, so heavy, and it sounds divine, the picture it paints, but no, he can’t, he can’t come on his fingers and can’t be doing this, it’s already too bloody much, shit. But no fingers inside of him, no, he’d ruin his pretty nail polish, Yone doesn’t even know how to do it, how to come on something that isn’t his own hand, crap. 

He hates it, he loves how well Hwei reads him. How his hands still, then simply move upwards until he can massage Yone’s shoulders and neck, before beginning to apply shampoo. No words exchanged, but he must’ve tensed up and Hwei noticed, because behind the arrogant, rich brat, he…

He cares, and he loves, they are family. But then why does it feel so right?

After a few minutes Hwei turns off the shower to whisper, hand lingering on the small of Yone’s back:

“I’ll just dry myself and then bring you a towel, yeah? Can you just stay here for me, love?”

Love . 

Yone can, he can be good. Nods, feels cold as soon as the soothing hand leaves his skin, shivers. But a second later Hwei is by his side again, and the softest, fluffiest towel Yone owns is placed onto his shoulders. 

“Come on, baby, let’s get you to bed, hm?”
It should feel condescending, is that how he sometimes talked to Yasuo when they still lived together? -but unlike how Yone would’ve expected himself to respond, he only sinks further into Hwei’s touch. Receives a sweet hum, and fingers moving along his jaw, and a kiss to his nose that makes him smile. 

Another towel gets moved over his head, against his hair, careful not to tug too harshly, instead drying his wet hair, before Hwei begins to brush it. So tenderly, so gently, all while humming a song that belongs to a different time, to a different man. 

Their dads must’ve listened to the same lullabies, but Yone doesn’t consciously remember his father ever singing him one. And his uncle, Hwei’s dad, didn’t either. But he must’ve sung one to his own son, because his heart aches. 

“Your… dad taught you the song?”

Yone chokes out, hears an agreeing hum. 

“I sometimes sang it to myself, after.”
No child should have to sing themself to sleep, but Yone never felt comfortable sharing his voice - instead he wrote songs for others to sing or for himself to play on the cello. 

It’s weird, how time warps through family. How a song makes him feel small, makes him feel safe. Family. 

Shit.

Bloody family.

That jerked him off in the shower, kissed his neck and whispered all those sweet, sultry things. Called him baby , called him love , as if he isn’t unworthy of all of this. 

How awful, disgusting, is there some kind of curse on their family that dooms everyone to a horrible life, because Yone certainly feels like that's all he is getting, all he is giving.
Nothing good can grow from a seed this rotten, his father died and nothing was ever the same again. But he didn’t have to grieve, and doesn’t even remember much of his dad, unlike Hwei, who has been messed up by life over and over again. And in this unforgiving, cruel world he suddenly found himself thrusted into, the only comfort he found was in Yone’s and Yasuo’s arms. 

His baby brother, plastering kisses onto his tearstruck cheeks until Hwei laughed because it tickled, and they giggled, even though the pretty black dress was already waiting on the chair. 

Yone has closed his zipper, and has told him that he is girl pretty . Made him smile cutely, before whatever childhood he had left was cruelly torn away from him.

Of course Hwei would give himself to Yone, who took, and took, and took.

From his cousin, who is hurt and scared, already lost so much. And they are less than a week away from the bloody anniversary of his parents death, of course he wouldn’t be in his right mind, it’s Yone who should take care of him, not the other way around! Awful, he is awful, shit. 

His chest aches, shoulders heave, it takes Yone a few moments to realise that he is crying - and that Hwei is holding him, caressing his cheek with eyes ablaze. Pink, flowery, rose-coloured, magnificent. Beautiful. 

Lovely.

Bitter sweet, his loving expression, directed at Yone.